Читать книгу The Mystery of the Strange Bundle - Enid blyton - Страница 7

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In three days’ time all the Find-Outers were apparently completely themselves again. Perhaps a spurt of brilliantly fine weather had something to do with it. All of them felt that they must be out in the sunshine, however cold it was otherwise.

They went for their first walk together that holiday, enjoying the stroll, though only Bets really felt like running. “I vote we pop into the dairy and have a hot cup of chocolate,” said Fatty, as they turned into the High Street. “Come on, Buster, it’s no use staring at cats that are safely sitting on walls. They won’t come down for you to chase them! Funny that a clever dog like you shouldn’t have learnt that elementary fact yet!”

They went into the little dairy and sat down at one of the tables there. In the summer they had ice-cold milk there, and ice-creams, or lemonade. In the winter the little shop did a roaring trade in hot milk, cocoa, and hot chocolate.

A short, plump woman came to serve them. “Well, well,” she said, beaming at them. “I thought you must have gone back to school. I’ve not seen you for so long. What would you like?”

“Hot chocolate, ginger biscuits, and currant buns, please,” said Fatty. He drew a handful of change out of his pocket to pay. Fatty always had plenty of money!

“I’ll pay,” said Larry. “I’ve not spent half my Christmas money yet. You’re always paying out for us!”

Fatty let him pay. He knew that it often made Larry feel embarrassed when he so often had to allow him, Fatty, to pay for their treats. Anyway, Fatty could always pay for the second round of chocolate and biscuits! “Flu seems to have enlarged my appetite,” he said. “I’ve not stopped feeling hungry for two days.”

“Only because you jolly well know you’re going to get plenty to eat,” said Pip. “It wouldn’t be any fun being hungry if you thought there wasn’t going to be even a bit of bread to chew for days!”

Nobody could think of an answer to that remark. Buster suddenly got up and went to the door. He barked loudly.

“Be quiet!” said Fatty. “Behave yourself, Buster. Don’t bark at that dear old lady.”

“He’s not,” said Bets suddenly, peering through the shop window from where she sat. “It’s Mr. Goon.”

“Well, I hope he keeps out of here,” said Pip, beginning on a currant bun. “I say, these are good—new as anything.”

Bets let her eyes wander round the shop. Up on the mantelpiece was a model of a cow, standing about two feet high. It had a head that would nod up and down if any one set it going. She got up and went over to it.

“I like this cow,” she said. “I’ll set its head nid-nodding. Let’s see if it manages to nod it all the time we’re here.”

She set the head nodding and went back to her chair, watching the cow. Buster began to bark again, and the five swung their heads round to the door.

Mr. Goon was standing there, looking so plump that the buttons on his tunic were stretched to bursting-point. “Call this dog to you,” he commanded Fatty. “Put him on a lead. I won’t have him dancing round my ankles.”

“Why? Are you coming to have a drink of hot milk or something?” asked Fatty. He deftly put Buster on the lead, and made him sit down. Fatty was hoping against hope that Mr. Goon was indeed coming to sit in the shop and have a drink. Fatty had a bright idea, and wanted to carry it out!

Mr. Goon stalked in and sat down at the table next but one to the five children’s. He called for a cup of cocoa and a bun.

“Cold outside for you again, isn’t it, Mr. Goon, sir?” said the short plump woman, setting down a cup of cocoa and a bun in front of the red-faced policeman.

Mr. Goon took no notice of her. He glanced across at the children. “Ho—seems like I’ve had a nice quiet time these holidays,” he began. “No nosey-parkering, no Interfering with the Law. That says something for the ‘flu’, that does. You must have felt funny not being able to stick your noses in a mystery.”

Nobody answered. Fatty spoke a few words to Larry, and Larry said a few back. Nobody looked at Mr. Goon. He didn’t like being ignored. He raised his voice.

“Or have you got a mystery on hand?” he began again. “A nice juicy mystery to make a mess of?”

Fatty looked at him. “Now how did you hear that, Mr. Goon?” he said, in a surprised voice. “Larry, have you been saying anything about our latest mystery?”

Larry rose immediately to Fatty’s invitation to be absurd.

“Which case do you mean?” he said. “The mystery of the red-nosed reindeer, or the one about the flying saucers? We’ve solved them both, haven’t we?”

“Oh yes. I didn’t mean those,” said Fatty. “Mr. Goon probably knows all about those by now. They’re stale news, aren’t they, Mr. Goon. No, Larry—I meant the Mystery of the Strange Voices.”

“Gah!” said Mr. Goon, biting violently into his bun. “Strange voices—you don’t know what you’re talking about. Lot of silly make-up!”

The other four had pricked up their ears when they heard Fatty refer to Strange Voices. They all knew about his ventriloquial powers now, and he had practised a few of his tricks in front of them. Why had he mentioned Strange Voices to Mr. Goon?

