Mystery of Holly Lane Read Free

said, falling behind to whisper. “We’ll just see what old Fatty says then!”
    They marched him in firmly at the gate and right up to the front door. “Here you are,” said Pip. “Grintriss! I expect your sistair will answer the door herself. I’ll pull the bell for you.”
    He pulled the bell and banged on the knocker too. Then the four of them retreated to the front gate to see what Fatty would do. Would he swing round, take off his glasses and grin at them? Would he say “One up to you! You win!”
    The door opened, and the house parlour-maid stood there. An argument seemed to arise, though the children couldn’t hear all of it. The maid raised her voice.
    “I said, ‘there’s no one here of that name. And what’s more I’ve never heard of a house called Grintriss, either.’ “
    Bets suddenly heard quick footsteps coming up the road, and then a familiar bark. She ran through the gate, sure that it was Buster’s bark.
    She gave a shrill scream. “Buster! FATTY! It’s Fatty! Oh, Fatty, then that wasn’t you after all! FATTY!”
    She rushed down the road and flung herself into Fatty’s arms. There he was, as plump as ever, his eyes laughing, his mouth in a wide grin.
    “Fatty! That wasn’t you, then? Oh, dear!”
    “What’s all this about?” asked Fatty, swinging Bets into the air and down again. “Gosh, Bets, you’re getting heavy. I soon shan’t be able to do that. Why weren’t you at the station to meet me? Only Buster was there.”
    Now all the others were round him too, astonished. Fatty? How had they missed him?
    “You are a lot of donkeys,” said Fatty, in his cheerful voice. “I bet you met the train that comes in four minutes before mine. Buster was much more sensible! He knew enough to wait for the right one — and there he was, prancing round the platform, barking like mad when he saw me. I looked for you, but you were nowhere to be seen.”
    “Oh, Fatty — we must have met the wrong tram — and we’ve made an awful mistake,” said Daisy, troubled. “We thought you might be in disguise, just to play a joke on us — and when we couldn’t see you anywhere, we followed a man we thought was you — and oh, Fatty, he asked us the way to some house or other — and we took him to yours!”
    “Well!” said Fatty, and roared with laughter. “You are a lot of mutts. Where’s this poor fellow? We’d better put him right.”
    The man was even now walking out of the gate, muttering and looking furious — as indeed he had every right to be. He stopped and looked at the name on the gate.
    “Ha! You do not bring me to Grintriss. This is not Grintriss. You are wicket! You treat a sick man so!” He began to cough again.
    The children were alarmed, and felt very sorry. However could they explain their mistake? He would never, never understand! He stalked up to them, blowing his nose with a trumpeting sound.
    “Wicket! Wicket!” he repeated. “Very bad. Wicket!”
    He began to shout at them in French, waving his arms about. They listened in dismay. Suppose Mrs. Trotteville came out? It would be even worse to explain their silly mistake to her than to this man.
    A bell rang loudly and a bicycle stopped suddenly at the kerb. A very familiar voice hailed them.
    “Now, then! What’s all this?”
    “Mr. Goon!” groaned Larry. “Old Clear-Orf. He would turn up, of course.”
    Buster danced round Mr. Goon in delight, barking furiously. Mr. Goon kept a watchful eye on him, thankful that he had on his thickest trousers.
    “Nasty little yapping dog,” he said. “Call him off or I’ll give him a kick.”
    Fatty called Buster, and the Scottie came most reluctantly. Oh, for a bite at that big, loud-voiced policeman! Goon spoke to the bewildered Frenchman.
    “What’s all this? Have these children been annoying you? I’ll report them, if so.”
    The man went off into a long and angry speech, but as it was all in French Mr. Goon didn’t understand a word. He debated whether he should ask