Mystery of the Strange Bundle (8 page)

“Oh yes - I’ll leave Daisy chatting brightly to Aunt Pamela,” said Larry. “She’s good at that sort of thing. Well, come on, Daisy. We must go. I’ll ring you later on this evening, Fatty.”

They all went down to the kitchen and gave three cheers for their good tea. The two maids were tickled and pleased. “Go on with you,” said the cook. “You’re only doing this to get as good a tea next time you come. Oh, there’s Buster. Did they give you any tea, Buster?”

Buster drooped his tail as if to say no. “Oh, you fibber!” said Pip. “Who stole a biscuit off the plate? You thought I wasn’t looking, but I was. Good thing I was your host or I’d have had something to say to you!”

Larry, Daisy, and Fatty went to say goodbye and thank you to Mrs. Hilton, who was always very strict about good manners. Then they went off together down the drive to the front gate. Fatty wheeled his bicycle.

“I hope I don’t meet Goon,” he said. “I’ve got no lamp at the front. Well, so long, Larry and Daisy. Here’s to the new Mystery, even if it’s just a tiddler - and don’t forget to phone me, Larry.”

“Right,” said Larry. “And good luck with your Uncle Horatious and your Uncle Tobias and the night-watchmen, Fatty. You’d better keep a sharp eye on those two uncles of yours in future!”

Larry does a Little Work - and so does Fatty

Larry and Daisy arrived home just at a quarter-past six. Their aunt was already there. Larry chatted politely for ten minutes and then escaped, leaving Daisy to carry on the good work. He slipped up to his room and found his new book on garden birds. Erb would love to borrow that!

He went into the gate of the next-door house and made his way to the back door. He rapped four times. That was the signal to Erb that he had come to see him about something.

Erb opened the door. “Hallo!” he said. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” said Larry. “I just wondered if you’d like to borrow my new book. It’s got every single garden bird in it - all the ones we get here, of course!”

“Come in,” said Erb, eagerly. “Mum’s out. Let’s have a look at the book. Coo, it’s a beauty! Will you really lend it to me.”

Erb sat down at the table and opened the book. He would have been pleased if Larry had gone back home straight away and left him to it. Herbert was certainly mad on birds, Larry reflected.

He wondered how to begin his questions about the night before - when suddenly Erb gave him just the opening he needed.

“Oooh - here’s a fine chapter on owls,” he said. “And what smashing pictures. I love owls. I’m always listening out for them. There - listen - one’s hooting now. Can you hear it?”

A long and beautiful quavering hoot came to Larry’s ears. He sat up at once.

“Erb - did you hear any owls last night?”

Erb looked across at Larry and nodded. “Yes, I did. They like moonlight nights, you know. One owl came so near my window that I thought he must be calling for me to come and catch mice with him. I even saw him fly past the window, though I couldn’t catch the sound of his quiet wings.”

“What time did you hear him?” asked Larry. “Did you notice?”

“Why, did you hear him too?” said Erb, surprised. “Let’s see now - I heard owls before I went to sleep - about ten that was. Then they woke me again about half-past twelve - that was the time one came to my window. I got out of bed and watched for a while then.”

“Where does your bedroom face - towards our house?” asked Larry.

“No - it faces on to the next-door house,” said Erb. “The one that was burgled last night. When I looked out about half-past twelve there was still a light on downstairs in the sitting-room. Mr. Fellows must have been sitting working there like he often does. Sometimes he doesn’t draw his curtains, and I see him sitting at a table. But last night the curtains were drawn. He’d got his wireless on, I think. I’m sure I heard sounds coming from it.”

“I suppose you didn’t hear any owls after that, did you?” asked Larry hopefully. “There must have been a lot about, enjoying looking for mice in the moonlight.”

“Oh, there were,” said Erb. “Something woke me later on, but I don’t think it was owls. I don’t really know what it was. I switched on my light and saw it was a quarter-past three. I went to the window and listened for owls again, and I could hear some brown owls somewhere, and some little owls too, twitting like anything.”

“Had the light gone out in the sitting-room next door?” asked Larry.

“Oh yes,” said Erb. “But the funny thing was that I thought I saw some kind of a light down in the kitchen - the room that faces our kitchen. Not the usual electric light - a torch perhaps, or a candle.”

