Mystery #04 — The Mystery of the Spiteful Letters - - (бесплатная библиотека электронных книг .TXT) 📗

‘Well, I’ll go and tell Larry and Daisy to get out their bikes and bring food along,’ said Pip. ‘I’d better hurry in case old Clear-Orf goes this morning. Bets, you’d better come back home with me too, and get your bike, because we’ll both need them. Then we’ll go to Larry’s and then we’ll buy some little things for Gladys.’

‘I’ll go and keep a watch on Goon’s house in case he starts off before you’re back,’ said Fatty. ‘I’ll just get some sandwiches first. See you round the corner from Goon’s!’

In about half an hour’s time Larry, Daisy, Bets, and Pip were all with Fatty, round the corner near Clear-Orf’s house, complete with sandwiches and little presents for Gladys. There had been no sign of Goon.

But in about ten minutes’ time, Larry, who was on guard, gave a whistle. That was the signal to say that Goon was departing somewhere. He was on his bicycle, a portly, clumsy figure with short legs ending in enormous boots that rested on pedals looking absurdly small.

He set off down the road that led to the river.

‘May be going across in the ferry!’ panted Fatty, pedalling furiously. ‘Come on! Don’t all tear round the corners together in case he spots us. I’ll always go first.’

But unfortunately all that Mr. Goon had gone to do down the river-lane was to leave a message with the farmer there. He saw the farmer in the field and called out the message to him, then quickly turned his bicycle round and cycled back up the lane again. He came round the corner very quickly and found himself wobbling in the middle of the Five Find-Outers!

He came off with a crash. The children jumped off and Fatty tried to help him up, whilst Buster, jumping delightedly out of Fatty’s basket, yelped in delight.

‘Hurt yourself, Mr. Goon?’ asked Fatty politely. ‘Here, let me give you a heave up.’

‘You let me alone! ’ said Mr. Goon angrily. ‘Riding five abreast like that in a narrow lane! What do you mean by it!’

‘So sorry, Mr. Goon,’ said Fatty. Pip gave a giggle. Old Clear-Orf looked so funny, trying to disentangle himself from his bicycle.

‘Yes, you laugh at me, you cheeky little toad!’ roared Mr. Goon. ‘I’ll tell of you, you see if I don’t. I’ll be seeing your Ma this morning and I’ll put in a complaint. I’m going right along there now.’

Fatty brushed Mr. Goon down so smartly that the policeman jumped aside. ‘You’re all dusty, Mr. Goon,’ said Fatty anxiously. ‘You can’t go to Mrs. Hilton’s in this state. Just a few more whacks and you’ll be all right!’

‘Wait till you get the whacks you want!’ said Mr. Goon, putting his helmet on firmly. ‘Never knew such children in me life! Nothing but trouble round every corner where you are! Gah!’

He rode off, leaving the children standing in the lane with their bicycles. ‘Well, that was a bit of a nuisance bumping into him like that,’ said Fatty.

‘I didn’t particularly want him to see any of us today. I don’t want him to suspect we’re on his track. Now let me see - he’s off to collect those things for Gladys from your mother, Pip. There’s no doubt about that. So all we’ve got to do now is to lie in wait for him somewhere and then follow him very carefully.’

‘Let’s go to the church corner,’ said Pip. ‘He’s sure to pass there, wherever he goes. Come on!’

So off they went, and hid behind some trees, waiting for old Clear-Orf to show them the way to where Gladys lived.

A TALK WITH POOR GLADYS

In about half an hour Mr. Goon came cycling along, and went right by the hidden children without seeing them.

‘Now listen!’ said Fatty. ‘It’s no use us all tearing after him in a bunch because we’d be so easy to spot. I’ll go first and keep a long way ahead. You follow, see? If I have to take a turning you may not know I’ll tear a sheet out of my notebook and drop it the way I go.’

