Mystery of the Hidden House (7 page)

Every one felt certain that Ern was making this up, just as they had made up their flashing lights. Ern went on, trying to impress the others that he really was telling the truth.

“I was standing by the stream, see? And I saw this light. It just shone out once and then faded. Then I heard a purring noise and a car came by somewhere - and it hadn’t any lights on. That was queer, and I thought maybe it was all part of the mystery too.”

The others were listening now. Ern went on, warming up a little: “Well then, after the car had gone I heard footsteps - two pairs - and then I heard one man say to the other ‘Good-night, Holland. See you later’ or something like that. And after that I turned back and went home.”

There was a silence. Every one believed Ern now. If he had been making up his tale he would have pretended that he had seen many lights, heard more than one car and more than two men. Because it was a simple story, it seemed as if it might be true.

“Have you told your uncle this?” asked Fatty at last.

“No,” said Ern. There was a pause. Then Ern remembered something. “I put that notebook back,” he said. “and Uncle found me just shutting the drawer. He said I was snooping round to find out things for you, and he hit me twice. See my ear?”

He showed the children his ear, which was still swollen. Bets felt very sorry for him. Horrible Mr. Goon!

“I’m not telling my uncle a thing now!” said Ern. “Hitting me like that when I was doing something decent.”

“You shouldn’t have taken the notebook in the first place,” said Fatty. “Then you wouldn’t have had to put it back and you wouldn’t have been discovered and got those blows. You deserved what you got, in case you think you didn’t.”

Ern scowled, partly because he knew Fatty was right and partly because he didn’t like having it said to him in such a candid manner. But Fatty always did say what he thought, and nothing would stop him.

“Look here,” said Ern, suddenly, “which mystery is the real one? The one you mean, with flashing lights on Christmas Hill - or mine, down by the stream? Or are they both real?”

Fatty rubbed his nose. He didn’t quite know what to say. His had been made up, but he didn’t want to admit that. Neither did he want Ern to think there might be any mystery in what he had seen and heard the night before, in case there really was. If there was, Fatty didn’t want Ern blundering into it and telling his uncle everything.

“I suppose,” said Ern, answering his own question, “the mystery up on the hill’s the real one - or else uncle wouldn’t have gone up there, would he?”

“He must have thought there was something going on there,” agreed Fatty.

“And there was,” said Pip, with a little giggle.

“Well, Ern, what about you going up on Christmas Hill to see if you can find a few clues in daylight,” said Fatty. “They would be a help.”

“What sort of clues?” asked Ern, looking cheerful again.

“Oh - cigarette ends, buttons, footprints, anything like that,” said Fatty. “You just never know. A real detective can usually find no end of clues.”

“I’ll go up about three,” said Ern. “Uncle will be having his afternoon snooze then. Well - I’d better be going. I’ll bring any clues to you if I find them. So long!”

Lots of Clues for Ern!

The Find-Outers looked at each other when Ern had disappeared. “What do you think, Fatty?” said Larry. “Anything in what he said?”

“I don’t know,” said Fatty, slowly. “It seems a bit queer, doesn’t it - a light in the middle of the night - a car suddenly appearing without lights - and then voices. What did he say the one man said to the other?”

“ ‘Good night, Holland. See you later,’ ” said Larry.

“Yes, that’s it. Wonder how Ern managed to remember the name Holland, and if he heard it right,” said Fatty.

“Any good having a snoop along the stream to see if we can spy anything?” asked Larry.

“Not allowed to,” said Pip at once.

“Well - it’s not a mystery yet, and may never be,” said Larry. “So I don’t see why we shouldn’t at least go for a walk along the stream.”

“With Ern?” asked Bets.

“I don’t know,” said Fatty. “He’ll probably go and tell everything to Goon. Still, Goon has got plenty to think of at the moment. He’s seen masses of lights on Christmas Hill, heard a cow, a hen, a cat and a baby up there, and struggled with an unknown attacker. Quite a nice little mystery for him to be getting on with!”

The others laughed. They had roared at Fatty’s account of what had happened the night before, and his amazement at finding the person by the hedge was Goon, not Ern.

“I think one of the best things we can do is to go up to Christmas Hill before three o’clock, and drop a nice meaty lot of clues,” said Fatty. “Ern will find them and glory in them - probably write some poetry about them. And if he hands them over to Goon so much the better!”

