Читать книгу The Riddle of the Frozen Phantom - Margaret Mahy - Страница 8

CHAPTER 5 The Third Cry of Help

That third cry of. “Help!” had found an ear that let it in, and was winding its way into yet another sleeping head.

“I’m coming!” Bonniface Sapwood called aloud, tossing like a ship in a storybook sea as he spoke. The sound of his own voice woke him up and he lay on his back, gasping and goggling and trying to remember just what had woken him.

“That’s funny!” he mumbled. “I thought I heard someone calling for help.”

But his room was full of peaceful, yellow sunshine, and he could hear the distant voices of his children drifting in from the lawn. As he lay there blinking and mumbling, the telephone beside his bed let out a shrill cry Bonniface jumped as if he had been stabbed, then grabbed the receiver. He usually began the day by yawning and stretching – something he was good at – but this morning, with the ghostly word “Help!” still echoing in his head, he felt too sharp – too adventurous – for even a single yawn.

“Bonniface Sapwood!” he announced down the phone, almost expecting to hear someone shouting for help at the other end. But there was no shouting.

“Is it really you, Bonniface,” said an oily voice. “The great Bonniface? The Antarctic explorer who almost discovered the long lost Riddle some years ago?”

“Who is this?” demanded Bonniface crossly. “I was just working out an important dream and you’ve interrupted me.”

“Never mind who I am,” said the voice. “I am a secret admirer. That should be enough for you.”

It was almost enough. Bonniface relaxed and smiled, pleased to think he had a secret admirer. The voice went on.

“I thought you should know that Corona Wottley (that other famous Antarctic explorer) decided (about twenty minutes ago) to visit the Antarctic once more.”

“She is probably going to do more penguin research,” said Bonniface. “She is very sound on penguins.”

“I was just talking to her on the phone, and she is already packing her thermal underwear. She was boasting a little bit, I’m sorry to say – boasting that she would be the one to discover the lost Riddle!” said the oily voice.

Bonniface jumped as if he had been stung.

“How can she?” he cried. “I’m the one with the map – well, not a map, exactly. But I’m the one with ideas. I’m the one who nearly found it last time. And only five minutes ago I decided to set out and search for it all over again.”

“Five minutes ago?” asked the oily voice. It chuckled. Somehow that chuckle had a very dark sound about it. “Five minutes is already a long time ago when it comes to an Antarctic race.”

“Corona Wottley won’t find The Riddle!” shouted Bonniface. “She’s only a junior explorer. I should know, because I’m the one who gave her her first exploring lessons. Anyhow, as it happens, I’m leaving for the Antarctic myself. I know it’s nearly Christmas, but I’ve been at home for four Christmases now, and besides, my children have Daffodil, our housekeeper, to look after them, so they’ll be OK for a little while. And think how proud of me they’ll be when I come home in triumph. It’ll be a wonderful present for them.”

He slammed the phone down and leaped to his feet, so excited that just for a moment he found himself dancing on the spot.

“Tonight will be too late!” he muttered to himself, looking at his watch. “I must go immediately!” he cried. “Or even sooner! No one must find the lost Riddle but me.”