Mystery of Tally-Ho Cottage (6 page)

‘Yes. Get what you want out of my shed,’ said his uncle. ‘Plenty there.’ He took himself off, and Ern ran to the shed, pleased.

Now to build a little place up in that tree - what a fine spy-hole! What would Fatty say to that!

Two days went by. Fatty and the others pored over the papers each day, but there was no more news of the Lorenzos, except that the police seemed more or less certain that they were hiding somewhere in the country, waiting to fly out as soon as things had quietened down a little.

‘I should have thought that it would be very difficult to hide anywhere, with everyone on the lookout for you,’ said Daisy. ‘I mean - the Lorenzos would be very easy to recognize - their photographs have been in every single paper!’

‘You forget that they have been actors,’ said Fatty. ‘It would be easy for them to disguise themselves so that nobody would know them.’

‘Yes. I forgot that,’ said Daisy. ‘After all - if anyone was after you, Fatty, you’d be able to disguise yourself so that nobody in the world would recognize you!’

‘Like you do sometimes now,’ said Bets. ‘Oh, Fatty - things are a bit dull at present - can’t you disguise yourself? You know - dress up as an Indian or something. You do look so very very brown with all that dazzling Swiss sun - you’d pass anywhere for a foreigner. Go on - just for a bit of fun!’

‘I’ll think about it,’ said Fatty, making up his mind that he would certainly do a bit of disguising, as Bets suggested, and have a little fun. ‘By the way - I wonder how Ern is getting on. We haven’t seen anything of him for two days.’

Ern had been getting on well. He now had the twins almost eating out of his hands - in fact, they were quite embarrassing in their hero-worship, and followed Ern about whenever they could.

He had made the house in the tree. Ern was very good with his hands, and thoroughly enjoyed taking charge of the proceedings, ordering the twins about, and showing off his clever carpentering.

Even his Uncle Woosh had taken an interest, and had helped Ern considerably. His aunt thought it was a lot of silly nonsense.

‘Messing about up trees!’ she said. ‘Getting filthy dirty. Just look at the state the twins are in, after being up there all the morning!’

Their father looked at them and made one of his rare remarks. ‘Can’t see a mite of difference in them,’ he said. ‘They’re always dirty.’

He walked out, followed by a string of exasperated remarks from his wife. Ern followed him.

‘Women!’ said Mr. Woosh, with a backward jerk of his head towards the cottage. ‘Women!’

Ern nodded understandingly. Once his uncle had discovered that Ern, like himself, was interested in carpentry, he had been very friendly. Ern was quite enjoying his stay, especially now that the twins were so completely under his thumb.

The house in the tree was finished. It was quite an elaborate affair, and made of good strong planks securely fastened down. There were three walls and a very peculiar roof, that had to fit under some rather awkward branches. The missing wall, of course, was the ‘spy-hole’ that looked through the branches down on to the Larkins.

The twins’ mother gave them some cups and plates, and allowed them to have snacks up in the tree. The twins were too thrilled for words, and were ready to do anything in the world that Ern told them.

Ern felt as excited as his two cousins. He had never imagined that it would be so easy to build a house up a tree. Of course, his uncle had helped a lot. Ern had to admit that.

He and the twins sat up there continually - but Ern preferred it when he was quite alone. There was something very thrilling indeed about sitting up in the thickly-leafed evergreen, in his own little treehouse, peering quietly through the opening he had cut in the greenery.

The Larkins had no idea that they were being spied on by three children. To the twins, of course, it was merely a game, like Red Indians - but to Ern it was serious. He was helping Fatty. He might be able to gather a few clues for him. He might see something suspicious - he might even help to solve the Lorenzo mystery! Though Ern had to admit to himself that that wasn’t very likely!

He peered down at the Larkins’ cottage whenever he could, watching for any sign of movement. He had supplied himself with a tin of bull’s-eye peppermints, enormous things that bulged out his cheek, but lasted for a very long time. He also had a comic that he read at intervals, and he really thoroughly enjoyed himself, sucking away at his bull’s-eye, hidden in the little treehouse he had built.

‘Old Man Larkin doesn’t do much!’ Ern thought. ‘Just goes out and picks some sprouts - and does some shopping - and lets the dog out and yells for it to come back. Poor little dog - it looks down in the dumps all right, and I’m not surprised!’

Certainly Mr. Larkin didn’t appear to do very much work. As for Mrs. Larkin, she hardly appeared at all. Apparently she had a bad cold, and Ern could often hear her coughing. Once when she ventured out for a minute or two, to hang up some washing, Ern could hear her sniffing all the time. Sniff, sniff! Cough! Sniff, sniff!

