Mystery of the Hidden House (9 page)

“Spitty?” he said. “What do you mean?”

“You heard me,” said Fatty. “SPITTY!”

Bets went off into giggles. There came another call from downstairs. Fatty hurried to the door.

“He meant ‘It’s a pity,’ ” giggled Bets.

“SwatIsaid,” said Fatty and disappeared with Larry and Daisy.

Ern, still rather bemused over the curious word Fatty had suddenly used, followed the three downstairs. He slipped out of the garden-door unseen. He didn’t want to meet Mrs. Hilton, Pip’s mother. He was scared of her in case she found fault with his manners again. He tore home to his uncle’s house, hoping there was something nice for supper.

A delicious smell of bacon and eggs met him as soon as he got in. Ern stood and sniffed. Lovaduck! Uncle was doing himself proud tonight. Ern wondered if he was going to get any bacon and eggs, or whether he would have to sup on bread and cheese.

“Hurry up, young Ern!” called Mr. Goon, in a jovial sort of voice that Ern had never heard before. “I’ve fried you an egg and a bit of bacon. Hurry up!”

Ern hurried up. There was not only bacon and eggs but a bowl of tinned peaches and creamy custard. Ern took his place hungrily.

“Well? Did you see those kids? Get any news from them?” inquired Mr. Goon, affably, piling egg, bacon and toast on to Ern’s plate.

“No. There wasn’t any news, Uncle,” said Ern.

“But you must have talked about something,” said Mr. Goon. “What did they say to you?”

Ern racked his brains to think of something harmless to tell his uncle. He suddenly remembered something.

“I told them you said we were to work together,” he said.

“You shouldn’t have told them that,” said Mr. Goon, crossly. “Now they won’t tell you a thing!”

“Oh yes they will. They said it was right that an uncle and nephew should work together,” said Ern, shovelling egg and bacon into his mouth. “And what’s more, Fatty said I took after you, Uncle. He said you’d passed your brains on to me.”

Mr. Goon looked most disbelievingly at Ern. He felt certain that Fatty didn’t think much of any brains he possessed, and if he did he certainly wouldn’t say so. He was just pulling Ern’s leg. Mr. Goon wished in exasperation that Ern wasn’t so simple.

“He didn’t mean that, see?” said Mr. Goon. “He can’t think much of your brains, Ern. You know you haven’t got any to speak of. You think of your last school report.”

Ern thought instead of the remarkable set of clues he had found that afternoon. He smiled. “Oh, I’ve got brains all right, Uncle. You wait and see.”

Mr. Goon felt that he was about to lose his temper again. He just simply couldn’t be more than ten minutes with Ern without feeling annoyed and aggravated. His ears turned red, and Ern saw them and felt uncomfortable. He knew that that was a danger sign. What could he have said now to annoy his uncle?

He ate his peaches and custard in silence, and so did Mr. Goon. Then, still in silence, Ern did the washing-up and after that got out his books to do some work. Mr. Goon, trying to look pleasant so as not to make Ern obstinate, sat reading his paper again. He looked up approvingly as Ern sat down to work.

“That’s right, my boy. That’s the way to get brains like mine. A bit of hard study will make a lot of difference to you.”

“Yes, Uncle,” said Ern, resting his head on his hands as if he was learning something. But Ern was going over his clues, one by one. He was thinking of robbers and kidnappers, He was up on Christmas Hill, waiting for desperate men to do desperate deeds. Oh, Ern was far far away from his geography book on the kitchen table!

He went to bed early because he was tired. He fell asleep at once, and did little snores very like Mr. Goon’s big ones. Mr. Goon heard them from downstairs and rose quietly. Now to get Ern’s notebook and see what he had written in it! If Ern wouldn’t tell him everything Mr. Goon meant to find it out. No harassing thoughts of being mean or deceitful entered Mr. Goon’s mind. He thought himself in duty bound to sneak Ern’s notebook from his pocket!

Ern did not stir when Mr. Goon tiptoed in. His uncle slipped his hand into the coat-pocket and found the notebook at once. He felt the trousers and decided to take them dwvnstairs and see what was crowding up the pockets.

He sat down at the table to study Ern’s notebook. It fell open at the page headed “Clues.” Mr. Goon’s eyes grew round as they saw the long, long list.

