Читать книгу The Mystery of the Missing Necklace - Enid blyton - Страница 6

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Having more or less decided the question of Fatty’s disguise, though Bets was very doubtful indeed, the four children had some fun.

Bets bought some of the wooden Hoopla rings from the man that Larry and Daisy were certain was Fatty in disguise, and managed to ring a dear little clock. She was really delighted. She held out her hand for the clock, her eyes shining with joy. “It will do nicely for my bedroom mantelpiece,” she said happily.

“Sorry,” said the Hoopla-man. “The ring didn’t go quite over the clock, Miss.”

“But it did,” said poor Bets. “It did. It didn’t even touch the clock. It was the best throw I’ve ever done!”

“You didn’t ring it properly, Miss,” said the man. The other Hoopla-man, that Larry and Daisy thought was Fatty, looked on, and said nothing. Daisy, certain that it was Fatty, appealed to him, sorry to see little Bets being cheated out of the cheap little clock.

“She did win it, didn’t she? Make this man let her have it!”

“Sorry, Miss. She didn’t ring it properly,” said that man too. And then Bets walked off, dragging the others with her. “Now do you think that man is Fatty?” she said fiercely. “He would have let me have the clock at once! Fatty is never unkind. He can’t be Fatty!”

“Well—he might have to say a thing like that,” argued Larry. “The other man might have got angry with him and given him a punch. I still think it’s Fatty.”

They went on the Roundabout, and in the Bumping Cars. Pip took Bets, and Larry went with Daisy, and with many squeals and yells they crashed into one another, and shook themselves and the little cars almost to pieces. It really was fun.

“Now let’s go into the Waxwork Show,” said Larry.

“Oh, it’s too hot,” said Daisy. “Really it is. Besides, I don’t much like waxwork figures—they scare me a bit—they look so real, and yet they never even blink!”

“I want to see them,” said Bets, who had never been inside a Waxwork Show in her life, and was longing to. “They’ve got Queen Elizabeth in there, all dressed up beautifully, and Napoleon, with his hand tucked into his waistcoat, and Nelson with one arm and one eye, and ...”

“Oh well, let’s go in and see all these wonderful persons,” said Daisy. “But it’s a marvel to me they don’t all melt in this weather. I feel as if I’m melting myself. We’d better have ice-creams after this.”

They paid their money and went in. The show was in a small hall. A red-headed boy took their money, scratching his head violently with one hand as he handed them tickets with the other. Bets stared at him. Could he be Fatty? Fatty had a red-headed wig and eye-brows, and he could put freckles all over his face, just like the ones this boy had. But Fatty had said he would be in a grown-up disguise—so he couldn’t be this dirty-looking boy. Still—Bets couldn’t help staring hard at him. The boy put out his tongue at her.

“Stare away!” he said. “Never seen red hair before, I suppose!”

Bets went red and joined the others. All round the little hall, arranged on steps that raised each row of figures up behind the others, were the wax people. They stood there, still and silent, fixed looks on their pink faces, staring without blinking.

Pip and Larry liked them, but the two girls felt uncomfortable to have so many strange figures looking at them.

“There’s Queen Elizabeth!” said Pip, pointing to a very grand-looking wax figure at the end of the little hall. “And there’s Sir Walter Raleigh putting down his cloak for her to walk on. They’re jolly good.”

“What grand clothes she wears,” said Bets, “and I like her big ruff. And look at all her beautiful jewellery. I’m surprised people don’t steal it!”

“Pooh! All bought at Woolworth’s!” said Pip. “I say—here’s Nelson. I didn’t know he was such a little chap.”

“Oh—and here’s Winston Churchill,” said Bets in delight. She had a terrific admiration for this great statesman, and kept a photo of him on her mantelpiece. “With his cigar and all. He looks the best of the lot!”

“Look—there’s a girl selling sweets,” said Larry suddenly, winking at Pip. “Here, Bets, go and buy some chocolate for us.” He gave the little girl some money and she went to the sweet-girl, who stood nearby with a tray of bags and boxes.

“I’ll have some chocolate, please,” said Bets, and held out her money. The girl didn’t take it. She looked steadily over Bets’ head and said nothing.

“SOME CHOCOLATE, PLEASE,” said Bets loudly, thinking that perhaps the girl was deaf. The girl took absolutely no notice at all, and Bets was puzzled.

Then she heard the others exploding behind her, and guessed in a flash the trick they had played. “Oh! This girl is a waxwork too! You beasts! I’ve been trying to buy chocolate from a waxwork figure.”

“Oh, Bets! Anyone can take you in, simply anyone!” said Pip, almost crying with laughter. “To think you’re one of the Find-Outers, too! Why, you can’t even spot when somebody is a waxwork!”

Bets hardly knew whether to cry or to laugh, but fortunately she decided to laugh. “Oh dear! I really did think she was a proper person. Look at that horrid red-headed boy over there laughing at me!”

They examined all the wax figures closely. There were a good many of them. Among them was a policeman rather like Mr. Goon, but taller and not so fat.