She groaned as she bent down to pick up her washing-basket. Ern watched her, thinking she was a very ugly woman with her extraordinary wig of hair, and her very white face and red nose.

Poppet came out with her, her stiff little tail down. She kept well out of Mrs. Larkin’s reach. The woman spoke to her in a hoarse voice. ‘Don’t you dare run off, or I’ll lam you again, nuisance that you are!’

Poppet slunk into the house, and Mrs. Larkin followed, sniffing. Ern scribbled down a few notes about her in his notebook. He had torn out the notes he had made when his aunt had chattered to him, because when he examined them afterwards, such words as ‘Donkeys’ years’, ‘legs’, ‘midnight bathing’ didn’t make any sense to him.

But, sitting in peace up the tree, he could write quite sensibly. ‘She sniffs and coughs,’ he had written down. ‘She wears a wig. Her voice is hoarse and croaky. Poppet is afraid of her. She groans when she picks things up.’

After two days had gone by, Ern decided that it would be a good idea to go and see Fatty and the others again, so off he went, notebook in pocket.

He found all the Five, with Buster, down in Fatty’s shed, playing a game of cards. They were very pleased to see him.

Buster welcomed him at the top of his bark. Ern felt pleased to see that the table he had made for Fatty was standing in the middle of the shed, with a plate of chocolate biscuits on its polished top. He stood and grinned.

‘Come in, Ern. Make yourself at home,’ said Fatty, gathering up the cards. ‘We’ve just finished our game. What’s your news?’

‘Well, I haven’t much,’ said Ern. ‘Except that I’ve got a house up in a tree that looks right down on the Larkins’ cottage, and into the grounds of Tally-Ho. I sit there and watch like anything.’

‘Is it really a house in a tree?’ said Bets, thrilled. ‘Oh, I would like to see it! Ern, you are clever!’

Ern blushed. He drew out his notebook, and gave it to Fatty. ‘I’ve made a few notes,’ he said. ‘Not that they’re worth anything - but you never know!’

Fatty glanced through them rapidly, and handed back the notebook. ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘You’re doing well, Ern. Yes, those might come in useful sometime - if only we could get going!’

Ern was pleased. ‘You got anything interesting to tell me?’ he asked.

‘Nothing,’ said Fatty dismally. ‘It’s too maddening to have something like this under our noses, so to speak, and not to be able to get even a bite at it!’

‘The only thing that’s new was in the paper this morning,’ said Larry.

‘What?’ asked Ern, who hadn’t seen a paper.

‘Well, the Lorenzos were spotted somewhere up north,’ said Larry. ‘Near an airfield, in a small hotel. And what is more they had a crate with them this time, as well as two small suitcases.’

‘Coo - the picture!’ said Ern. ‘Weren’t they caught then? Did they get away?’

‘Yes - fled in the night - took someone else’s car out of the garage and went,’ said Fatty. ‘Complete with suitcases and crate. I don’t somehow think they will try to get out of the country at present. They’ll hide somewhere safe and wait.’

‘Would they come back to Peterswood?’ asked Ern, thrilled. ‘I’d better keep a strict watch from my treehouse.’

‘They might,’ said Fatty. ‘And, as we said before, they might send someone to fetch Poppet, so keep a watch for any stranger at the Larkins’ cottage, Ern, and keep a watch too to see that the poodle is always there.’

‘Oh, I will!’ said Ern.

He spent a pleasant morning with the others, and then, remembering that his dinner was at half-past twelve, not one o’clock, he rose to go.

‘I’ll be along again sometime,’ he said. ‘Goodbye, all. Thanks for the biscuits. Goodbye, Buster!’

Buster came with him as far as the gate, and saw him off politely, his tail wagging fast. He liked Ern. Ern mounted his bicycle and rode off at top speed. He rang his bell going round the corner just at the same moment as somebody else rang theirs. Em swung round the corner, pedalling furiously - to meet his uncle, Mr. Goon, also pedalling furiously on his bicycle! Mr. Goon, unfortunately, had cut the corner and was on his wrong side. The bicycles were about to crash together, when Ern quickly swerved. His pedal caught Mr. Goon’s, and over they both went.

‘Oooh! Oh!’ groaned Mr. Goon, as he landed very heavily indeed. His bicycle fell on top of him.

‘Oooh!’ yelled Ern, and he too fell to the ground. He sent a terrified glance at Mr. Goon and got up. Mr. Goon groaned again. Then he saw who the other cyclist was, and stared open-mouthed.

