Читать книгу The Mystery of the Missing Necklace - Enid blyton - Страница 4

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It was lovely to be all together again, day after day. The Five bathed in the river, went for long bicycle rides, lazed in the garden, squabbled, drank pints of iced drinks, and ate hundreds of ices. Buster liked both lemonade and ices and had his full share. He got rather fat and Pip teased him.

“You’re too fat to go after rabbits, Buster!” he said. “Why, even a mouse would escape you now. You don’t walk any more, you waddle. You don’t breathe, you wheeze! You ...”

“Oh, don’t tease him so,” said Bets, who was always quite certain that Buster could understand every single word said to him. “He doesn’t waddle. I bet if he saw Old Clear-Orf this very minute he’d be after him like a shot!”

“By the way, what’s happened to Goon?” asked Fatty. “I saw him yesterday, in a great hurry and looking frightfully important.”

“Probably solving some Mystery we don’t know anything about,” said Larry gloomily. “There have been a lot of burglaries lately, and perhaps Goon is getting at the bottom of them.

“Yes—but the burglaries haven’t been in his district,” said Fatty. “They’ve mostly been miles away. I’ve read about them in the paper. Lady Rexham’s jewels were stolen only last week—and somebody else’s famous diamonds the week before. It’s a clever gang of thieves—but they’re not working this district, as far as I know.”

“I wish they were!” said Bets. “Then we could catch them. You could put on one of your new disguises, Fatty, and track them down.”

“It’s not as easy as all that, little Bets, and you know it!” said Fatty, with a laugh. “You just think of all the difficulties we had in our other mysteries.”

“We haven’t seen you in any grown-up disguise yet, Fatty,” said Daisy. “Do put one on, so that we can spot you in it, if we can.”

“I’ve been practising in my bedroom,” said Fatty. “I don’t want to try anything out on you till I’m perfect. I’ll try it on you when I’m ready, I promise. And I’ll give my second-best propelling-pencil to any one of you that spots me first, see?”

“Oooh, Fatty—the pencil that can write in lead, or in red, or in blue?” said Bets. “Can you really spare it?”

“I’ll certainly give it to any of the Find-Outers if they’re bright enough to spot me in my first grown-up disguise,” said Fatty. “It’s a bargain!”

“I bet I’ll spot you first,” said Larry. “The girls won’t, I’m sure. Pip might—but I’ll be first!”

“We’ll have to leave Buster behind when we try to do the spotting,” said Pip. “Or he’ll simply rush up to you and bark madly to tell every one it’s you!”

“Yes. Buster’s out of this,” said Fatty, and Buster cocked up his ears at his name. “Sorry, Buster, old boy—but tomorrow you must stay at home with the cat.”

“Oh, Fatty—are you going to dress up tomorrow?” asked Bets, in delight. “Really tomorrow? Well, you won’t deceive me! I shall look at every one with an eagle eye!”

“Right,” said Fatty. “But all the same—I have a feeling that my propelling-pencil will still be safely in my pocket tomorrow night! You may be quite good Find-Outers—but I’m a bit cleverer than any of you!”

“You’re certainly best at boasting!” said Larry. “That trumpet of yours must be quite worn out by now.”

“What trumpet?” said Bets, in curiosity. “I’ve never seen Fatty with a trumpet.”

“No, but surely you’ve heard him blowing his own trumpet?” said Larry. “It’s deafening at times! It’s ...”

And then Fatty sat up and flung himself on Larry and there was a great deal of shouting and yelling and squealing, with Buster plunging into the middle of the brawl and getting wildly excited too.

Mrs. Hilton, Pip’s mother, appeared. “Children! You do know I’ve visitors in the garden, surely? If you want to yell and squeal and fight, will you go somewhere else? What about a nice walk?”

“Oh Mother—it’s too hot for a walk!” groaned Pip.

“Well, I should have thought it was much too hot to fight,” said Mrs. Hilton disapprovingly. “Really, Larry and Frederick, you look very dirty and untidy!”

“Sorry, Mrs. Hilton,” said Fatty meekly, and Larry tried to smooth his hair down. “We’ll go for a walk. I forgot you had people to tea in the garden. I really do apologize.”

Fatty had marvellous manners with grown-up people, and Mrs. Hilton began to smile again. “Go down to the dairy and get yourselves an ice-cream each,” she said. “That will get rid of you for a bit. Here’s the money, Pip.”

“Oh thanks, Mother,” said Pip, and they all got up, pleased. It was the fourth ice-cream that day, but it didn’t seem worth while mentioning that to Mrs. Hilton. Fatty’s mother had already provided ice-creams and so had Larry’s, and Fatty had generously given them one each as well. Now this was the fourth lot. Goody!

They walked sedately down the garden and round the drive to the gates. They went to the dairy, which made real cream-ices that were most delicious, and sat down at the little table in the window to eat them.

Mr. Goon passed by on his bicycle as they sat there. He pedalled furiously, his face hot and red.

“Spot of hard work for Goon,” said Fatty, letting a cold spoonful of ice-cream slide as slowly down his throat as possible. “Looks busy, doesn’t he?”

