Читать книгу The Mystery of the Burnt Cottage - Enid blyton - Страница 4

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The next day Larry and Daisy went to see if Pip and Bets were anywhere about. They could hear them playing in the garden and they shouted to them.

“Pip! Bets! We’re here!”

Pip appeared, followed by the much smaller Bets, panting behind him.

“Seen the burnt-up cottage this morning?” asked Larry.

“Yes. And I say, what do you think—they say somebody burnt it down on purpose—that it wasn’t an accident after all!” said Pip, excited.

“On purpose!” said Larry and Daisy. “But whoever would do a thing like that!”

“Don’t know,” said Pip, “I overheard somebody talking about it. They said that the insurance people had been down already, and some fire expert they brought with them said that petrol had been used to start up the fire. They’ve got some way of finding out these things, you know.”

“Golly!” said Larry. “But who would do it? Somebody that didn’t like Mr. Hick, I suppose?”

“Yes,” said Pip. “I bet old Clear-Orf is excited to have a real crime to find out about. But he’s so stupid he’ll never find out a thing!”

“Look—there’s that dog again,” said Bets, pointing to the little black Scottie appearing in the garden. He stood sturdily on his squat legs, his ears cocked, looking up at them as if to say “Mind me being here?”

“Hallo, Buster!” said Larry, bending down and patting his knee to make the dog come to him. “You’re a nice dog, you are. I wish you were mine. Daisy and I have never had a dog.”

“Nor have I,” said Pip. “Here, Buster! Bone, Buster? Biscuit, Buster?”

“Woof,” said Buster, in a surprisingly deep voice for such a small dog.

“You must get him a bone and a biscuit,” said Bets. “He’s trusting you and believing you, Pip. Go and get them for him.”

Pip went off, with the squat little Scottie trotting beside him trustingly.

Soon they were back, Buster carrying a bone and a big biscuit in his mouth. He set them down on the ground and looked inquiringly at Pip.

“Yes they’re for you, old chap,” said Pip. “He’s not a bit of a greedy dog, is he? He waits to be told before he begins!”

Buster crunched up the bone and then swallowed the biscuit. They seemed to fill him with joy and he began to caper round and about the children, inviting them to chase him. They all thought him a wonderful little dog.

“It’s a pity he has such a silly fat sausage for a master,” said Larry. Every one giggled. The dog’s young master did look rather sausagey and fat. Just as they were chuckling, they heard the sound of footsteps and saw Buster’s master coming to join them.

“Hallo,” he said. “I thought I heard you playing with Buster. Buster, what do you mean by running off like that! Come here, sir!”

Buster bounced over to him in delight. It was quite plain that he adored the plump boy who owned him.

“Heard the news?” asked the boy, patting Buster. “About some one having fired that workroom on purpose?”

“Yes,” said Larry. “Pip told us. Do you believe it?”

“Rather!” said the boy. “As a matter of fact, I suspected it before any one else did.”

“Fibber!” said Larry at once, knowing by the conceited tone of the boy’s voice that he hadn’t suspected anything of the sort.

“Well, look here,” said the boy. “I’ve been staying in the hotel opposite Mr. Hick’s garden—and last evening I saw a tramp wandering about there! I bet he did it!”

The others stared at him. “Why should he do it?” asked Pip at last. “Tramps don’t go in and pour petrol over things and set them on fire just for fun.”

“Well,” said the boy, thinking hard, “this tramp may have had a spite against Mr. Hick. You can’t tell. Mr. Hick hasn’t got a very good name about here for being good-tempered. He may have kicked the old tramp out of the place, or something, that very morning!”

The others thought about this. “Let’s go into the summer-house and talk,” said Pip, feeling excited. “This is a sort of mystery, and it would be fun if we could help to solve it.”

The boy with Buster walked into the summer-house too, without being asked. Buster scrambled on to Larry’s knee. Larry looked pleased.

“What time did you see the tramp?” asked Pip.

“About six o’clock,” said the boy. “A dirty old fellow he was too, in a torn mackintosh, and a frightful old hat. He was skulking along the hedge. Buster saw him and tore out, barking.”

“Did you notice if he had a tin of petrol in his hand?” asked Larry.

“No, he hadn’t,” said the boy. “He’d got a stick of some sort. That’s all.”

“I say,” said Daisy suddenly. “I say! I’ve got an idea!”

They all looked at her. Daisy was a great one for ideas, and usually she had good ones.