So, in great glee, the Five Find-Outers and Buster set off up Christmas Hill, taking with them what they thought would do for Clues. It was a fine sunny day, but cold, and they got nice and warm going up the hill. Their parents were pleased to see them going out. Nobody liked all the five indoors. Some noisy game always seemed to develop sooner or later.

“Here’s where I fought Goon last night,” said Fatty, showing where he and Goon had rolled in the ditch. “I got an awful shock when I found it was Goon. He’s strong, you know. He almost caught me. What a row I’d have got in if he’d seen it was me!”

“Let’s put a clue here,” said Larry. “A torn-off button with a bit of cloth attached. Very good clue!”

“Where did you get it?” said Daisy. “You’ll get into trouble if you tore it off one of your coats.”

“Idiot! I tore it off the old coat that’s hung in the garage for ages,” said Larry, and threw the brown button down, with its bit of brown cloth attached to it. “Clue number one.”

“Here’s Clue number two,” said Pip, and put down a bit of paper, on which he had scribbled a telephone number. “Peterswood 0160.”

“Whose number’s that?” asked Fatty at once.

“Oh, nobody’s,” said Pip. “I just made it up.”

“Your finger-prints will be on it,” said Fatty, who always thought of things like that.

“No they won’t,” said Pip. “I tore it out of a new notebook, with gloves on my hands, and I’ve carried it in my gloved hand all the way. So there!”

“You’re getting quite clever,” said Fatty, pleased. “Right. That’s Clue number two. Here’s Clue number three.”

He threw down a cigar-stump that he had taken from his father’s ash-tray.

“That’s a good clue,” said Larry. “Robber smokes Corona cigars. Mr. Goon will love that if he gets it from Ern.”

“I’ve got a clue too,” said Bets. “A red shoe-lace, broken in half and dirtied!”

“Yes. Very good, Bets,” said Fatty, approvingly. “I like the way you’ve dirtied it. Ern will be thrilled to pick that up.”

They went on a little way farther, nearer the mill. Daisy still had her clue to dispose of. It was a very old and ragged handkerchief with “K” embroidered in one corner.

“K,” said Fatty. “I can’t think of any one we know beginning with K. Whose was it?”

“Don’t know,” said Daisy with a laugh. “I picked it up by the hedge that runs by Pip’s garden!”

“I hope the wind won’t blow any of our clues away,” said Larry, anxiously.

“I don’t expect so,” said Fatty. “It’s a calm day. Come on, let’s get back before we meet Ern coming up here.”

They ran down the hill. At the bottom they met Mr. Goon labouring along on his bicycle, very angry because his snooze had been interrupted by a call about a stolen dog. When he saw the children at the bottom of Christmas Hill, he stopped in suspicion.

“What you been doing up there?” he asked.

“Having a lovely walk, Mr. Goon,” said Fatty, in the polite voice that always sent Mr. Goon into a frenzy. Buster, who had been left some way behind, with his nose in a rabbit-hole, now came rushing up in delight.

“If you don’t want that dog of yours kicked, you keep him off,” said Mr. Goon in a dangerous voice. Fatty picked Buster up. Buster wriggled frantically.

“If I hear of you getting mixed up in anything again I’ll report you,” said Mr. Goon, fixing them all with a protruding eye. “And if I was you - I’d keep away from Christmas Hill.”

“Oh, Mr. Goon but why?” asked Fatty, in such an innocent voice that Mr. Goon began to go purple. That cheeky toad!

“It’s such a nice hill to run down,” said Pip.

“Now, don’t you start!” said Mr. Goon, slowly swelling up in rage. “And take my advice - don’t you go up Christmas Hill again!”

“Can we come down it?” asked Larry, and the others went off into shouts of laughter to see Mr. Goon trying to work this out.

“Any more sauce from you,” he began, “and…”

At this moment Buster, who had been struggling for all he was worth in Fatty’s arms, leapt right out of them almost on top of Mr. Goon. The policeman hurriedly got on his bicycle. “You clear-orf!” he shouted to Buster and the children too. He kicked out at Buster and nearly fell off his bicycle. He rode up the lane at top speed, trying to shake him off, and almost collided with Ern, who was on his way to search for clues up Christmas Hill.

“Out of my way!” yelled Mr. Goon, nearly running over Ern’s toes. Buster ran between Ern’s legs and he fell over at once. In joy and delight Buster stopped to sniff round this fresh person, and found it was Ern. He leapt on him and began to lick him, whilst Mr. Goon pedalled thankfully up the road, getting redder and redder as he went.

