Mystery of the Strange Messages (5 page)

"Er—well, yes, T did," said Ern, blushing, and dived
into deep recesses of his clothing. He brought out a little black notebook, and
opened it.

"Read away," said Fatty, handing round the biscuits.
"We're waiting. Ern."

So Ern, looking very serious, read out his newest "Pome"
as he called it.

"
"the old old
house.
by Ern Goon.

There was a poor old house.

That once was full of folk,.

But now was sad and empty.

And tome it spoke.

It said, 'They all have left me,.

The rooms are cold and bare.

The front door's locked and bolted...' "

Ern stopped, and looked at the others. "Well, go on, Ern—it's
very good," said Fatty, encouragingly.

"I'm stuck there," said Ern, looking miserable. "It
took me six months to write those lines—and now I can't go on. I suppose you
can't help me. Fatty? You're so good at making up poetry."

Fatty laughed. "Yes—I can tell you how your poem goes on,
Ern. Here, let me read what you've written—
and when I come to the end of it, I'll let my tongue go loose, and
maybe we'll see what the end of the verse is. Here goes!"

And Fatty began to read Em's poem out again. He didn't stop when he
came to where Ern had finished. No—he went straight on, just as though he was
reading more and more lines! No wonder Ern stared in the greatest astonishment!

"There was a poor old house.

That once was full of folk,.

But now was sad and empty,.

And to me it spoke.

It said, 'They all have fled.

 My rooms are cold and bare,.

The front door's locked and bolted,.

And all the windows stare.

No smoke comes from my chimneys,.

No rose grows up my wall,.

But only ivy shrouds me,.

In green and shining shawl!

No postman brings me letters,.

No name is on my gate,.

I once was called The Ivies,.

But now I'm out of date,.

The garden's poor and weedy,.

The trees won't leaf again,.

But though I fall to ruin,.

The ivy—will—remain!".

There was a silence after this. Everyone stared at Fatty in
astonishment and admiration. Ern hadn't a word to say. He sat open-mouthed. How
did
Fatty do it? He, Ern, had
slaved for six months over the first few lines—and then Fatty had stood up and
recited the rest. Without even
thinking!
And Ern sorrowfully confessed to himself that Fatty's lines were much
better than his.

He found his tongue at last. "Well, it's what I thought.

You're a genius. Fatty, and I'm not. That's your pome, not
mine."

"No, Ern. It's yours. You
began
it, and I expect
that's how it was meant to go," * said Fatty, smiling. "I shouldn't
have been able to think of the ending, if you hadn't thought of the
beginning."

"It beats me. It really does," said Ern. "I
say—fancy you putting in that bit about The Ivies, too—and the ivy growing up
the wall. Well—even if it had no name on the gate, like you said, anyone would
know it was still The Ivies, because of its 'green and shining shawl'—that's a
lovely line, Fatty. You're a real poet, you are."

But Fatty wasn't listening to Ern's last few words. He stood
still, staring into space, and Bets felt quite alarmed. Was Fatty ill?

"What's the matter, Fatty?" she said.

"Well—don't you see?" said Fatty, coming to himself
again. "What I said in the verses—even if there's no name on the gate,
even if the house hasn't
got
a name, it must still have got the
ivy
that
gave it its old name. Why don't we go out and look for a house
covered with
ivy?
We can easily cycle all round and about. We might find the very house
we want!"

"Loveaduck!" said Ern, in awe. "You're a One,
Fatty. You really are. You make up a pome—and it gives us the first clue! I
never knew anyone like you—honest I didn't!"

Looking for Ivy!

The six children began to talk about Fatty's sudden brain-wave. Of
course! Any house once called "The Ivies" must certainly be covered
with ivy, or there would be no point in giving it such a name!

"But why wouldn't it
still
be called 'The
Ivies'?" asked Daisy.

"It's an old-fashioned sort of name," said Larry.
"Maybe it's owned now by someone who just prefers a number for their
house. Some people do. The house opposite ours used to be called 'Four Towers'
but now it's simply 'Number Seventeen' with the 'seventeen' written out in
full."

"I think you're probably right, Larry." said Fatty.
"Well, the thing to do is to go round looking for houses covered with ivy.
I don't imagine that anyone would have the ivy pulled up, if they bought the
house, because it clings to the wall so tightly, and sends its tiny rootlets
into every nook and cranny. The ivy will still be there."

"A green and shining shawl," quoted Ern, who still
hadn't recovered from Fatty's ending to his poem. "Coo, Fatty, you're a
wonder! To think of you standing up there, and ..."

"Forget it, Ern," said Fatty. "You could do it too
if you let your tongue just go loose. Practice is all you need. Now, let's go
on with the discussion. We're all agreed, then, that the next thing to do is to
search for an ivy-covered house, with just a number, since we know there isn't
a single house in Peterswood called 'The Ivies'."

"It might have another
name,"
said Bets.

"Yes—you're right, Bets," said Fatty. "It might.
The people who called it The Ivies' might not be there now. They might have
moved."

"Still, we know that people called Smith live there—if what
those peculiar notes say is true," said Daisy.

"So, whenever we find a house covered with ivy, we have to
try and find out if the people in it are called Smith," said Larry,
triumphantly. "I really feel as if we're getting somewhere now."

"I bet my uncle won't think up anything as clever as
this," said Ern, thoroughly enjoying himself.

"He didn't hear Fatty's verses." said Pip. "If we
hadn't heard them either, we'd not have thought of that clue—looking for an
ivy-covered bouse that wasn't
called
"The

Ivies'. Fatty, when can we go and look for this house?"

"No time like the present," said Fatty. "Got your
bike, young Ern? Then you can come with us."

