Mystery of the Hidden House (19 page)

Six other police cars joined them, and went slowly along the narrow cart-track to Harry’s Folly. Peters, the gatekeeper, was terrified when he saw the posse of blue-coated figures at the gate. He opened without a word, and was captured immediately, pale and trembling, looking quite different from the surly, bad-tempered fellow the five children had encountered some days before.

Fatty remained behind with the Inspector in his car, shaking with excitement. What was happening?

Plenty was happening. The raid was a complete and utter surprise. Every man down below in the workshop was rounded up - and Mr. Holland was discovered asleep in one of the bedrooms near Ern’s!

Ern was not asleep. He was waiting and waiting. He didn’t feel he could be a hero much longer. He was so terribly hungry, for one thing!

He was so glad to see Fatty, when he was led to the car by one of the policemen that he could hardly keep from hugging him.

“So this is Ern,” said the Inspector, and to the boys’ enormous delight and surprise, he shook hands with him very warmly. “Quite a hero, I hear - and a bit of a poet too. I must read that poem you wrote about your uncle, Ern. I’m sure it’s very very good.”

Ern blushed. “Oh, sir. Thank you, sir! I couldn’t show it to you, sir. My uncle wouldn’t like me to.”

The Inspector’s car moved off, with the others following in a close line. “A very good haul, Frederick,” said Inspector Jenks. “A neat little mystery, and a neat ending. Thanks very much, my boy. Make haste and grow up! I want a right-hand man, you know!”

Fatty went red with pleasure, “Right, sir, I’ll do my best to grow up as soon as I can!”

They arrived at Mr. Goon’s. Ern got out. He looked miserable all of a sudden.

“Come on in, Ern,” said the Inspector, pulling him indoors. “Goon! Here’s Ern back again. Quite a hero! And I hear he’s written a very fine poem about you. Shall we hear it?”

“Well…” said Goon, going scarlet, “it’s, it’s not very polite, sir…”

“It’s all right, Uncle, I won’t read it,” said Ern, taking pity on his uncle. “I’ll tear it up, see?”

“You’re a good boy, Ern,” said Mr. Goon. “I’m right-down glad to see you back. I’ve got some bacon and eggs ready to cook for you. Like that?”

“Lovaduck!” said Ern, his face beaming. “I could eat a horse. I’m that hungry.”

“Good-bye, Ern,” said Fatty. “See you later.”

He drove off with the Inspector, who was taking him home to report on the exciting happenings. “That poem of Ern’s,” said the Inspector, neatly turning in at Fatty’s drive. “I’m sorry I didn’t have the pleasure of reading it, after all.”

“Yes,” said Fatty, yawning, “Spitty.”

“What?” said the Inspector, in surprise.

“Spitty,” said Fatty. “Swatisaid.” He slumped down against the Inspector’s arm, and his eyes closed. He was fast asleep!

The Inspector left him there asleep, and went in to have a talk with Fatty’s parents. What he said about Fatty should have made both his ears burn! But they didn’t, because Fatty was lost in dreams that came crowding into his mind, thick and fast.

Flashing lights - movable floors - Christmas Hill - dark dire deeds - clues in plenty - spiral stairways - a dark dark house - and there was Ern, crowned with laurel leaves, a hero! He was just going to recite a marvellous poem.

“Lovaduck!” said Fatty, and woke up.