Читать книгу The Mystery of Holly Lane - Enid blyton - Страница 6

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Many ridiculous plans were discussed that afternoon over a really super-tea. Cook had kept her word, and there were lashings of hot scones and raspberry jam, new and very sticky gingerbread with raisins in, and a big round chocolate cake with a special filling made by Cook.

Buster had dog biscuits spread with potted meat, and approved of this very highly.

“It’s three-treats-in-one for him,” explained Fatty. “First he gets a fine sniff at the biscuits and potted meat. Then he gets a fine lick at them. Then he gets a wonderful crunch at them. Three-meals-in-one, so to speak.”

“Wuff,” said Buster, thumping his tail hard.

“And what is more,” said Fatty, cutting himself a huge slice of the chocolate cake, “what is more, we can have every bit of this cake to ourselves. Potted-meat-biscuits take the whole of Buster’s attention. He hasn’t even seen this cake yet.”

“And when he does, it won’t be there,” said Pip. “Not if I can help it, anyway.”

They got back to their plans again. Fatty was in an uproarious mood, and made them all laugh till they choked.

“What about taking a clothes-horse with us, Larry, and going into the main street and pretending to be workmen chipping up the road?” suggested Fatty. “Just you and I, Larry. Pip’s not big enough yet to pass as a workman. We could put the clothes-horse round us, like workman do, hang a red flag on it, and chip up the road!”

“Don’t be an idiot,” said Larry. “We’d get into an awful row.”

“I bet old Goon would let us sit there all morning chipping up the road,” said Fatty. “He’d never dream of asking us what we were doing.”

“Fatty, I’m going to dare you to do something,” said Daisy, with a sudden giggle. “Look—I’m trying to sell these tickets for our Church Sale. I dare you to try and sell one to old Goon.”

“Easy!” said Fatty. “Very easy! Give me one. I’ll sell it tomorrow. That shall be my little task.”

“What shall I do?” asked Larry.

“Er—let me see—yes, what about you putting on overalls, taking a pail and a leather and going to clean somebody’s windows?” said Fatty.

“Oh, no!” said Larry, in alarm. “Nothing like that!”

“Yes, do, do!” begged Daisy and Bets.

“Only you’ll have to choose a house that is all on one floor—a bungalow, for instance,” said Pip. “You won’t need a ladder then—and there wouldn’t be so many windows to clean! Larry as window-cleaner! That’s good!”

“Do I have to ask if I can clean the windows?” said Larry, looking desperate. “I mean—I can’t just go to a house and start cleaning, can I? They might have their own regular window-cleaner.”

“Yes, that’s true. You must ask first,” said Fatty, solemnly. “And if you get any payment, you can buy one of Daisy’s Sale tickets.”

“Oh, I say!” said Larry. “That’s a bit hard.” It occurred to him that these sudden plans were rather a mistake!

“What shall I do?” said Pip, with a giggle. They all looked at him. “You can shadow Goon sometime tomorrow,” said Fatty firmly. “Shadow him so that he doesn’t know you’re following him—do it really properly.”

“All right,” said Pip. “I can do that, I think. What about the girls?”

“We’ll think of something for them to do when we’ve done our tasks,” said Fatty. “Now, any one want this last bit of gingerbread—or shall I cut it into five?”

It was duly cut into five. “Any one seen Superintendent Jenks these hols?” asked Fatty, handing round the gingerbread. “Jolly good that he’s promoted again, isn’t it?”

“Super!” said Bets.

“Yes—super—intendent,” said Pip, and everyone punched him. “No—none of us has seen him—we’re not likely to see him either, unless we have something in the mystery line to solve.”

“I wish he’d hand us over a few of his cases,” said Fatty, stacking the plates together. “I’m sure we could help. I mean—we’ve had a good bit of experience now, haven’t we?”

“The only thing is, Goon always knows about the cases, too, and he does get in our way when we’re both working on the same mystery,” said Daisy. “I wish we could work on some more clues—and suspects—and all the rest. It is such fun!”

They got out some cards and began to play a game. It was nice to be all together again. Things weren’t the same somehow without Fatty. He said and did such ridiculous things, and nobody ever knew what he would do next.

Pip looked at his watch after a time and sighed. “I must go,” he said. “Come on, Bets. We shall only get into a row if we’re late. Why does time always go so fast when you don’t want it to?”

“Don’t forget, Pip and Larry, you’ve got jobs to do tomorrow,” said Fatty, slipping the cards back into their case. “Report here tomorrow after tea—and I’ll have the money for Goon’s ticket ready for you, Daisy!”

She laughed. “It will be more difficult than you think!” she said. “Come on, Larry.”