“What’s the idea this time?” asked Larry.

“We’ll be detectives!” said Daisy. “We’ll set ourselves to find out ‘who burnt the cottage.’ ”

“What’s a detective?” asked eight-year-old Bets.

“It’s somebody who solves a mystery,” said Larry. “Somebody who finds out who does a crime.”

“Oh, a find-outer,” said Bets. “I’d love to be that. I’m sure I would make a very good find-outer.”

“No, you’re too little,” said Pip. Bets looked ready to cry.

“We three older ones will be proper detectives,” said Larry, his eyes shining. “Pip, Daisy and me—the Three Great Detectives!”

“Can’t I belong?” said the fat boy at once. “I’ve got plenty of brains.”

The others looked at him doubtfully. His brains didn’t show in his face, anyway.

“Well, we don’t know you,” said Larry.

“My name is Frederick Algernon Trotteville,” said the boy. “What are your names?”

“Mine is Laurence Daykin,” said Larry, “and I’m thirteen.”

“Mine’s Margaret Daykin, and I’m twelve,” said Daisy.

“I’m Philip Hilton, aged twelve, and this is Elizabeth, my baby-sister,” said Pip.

The boy stared at them. “You’re none of you called by your names, are you?” he said. “Larry for Laurence, Pip for Philip, Daisy for Margaret and Bets for Elizabeth. I’m always called Frederick.”

For some reason this seemed funny to the others. The boy spoke in a drawling, affected kind of voice, and somehow the name of Frederick Algernon Trotteville just seemed to suit him.

“F for Frederick, A for Algernon, T for Trotteville,” said Pip suddenly, with a grin. “F-A-T; it describes you rather well!”

Frederick Algernon Trotteville looked rather cross at first, then he gave a grin. “I am rather fat, aren’t I?” he said. “I’ve an awful appetite, and I expect I eat too much.”

“Your parents ought to have known better than to give you three names whose initials spelt fat,” said Daisy. “Poor old Fatty!”

Frederick Algernon sighed. He knew quite well that from now on he would be Fatty. He had already been Tubby and Sausage at school—now he would be Fatty in the holidays. He gazed at the little company of four friends.

“Can I belong to the detective-club?” he asked. “After all, I did tell you about the tramp.”

“It isn’t a club,” said Larry. “It’s just us three older ones banding together to solve a mystery.”

“And me too!” cried Bets. “Oh, do say I can too! You’re not to leave me out!”

“Don’t leave her out,” said Fatty unexpectedly. “She’s only little, but she might be some use. And I think Buster ought to belong too. He might be awfully good at smelling out hidden things.”

“What hidden things?” said Larry.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Fatty vaguely. “You simply never know what you are going to find when you begin to solve a mystery.”

“Oh, let’s all belong, Fatty and Buster too. Please!” cried Bets. Buster felt the excitement and began to whine a little, pawing at Larry with a small black foot.

The three bigger ones felt much more inclined to let Fatty join them once they realized that Buster could come too. For Buster’s sake they were willing to have Fatty, plump, conceited and stupid. Buster could be a sort of bloodhound. They felt certain that real detectives, who solved all sorts of mysteries, would have a bloodhound.

“Well,” said Larry. “We’ll all belong and try to solve the Mystery of the Burnt Cottage.”

“We’re the Five Find-Outers and Dog,” said Bets. Every one laughed. “What a silly name!” said Larry. But all the same, it stuck, and for the rest of those holidays, and for a very long time after, the Five Find-Outers and Dog used that name continually for themselves.

“I know all about police and detectives,” said Fatty. “I’d better be the head of us.”

“No you won’t,” said Larry. “I bet you don’t know any more than the rest of us. And don’t think that we’re so stupid as not to see what a very good opinion you’ve got of yourself! You might as well make up your mind straightaway that we shan’t believe half the tall stories you tell us! As for being head—I shall be. I always am.”

“That’s right,” said Pip. “Larry’s clever. He shall be the head of the bold Find-Outers.”

“All right,” said Fatty ungraciously. “I suppose it’s four against one. Blow—is that half-past twelve,—yes, it is. I must go.”

“Meet here this afternoon sharp at two,” said Larry. “We will discuss the finding of clues then.”

“Glues?” said Bets, not hearing the word properly. “Oh, that sounds exciting. Are glues sticky?”

“Idiot,” said Pip. “What use you are going to be in the Find-Outers, I simply can’t imagine!”