Mystery of Holly Lane (9 page)

Fatty climbed over the fence, torch in hand. He hunted all about the garden there. It was very much tidier than the garden of Hollies. He began to get into a panic. Where was this tiresome leather? Surely Goon hadn’t found it?

He heard a noise and switched off his torch. It was the sound of a car-engine coming up the road. Fatty thought he would wait for the car to pass, and then have one more look.

But the car didn’t pass. It seemed to stop quite nearby. Fatty frowned. Why didn’t the car go through some gateway, and on into its own garage, so late at night?

Then he remembered that there was a doctor’s house opposite. Possibly the doctor had come home for something, and gone into his house for it. He would come back in a few minutes and drive off again to a patient.

So Fatty crouched under a bush and waited, with Buster by his side. The car’s engine had been turned off. Fatty could hear no footsteps at all. But he suddenly thought he could hear a bump or two — and surely that was somebody panting?

He was puzzled. It all sounded rather nearer than the doctor’s house. Surely the car wasn’t outside Hollies? If so — what was going on?

Fatty crept back to the fence that separated the two gardens. He climbed over it cautiously, lifting Buster up too, and putting him down in the bungalow garden.

“Ssh, Buster!” he whispered. “Quiet now!”

Buster froze still. He gave a tiny growl as if to say “Funny goings-on somewhere!” then was quite quiet. Fatty crept between the bushes, and stopped suddenly.

He could see a torch bobbing along about two feet above the front path. Somebody was there, carrying it — somebody who was panting hard. Somebody who wore rubber-soled shoes, too, for not a footstep could be heard!

Fatty suddenly heard a whisper. So there were two people then? Who were they? And what in the world were they doing? Surely they weren’t kidnapping the old man?

Fatty frowned. He had better find out about that poor fellow. He slept in the back room of the bungalow. That was where Larry had seen his bed.

“If I slip round to the back, and shine my torch in at the window, I could perhaps see if the old man is there or not,” he thought. So he crept round the bushes once more and came to the back of the little bungalow.

The window was open. Fatty was just about to shine his torch through the opening when he heard a noise.

Someone was snoring! Snoring very loudly indeed! The old man was safe then. Fatty stood and listened for a while, and then made his way back into the bushes. He really must see what was up!

He heard the sound of the front door closing very quietly. He heard a tiny little cough, but he caught no sound of footsteps going down to the gate. He stood and listened, his ears straining for the slightest noise.

He heard another door being shut — the door of the car, perhaps. Yes, that was it. Then the car-engine started up suddenly, and began to throb. Almost at once the car moved off down the road. Fatty leapt to the front fence and shone his torch on it. He saw only a dark shadow as the car drove away. His torch could not even pick out the number.

“What a peculiar business,” thought Fatty. “What did those fellows come to fetch — or perhaps they brought something? I’ll go and peep in at the front windows.”

But thick curtains of some green material stretched across the front windows, with not a crack between them to shine his light through. Fatty went to the front door and tried it.

No, that was now locked. It was all most mysterious. What were the midnight visitors doing in the bungalow?

Fatty went to the back and took another look through the window. This time he shone his torch on the old man. Yes, there he was on his bed, fast asleep, his night-cap all crooked. Beside him was a plain chair, and a small table. There didn’t seem to be anything else in the room at all.

Fatty switched off his torch, and went round to the front. He was puzzled to know what to do for the best. He didn’t like to wake the old man; he would be sure to be in a terrible fright if Fatty awoke him suddenly — and how was Fatty to explain to him about the midnight visitors? The old man would be so terrified that he wouldn’t go to sleep again!

“It will have to wait till morning,” said Fatty to himself. “I’m not going to ring up Goon. For one thing he wouldn’t believe me — for another thing there may be a simple explanation — and for a third thing I can’t see that it will matter waiting till morning.”

So he went off with Buster at his heels, puzzled, and half-doubtful about leaving the old man all by himself, with midnight visitors coming and going!

He let himself in at the garden-door, and he and Buster went upstairs very quietly. They disturbed nobody. Buster curled up at once in his basket and went to sleep.