‘What! You, Ern! How dare you ride at sixty miles an hour round a corner! How…’

‘It wasn’t my fault, Uncle,’ said poor Ern, scared stiff. ‘You were on your wrong side.’

‘I was not!’ said Mr. Goon, most untruthfully. ‘Do you mean to say you’re accusing me of causing this here accident? You just wait, young Ern! What you doing in Peterswood, anyhow?’

Ern was not prepared to tell him that. He put his foot on the left-hand pedal, and was about to swing his leg over to sit on the saddle, when his uncle gave a really most alarming groan.

‘Oh, my back! It’s broken! Here, young Ern, you help me up, come on, now!’ He held out an enormous hand to Ern. ‘Come on - give me a pull!’

Ern put out his hand too - but saw the gleam in Goon’s eye just in time. He snatched back his hand and jumped on his bicycle, panting hard. Coo - his uncle had almost got him!

MR. HOHO-HA!

Ern cycled back to his aunt’s at top speed, turning round every now and again to see if Goon was after him. But mercifully there was no sign of his uncle.

It took Goon quite a minute to heave himself to his feet, and examine his bicycle to see if it could be ridden in safety. It appeared to be all right. Goon knew that it was no good trying to chase Ern. Indeed, if he did, Ern would certainly win!

Goon said a lot of things under his breath. ‘That Ern! Wait till I get him! I’ll pull all his hair out! I’ll box every ear he’s got! Why, he might have killed me. Speed fiend, that’s what he is! What’s he doing in Peterswood, I’d like to know!’

Goon had no idea that Ern was staying in Peterswood - and certainly none at all that he was living next door to the Lorenzos’ house. He got on his bicycle very very carefully, fearful that something might be broken and give way beneath his weight.

He wondered what Fatty was doing. He hadn’t seen or heard of him since the morning that all the Five had visited him. He began to scowl.

That fat boy was too cunning for words. Was he hoping to do something about the Lorenzo Mystery? Had he gone to see the Larkins and got out of them more than he, Goon, had managed to get? Was he working out something? Mr. Goon began to worry. He pedalled back to his house, still frowning.

‘I think I’ll go up to the cottage at Tally-Ho House and pop in to see the Larkins again,’ he thought. ‘I’ll ask Rob Larkin if that fat boy has been snooping round - and if he has I’ll have Something to Say about it.’

But Fatty had not been to see the Larkins because the Superintendent had said that he did not wish him to. Fatty was still rather down in the dumps, though he kept a cheerful face with the others.

He thought about Ern’s rough notes, and wondered how little Poppet was getting on. In his notes Ern had put that she was afraid of Mrs. Larkin. She was terrified of Mr. Larkin too, so her life couldn’t be a very happy one. After seven years of love and fuss and petting, life must seem very grim to little Poppet these days!

‘I’m sure Mrs. Lorenzo will try to get her dog back, if she can’t get out of the country,’ said Fatty to himself. ‘Or she will send someone to fetch her, and put her in a home with kindly people. I think it wouldn’t be a bad idea if I went to see Ern’s treehouse this afternoon, and did a bit of snooping round myself.’

He sat and thought a little more. ‘Better not go as myself in case I bump into Goon. I’ll disguise myself - I’ll be an Indian, as Bets suggested!’

He looked at himself in the mirror, and twisted a face-towel over his head like a turban. Bets was right - he looked exactly like a brown-faced Indian! Fatty grinned and felt much more cheerful.

‘It doesn’t suit me to sit and do nothing when there’s something on,’ he said. ‘That’s not the way to make anything happen! Come on, Fatty - stir yourself. Get out your fancy clothes and dress up!’

Immediately after he had had lunch, Fatty set to work down in his shed. He found a fine strip of gay cloth that would do for a turban, and looked up ‘Turbans - how to wear’, in a very useful little book called Dress up Properly. He practised turban-tying for some time and at last produced a most satisfactory one, wound correctly round his head.

He pencilled a faint black moustache, rather thin, on his upper lip, and darkened his chin to make it seem as if he had a shaved beard. He put cheek-pads in to alter the shape of his face, and at once looked older, and fatter in the cheeks. He darkened his eyebrows and made them thicker, then gazed at himself in the glass, putting on a sinister, rather mysterious expression.

‘That’s all right,’ he thought. ‘Gosh, it’s queer looking at myself in the mirror and seeing somebody quite different! Now, what else shall I wear?’