This was all very interesting. Larry wondered if the light in the kitchen had been the torch of the man who had got in through the broken casement.

“Can’t you really remember what the sound was, that woke you?” he asked. “Would it be breaking glass, for instance?”

“Well, it might have been,” said Erb, wrinkling his forehead. “Are you thinking about the burglary next door? Well, I dare say that might have been glass breaking I heard, and it might have been the light of a torch I saw in the kitchen, I couldn’t swear to it - I didn’t take that much notice.”

He bent his head down to the book again and became completely absorbed in it. Larry got up. He didn’t think he could get anything more out of Erb. Erb obviously took much more interest in birds than he did in burglaries. He didn’t seem at all interested in the happenings next door!

“Goodbye, Erb,” said Larry, and went back home. Erb and his owls! Larry hoped he would enjoy the bird-book - he deserved the loan of it in return for all the information Larry had got out of him!

He telephoned Fatty and told him the whole conversation clearly and concisely. Fatty approved.

“You are all getting jolly good at reporting things,” he said. “Thanks for such interesting details. I think there’s no doubt but that the burglar fellow broke the window at about a quarter-past three - and very soon after that Mr. Fellows rushed out of the house probably with the precious goods, whatever they were, that the other chap had come for.”

“Well, I suppose you’ll now decide that your respected Uncle Horatious wandered abroad sleep-walking at round about a quarter-past three,” said Larry, “and half the night-watchmen in Peterswood will hear all about him - bedroom slippers and all!”

“Quite right,” said Fatty. “How bright you are, Larry! Anyway, thanks for all you’ve done. Good work. See you tomorrow and tell you anything that happens tonight!”

That night Fatty apparently went up to bed at eight o’clock, immediately after the evening meal. His mother approved. “You’ve had a long day and I’m glad you are sensible enough to go up early,” she said. “Your father and I are going out to play bridge. Don’t read too late in bed, Frederick.”

Fatty duly promised, congratulating himself on his luck. He had been afraid that he would have to undress completely and get into bed, in case his mother came up to say good night. Now he needn’t do that.

He heard his father get out the car. He heard it go purring down the drive and into the road. Good. Now he could act.

He debated on a disguise. Should he put on one, or shouldn’t he? It wasn’t really necessary. On the other hand, it would be fun, and he was rather out of practice disguising himself these hols. Fatty decided he would do a spot of disguising. He took a torch and he and Buster disappeared cautiously down the garden to the lock-up shed where he kept his dressing-up things.

He thought he wouldn’t put on anything too noticeable. He didn’t want to scare the night-watchmen, dreaming over their fires! He decided on a small toothbrush moustache, his false, prominent teeth, and no wig - just his own hair. A cap of some sort? Yes, that check one would do well. He’d wear it back to front - it would look very fetching that way.

He chose a tweed overcoat, rather too big for him, and a blue-spotted scarf. He looked at himself in the glass. Did he look like a young man asking for information about a sleep-walking uncle? He thought he did.

He set off. He guessed he must go in the direction of the river, because Mr. Fellows had gone out of the back gate, which meant he was presumably going in that direction and not up the road towards the hills. Now, where was the road being mended on the way to the river?

Fatty decided regretfully to leave Buster behind. Too many people knew Buster. If they met him in company with a strange young man at night, they might think somebody was stealing him. So Buster was left behind, curled up on the rug in the shed.

Fatty went to Mr. Fellows’ house, and looked at it. It was in complete darkness. He stood at the back gate and looked along the road. Yes - he would go down there - and when he came to the bottom he would see if there was any sign of a night-watchman’s brazier of glowing coals.

He walked down smartly. At the end he looked this way and that. No sign of any watchman or of the road being up. He turned to the right and made his way to the next cross-road. There he had some luck.

Red lamps burned in a row, and in the midst of them was the dark shadowy shape of a watchman’s hut, with the brazier of burning coals in front of it. Fatty walked along.

The watchman heard his steps and peered out. “Good evening,” said Fatty cheerily. “Nice fire you’ve got there! Do you charge anything if I warm my hands, mate?”

“Warm ’em and welcome,” said the old fellow, sucking at a pipe. “Everybody who comes by likes a warm at my fire, so he do.”

“Do you get many people late at night?” asked Fatty, spreading his fingers over the warm glow. “I mean, after midnight?”

