Mystery of the Vanished Prince (7 page)

“Not so much,” said Ern, regretfully. “It don’t seem to come, like. I keep on starting pomes, but that’s as far as I get. You know - just the first line or two, that’s all. But I’ve got one here that’s three lines almost.”

“Oh, Ern - read it!” said Daisy, delighted. Ern’s poems were always so very dismal and gloomy, and he was so very serious over them.

Ern fumbled in his pocket and brought out a dirty little notebook with a pencil hanging to it by a string. He licked his thumb and began to turn the pages.

“Here we are,” he said, and cleared his throat solemnly. He struck an attitude, and began to recite his “pome” haltingly.

“A pore old gardener said, ‘Ah me!

My days is almost done,

I’ve got rheumatics…’ ”

Ern stopped and looked at the others in despair. “I got stuck there,” he said. “That’s what always happens to me. I just get stuck - in the very middle of a good pome too. Took me two hours and twenty-one minutes to get that far. I timed meself. And now I can’t finish it.”

“Yes - I can tell it would be a good pome,” said Fatty, solemnly. “It goes like this, Ern.”

And Fatty also struck an attitude, legs apart, hands behind his back, face turned upwards - and recited glibly, without stopping.

“A pore old gardener said, ‘Ah me!

My days is almost done,

I’ve got rheumatics in my knee,

And now it’s hard to run.

I’ve got a measle in my foot,

And chilblains on my nose,

And bless me if I haven’t got

Pneumonia in my toes.

All my hair has fallen out,

My teeth have fallen in,

I’m really getting rather stout,

Although I’m much too thin.

My nose is deaf, my ears are dumb,

My tongue is tied in knots,

And now my barrow and my spade

Have all come out in spots.

My watering-can is…’ ”

Larry shouted with laughter and Pip thumped Fatty on the back, yelling. Bets collapsed with Daisy on the rug. “Don’t,” said Bets. “Stop, Fatty! How do you do it! ”

Fatty stopped, out of breath. “Had enough?” he said. “I was just coming to where the watering-can was feeling washed out, and the spade was feeling on edge, and…”

“Don’t, Fatty!” begged Bets again, giggling helplessly. “Oh dear - How do you do it?”

Only Ern was silent, without a smile or a laugh. He sat on the edge of a chair, struck with absolute wonder. He gazed at Fatty, and swallowed hard. He couldn’t make it out. How could Fatty stand there and recite all that without thinking about it?

“Struck dumb, all of a sudden?” asked Fatty, amused.

“How do you like the way your ‘pome’ goes on, Ern? It’s a pity you didn’t finish it, you know. You could have read it out to us then, instead of my saying it to you.”

Ern was even more bewildered. He blinked at Fatty. “Do you mean to say - if I had finished that pome that’s what it would have been like?” he asked, in an awed voice.

“Well - it’s your pome, isn’t it?” said Fatty cheerfully. “I mean - I only just went on with it. I think you work too hard at your pomes, Ern. You just want to throw them off, so to speak. Like this -

“The little Princess Bongawee

Was very small and sweet,

A princess from her pretty head

Down to her tiny feet.

She had a servant, Ern by name,

A very stout young fella,

Who simply loved to shield her with

A dazzling…”

STATE UMBRELLA!” yelled everyone, except Ern. There were more yells and laughs. Ern didn’t join in. He simply couldn’t understand how Fatty could be so clever. Fatty gave him a thump.

“Ern! Wake up! You look daft, sitting there without a smile on your face. What’s up?”

“You’re a genius, Fatty, that’s what’s up,” said Ern. “The others don’t know it, because they don’t know how difficult it is to write portry. But I do. And you stand there and - and…”

“Spout it out,” said Fatty. “It’s easy, that kind of stuff. I’m not a genius, Ern. Anyone can do that kind of thing, if they think about it.”

“But that’s just it,” said Era. “You don’t even think about it. It’s like turning on a tap. Out it comes. Coo, lovaduck! If I could do portry like that I’d think meself cleverer than the King of England.”

“Then you’d be wrong,” said Fatty. “Cheer up, Ern. One of these days your portry will come gushing out and then you’ll be miserable because you won’t be able to write it down fast enough.”

“I’d get a shock if it did,” said Ern, putting away his dirty little notebook with a sigh. “I’m proud to know you, Fatty. If the others don’t know a genius when they see one, I do. I’m not a very clever fellow, but I know good brains when I come across them. I tell you, you’re a genius.”

