Let's Kill Uncle Read Free

repeated.
    The boy suddenly hurtled down the gangplank, his face sullen and his bold eyes insolent.
    ‘I am not a liar! I have so got ten million dollars! She threw the salt cellar at me!’ He pointed to a purple bump on his forehead, ‘and she said she’d push me overboard if I didn’t shut up!’
    When the Mountie stood expressionless and silent, the boy’s outburst stopped and he looked about.
    Mr Brooks stepped forward.
    ‘You must be Barnaby,’ he said and held out his hand.
    Barnaby took no notice of the gesture.
    ‘Where’s my uncle? And I am not a liar! She’s a liar!’
    His voice was shrill, almost hysterical.
    Mr Brooks put his arm about the boy’s shoulder.
    ‘Of course you aren’t. Your uncle isn’t here, Barnaby. At least, not yet, so you are going to stay with Mrs Brooks and me for a little while.’
    He patted the boy’s flaxen head, but the child drew away from him.
    ‘Won’t that be nice, Barnaby? We’re so happy to have you, we’ve wanted a little boy like you for such a long time.’
    Barnaby turned to Sergeant Coulter.
    ‘Are you a real Mountie?’
    ‘Of course he is,’ said Mr Brooks. ‘He always meets the boat when he’s on the Island. This is Sergeant Coulter, Barnaby, and he was born here. Now then, shall we go up to the store and see Mrs Brooks? She’s so anxious to meet you.’
    The boy ignored Mr Brooks, his admiring eyes fixed on the policeman.
    ‘When I grow up, I’m going to be a Mountie.’
    ‘Why?’ asked Sergeant Coulter, speaking for the first time.
    ‘Because you can put people in jail if you don’t like them.’
    The policeman smiled and turned to Mr Brooks.
    ‘It’s not quite as simple as that, is it, Mr Brooks?’
    ‘Shall we go and see Mrs Brooks, Barnaby?’
    ‘Where’s my uncle?’
    Mr Brooks and Sergeant Coulter looked at each other.
    ‘But I just told you, Barnaby, he couldn’t get here in time.’
    ‘You mean he’s really not here? He’s not playing a game?’
    The child’s manner changed, his face crumpled and he looked dependent and pathetic as he gazed in a confused way from Mr Brooks to Sergeant Coulter.
    ‘No, of course he’s not playing a game, Barnaby. He’s been detained, but he’ll be here soon. Everything will be all right, my boy, and in the meanwhile, I know you’ll be happy with us. Now come along.’
    He offered Barnaby his hand again, and this time, looking dazed, the child took it.
    They walked together for several yards, then the boy pulled away from Mr Brooks and ran back to the policeman.
    ‘But if he isn’t here, where is he?’
    His face was desperate.
    The Mountie pointed to Mr Brooks.
    ‘He’s in Europe. Mr Brooks will explain everything to you. Go with him like a good boy. We’ll get in touch with your uncle. Don’t worry, we’ll look after you.’
    The boy stared up at him.
    ‘You mean you’ll really look after me?’
    ‘Mr and Mrs Brooks will.’
    ‘And nothing will happen to me?’
    Puzzled, the Mountie stared down at the boy.
    ‘No, of course not. You run along with Mr Brooks now. Mrs Brooks is waiting to meet you.’
    Barnaby returned to Mr Brooks, and as they walked up the wharf he turned and shouted: ‘I’m going to be a Mountie. Just like you.’
    Sergeant Coulter sat in the police launch, pondering. One small boy unmet by uncle.
    He was a precise, dedicated man who rarely made snap judgements, but he felt that there was something very much the matter with that boy.
    He leaned back and lit a cigarette. When you stopped to think of it, there was something the matter with most children these days. They needed more discipline. Take that boy, rude, spoiled, private-school brat. ‘I’ve got ten million dollars!’ Imperious little devil. A good hiding was what he needed. But that sort of treatment was considered old fashioned today. It worked when he was a boy, though.
    Well, the boy was, after all, only a child. Frightened when his uncle wasn’t there to meet him. Left stranded on the dock