“Lot of silly make-up,” said Mr. Goon again, and took a sip of hot cocoa. “Strange voices! Gah!”

“Oh yes—that mystery’s not solved yet, is it?” said Larry, speaking to Fatty in a voice loud enough for Mr. Goon to hear. “Curious case that—people hearing strange voices which aren’t really there. Somebody casting a spell on them, I suppose.”

“Baby-talk,” said Mr. Goon, drinking his cocoa rather loudly.

“You may be right,” said Fatty seriously. “But believe it or not, some people lately have been hearing ducks quack where there are no ducks, hens clucking, and people speaking—and yet there don’t seem to be any there.”

“You’ll tell me that cow on the mantelpiece will start to moo next,” said Mr. Goon, swallowing the last of the currant bun. Fatty scribbled something quickly on a piece of paper and pushed it across the table to the others.

“Cow will moo,” he had written. “But none of you is to hear it.”

Mr. Goon wiped his mouth. “Quacking ducks, clucking hens, mooing cows,” he observed sarcastically. “Silly make-up. Bosh and rubbish!”

“It’s a nice cow, isn’t it,” said Bets, looking across at it. “Its head is still going up and down.”

Mr. Goon looked across at it too.

“Moo-oo, moo-oo, moo-oo,” said the cow, mooing in exact time to the nodding of its head. The mooing was so realistic, and so exactly in time to the nodding, that even the children, with the exception of Fatty, thought for one moment that the mooing noise did actually come from it.

Mr. Goon stared at the cow, astounded. He glanced round at the children. Not one of them, of course, took any notice of the mooing, remembering Fatty’s hastily scribbled instructions. They lifted up their cups and drank, Bets hoping to goodness that she wouldn’t start to giggle.

Mr. Goon looked at the nodding cow again. It had stopped mooing—principally because Fatty had been overcome with an urge to laugh. But, as Goon looked at it, it gave such a large and unexpected moo that the policeman jumped violently. Then the mooing quietened and went on in time with the nodding of the animal’s head.

Mr. Goon swallowed hard. “Moo-oo, moo-oo, moo-oo,” went the cow, nodding its head. Nobody would ever have believed that it was merely Fatty throwing the noise across to the mantelpiece!

Mr. Goon felt rather sick. He didn’t know what to make of it at all. He looked at the children again. They were taking absolutely no notice at all of the mooing cow. Neither was Buster, of course. Was it possible that they were not hearing what Mr. Goon was hearing?

The little plump woman came bustling into the shop with some more buns for the children. The cow stopped mooing. Mr. Goon cleared his throat and spoke to the shop-woman.

“Er—nice cow that of yours, my good woman—the one on the mantelpiece, I mean. Very life-like? You’d almost expect it to moo!”

“You will have your joke, sir,” said the little woman. “My, if I heard it moo I’d think there was something wrong with me. I’d think I was going crazy!”

“That’s just what we were saying,” said Fatty gravely. “Strange Voices are about—people are hearing them. What are they? A Warning? Brrrrrr! I’m glad I don’t hear them!”

“Well, we live in queer days, no doubt about it,” said the little shop-woman puzzled, and hurried off again. The cow began to moo once more, but so softly that Mr. Goon was not absolutely sure if he was hearing it or not. Could he be imagining it? He gazed so earnestly at the nodding cow that Bets felt an irresistible giggle rising up from the very middle of her tummy. She knew from experience that they were the worst kind of giggles—the ones that heaved up and broke out helplessly.

“Talk, do talk,” she besought the others in a low voice. “I’m going to laugh.”

All but Fatty talked in low voices, saying any nonsense that came into their heads. Fatty stopped making the cow moo. Mr. Goon sat back cautiously. Thank goodness the cow was behaving normally now. Maybe his ears had just played him a trick.

“Quark, quark, quark!” Mr. Goon jumped violently again, and looked all round. That was a duck quacking, not a doubt of it.

QUARK! Mr. Goon’s eyes caught sight of a wild duck, beautifully stuffed, placed in a glass case at the end of the shop. He gazed at it, holding his breath.

“Quark, quark, QUARK!” The duck appeared to be looking at him out of its glass eye, and its half-open beak seemed to be quacking. Mr. Goon leapt up, full of horror.

“That duck!” he said wildly. “Did you hear it!”

“What duck?” asked Larry. “Oh, Mr. Goon—surely—surely you are not suggesting that the duck in the glass case is quacking!”

“Mr. Goon—don’t say you are hearing the Strange Voices!” said Fatty, earnestly and solemnly.

“Quark!” The noise seemed to come from somewhere behind Mr. Goon. He gave a loud, hunted cry and ran from the shop, Buster almost tripping him up with his lead. And then the children collapsed over the table, crying tears of laughter into their empty cups. “Mr. Goon, Mr. Goon, you couldn’t have been funnier!”