This was a very remarkable speech indeed from Ern. The others looked at him in surprise. Was there more in Ern than they suspected? Bets slipped her hand through Fatty’s arm.

“You’re right, Ern,” she said. “I think Fatty’s a genius too. But not only in poetry. In everything!”

Fatty looked pleased but extremely embarrassed. He squeezed Bets’ hand. He coughed modestly, and then coughed again, trying to think of something to say. But Larry spoke first, amused at Fatty’s modest coughs.

“It was a coff,

That carried him off,

It was a coffin

They carried him offin,”

he said in a solemn and lugubrious voice. Whereupon the meeting dissolved in squeals of laughter and yells and thumps. Ern was delighted. What a set of WONDERFUL friends he had!

Up at the Camp

That afternoon Fatty began to “investigate” in earnest. He had studied the papers, but had learnt very little from them. Apparently the little prince had joined in a camp sing-song the night he had disappeared, and had then had some cocoa and gone off to his tent with the three other boys he shared it with.

These three boys could give no help at all. They had been tired and had fallen asleep immediately they had got into their sleeping-bags. When they awoke, it was morning, and the Prince’s sleeping-bag was empty.

That was all they could say.

“There’s not very much to go on,” thought Fatty. “I suppose someone has kidnapped the boy. I’ll have to question Ern and Sid and Perce, though I don’t expect any of them know a thing - and I’ll have to snoop round the camp a bit too, and keep my ears open.”

He cycled round to Pip’s that afternoon and found Larry and Daisy there. “Has any one got a relation of some sort up at the camping-ground?” asked Fatty. “I haven’t as many relations as you have. Larry - can’t you produce a cousin or something who might be staying at the camp?”

“No,” said Larry. “What about you, Pip?”

“What schools are up there?” said Pip. “Where’s the paper? I saw a list of them to-day.”

They scanned the list carefully. “Ah - there are boys from Lillington-Peterhouse,” said Pip. “I know a cousin of mine goes there. He might be at the camp.”

“What’s his name?” asked Fatty.

“Ronald Hilton,” said Pip. “He’s older than I am.”

“We could go and find the Lillington-Peterhouse lot,” said Fatty, “and ask for Ronald. If he’s there you can have a pow-wow and the rest of us will have a snoop round, and keep our ears open.”

“I don’t much want to have a pow-wow with Ronald,” said Pip. “He’ll think it awful cheek. I tell you, he’s older than I am.”

“Do you realize this may be a Mystery?” said Fatty, severely. “I know it doesn’t seem like one at all, and we’ve begun all wrong, somehow - but it’s a possible mystery, so it’s your duty to do what you can, Pip.”

“Right,” said Pip, meekly. “I’ll pow-wow, then. But if I get a clip on the ear, come and rescue me. I hope if it’s a mystery it livens up a bit. I can’t get up much interest in a little foreign prince being kidnapped.”

“Nor can I,” admitted Daisy. “But you never know. I bet we don’t get much out of Ern, Sid, or Perce, Fatty. They wouldn’t notice anything if it went on under their noses!”

“Got your bikes, Larry and Daisy?” asked Fatty. “Come on then, let’s go. We won’t use the ferry, we’ll go round by the bridge, and up to the camp that way. It’s not very far on bikes.”

They set off, with Buster as usual in Fatty’s basket. He sat up there, perky and proud, looking down his nose at any other dog he met.

“If you get any fatter I shan’t be able to take you in my basket much longer, Buster,” panted Fatty, as he toiled up a hill.

“Woof,” agreed Buster, politely. He turned round and tried to lick Fatty’s nose, but Fatty dodged.

They got to the camp at last. It was in a very large field, sloping down to the river on one side. Clumps of trees stood here and there. Tents were everywhere, and smoke rose from where a meal was cooking. Boys hurried about, yelling and laughing.

The Find-Outers put their bicycles against a hedge. Fatty spoke to a boy coming along.

“I say! Where’s the Lillington-Peterhouse lot?”

The boy jerked his head towards the river. “Last tents down there.”

The five children strolled down to the tents. Pip looked nervous. He really didn’t like accosting a cousin two years older than himself, and very much bigger. He hoped he wouldn’t see him.

But in a moment or two he got a thump on the back and a cheerful-faced boy, three inches taller than Pip, shouted at him.

“Philip! What are you doing? Don’t say you’ve come to look me up!”

