Mystery of Holly Lane by Enid Blyton

Author:Enid Blyton [Blyton, Enid]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-07-15T22:07:51+00:00

Suspects — and Clues!

Mr. Goon didn’t feel that he could possibly stand any cheek from Fatty at that moment. He was completely mystified, he had no clues at all, and he simply couldn’t imagine when, how or why all the front-room furniture had been removed.

“You clear orf,” he said to Fatty. “This has got nothing to do with you. It’s a job for the police.”

“I must just go and see how the poor old man is,” said Fatty, and brushed past Goon to go to the back bedroom. Goon scowled. He looked round the room helplessly. Except for the stove, which kept alight all night, the fender one lamp, and the green curtains, there was nothing left in the room. What was the point of taking all the furniture away? It wasn’t worth much anyway!

Fatty was talking to the old man, who was almost weeping with shock. “My money first — then my furniture!” he moaned. “All my money — then my furniture! What’s to become of me?”

“Didn’t you hear anybody?” asked Fatty.

“No, no! Not a thing did I hear,” he said. Fatty stopped questioning him. It was plain that he was too upset to say anything sensible.

Mr. Goon made a few notes in his black book. “I must know the granddaughter’s address,” he said. “She’ll have to come along here and take this old fellow to her home. He can’t stay here alone, with no furniture. Hey, Dad! What’s your granddaughter’s address?”

“It be 5, Marlins Grove, Marlow,” said the old man. “But you won’t get me there, that you won’t. It’s full of pesky old women, always grumbling and nagging. I’m not going there.”

“But you can’t stay here all alone with no furniture!” shouted Mr. Goon, half because the old man was deaf, and half because he was angry.

“Don’t yell at him like that,” said Fatty, seeing the poor old fellow cower back. Mr. Henri touched Goon on the shoulder.

“My sistair, she is vairy kind,” he said in his broken English. “She has a small bedroom. Zis old man can stay there till his granddaughter arrives.”

“Well, that would help a bit,” said Goon, putting his notebook away. “Will you lock up after you? I must go back to my house and telephone all this to my chief. It’s a funny business — can’t make it out — first the money, then the furniture!”

He turned to Fatty. “And you’d better go home,” he said. “There’s no call for you to meddle in this. Always snooping round. What made you come up here this morning I just can’t think. Wherever I find trouble I find you!”

It took quite a time to explain to the trembling old man that the people next door would help him. But when he understood he seemed to think he would like to go there. Mr. Henri went to tell his “sistair” everything, and sent a gardener to help Fatty to take the old fellow to his house. Between them they carried him there, and kind Mrs. Harris soon got him into a warm bed.

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