Mystery Series - 13 - The Mystery of the Missing Man by Enid Blyton

Author:Enid Blyton
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Children's Fiction
Published: 1956-02-24T00:00:00+00:00

Fatty Asks a Question

Everyone turned round at once. A girl stood in the doorway, a dark-haired, sharp-eyed, gypsy-looking young woman. Her thin mouth looked sulky as she stared at the little company.

“Now where have I seen her before?” thought Fatty at once. “She reminds me of someone. Where have I seen someone like her?”

The girl came into the tent, scowling. “Clear out,” she said to the children, and then turned to Fatty, evidently regarding him as belonging to the Fair. “Clear those kids out. We don’t allow anyone in the tent when there’s no show on. Them fleas are valuable.”

She then turned on the old woman. “Didn’t you say you’d keep your hands off of them fleas?” she said. “Interfering again, I suppose! You let them be, they’re mine.”

“You shouldn’t ought to talk to your old mother like that,” said the old woman, darting a fierce glance at the young woman. She opened her mouth as if to make a sharp retort, looked at the children standing near the doorway, and thought better of it.

“Want any help here?” said Fatty, still wondering who it was that the girl reminded him of.

“Well, she’s supposed to keep the tent clean,” said the girl, with an angry look at the old woman. “But you can sweep it out if you want. I’ll give you a shilling.”

“But are you sure your mother won’t mind?” said Fatty. “I don’t want to do her out of a job.”

“I’ve got another job tomorrow,” cackled the old woman. “You can have this job, young feller - and I hope you don’t feel the edge of that girl’s tongue as often as I do! Fleas! I could manage fleas better than she can, before she was born.”

“Oh, get out,” said the young woman. “And don’t go near Josef. He’s in a vile temper today.”

“What an unpleasant family!” thought Fatty, taking a broom from the back of the tent and beginning to sweep the littered ground. “Who’s Josef?” he asked.

“My brother. Over at the shooting-tent,” said the girl. “He’s my twin.”

Fatty stopped sweeping and looked at her. Of course! That was whom she reminded him of - the young man over at the shooting-tent, the one who was so like the escaped prisoner. The same sharp eyes, dark brows, the same springing dark hair, thin mouth and sulky look. So they were twins - that explained the likeness!

“Got any more brothers or sisters?” he asked, wondering if perhaps there was another brother who might be the man he wanted.

“No. Josef and I are all that’s left of our family,” said the girl.

“And your mother,” said Fatty, sweeping hard.

“Oh her - yes,” said the girl, who obviously had no love for the old woman.

“Do you sleep here in this tent?” asked Fatty. He could not see any bedding and he wondered what the girl and her brother did at night.

“No! Wc have a caravan, down in Barker’s Field,” said the girl. “There’s a crowd of them there. Want to know a lot, don’t you? You new to the Fair?”

“Yes,” said Fatty, truthfully.

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