Mystery of Holly Lane Read Free Page A

Fatty to translate for him — but how was he to trust that fat boy’s translation? Fatty looked at Goon with a gleam in his eye.
    “Don’t you want to know what he’s saying, Mr. Goon?” he said politely. “I can just catch a few words now and again. Er — he doesn’t seem to like the look of you, I’m afraid. It sounds as if he’s calling you names.”
    Mr. Goon felt out of his depth. These pests of children again — and this foreigner who appeared to be quite mad — and that nasty little dog longing to get at his ankles! Mr. Goon felt that the best and most dignified thing to do was to bicycle away immediately.
    So, with a snort that sounded like “Gah” he pushed off from the kerb and sailed away down the road, followed by a fusillade of barks from the disappointed Buster.
    “Thank goodness!” said Daisy, fervently, and all the five agreed.
     
    It’s Nice to be Together Again.
     
    The Frenchman stared after the policeman in surprise. In France policemen did not behave like that. They were interested and excited when a complaint was made to them, they listened, they took notes — but this policeman had said “Gah” and gone cycling away. Extraordinary!
    He began to cough. Fatty felt sorry for him, and began to talk to him in perfect French. Trust old Fatty to know the right thing to do! The others stood round, listening in admiration. Really, Fatty might be French!
    “How does he learn French like that?” wondered Daisy. “Nobody at our school could even begin to talk like that Really, Fatty is a most surprising person.”
    The man began to calm down. He took a little notebook out of his pocket and opened it “I will show you the name,” he said. “Grintriss. Why should nobody know this Grintriss house?”
    He showed Fatty something written down on a page of a notebook. The others peeped over his arm to look.
    “Oh! GREEN-TREES!” said Daisy. “Why ever didn’t you say so? You kept saying Grintriss.”
    “Yes. Grintriss,” repeated the man, puzzled. “All the time I say ‘Grintriss, pliss, where is zis house?’ “
    “It’s Green-Trees,” said Daisy, pronouncing it slowly and carefully.
    “Grintriss,” said the man, again. “And now — where is zis house? I ask of you for the last time.”
    He looked as if he were going to burst into tears. Fatty took his arm. “Come on. I’ll show you. No tricks this time, we’ll take you there.”
    And off they all went together, Fatty suddenly jabbering in French again. Down the road, round the corner, up the hill and into a quiet little lane. In the middle of it was a small and pretty house, smoke curling from its chimneys.
    “Green-Trees,” said Fatty, pointing to the name on the white gate.
    “Ah — Grintriss,” said the man, in delight and raised his hat to the two girls. “Mesdemoiselles, adieu! I go to find my sistair!”
    He disappeared up the little front path. Bets gave a sigh and slipped her arm through Fatty’s. “What a shame to welcome you home with a silly muddle like this. Fatty. We meant to be on the platform ready to give you a wonderful welcome — and only Buster was there — and we’d gone off after somebody who wasn’t in the least like you.”
    “Yes — but that’s the worst of Fatty when he puts on a disguise,” grumbled Pip. “He never does look in the least like himself. Come on, Fatty — let’s take you back home now. Your mother will be wondering what’s become of you.”
    Mrs. Trotteville was quite relieved to see Fatty and the others trooping into the hall. She came out to greet them.
    “Frederick! Did you miss your train? How late you are! Welcome home again.”
    “Hallo, Mother! What a nice smell from the kitchen! Smells like steak and onions. Buster, what do you think?”
    “Wuff!” said Buster, ready to agree with every word that Fatty said. He dashed round Fatty’s legs, galloped behind the couch, appeared again, and then threaded his way at top speed between all the chairs.
    “Jet-propelled