Read Online Mystery of Holly Lane by Enid Blyton - Free Book Online Page A

door. Fatty rang the bell.
    A pleasant-faced woman answered it. She looked very French, and Fatty decided that she must be the sister whose house the bundled-up man had tried so hard to find.
    “Excuse me,” said Fatty, politely. “Do you think I might use your telephone? The old man in the bungalow next door has been robbed, and we want to tell the police.”
    The woman looked startled. “A robbery? Next door? Oh, the poor old man! Yes, come in and use my telephone! It is in this room here.”
    She spoke English extremely well, but had a slight accent which was rather pleasant. She was very like her brother, dark and plump.
    She took them into a room off the hall. A couch stood by the window, and a man lay on it coughing. He turned as they came in.
    “Henri, these children want to use the telephone,” said the woman. “You do not mind?”
    “Enter, I pray you,” said the man, and then stared. “Ah!” he said, “zeese children I have seen before — n’est-ce-pas?”
    “Yes,” said Fatty. “We guided you to Green-Trees, you remember?”
    “Yes — Grintriss,” said the man with a smile. He looked quite different now, without his bulky overcoat, scarf and pulled-down hat — younger and pleasanter. He coughed. “You will pardon me if I lie here? I am not so well.”
    “Of course,” said Fatty. “I hope you don’t mind our coming here like this — but the old fellow next door has been robbed of his money — or so he says — and we want to tell the police.”
    Fatty took up the receiver of the telephone. “Police Station,” he said.
    A loud, sharp voice answered. “P.C. Goon here. Who’s calling?”
    “Er — Frederick Trotteville,” said Fatty. “I just wanted to tell you that…”
    There was a loud snort from the other end and a crash. Goon had put down his receiver in a temper! Fatty was astonished.
    “Gosh! I got Goon, and as soon as I began to speak to him he crashed back the receiver!” said Fatty. “I suppose he’s still furious about Buster. Well, I’ll try again.”
    He got the police station once more, and again Goon’s voice answered.
    “Look here, Mr. Goon,” said Fatty. “Will you go to the bungalow called Hollies, in Holly Lane. There’s been a robbery there.”
    “Any more of your nonsense and I’D report you to Headquarters,” snapped Goon. “I’m not going out on any wild-goose-chase, and have you come back here and shut my cat up in the shed again. Ho, yes, I…”
    “MR. GOON! LISTEN!” shouted Fatty. “This isn’t a joke, it’s…”
    Crash! Goon had put down his receiver again. Fatty put down his and stared in comical dismay at the others. “Goon’s mad! He thinks I’m spoofing him. What shall we do?”
    “Ring up Superintendent Jenks,” suggested Daisy. “It’s the only thing to do, Fatty!”
    “I will!” said Fatty. “It’ll serve Goon right!”
     
    Goon takes Charge.
     
    Fatty rang through to Police Headquarters in the next town, and asked for Superintendent Jenks.
    “He’s out,” said a voice. “Who wants him?”
    “Er — this is Frederick Trotteville,” said Fatty, wishing the Superintendent was in. “I just wanted to say that a robbery has been committed at a bungalow called Hollies, in Holly Lane, Peterswood, and the old man who’s been robbed asked me to tell the police.”
    “You want to ring up Peterswood Police then,” said the voice.
    “I have,” said Fatty. “I — er — I can’t seem to get hold of them. Perhaps you could ring through to tell them?”
    “Right,” said the voice. “Robbery — Hollies — Holly Lane — Peterswood. And your name is —?”
    “Frederick Trotteville,” said Fatty.
    “Ah, yes — I know! Friend of the Super, aren’t you?” said the voice, in a more friendly tone. “Right, sir — leave it to me.”
    And so once more the telephone rang at Goon’s house, and once more he answered it, snatching it up angrily, sure that it was Fatty again.
    “Hallo, hallo! Who’s that?” he barked.
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