Читать книгу The Mystery of Holly Lane - Enid blyton - Страница 5

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The Frenchman stared after the policeman in surprise. In France policemen did not behave like that. They were interested and excited when a complaint was made to them, they listened, they took notes—but this policeman had said “Gah” and gone cycling away. Extraordinary!

He began to cough. Fatty felt sorry for him, and began to talk to him in perfect French. Trust old Fatty to know the right thing to do! The others stood round, listening in admiration. Really, Fatty might be French!

“How does he learn French like that?” wondered Daisy. “Nobody at our school could even begin to talk like that. Really, Fatty is a most surprising person.”

The man began to calm down. He took a little notebook out of his pocket and opened it. “I will show you the name,” he said. “Grintriss. Why should nobody know this Grintriss house?”

He showed Fatty something written down on a page of a notebook. The others peeped over his arm to look.

“Oh! GREEN-TREES!” said Daisy. “Why ever didn’t you say so? You kept saying Grintriss.”

“Yes. Grintriss,” repeated the man, puzzled. “All the time I say ‘Grintriss, pliss, where is zis house?’ ”

“It’s Green-Trees,” said Daisy, pronouncing it slowly and carefully.

“Grintriss,” said the man, again. “And now—where is zis house? I ask of you for the last time.”

He looked as if he were going to burst into tears. Fatty took his arm. “Come on. I’ll show you. No tricks this time, we’ll take you there.”

And off they all went together, Fatty suddenly jabbering in French again. Down the road, round the corner, up the hill and into a quiet little lane. In the middle of it was a small and pretty house, smoke curling from its chimneys.

“Green-Trees,” said Fatty, pointing to the name on the white gate.

“Ah—Grintriss,” said the man, in delight and raised his hat to the two girls. “Mesdemoiselles, adieu! I go to find my sistair!”

He disappeared up the little front path. Bets gave a sigh and slipped her arm through Fatty’s. “What a shame to welcome you home with a silly muddle like this, Fatty. We meant to be on the platform ready to give you a wonderful welcome—and only Buster was there—and we’d gone off after somebody who wasn’t in the least like you.”

“Yes—but that’s the worst of Fatty when he puts on a disguise,” grumbled Pip. “He never does look in the least like himself. Come on, Fatty—let’s take you back home now. Your mother will be wondering what’s become of you.”

Mrs. Trotteville was quite relieved to see Fatty and the others trooping into the hall. She came out to greet them.

“Frederick! Did you miss your train? How late you are! Welcome home again.”

“Hallo, Mother! What a nice smell from the kitchen! Smells like steak and onions. Buster, what do you think?”

“Wuff!” said Buster, ready to agree with every word that Fatty said. He dashed round Fatty’s legs, galloped behind the couch, appeared again, and then threaded his way at top speed between all the chairs.

“Jet-propelled obstacle race,” said Fatty. “Hey, Buster, look where you’re going, you’ll knock me over.”

“He always behaves like that when you first come home,” said Mrs. Trotteville. “I only hope he gets over the excitement soon. I simply daren’t walk a step when he goes mad like this.”

“He’s a darling,” said Bets. “I know how he feels when Fatty comes home. I feel rather the same myself.”

Fatty gave her a sudden hug. “Well, don’t you start racing round the furniture on all-fours,” he said. “Tell me—any mysterious mysteries or insoluble problems cropped up this last week? What a shame you all got home before I did!”

“Nothing’s turned up yet,” said Pip. “But I bet something will now you’re here. Adventures go to the adventurous, you know.”

“I do hope nothing does turn up,” said Mrs. Trotteville. “Or I shall have that silly Mr. Goon round here again. Now, the one I like is your friend, Superintendent Jenks!”

They all stared at her. “Superintendent! You don’t mean that Chief-Inspector Jenks is a superintendent now!” said Larry. “My word—he’s going up and up, isn’t he?”

“We knew him first when he was an Inspector,” said Bets, remembering. “And then he became a Chief-Inspector. Now he’s a Superintendent. I’m glad. He’s getting very very high-up, isn’t he? I hope he’ll still like to know us.”

“I expect he will,” said Mrs. Trotteville smiling. “Oh, dear—I do wish Cook would keep the kitchen door shut when she is doing onions—what a smell came in here then.”

“Keep the door shut when it’s steak and onions?” said Fatty, in horror. “Shut, did you say? Shut out a heavenly smell like that? Mother, don’t you realise that I have, as usual, been half-starved all the term?”

“Well, it’s a pity you weren’t,” said his mother, looking at his tight overcoat. “Those buttons look as if they are just about to burst off. Your trunk has come, Frederick. Do you want to unpack it, and get ready for lunch straight away? We’re having it early as I thought you would be hungry.”

“Mother, I do love you when you think things like that,” said Fatty, in a sudden burst of affection. “I’m starving!”