“I get the policeman, Mr. Goon,” said the watchman. “Chatty fellow he is. Handles a lot of important cases, so he tells me. And I gets a fisherman or two, that likes a bit of midnight fishing. Nobody about then to disturb the fish you know.”

“I wonder if you’ve ever seen my Uncle Horatious,” began Fatty. “He’s a funny old fellow - walks in his sleep.”

“Do he now?” said the watchman, with interest.

“Yes, he do - er, does,” said Fatty. “I suppose you didn’t see him last night, did you, wandering about in a dressing-gown - or perhaps a coat over his pyjamas - with bedroom slippers on his feet?”

The watchman went off into a cackle of laughter just like a goose. Fatty listened to it intently - he could copy that at some time - wonderful! Cackle, cackle, cackle.

“Naw, I didn’t see him,” said the old man. “Good thing too, or mebbe I’d have thought I were asleep, and dreaming - and that’s not a good thing for a night-watchman to do. But old Willie, him that’s watching farther along, nearer the river, he did say something about a chap in pyjamas last night. Mebbe that was your Uncle Horatious. You should ought to lock him up, Mister - he’ll get himself drownded one night, sleep-walking near the river!”

“Yes. I think I will lock him up in the future,” said Fatty, delighted at this unexpected bit of news. “I’ll go and have a word with Willie. Hallo - who’s this?”

There was a ringing of a bicycle bell, and a familiar figure loomed up in the light of the nearest lamp-post. Goon! Blow! What was he doing here?

A Little Night-Prowling

Fatty moved off hastily, glad that he hadn’t brought Buster with him. What a welcome Buster would have given the astonished Goon!

The burly policeman got off his bicycle and went over to the night-watchman. Fatty escaped into the shadows and hurried off to find Willie.

A row of red lamps again guided him. He went down a long road towards them, seeing the flash of the river at the end. The watchman’s little hut was set close beside the bright brazier of burning coals.

Fatty introduced himself as before, and brought his Uncle Horatious into the conversation as soon as he could. He was afraid that Goon might turn up again! Why must he ride round the streets just when Fatty wanted them to himself!

Willie the watchman proved rather a surly fellow. He answered very shortly indeed.

“You sometimes have people asking you if they can warm themselves by your fine fire, I’m sure,” said Fatty, persevering in spite of the watchman’s surliness. “I bet my Uncle Horatious always comes to warm himself when he goes sleep-walking at nights.”

The watchman grunted. He took no interest in Fatty’s uncle or in sleep-walking either.

“You might have seen the old chap last night,” went on Fatty. “Came out in his pyjamas and bedroom slippers. Ha, ha, ha!”

The watchman looked at Fatty. “I seed him,” he remarked, suddenly developing quite a chatty manner. “Leastways, I seed some one running by - pyjama legs and bedroom slippers ’e wore. Scatty fellow, I thought to myself. But he weren’t old, the way he run along.”

Fatty was delighted. Ah - so Mr. Fellows had run down this road. That was something! It only led to the river. Why had he gone down to the river?

“Was he carrying anything?” asked Fatty.

“Yes, he were. Something in his arms, like, but I dunno what it was,” said the watchman. “So he were your uncle, were he? Do he often sleep-walk?”

“On moonlight nights mostly,” said Fatty, ready to invent anything, now that he had got a little information. “You didn’t see him come back, did you?”

“Naw,” said Willie, and relapsed into surliness again. Fatty was about to say good night when he heard the ringing of a bicycle bell again. Surely, surely that couldn’t be Goon once more?

But it was! Fatty escaped from the light of the burning brazier just in time. Goon sailed up to the light of the red lamps and hailed Willie.

“Are you there, my man? I want to ask you a few questions!”

Fatty hid behind a convenient bush, a really worrying suspicion forming in his mind. Was Goon cross-examining the night-watchman too - and for the same reason as Fatty was? Had he worked out the problem in the same way as the Find-Outers had? If so, Goon was growing a few brains!

“Well, Willie,” said Goon, warming himself at the brazier, first his vast front, then his rather vaster back. “You seen any one suspicious last night? I’m on a case again, and I’m looking out for someone.”

“You wouldn’t be wanting an old Uncle what sleep-walks and wears pyjamas and red slippers, would you?” said Willie.