‘It’s windy today. Better hop off your bike and chalk one of those arrows on the road that gypsies always seem to make,’ said Pip. ‘Your bit of paper might blow away. Got any chalk, Fatty?’

‘Of course!’ said Fatty and took a piece out of his capacious pockets. ‘Yes, that’s a better idea. Good for you, Pip! Well, I’ll get along in front of you now. Look, there goes old Clear-Orf panting up the hill in the distance. Looks as if he’s going to take the main road.’

Fatty rode off, whistling. The others waited a little while and then rode after him. It was easy to see him in the distance in the open country. But soon they came to where the road forked, and Fatty seemed nowhere in sight.

‘Here you are! Here’s his chalk arrow!’ said Daisy, her sharp eyes spotting it at once, marked on the path at the side of one of the roads. ‘This is the way!’

They rode on again. They rarely saw Fatty now, for he and Mr. Goon had left the main road and were cycling down narrow, winding lanes. But at every doubtful fork or corner they saw his chalk mark.

‘This is fun,’ said Bets, who liked looking for the little arrows. ‘But oh dear - I hope it’s not much farther!’

‘Looks as if Gladys lives at Haycock Heath,’ said Larry. ‘This road leads there. My, here’s a steep hill. Up we go! I bet old Fatty found it heavy going here, with Buster in his basket. Buster seems to weigh an awful lot when he’s in a bicycle basket.’

At the top of the hill, just at a bend, Fatty was waiting for them. He looked excited.

‘He’s gone into the very last cottage of all!’ he said. ‘And isn’t it good luck - it’s got a notice with “Minerals” printed on it, in the window. That means lemonade or ginger-beer is sold there. We’ve got a fine excuse for going in, once Clear-Orf has gone.’

‘Better get back into this other little lane here, hadn’t we?’ said Larry. ‘I mean - if old Clear- Orf suddenly comes out, he’ll find us!’

So they all wheeled their bicycles into a crooked, narrow little lane, whose trees met overhead and made a green tunnel. ‘Must give old Buster a run,’ said Fatty and lifted him out of the basket. But most unfortunately a cat strolled down the lane, appearing suddenly from the hedge, and Buster immediately gave chase, barking joyfully. Cats and rabbits were his great delight.

The cat gave one look at Buster and decided to move quickly. She shot down the lane, and took a flying leap over the little wall surrounding the back-garden of the cottage into which Mr. Goon had disappeared. Buster tried to leap over too, and couldn’t - but, using his brains as a Buster should, he decided that there must be another way in, and went to look for the front gate.

Then there was such a hurricane of barks and yowls, mixed with the terrified clucking of hens, that the children stood petrified. Out came Mr. Goon, with a sharp-nosed woman - and Gladys!

‘You clear-orf!’ yelled Mr. Goon to Buster. ‘Bad dog, you! Clear-orf!’

With a bark of joy Buster flung himself at the policeman’s ankles, and snapped happily at them. Mr. Goon kicked at him and let out a yell.

‘It’s that boy’s dog! Get away, you! Now what’s he doing here? Has that boy Frederick Trotteville been messing about up here, now?’

‘Nobody’s been here this morning but you,’ said Gladys. ‘Oh, Mr. Goon, don’t kick at the dog like that. He wasn’t doing much harm.’

It was quite plain that Buster meant to get a nip if he could. Fatty, feeling most annoyed at having to show himself, was forced to cycle out and yell to Buster.

‘Hey, Buster! Come here, sir!’

Mr. Goon turned and gave Fatty a look that might have cowed a lion if Fatty had been a lion. But, being Fatty, he didn’t turn a hair.

‘Why, Mr. Goon!’ he said, taking off his cap in a most aggravatingly polite manner, ‘fancy seeing you here! Come for a little bike-ride too? Lovely day, isn’t it?’

Mr. Goon almost exploded. ‘Now what are you a-doing of here?’ he demanded. ‘You tell me that, see?’