"Suppose my uncle asks me what I've been up to this
morning?" said Ern. "Shall I tell him I haven't seen you?"

"Certainly
not,"
said Fatty, shocked. "Any
fibs of that sort from you, Ern, and you don't come to any more meetings. You
ought to know by now what we think of people who don't tell the truth."

"I'm sorry, Fatty," said Ern, humbly. "But I just
didn't want to give anything away. My uncle's bound to ask me to tell him
everything we said—and I don't want him to worm things out of me. I just
thought it would make it easy, like, to say I hadn't seen you."

"Never you take the easy way out if it means being dishonest
or untruthful," said Fatty. "You've got a lot of things to learn,
young Ern, and that's one of them."

"I'll do anything you say. Fatty," said Ern. "Am I
to tell Uncle what we've decided then?"

Fatty considered. "Well—I can see it's difficult for you,
Ern. If you refuse to say anything, your uncle may be beastly to you. You can
tell him we're all going out to look for houses covered with ivy. Let him make
what he likes of that."

"But
he'll
go out and look for them too,"
objected Ern.

"Well, there's no law against anyone looking for ivy-covered
houses," said Fatty, going out of the shed. "Come on, everyone. Let's
go. Brrr! It's cold out here. Buster, are you coming?"

Buster certainly
was
coming. He tore out after the others,
barking, and Fatty locked the door carefully behind them.

Soon they were all on their bicycles, and rode to the end of
Fatty's lane. There they dismounted at Fatty's command.

"It would be a waste of time for us all to go together,"

said Fatty. "We'll go in pairs, and try to examine every road
in Peterswood. Got your notebooks, everyone? As soon as you see an ivy-covered
house, stop. Note if it has a name, or a number, and the street it's in. Don't
bother about
new
houses anywhere—ivy takes years to grow. We must look
out for an old house. Bets and I will go this way—you others decide which
street
you'll
explore."

Bets went off with Fatty, Ern cycled away with Pip, and Daisy and
Larry rode off together. "Meet at this corner in an hour's time!"
yelled Fatty, as they parted.

Fatty and Bets rode slowly up the first road. "You examine
the houses on one side of the road, and I'll watch the ones on the other,"
said Fatty.

They cycled along together, but to their disappointment not one
house had any ivy at all growing up the walls. They turned down another road,
and Bets suddenly gave an exclamation. "Here's a house that's green from
top to bottom, Fatty."

"But not with ivy, Bets, old thing," said Fatty.
"That's creeper—ordinary Virginia creeper. At least, that's what our
gardener calls it. Bad luck!"

Down another road, riding very slowly this time, as there were big
houses here, standing right back from the road, and difficult to see because of
trees in the front gardens.

"Here's one covered with ivy!" said Fatty at last.
"Look, Bets!"

"Yes. But it's got a name on the gate," said Bets.
"See—Barton House."

"Well, we know we shan't find a house called 'The
Ivies'," said Fatty, "because there's none in the directory. We'll
have to put this down. Bets. Now wait while I get my notebook."

He took it from his pocket and wrote quickly, Bets peeping over
his shoulder. "Barton Grange. Old house, with ivy almost up to roof. In
Hollins Road."

He shut his notebook. "Good. That's one ivy-covered

house, anyway. I wonder if anyone called Smith lives there. We'll
have to find out."

They only found one more ivy-covered house and that was quite a
small one, in Jordans Road. It had obviously once been a cottage belonging to
the big house nearby, but had been sold, and now had its own little garden, and
a hedge round it.

"What's it called?" said Fatty. "Oh—it hasn't a
name—just a number. Number 29, Jordans Road. It looks well-kept—nice curtains
at the windows, neat garden. I say. Bets—what about going to ask if people
called Smith live here? You just never know your luck!"

"You go. Fatty," said Bets, who was always shy of
strange people.

"Right," said Fatty, and leaned his bicycle against the
trim little hedge. With Buster at his heels he went in at the gate. "I bet
someone called Cholmondley or Montague-Paget lives here," he thought,
"just when I'm looking for a nice short, straightforward Smith!"

He rang the brightly-polished bell. At once a dog began to bark
inside the house, and Buster stiffened. Fatty picked him up immediately. He
didn't want a dog-fight on the door-step!

Someone came up the passage to the front door, and it opened. At
once a Pekinese flew out, dancing round excitedly, barking at the top of its
voice. Buster wriggled in Fatty's arms, and began barking too.

"Come here, Ming!" said the little old woman at the
door, and Ming obeyed, still barking. "What is it you want?"

"Er—I'm looking for someone called Smith," said Fatty,
politely. "I don't know if you can help me."

"Smith? Well, that's
our
name," said the old
lady. "Who are you? And which of us do you want—me, or my husband?"

For once in a way Fatty was taken aback. He hadn't for one moment
imagined that he would find a Smith in an ivy-covered house so quickly, and he
hardly knew

what
to say! But Fatty was never at a loss for
long.

"Er—I'd like to see Miss Annabella-Mary Smith," he said.
"That's if she's here, of course."

"Oh, you've got the
wrong
Smith," said the old
lady, briskly. "There's no
Miss
Smith here, only a Mr. and Mrs.
Smith—my husband and myself. Wait—my husband's here. He may know of another
Smith somewhere near. John! Come here a minute, will you, dear?"

A nice old man appeared, with a wrinkled, kindly face, and
twinkling eyes. Fatty liked him at once. His wife repeated what Fatty had said.

"Miss Annabella-Mary Smith?" he said. "No, I don't
know anyone of that name in this road, anyway. We used to live in the big house
next door, you know, and knew everyone in the district—but the place was too
big for us and we moved into this little place—used to be our gardener's
cottage, and very cosy it is too!"