As Fatty cleared up the shed when the others had gone, he wondered how he could get Mr. Goon to buy the ticket. He ran his eye over the clothes hanging up at one side of the shed. He must certainly disguise himself, for Goon would never, never buy a ticket from him if he went as himself!

“I’ll go as an old woman, and pretend to read his hand!” thought Fatty. “He believes in that sort of nonsense. It should be fun!”

Pip was also planning his own task. When should he shadow Mr. Goon? Of course, it would be easiest to do it in the dark; but he didn’t know what time Goon went out at night, and he couldn’t very well hang about outside his house for hours. No, it would have to be in the morning, when Goon went out on his bicycle. Pip would take his and follow him. He would pretend that Goon was a suspect—a burglar or a thief—and track him wherever he went!

So, next morning, Pip got his bicycle and set out to the street where the policeman lived. There was his house, with POLICE above it in big letters. Pip got off his bicycle, propped it against a big tree, and then quietly let all the air out of one tyre.

Now he could mess about with the wheel, pretending to pump up his tyre, and nobody would bother about why he was there, even if he had to wait for half an hour or more.

He did have to wait a good time, and got rather tired of pumping up his tyre and letting the air out again. But at last Mr. Goon appeared, wheeling his bicycle out, his trousers neatly clipped in at the ankles.

Pip was surprised to see a skinny little boy of about eleven following Goon to the door. Goon shouted a few words to him, mounted his bicycle ponderously and rode off up the street. Pip slid on to his saddle and rode off too.

Goon didn’t seem to have the slightest idea that he was being followed. He sailed along, waving to this person and that in a very condescending manner. He got off at the front gate of a house, propped his bicycle up against the fence and went to the front door. Pip waited beside a hedge.

Out came Goon again, and rode down the road and into the main street. He got off at the post-office and went inside. Pip got tired of waiting for him and thought longingly of ice-creams. He was just near a shop that sold them. He suddenly decided to nip in and get one.

But, while he nipped in and got one, Mr. Goon came out and sailed away again on his bicycle. Pip only just managed to spot him, crammed his ice-cream down his throat so that he almost froze himself, and raced after Goon.

On the way he passed Mrs. Trotteville, Fatty’s mother. She had Buster with her, and as soon as he saw Pip, and heard his voice calling out “good morning”, he left Mrs. Trotteville and raced after Pip.

“No, Buster. Not this morning. Go back, there’s a good dog!” shouted Pip. But Buster laboured after him, panting. Fatty had gone out without him—so he would go with Pip. But Buster couldn’t keep up with Pip on his bicycle and was soon left behind. He followed at a distance, still panting.

Mr. Goon had gone down a lane that led nowhere except to a farm. Pip just managed to see him disappearing round the corner. He guessed what he had gone to the farm for. The farmer had been complaining bitterly that his sheep had been worried by dogs. Goon must have gone to get details of the dogs. Oh, well—Pip could sit under a hedge and wait for Goon to come out again. It was a bit dull shadowing him, really. He wondered how Larry was getting on with his window-cleaning.

Pip got off his bicycle, hid it in a ditch and then crept through a gap into the field. Sheep were there, with some fat woolly lambs about three months old. They were skipping about in a ridiculous fashion.

Pip sat with his back against a hawthorn tree and watched them. Suddenly he heard the scampering of feet and loud panting breath—and in another second Buster had flung himself on him through the gap in the hedge! He licked Pip’s face and yelped for joy. “Found you!” he seemed to say. “Found you!”

“Oh, Buster!” said Pip. “Stop licking me!” He pushed Buster away, and the dog ran out into the field in a wide circle, barking. Some near-by lambs started away in alarm and ran to their mother-sheep.

And then a loud familiar voice came through the hedge. “Ho! So it’s that fat boy’s dog that chases Farmer Meadows’ sheep, is it? I might have guessed it. I’ll catch that dog and have him shot. I’ve just this minute been to the farm to get particulars of sheep-chasing dogs—and here I’ve got one caught in the act!”

Mr. Goon came crashing through the hedge, and Pip at once sprang to his feet. “Buster wasn’t chasing the sheep!” he cried, indignantly. “He came to find me. He’s only arrived this very minute.”

“I’ll catch that dog and take him off with me,” said Mr. Goon, simply delighted to think that he could find such a good reason for catching Buster.

But it wasn’t so easy to catch the Scottie. In fact, it was far easier for Buster to catch Mr. Goon, as the policeman soon realised when Buster kept running at him and then backing away. In the end he had to shout to Pip to call him off. Pip called him—and Goon just had time to mount his bicycle and pedal away at top speed!

“I wonder where Fatty is,” groaned Pip. “I must find him and tell him about this. Blow you, Buster!—what did you want to follow me for? NOW you’re in for trouble!”