“Look at that! All them clues and never a word to me about them. The young limb! I’d like to skin him!”

He read down the list. Then an idea occurred to him and he put his hand into Ern’s trousers’ pocket. Out came the ten clues, tumbling on the table. Mr. Goon took a deep breath and stared at them.

A button and a bit of cloth! Now that was a very very important clue. And this cigar-end. Expensive! Mr. Goon sniffed it. He picked up the clues one by one and considered them carefully. Which of them would have any real bearing on the happenings up on Christmas Hill?

Should he tell Ern he had found the clues or not? No, better not. Ern might tell Fatty and the others, and they would have plenty to say about Mr. Goon’s methods of getting hold of things. Mr. Goon took a little snipping of the cloth attached to the button so that he would have a piece to match up with the coat, should he be fortunate enough to meet any one wearing it. He took a note of the Peterswood number. Whose was it?

He rang up the telephone exchange to find out. The number belonged to a Mr. Lazarinsky. Ha - that sounded most suspicious. Mr. Goon made a mental note to keep an eye on Mr. Lazarinsky. So far as he knew, the man was a harmless old fellow who spent most of his time growing roses and chrysanthemums. But you never know. That might be a cover for all kinds of dirty work.

Mr. Goon replaced everything in Ern’s pockets, the notebook as well. Ern didn’t stir when he tiptoed out of the bedroom. Mr. Goon felt that he had done a good evening’s work. He wondered how much Fatty knew about this curious mystery. It was funny that the Inspector hadn’t sent him word of any possible goings-on in Peterswood.

Well, it would be a real pleasure to Mr. Goon to open the inspector’s eyes and show him that dirty work could go on under his very nose, in his own district - without people guessing anything. But he, Mr. Goon knew! He’d soon clear everything up - and perhaps this time he really would get promotion.

But even Mr. Goon couldn’t help feeling that this was rather doubtful!

A Little Investigation

Fatty had been making a few inquiries. What was that building in the middle of the little wood? He asked his mother, who had never even heard of it. He asked the postman, who said it wasn’t on his round, but he thought it was a ramshackle old place that had been used in the last war.

He found a directory of Peterswood, but it did not mention the building - only the wood, which it called Bourne Wood. The little stream that flowed through Peterswood was called the Bourne, so Fatty imagined the wood was named after it.

He didn’t seem to be getting very far. He decided that it would be a very good idea to walk out to the wood and have a look round. So, the next morning, he went round to Larry and Daisy, collected them, and then went to fetch Pip and Bets. Buster came, of course, full of delight to think there was a walk for him.

“I thought we’d follow the stream, just like Ern did,” said Fatty. “Then, when we come to about where he thought he was, we’ll have a look round to see where that light he saw could have come from.”

The others were thrilled. “Now mind!” said Fatty, “you are only going for a walk. Nothing to do with any mystery, so keep your minds easy. I’m the one that is mystery hunting!”

They all laughed. “Right,” said Pip. “But if we do happen to spot anything we’ll tell you, Fatty!”

Ern had not appeared so far, so they all set off without him. Fatty thought it was best, anyhow. They didn’t want to let Ern think there was any real mystery in what he had seen the other night, in case he said anything to Mr. Goon. Let Mr. Goon concentrate on Christmas Hill and the imaginary kidnappers and robbers!

They crossed the little bridge, and went along the bank beside the stream. It was still frosty weather and the grass crunched beneath their feet. The little stream wound in and out, and bare willow and alder trees grew here and there on its banks. The scene was a maze of wintry fields, dreary and desolate.

The stream wound endlessly through the fields. Here and there Fatty pointed to where Ern must have stumbled the other night, for marks were clearly to be seen on the frosty bank.

After some time Bets pointed to the left. “Look! Is that the wood over there?”

“Can’t be,” said Pip. “It’s on our left instead of straight ahead.”

“I expect the stream winds to the left then,” said Fatty. And so it did. It suddenly took a left-hand bend and ran towards the dark wood.

The wood was made up of evergreen trees, and stood dark and still in the wintry air. Because the fir and pine trees still kept their foliage, dark green and thick, the wood somehow looked rather sinister.

“The trees are crouched together as if they are hiding something!” suddenly said Bets. Everyone laughed.

“Silly!” said Pip. But all the same they knew what Bets meant. They stood by the stream and looked at the wood. It did not seem very little now and they were near it. It seemed large and forbidding.

