Читать книгу The Mystery of Holly Lane - Enid blyton - Страница 3

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“Bets—don’t gobble your porridge like that!” said Mrs. Hilton. “There’s no hurry, surely!”

“Well, there is, Mother,” said Bets. “I’ve got to go and meet Fatty’s train this morning. Have you forgotten that he’s coming home today?”

“But he’s not arriving till the middle of the morning, is he?” said her mother. “There’s plenty of time. Please don’t gobble like that.”

“I expect Bets wants to go and lay a red carpet down for Fatty, and get a band to play to welcome him,” said her brother Pip, with a grin. “That’s what you’re in a hurry about, aren’t you, Bets? Got to go and round up the band and see that all their instruments are polished!”

“Don’t be so silly,” said Bets, crossly, and tried to kick him under the table. He dodged his legs out of the way and she kicked her father’s ankle instead. He put down his paper and glared.

“Oh, Dad—I’m sorry!” said Bets. “Please I’m very sorry. I meant to kick Pip. You see ...”

“Any more of this kind of behaviour at breakfast-time and you can both go out of the room,” said Mr. Hilton, and raised his paper again, leaning it against the big milk-jug. There was a dead silence for a minute or two except for the sound of spoons in the porridge bowls.

“Are you both going to meet Fatty?” asked Mrs. Hilton at last.

“Yes,” said Bets, glad to have the silence broken. “But I want to go round and collect Buster first. Fatty asked me to. That’s why I’m in a hurry.”

“I suppose you’re going to give old Buster a bath, and then dry him, and then brush him, and then tie a red ribbon round his neck,” said Pip. “Well, well—that will take half the morning, certainly. Are you going to wear your best dress to meet Fatty, Bets?”

“I think you’re horrid this morning,” said Bets, almost in tears. “I should have thought you’d be pleased to meet Fatty, too. It’s maddening that his school should have broken up after Easter, instead of before, like ours did. It means we’ll go back before he does.”

Pip stopped teasing Bets. “Yes, it’s a silly idea, some schools breaking up before Easter and some after. I’m coming to meet Fatty too, of course, and I’ll go and collect Buster with you. I’ll even help you to bath him.”

“I wasn’t going to bath him,” said Bets. “You know I wasn’t. Pip—do you suppose Fatty will be in disguise—just to have a joke with us?”

“I hope to goodness you are not going to get mixed up in any nonsense again these holidays,” said her father, entering suddenly into the conversation again. “I’m getting tired of having that fat policeman, Mr. Goon, round here complaining of this and that. As soon as that boy Frederick appears on the scene something always seems to happen.”

“Well, Fatty can’t help it,” said Bets loyally. “I mean—mysteries keep on happening, Dad, you can’t stop them. The papers are full of them.”

“There’s absolutely no need for you to be mixed up in so many,” said her father. “That boy Frederick—or Fatty as you so rightly call him—ought not to poke his nose into them. Leave them to the police!”

“Oh, but Fatty’s much cleverer than our policeman, Mr. Goon,” said Bets. “Anyway, I don’t expect there will be time for anything exciting these hols.”

Pip changed the subject quickly. He didn’t want his father suddenly to forbid him and Bets to have anything to do with any possible new mystery, as he had done once before. He had a kind of feeling that that was what would happen if he didn’t hurriedly change the subject!

“Dad—the gardener is still away,” he said. “Is there anything you want me to do in the garden, just to help out?”

Mr. Hilton looked pleased. “Ah—I wondered if you were going to suggest giving a bit of help,” he said. “Now, you come into my study before I go and I’ll give you a list of jobs I’d like done. They’ll keep you out of mischief anyway!”

Pip heaved a sigh of relief. He didn’t particularly want to do any gardening, but at least he had headed his father off the subject of Mysteries. It would have been dreadful if he had been forbidden to take part in any during the three weeks that were left of the holidays. He gave Bets a frown to make her understand she was not to mention Fatty again.

After breakfast Pip disappeared into the study with his father. He came up to Bets later, as she was making her bed. He looked rather rueful.

“Look at this list! Whew! Dad must think I’m a super-gardener! I’ll never do all this.”

Bets looked at the list. “Please go and do some now,” she said. “You don’t want to spend all the afternoon doing it—Fatty might want us to go to tea, or something. I wish I could help you. I’ll make your bed and tidy your room, anyway. Will you be ready to start at twenty to eleven, Pip? Fatty’s train gets in just before eleven, and I must collect Buster.”

Pip heaved a mournful sigh as he looked at his list of jobs once more. “All right. I’ll go and start now. Thanks for saying you’ll do my bed and tidy up. See you later!”