Before they had finished their ices, Goon came pedalling back again, as furiously as before. The police-station was just opposite the dairy, and the children watched the policeman go smartly up the steps. Then they saw his head behind the frosted window-pane of one of the rooms in the police-station, talking to somebody else. Goon was talking the most and was nodding vigorously.

“Never seen Goon so busy before!” said Fatty, in astonishment. “Do you think he’s really got a case to work on—a mystery to solve that we don’t know anything about?”

“Golly, here he comes again!” said Pip, as Goon scuttled out of the police-station, buttoning a big sheaf of papers into his breast-pocket. “He’s simply bursting with importance.”

“He’s feeling jolly pleased about something,” said Fatty. “I should be mad if something had cropped up in Peterswood whilst I’ve been away, and we don’t know anything about it!”

Goon jumped on to his bicycle and pedalled away again. It was maddening to sit there and watch him so busy and important and not know why. Fatty felt as if he was bursting with curiosity.

“He’s on to something!” he said. “He really is. I know that look on his face. We must find out what it is!”

“Well, you find out then,” said Larry. “And if he tells you, you’ll be lucky! It’s what Goon has dreamed of for months—a mystery all to himself, that the Five Find-Outers don’t know anything about!”

“I can’t bear it!” said Fatty, and let the last spoonful of ice-cream go down his throat. Then he looked dismayed. “Oh I say—do you know, I was so puzzled about Old Clear-Orf and his mystery that I ate that ice-cream without tasting it. What a fearful waste. I’ll have to have another.”

The others looked at him. “There’s no more money,” said Pip. “We spent it all.”

“I’ve got some,” said Fatty, and dug his hand into his pocket. He always had plenty of money, much to the envy of the others, who had pocket-money each Saturday and had to make that do for the week, like most children. But Fatty had plenty of rich relations, who seemed to pour money into his pockets in a most lavish way.

“Mother says it’s bad for you to have so much money,” said Pip. “She’s always saying that.”

“It probably is bad for me,” said Fatty, “but I’m not going round telling my relations to stop giving me tips. Now, who wants another ice-cream? Bets?”

“Oh, Fatty, I couldn’t,” sighed Bets sadly. “I’d love to, but I know I can’t. I feel a bit sick already.”

“Well, go outside,” said Pip unfeelingly. “No thanks, Fatty. I don’t feel sick, but I shan’t eat any supper if I have another, and then Mother will stop all ice-creams for a week, or something awful.”

Larry and Daisy said they couldn’t possibly eat another either, so Fatty had a second one all by himself, and this time he said he tasted every spoonful, so it wasn’t wasted as the first one had been.

Mr. Goon came back on his bicycle, just as the children left the shop. “There he is again!” said Fatty admiringly. “I’ve never seen him move so quickly. Good evening, Mr. Goon!”

Mr. Goon was just getting off his bicycle to go into the police-station again. He glanced at Fatty, and took no notice of him. Fatty was annoyed.

“You seem extremely busy, Mr. Goon,” he said. “Solving another mystery, I suppose? Nice to get the old brains to work, isn’t it? I could do with a bit of that myself, after lazing away most of these holidays.”

“Oh? You got some brains then?” said Mr. Goon sarcastically. “That’s good hearing, that is. But I’m busy now, and can’t stop to talk about your brains, Master Frederick. There’s Big Things going on, see, and I’ve got plenty to do without wasting my time talking to you.”

“Big Things?” said Fatty, suddenly interested. “What, another Mystery, Mr. Goon? I say—that’s ...”

“Yes, another Mystery,” said Mr. Goon, almost bursting with importance. “And I’m IN CHARGE of it, see? I’m the one that’s tackling it, not you interfering kids. And not a word do I tell you about it, not one word. It’s Secret and Important, and it’s a Matter for the police!”

“But Mr. Goon—you know how we ...” began Fatty anxiously; but the policeman, feeling for once that he had got the better of Fatty, interrupted loftily.

“All I know about you is that you’re a conceited, interfering kid what ought to be put in his place and kept there—you and your nasty barking dog! This here case is mine, and I’m already getting on with it, and what’s more I’ll get Promotion over this as sure as my name is Theophilus Goon,” said the policeman, marching up the steps to the police-station. “You clear-orf now!”

“What a blow!” muttered poor, disappointed Fatty, as Goon disappeared through the door. He and the others walked home slowly, discussing all that Clear-Orf had said.

“To think of that fat policeman at work on a perfectly gorgeous new mystery that we don’t know a thing about!” said Fatty, looking so miserable that Bets put her arm through his. “It’s maddening. And the worst of it is that I simply don’t see how we are going to find out a thing, if Goon won’t tell us.”

“Even Buster’s upset about it,” said Bets. “He’s got his tail right down. So have you, poor Fatty. Never mind—you’re going to try out your grown-up disguise tomorrow—that will be a bit of excitement for you, Fatty. And for us too!”

“Yes, it will,” said Fatty, cheering up a little. “Well—I’ll be getting back home now. Got to practise my disguise a bit before I try it out on you all tomorrow. So long!”