“I don’t like it,” said Daisy. “Let’s go back.”

But she didn’t mean that, of course. Nobody would have gone back just as they had got there. They were all filled with curiosity to know what was so well hidden in those trees!

They followed the stream again until they had almost reached the wood. Not far off was a narrow lane, almost a cart-track, it was so rough.

Fatty stopped. “Now.” he said, “we know that a car went by not far from Ern, when he stood by the stream. It seems to me that the car must have gone down that lane. It must lead to the road that goes to Peterswood. I saw it in the map.”

“Yes,” said Larry. “And this little lane or track must come from the middle of the wood - from whatever building is there. Let’s go to the track and follow it.”

“Good idea,” said Fatty. “Hey, Buster, come along. There can’t be any rabbits down that hole - it’s far too small!”

Buster left the rat-hole he was scraping at and ran to join them. They all jumped across the little stream, Buster too, and went towards the narrow track. They squeezed through the hedge and found themselves in a very small lane indeed, hardly wide enough to take a full-sized car!

“There are car-tracks each side of the lane,” said Fatty, and the others saw tyre marks - many of them, all running almost on top of one another because the lane was so narrow. Two cars could not possibly pass.

“Come on - we’ll go up the lane,” said Fatty. Then he lowered his voice. “Now, not a word about anything except ordinary things. And if we’re stopped, be surprised, scared and innocent. Don’t say anything we don’t want people to hear - we don’t know when we may be overheard.”

A familiar thrill went through the Find-Outers as they heard Fatty’s words. The mystery was beginning. They were perhaps walking into it. They had been forbidden to - but how could they tell, until they had walked into one, that a mystery was really and truly there?

The track wound about almost as much as the stream had done. Buster ran ahead, his tail wagging. He turned a corner ahead and then the children heard him barking.

They ran to see why. All they saw was a big pair of iron gates set into two enormous stone posts. A bell hung at one side. On each side of the posts stretched high walls, set with glass spikes at the top.

“Gracious! Is this the building?” said Bets in a whisper. Larry frowned at her, and she remembered she mustn’t say anything unless it was quite ordinary. So she began to talk loudly about a game she had had for Christmas. The others joined in. They came near to the gates and then saw that a small lodge was on the other side.

They went to the great gates and pressed their faces to the wrought-iron work. Beyond the gates lay a drive, much better kept than the lane outside. Tall, dark trees lined the drive, which swept out of sight round a bend. There was no sign of any building.

Fatty looked and looked. “That building, whatever it is, must jolly well be hidden,” he thought. “I wonder what it was used for in the last war. Some hush-hush stuff, I suppose. Well, it looks as if it’s pretty hush-hush now, tucked away in this wood, guarded by this enormous wall, and these gates. I wonder if they’re locked.”

He pushed against them. They didn’t budge. The others tried too, but nobody could open them. Fatty thought they must be locked on the other side.

He glanced at the bell. Should he ring it? Yes, he would! He could always ask the way back to Peterswood, and make that the excuse for ringing. Somebody at the little lodge nearby would probably answer.

So, to the others’ delight, Fatty pulled at the bell. A jangling noise came from above their heads, and they saw a bell ringing by one of the stone posts. Buster barked. He was startled by the bell.

“I’m going to ask the way,” said Fatty. “We’re lost. See!”

Somebody peered out of one of the little windows of the dark lodge. Then the door opened and a man came out. He was dressed like a gamekeeper, and had on a corduroy coat, trousers tucked into boots and a belt round his waist. He looked surly and bad-tempered.

“What do you want?” he shouted. “You can’t come in here. Go away!”

Fatty promptly rang the bell again. Bets looked scared. The man came striding to the gates, looking black as thunder.

“You stop ringing that bell!” he shouted. “What’s the matter with you? This is private, can’t you see that?”

“Oh!” said Fatty, looking innocently surprised. “Doesn’t my uncle, Colonel Thomas, live here?”

“No, he doesn’t,” said the man. “Go away, the lot of you, and take that dog with you.”

“Are you sure he doesn’t live here?” persisted Fatty, still looking disbelievingly. “Well, who does then?”

“Nobody! The house is empty, as anybody knows. And I’m here to see that kids and tramps don’t get in and spoil the place, see? So get away quickly!”