Fatty lay awake thinking over everything for a few minutes, and then fell off to sleep as suddenly as Buster. He didn’t wake till full daylight. The breakfast gong was sounding through the house. Fatty leapt out of bed in a hurry!

“Gosh, I must have been sleepy!” he said. He stirred Buster with a bare foot. “Wake up, sleepy head! You’re as bad as I am!”

He didn’t remember about his midnight adventure for a minute or two, he was so much engrossed in dressing as quickly as he could. Then he suddenly remembered and stopped tying his tie. “Whew! Was it a dream, or real? Buster, do you remember our midnight walk, too? If you do, it was real.”

Buster did remember. He gave a small wuff, and leapt on Fatty’s warm bed.

“Get down,” said Fatty. “Well, I’m glad you remember our walk last night, too. Funny business, wasn’t it. Buster? Shall we pop round to that bungalow immediately after breakfast, just to see what’s happened — if anything?”

So, after breakfast, Fatty got his bicycle and set off slowly with Buster running beside him, panting. “This will do you good, Tubby-One,” said Fatty, severely. “Why is it that you always get so fat when I’m away at school? Can’t you possibly go for walks by yourself?”

Buster was too much out of breath even to bark. Fatty turned into Holly Lane, and rode up to the bungalow. The door was shut, but the green curtains were now pulled back from the windows. Fatty peeped in to see if things were all right.

He got a terrible shock! Mr. Goon was there — a most important Mr. Goon — and with him was Mr. Henri from next door! The old man was nowhere to be seen.

But what startled Fatty most was that there was not a stick of furniture in the front room! It was completely empty — not even a carpet on the floor!

He stood gaping in at the window. Mr. Goon swung round and saw him. He stepped to the window and flung it open, scowling.

“You here again! What have you come for? Nobody knows about this yet!”

“What’s happened?” said Fatty.

Mr. Henri began to explain. “About seven o’clock zis morning,” he said, but Mr. Goon interrupted him. He didn’t want Fatty to know more than could be helped. Interfering Toad!

Fatty wasn’t going to be put off, however. He had to know about this. He spoke rapidly to Mr. Henri in French, asking him to reply in French and tell him everything.

So, to the accompaniment of Mr. Goon’s scowls and snorts, Mr. Henri explained everything in French. He had awakened at seven o’clock that morning and had heard somebody yelling. His bedroom faced towards the bungalow. At first he hadn’t taken much notice and fell asleep again.

“Then,” he said, in his rapid French, “then I awoke later and the noise was still there — shouting, shouting, always. So I dressed and came to the bungalow to see what was the matter.”

“Go on,” said Fatty.

“It was the old man shouting,” said Mr. Henri, still in French. “The door was locked so I got him to unlock it — and when I came inside, I saw that this room was quite empty — except for the curtains, which had been drawn across the windows so that nobody might see into the empty room. The old man had awakened this morning, and staggered out to this room — and when he found everything gone, he yelled the place down!”

“It’s a mystery!” said Fatty, amazed, and Goon swung round sharply. “Mr. Goon — we’re in the middle of a mystery again! Got any clues?”

Suspects — and Clues!

Mr. Goon didn’t feel that he could possibly stand any cheek from Fatty at that moment. He was completely mystified, he had no clues at all, and he simply couldn’t imagine when, how or why all the front-room furniture had been removed.

“You clear orf,” he said to Fatty. “This has got nothing to do with you. It’s a job for the police.”

“I must just go and see how the poor old man is,” said Fatty, and brushed past Goon to go to the back bedroom. Goon scowled. He looked round the room helplessly. Except for the stove, which kept alight all night, the fender one lamp, and the green curtains, there was nothing left in the room. What was the point of taking all the furniture away? It wasn’t worth much anyway!

Fatty was talking to the old man, who was almost weeping with shock. “My money first — then my furniture!” he moaned. “All my money — then my furniture! What’s to become of me?”

“Didn’t you hear anybody?” asked Fatty.

“No, no! Not a thing did I hear,” he said. Fatty stopped questioning him. It was plain that he was too upset to say anything sensible.

Mr. Goon made a few notes in his black book. “I must know the granddaughter’s address,” he said. “She’ll have to come along here and take this old fellow to her home. He can’t stay here alone, with no furniture. Hey, Dad! What’s your granddaughter’s address?”