“Cupboard love!” said his mother, amused at Fatty’s sudden hug.

“Can all the others stay to lunch as well?” asked Fatty, hopefully.

“Yes, if you’d like to share your bit of steak and onions round,” said his mother. But not even Fatty could rise to that, and so he said good-bye to the other four very reluctantly.

“They can all come to tea this afternoon, if you like,” said Mrs. Trotteville. “I’ll get in plenty of cakes. Frederick, do control Buster. He’s gone mad again. It really makes me giddy to watch him.”

“Buster! Behave yourself!” said Fatty, and the mad little Scottie turned himself miraculously into a quiet and peaceful little lamb, lying down on Fatty’s feet and licking his shoes.

“Come back at three,” said Fatty, and took the others to the front gate. “We’ll have a good old talk and you can tell me all the news. So-long!” He went back to the house, sniffing for steak and onions again.

“I suppose, Frederick, you don’t know anything about a bulky-looking foreigner who came to the front door this morning, and told Jane that this house was Grintriss, and wanted to force his way in and see some sister of his—do you?” said Mrs. Trotteville, when Fatty came back. “He kept talking about some ‘wicket children’ when Jane told him this wasn’t the house. You hadn’t anything to do with him, I suppose? You haven’t been up to your tricks again already, I hope.’

“Of course not,” said Fatty, looking quite hurt. “Poor fellow—I found him at the front gate, and we all took him to the place he wanted to go to. Green-Trees, down Holly Lane. Oh, Mother, there’s that heavenly smell again. Do you mind if I go and smell it even nearer? I haven’t seen Cook or Jane yet.”

“Very well. But DON’T try lifting fried onions out of the pan,” said Mrs. Trotteville. “Oh, Frederick—it’s very nice to have you back—but I do wish I always knew what you were up to! Please don’t get mixed up in anything alarming these holidays. Pip’s mother was saying to me only yesterday that everything has been so peaceful this last week.”

There was no answer. Fatty was already in the kitchen sampling half-fried strips of onion, while Cook and Jane giggled at him, and promised to provide him with new gingerbread, hot scones and home-made raspberry jam when the others came to tea that afternoon. They loved Fatty.

“A caution, that’s what he is,” Cook told her friends. “Honestly, you just never know what’s going to happen when Master Frederick is about.”

Fatty enjoyed his lunch thoroughly, and told his mother all about his last term. He appeared, as always, to have done extremely well.

“Though there may be something on my report about the—er—the advisability of sticking to my own voice,” he said, making his mother look up in surprise. “It’s all right, Mother. It just means that my ventriloquism has been rather successful this term.”

One of Fatty’s talents was the ability to throw his voice, and he was now a very fine ventriloquist indeed—but unfortunately the masters at school did not approve of this as much as the boys did. Fatty’s class had spent one whole morning searching for an apparently injured man somewhere up in the school attic. The groans had been tremendous and had caused a great sensation.

When it had been discovered that it was merely a ventriloquial stunt of Fatty’s there had been another sensation—but not a very happy one for Fatty. In fact, he hadn’t felt it wise to do any more ventriloquism that term, which was, he thought, a great pity. He would get out of practice!

At three o’clock exactly there was the tramp of feet going down the garden to Fatty’s shed. Fatty saw Larry, Daisy, Pip and Bets passing by under his window and hurriedly stopped his unpacking.

He shot downstairs with Buster, and went to join the others in his big shed at the bottom of the garden.

This was playroom, store-room, changing-room—anything that Fatty wanted. He had a key for it, and kept it well and truly locked. There were too many disguises and odd clothes that he didn’t want grown-ups to see. His mother would certainly have been astonished to see some of the old things he had picked up at jumble sales—dreadful old hats, ragged shawls, voluminous skirts, corduroy trousers, down-at-heel boots!

“Hallo!” said Fatty, appearing just as the others were looking in at the shed window to see if he was there. “I’ll unlock the door. I slipped down just after dinner to light the oil-stove. It should be nice and warm now.”

They all went in. It certainly was nice and warm. The sun slid in at one window and lighted up the inside of the shed. It looked dusty and untidy.

“I’ll clean it up for you,” promised Daisy, looking round. “I say—it’s nice to meet like this again, isn’t it—all the Five Find-Outers together!”

“With nothing to find out!” said Pip. “I like it best when we’ve got something exciting on hand. And remember, Fatty, we go back to school a whole week before you do, so there isn’t a great deal of time to get going on something.”

“We can always practise a bit,” suggested Larry. “You know—go out in disguise—or do a spot of shadowing—or watching.”

“Yes. We could do that,” said Fatty. “I want to practise my ventriloquism too—I’ve got out of practice this last term.”

“Oh, yes, do practise that!” begged Bets. “Let’s make some plans.”

“Right,” said Fatty, obligingly. “We will!”