“Your uncle’s in a bit of a rage,” said Fatty. “It’s not good for him to ride a bike at such a speed. You ought to warn him. It must be bad for his heart.”

“It would be, if he had one,” said Ern. “Well, I’m going to do what you said - hunt for clues. You coming too?”

“No, we’ve got to get home,” said Fatty. “I hope you find a few, Ern. Let us know if you do. That’s the sign of a good detective, you know, to be able to spot clues.”

Ern glowed. If there were any clues to be found on the hill, he’d find them! He badly wanted Fatty to admire him. He took out his notebook and opened it.

“I wrote a pome about last night,” he said. “It’s called ‘The Dark Dark Night.’ ”

“Fine!” said Fatty, hastily. “Pity we can’t wait and hear it. Don’t be too long before you go up the hill, Ern, or you’ll find yourself in the dark dark night up there again. Follow the stream and you’ll come to the mill.”

They parted, and Ern put his notebook away. He took out his other notebook, the one Fatty had given him. He opened it at the page marked “CLUES.” How he hoped to be able to make a list there before the afternoon was done.

The others went home. Fatty was rather silent. Bets walked close beside him, not interrupting his thoughts. She knew he was trying to puzzle out something.

“Pip, have you got a good map of the district?” said Fatty, as they came to Pip’s house. “If you have I’ll just come in and have a squint at it. Somebody’s borrowed ours.”

“Yes. Dad keeps one in the map-shelf,” said Pip. “But for goodness sake put it back when you’ve finished with it.”

“’Course I will,” said Fatty, and they went in. Pip found the map and they took it upstairs. Fatty put his finger on Peterswood, their village. He traced the way to the mill, up the stream on Christmas Hill. Then he traced another way, alongside another stream, that at first ran near the first one and then went across the fields.

“I think this must be the stream Ern went by last night,” he said. “Let’s see where it flows past. Nothing much, look! Just fields.”

The others all bent over the map, breathing down Fatty’s neck. They watched his finger go along the stream. It came to where a thick wood was marked. In the middle of the wood some kind of building was shown.

“Now I wonder what building that is,” said Fatty, thoughtfully. “Any one been along that way?”

Nobody had. Nobody even knew the wood very well, though they had sometimes passed it. Not one of them had known there was any building in the wood.

“We’ll ask about it,” said Fatty, getting up. “Golly, I must go. I’m supposed to be going out to tea with mother. Awful thought. You know, I do believe there may be something in Ern’s story. Cars that leave a wood in the middle of the night without lights need a bit of looking into.”

The others looked excited. “Is it a mystery, Fatty?” asked Bets, eagerly. “Do say it is! Wouldn’t it be funny if we did tumble into the middle of a real mystery just because we invented one for Ern.”

“It would,” said Fatty. “Well, we shall see. Won’t Ern be thriled when he finds all those clues? He’ll come rushing along tomorrow!”

“I hope I shan’t giggle,” said Bets.

“You dare!” said Pip. “Good-bye, Fatty. Behave yourself at tea, and be a dear, well-mannered child!”

“Oh, goanborlyered!” said Fatty, rudely, and off he went, with shouts of laughter following him.

Mr. Goon and Ern

Ern had a simply wonderful time up on Christmas Hill, collecting clues. It was a lovely afternoon and he walked slowly up the hill, his eyes on the ground. He felt important. The beginnings of a “pome” swam into his mind, as he looked up and saw the sun sinking redly in the west.

“Pore dying sun that sinks to rest.” thought Ern, and felt excited and pleased. That was a good line, a very good one indeed. Ern never wrote a cheerful “pome.” They were all very very sad, and they made Ern feel deliciously sad too.

He walked on, his eyes on the ground, thinking about the dying sun. He suddenly saw a piece of rag fluttering and picked it up. Nobody could tell what colour it had been. Ern looked at it. Was it a clue? He pondered over it. He wished he was like Fatty, able to tell at a glance what things were clues and what weren’t.

He put it into his overcoat pocket. Fatty would know. He cast his eyes on the ground again. Aha! What was this in the ditch? A button! Yes, with a bit of brown cloth attached to it. Surely that was a clue? Ern looked at the ground in the ditch, and noted the broken twigs and the way the frosty ground was rubbed and scraped. “Been somebody here!” thought Ern in excitement. “And this button’s off his coat. That’s a Far Clue, a really Meaty One.