At twenty to eleven Bets went out into the garden to find Pip. He was just putting a rake away, and looked extremely hot. “Is it time?” he called. “Gosh, I’ve been working like ten gardeners rolled into one.”

“You look as if you’re going to burst into flame at any minute,” said Bets, with a giggle. “You’d better wash your hands, they’re filthy. I’ll go on ahead and collect Buster. Don’t be long!”

She ran down the drive happily. She was tremendously glad that Fatty was coming back at last. Bets was very fond of him. She thought he must be the cleverest, most ingenious and certainly the kindest boy in the world. The things he could do!

“Those disguises of his! And the way he thinks out things—and the daring things he does!” she thought, as she turned out of the front gate and up the lane. “Oh, I’m glad Fatty’s coming back. Things are always dull without him. It’s quite true what Dad said—things do begin to happen when Fatty is around!”

Somebody whistled loudly when she got into the main road and she turned quickly. It was Larry, with Daisy, his sister. They waved madly and began to run.

“Are you going to meet Fatty? So are we! Where is Pip? Isn’t he coming?”

Bets explained. “I’m on my way to collect Buster,” she said. “Pip’s just coming. Won’t old Buster be pleased to see Fatty? I bet he knows it’s the day he’s arriving.”

“I bet he does,” agreed Larry. “He’ll be waiting for us, his tongue out, panting to go!”

But oddly enough, Buster was not waiting. Mrs. Trotteville, Fatty’s mother, was picking daffodils in the garden when the three children came up. She smiled at them.

“Going to meet Fatty? It will be nice to have him back, won’t it?”

“Yes, very,” said Larry. “Where’s Buster, Mrs. Trotteville? We thought we’d take him along.”

“In the kitchen, I think,” said Mrs. Trotteville. “I haven’t seen him for a little while. He would keep treading all over the daffodils, so I sent him in.”

Larry, Daisy and Bets went to the kitchen door and called loudly. “Buster! Hey, BUSTER! Come along, we’re going to meet Fatty!”

But no Buster appeared. There was no scamper of short, eager legs, no welcoming volley of barks. The cook came to the door.

“He’s not here,” she said. “He did come in a minute or two ago, but off he went again. He’s probably gone off with the baker’s boy. He likes him, goodness knows why. He’s a cheeky little monkey, that boy.”

“Well—we’ll have to go without Buster,” said Larry, disappointed. “How maddening of him to go off just at this time. Fatty will be disappointed.”

They set off to the station, joined by a breathless Pip. “Where’s Buster? Don’t say he’s gone off just when we want him! Not at all like Buster!”

They hurried on. “Do you suppose Fatty will play a joke on us and turn up in disguise?” said Bets. “I do hope he doesn’t. I just want to see him nice and fat and grinning all over his face.”

“We shall be jolly late if we don’t hurry,” said Larry, looking at his watch. “Look—isn’t that the train coming in now—and we’re not nearly there. Buck up!”

They bucked up, and arrived at the station just as the train began to pull out again. The passengers had got out and were now walking down the platform. Two or three were waiting with their luggage for a porter.

“Look—there’s old Buster!” said Pip, suddenly. “Would you believe it! Sitting under that seat—look—all by himself, watching.”

Sure enough, there was the little Scottie, patiently waiting there. “How did he know that Fatty’s train was due now?” said Bets, in wonder. “However DID he know! So that’s where he ran off to—the station! He was on time too, and we weren’t. Clever old Buster!”

“Where’s Fatty?” said Daisy, as the crowd of passengers came up to the door where the ticket-collector stood. “I can’t see him yet.”

“He may be in disguise—just to test us and see how bright we are,” said Pip. “Look at every one very carefully—especially people with glasses.”

They stood silently behind the collector as every one surged past, giving up tickets. A big, bustling woman—a pair of schoolgirls—a man with a bag—two young soldiers in khaki, each with enormous kit-bags on their shoulders—two men bundled up in thick overcoats, both wearing glasses. Was one Fatty? They were both about his build. One said something in a foreign language as he passed by.

The four children stared after him doubtfully. He could be Fatty. They turned to watch the rest of the passengers, but there was no one who could possibly be Fatty.

At the end came Buster, all alone. Bets patted him, thinking that he looked sad. “So you missed him too, did you?” she said. “Buster, was he one of those bundled-up men?”

There was now no one left on the platform except a porter. “Come on,” said Larry, making up his mind. “Fatty must have been one of those men. We’ll follow them. We can’t have old Fatty tricking us as easily as this!”