“It be 5, Marlins Grove, Marlow,” said the old man. “But you won’t get me there, that you won’t. It’s full of pesky old women, always grumbling and nagging. I’m not going there.”

“But you can’t stay here all alone with no furniture!” shouted Mr. Goon, half because the old man was deaf, and half because he was angry.

“Don’t yell at him like that,” said Fatty, seeing the poor old fellow cower back. Mr. Henri touched Goon on the shoulder.

“My sistair, she is vairy kind,” he said in his broken English. “She has a small bedroom. Zis old man can stay there till his granddaughter arrives.”

“Well, that would help a bit,” said Goon, putting his notebook away. “Will you lock up after you? I must go back to my house and telephone all this to my chief. It’s a funny business — can’t make it out — first the money, then the furniture!”

He turned to Fatty. “And you’d better go home,” he said. “There’s no call for you to meddle in this. Always snooping round. What made you come up here this morning I just can’t think. Wherever I find trouble I find you!”

It took quite a time to explain to the trembling old man that the people next door would help him. But when he understood he seemed to think he would like to go there. Mr. Henri went to tell his “sistair” everything, and sent a gardener to help Fatty to take the old fellow to his house. Between them they carried him there, and kind Mrs. Harris soon got him into a warm bed.

“I’ll just keep him warm here, till his people come,” she said. “I don’t mind driving him over to Marlow if it will help. What an extraordinary thing to happen — taking away his furniture in the middle of the night. I never heard even the smallest noise!”

Fatty went back to the bungalow. He had a good look round. He was just as puzzled as Mr. Goon. There was no doubt that the old man had hidden his money somewhere in his furniture — perhaps in several places — but the money had gone.

“So WHY take the furniture!” wondered Fatty. “We’ll have to get busy on this — there should be at least a few clues — and everyone who visited the old man yesterday morning up to the time he discovered that his money was gone is on the list of suspects.”

Fatty examined the bedroom. The bed was a plain iron one with an ordinary wire spring. Nobody could ever hide money in that. The mattress was thin and poor. Money might have been hidden in that — but no, it would have to be sewn up again each time the old man took it out. He was too blind to do that. Anyway it was clear that nobody had unsewn and then re-sewn the mattress. All the threads were dirty, and had obviously been untouched for years.

The pillow was thin and hard. Fatty took it off the slip and looked at it. No — nobody had ripped the pillow and re-sewn it.

He looked at the floorboard. There were no marks anywhere to show that any had been taken up. All were nailed down fast. The chimney-place was no good for hiding anything either. The stove fitted too closely.

“Well, it beats me. WHY did somebody take the risk of coming at midnight and carrying out all the furniture, when the money had obviously been stolen?” said Fatty. “Unless — unless — they were sure it was still there, somewhere in the furniture! They didn’t like to risk coming and making a really good search, so they took all the furniture, meaning to search it at leisure.”

He thought about that. “No, that seems silly. But then everything seems a bit silly. Buster, don’t you think this is rather a silly mystery?”

“Wuff, wuff,” said Buster, quite agreeing. He wasn’t very interested in this little house. Not even the smell of a mouse! He pawed at Fatty’s leg.

“All right. I’m coming,” said Fatty. “I’ll just lock the door. I’d better leave the key with Mr. Henri.”

He locked the door, and then went to have one more look for Larry’s leather in the daylight. No, it was gone. He hoped that Larry wouldn’t get into trouble over it.

Fatty made his way to the house next door, after fixing a bit of paper to the front door of Hollies. On it he had written “KEY NEXT DOOR” just in case the granddaughter should come back.

Mrs. Harris answered the door and told him to come in. “We are having a cup of coffee,” she said. “You must join us. My brother would like a word with you too,”

Fatty also wanted a word with Mr. Henri. He thought it would be distinctly useful to have a list of all the people that Mr. Henri had seen going to the Hollies the morning before. One of those people must have been the thief who took the money.

Mr. Henri was ready to tell all he knew. He was just as much interested in the matter as Fatty was. He had already made a neat list, and he showed it to Fatty.

Fatty ran his eyes down it. There were six people on the list.