Pip turned round. He grinned. “Hallo, Ronald!” he said. “Yes, I did come to look you up. Awful cheek on my part. Hope you don’t mind.”

It was funny to hear Pip being called by his right name, Philip. Pip introduced his cousin to the others. Ronald stared hard at Fatty.

“I say! Aren’t you the chap Philip is always gassing about - the one that works with the police or something?”

Fatty looked modest. “Well, I do help the police sometimes,” he admitted.

“Are you on a job now?” asked Ronald, eagerly. “Come and tell us about it!”

“No - no, I can’t,” said Fatty. “We’ve just come up here to see you - and out of interest because of the disappearance of that young Prince.”

“Oh, that fellow!” said Ronald, leading them all into a very spacious tent. “Don’t bother about him! Jolly good riddance, I say! He was the most awful little beast imaginable!”

There was a long wooden table in the tent and on it were spread plates of jam sandwiches, potted meat sandwiches, buns, and slices of fruit cake. Jugs of lemonade stood at intervals down the length of the table.

“You do yourselves well! ” said Larry.

“Help yourselves,” invited Ronald. “I’m helping with the catering this week - head cook and bottle-washer, you know. It’s a bit early for tea, but everything’s ready and we might as well get what we want before the hungry hordes rush in.”

They each got plates, and piled them with food. It really was not more than an hour or so since they had finished their lunches, but that made no difference. All of them could eat, hungrily, at any time of the day or night, including Buster, who was now sniffing about under the table, snapping up all kinds of tasty bits and pieces.

Ronald led them out into the field again, complete with plates of food, and took them down to the river. “Come on - we’ll sit and eat in peace here,” he said. “My word Trotteville, I’m pleased to meet you. Philip’s told me no end of tales about you at one time and another - and I’ve told them to my pals too.”

Fatty told him a few morc, and enjoyed himself very much. Pip got bored. His cousin took no further notice of him, he was so wrapped up in Fatty. Pip finished his tea and got up. He beckoned to Larry.

“Come on - let’s go for a wander round,” he said. “We might pick up something.”

They strolled round the field. Nobody took much notice of them. Larry stopped a boy going by. “Where’s the tent Prince Bongawah slept in?” he asked.

“Over there, if it’s any interest to you!” said the boy cheekily, and hurried off.

Pip and Larry walked over to the tent he had pointed out. Outside sat three boys, munching sandwiches. They were all about Pip’s age.

“Good tent, yours,” said Larry to the boys. It certainly was a very fine one indeed, much better than any other tent nearby.

“Supplied by his Royal Highness, Prince Bongawah-wah-wah,” said one of the boys.

Pip laughed. “Why do you call him that?” he asked. “Didn’t you like him?”

“No,” said the boys, all together. A red-haired one waved his sandwich at Larry.

“He was a frightful, cocky little fellow,” he said. “And a real mutt. He yelled at everything, like a kid of seven!”

“That’s why we called him Wah-wah,” said another boy. “He was always wah-wahing about something.”

“Did he talk English?” asked Larry.

“Well, he was supposed to know hardly a word,” said Red-Hair. “He just talked rubbish, usually - but he could speak our language all right if he wanted to! Though goodness knows where he picked it up! Talk about Cockney!”

“What school did he go to?” asked Larry.

“None. He had a tutor,” said Red-Hair. “He was a regular little urchin, for all he was a prince! All his clothes of the Very Very Best, even his pyjamas - but did he wash? Not he! And if you said you’d pop him into the river he’d run a mile, wah-wahing!”

“Lots of foreigners are like that,” said the third boy, munching away. “We’ve got two at our school. One never cleans his teeth and the other howls if he gets a kick at football.”

“Do you think the Prince got kidnapped?” asked Pip, feeling rather thrilled with all this first-hand information.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” said Red-Hair. “If he is kidnapped, I hope he stays kidnapped, that’s all. Have a look at his sleeping-bag. Did you ever see one like it?”

Larry and Pip peeped inside the marvellous tent. Red-Hair pointed to a sleeping-bag at one side. It certainly was most magnificent, padded and quilted and marvellously embroidered.

“Try it,” said Red-Hair. “I tried it once. It’s like being floated away on a magic carpet or something when you get inside - soft as feathers!”

Pip wriggled inside. It certainly was an extraordinarily luxurious bag, and Pip felt that if he closed his eyes he would be wafted away into sleep at once. He wriggled down a little further and felt something hard against his leg. He put his hand down to feel what it was.