“I’d like to stand Old Clear-Orf in here!” said Pip, with a giggle. “He looks just about as stolid and stupid sometimes. And I say—look at this postman. He’s quite good, except for his idiotic grin.”

It was really very hot in the Waxwork Show and the children were glad to go out. The red-headed boy at the entrance put out his tongue at Bets again, and she tried not to look.

“What a horrid boy!” she said. “I can’t think how I thought he could be Fatty. Fatty wouldn’t behave like that, even in disguise.”

“Let’s go and have some tea,” said Daisy. “Look, this place has got ices and home-make cakes.”

“Cakes and an iced lemonade for me,” said Pip. “I’ll have an ice later if I can manage it. I wish old Fatty could join us. Wonder if he’s looking on at us, in his disguise. I’m sure he’s the ticket-man at the Roundabout. That man’s mop of curly black hair is too good to be true.”

They had a very nice tea, and ate twenty-four cakes between them. They finished up with ices, washed down by a rather sweet lemonade, and then felt able to go out into the sun once more.

“Let’s go and sit down by the river,” said Bets. “It will be cooler there. There’s always a breeze by the water!”

They made their way out of the Fair. Bets suddenly caught sight of a lovely patch of gay colour, and she stopped. “Pip! Look at those air-balloons! I do love a balloon. Have you got enough money to buy me one?”

“Don’t be a baby,” said Pip. “Fancy wanting a balloon like any three-year-old kid!”

“Well, I do,” said Bets obstinately. They all went over to where the old woman sat, holding her bunch of gay balloons. She was a shapeless old dame, with a red shawl over her shoulders and head, though the day was hot. Untidy hair hung in wisps over her brown, wrinkled face, but she had surprisingly bright eyes.

“Balloon, young sir?” said she to Pip, in a cracked old voice.

“No thanks,” said Pip. But Bets pulled his arm.

“Oh, do buy me one, Pip. Oh, I wish Fatty was here. He’d buy me one. They’re so pretty!”

“Well, but they’re sixpence each!” said Pip, looking at the price label hanging from the string of balloons. “Sixpence! It’s robbery. No, I can’t lend you sixpence for that. Mother would think I was mad.”

“She can have one for half-price,” croaked the old woman kindly. Bets looked at Pip.

“Oh, all right,” he said, and pulled out three pennies. “But mind you give me the money back when you get home, Bets.”

“Oh thank you, Pip,” said Bets, and took the money. She looked at all the gay balloons, swaying gently in the breeze, and couldn’t make up her mind which one to buy. The reds were so nice and bright, the greens were so pretty, the blues were like the sky, the yellows were like sunshine—oh, which should she have?

“Well, come on after us when you’ve made up your mind,” said Pip impatiently. “We’re not going to stand here all evening waiting for you, Bets.”

The others went off to the river-bank. Bets stared at the lovely balloons.

“Pretty, aren’t they, young miss?” said the old woman. “You take your time in choosing. I don’t mind!”

Bets thought what a kind old woman she was. “It was so nice of you to let me have one at half-price,” she said. “Really it was. Do you make a lot of money, selling balloons?”

“Not much,” said the old dame. “But enough for an old lady like me.”

Bets chose a blue balloon and the old woman held out her hand for the money. It was a very dirty hand, and it closed over the money quickly. Bets wondered why all the Fair people had such dirty hands and faces.

Then she noticed something that made her stare. The old woman’s hand was certainly extremely dirty—but the nails on it were remarkably clean! Much cleaner than Bets’ own nails!

“How queer!” thought Bets, still staring at the clean, well-kept nails. “Why should this old woman keep her nails so clean, and her hands so dirty?”

Bets then looked hard at the old woman’s dirty brown face, all wrinkled up. She looked into the surprisingly bright, twinkling eyes—and she saw that they were Fatty’s eyes! Yes, there wasn’t an atom of doubt about it—they were Fatty’s own bright, intelligent eyes!

“Oh, Fatty!” whispered Bets. “Oh, it really is you, isn’t it? Oh, do say it is?”

“Oh, Fatty!” whispered Bets. “Oh, it really is you, isn’t it? Oh, do say it is?”

The old woman looked round quickly to make sure no one was listening.

“Yes. It’s me all right,” said Fatty, unwrinkling his face as if by magic, and straightening his bent back. “Jolly good disguise, isn’t it? But HOW did you know it was me, Bets? You’re too cute for anything!”

“Sh! There’s somebody coming,” whispered Bets. “I’ll go. Where will you meet us?”

“Go home at six and I’ll meet you somewhere,” said Fatty hurriedly, and screwed his face up into all kinds of wrinkles again. Bets saw that he had cleverly painted the places where the wrinkles came, so that no one could possibly see that they were not always there. Fatty was simply marvellous!

“Don’t tell the others!” said Fatty. “Keep it dark for a bit.” Then he raised his voice and, in a feeble croak, called “Balloons! Sixpence each! Fine strong balloons!”

Bets went off, her eyes shining. She had found Fatty—and oh, wasn’t he clever! He really, really was.