Read Online Mystery of Tally-Ho Cottage by Enid Blyton - Free Book Online
Authors: Enid Blyton
Ads: Link
a sigh of relief.
Fatty came to the river-gate leading into the grounds of Tally-Ho. It was only a small wicket-gate, quite unlike the two imposing drive-gates at the front of the big house, through which so many cars had driven in and out that summer.
Nobody was about at all. Fatty went a little way along and climbed over the fence into the grounds. He made his way cautiously to the big house, standing, desolate and empty, with no smoke coming from its many chimneys.
He peeped into a window. Inside was a big room, with dust-sheets over the chairs. A large, polished table stood in the middle. On it was a great bowl full of dead flowers.
Fattys gaze slid round the room. Chairs. Little tables. A stool - and lying on the floor beside the stool was a curious little object, grey, solid, and rubbery.
Fatty wondered what it was. And why was it on the floor? He stared at it curiously. Then he suddenly knew what it was. Of course! It was a little rubber bone, the kind given to dogs to play with and chew!
Must be Poppets, said Fatty. One of her playthings that she left behind on the floor.
He left the window and went along a path under a rose pergola - and suddenly, just at the end of it, he came face to face with Mr. Larkin, who was trudging round the corner with some firewood.
Mr. Larkin jumped violently and dropped all his wood. Fatty stepped forward at once and picked it up. Then he addressed the scared Mr. Larkin in a very foreign-sounding voice indeed!
Excuse, please! I come here to see my old friends, the Lorenzos - ah, such old friends they are! And I find the house shut tight - nowhere is there anybody. Please, good sir, you can tell me of my friends?
Theyve gorn, said Mr. Larkin. Aint you seen the papers? Bad lot, they are.
Gorn? echoed Fatty, in a very puzzled voice. I do not understand.
Well - theyve gorn - just gorn, said Mr. Larkin impatiently. Fatty stared at him. He looked just the same miserable fellow as before - plumpish under his untidy old overcoat, a scarf round his chin and throat, and a cap pulled down over his eyes. He peered at Fatty suspiciously through his thick glasses.
We dont allow no strangers here, said Mr. Larkin, backing away from Fattys stare. Fatty was taking him all in, suddenly filled with a longing to disguise himself like this old fellow. If he disguised himself as Bob Larkin he could go all round the house and peep into every window without anyone being surprised. He might even get into the house if he could find the keys. Possibly Larkin had some. Yes - he would do it one night - it would be fun.
Youll have to give me your name, said Mr. Larkin, suddenly remembering that the police had asked him to take the name of anyone coming to the house. Foreigner, arent you? He took out a dirty little notebook and sucked a pencil.
You can write down my name as Mr. Hoho-Ha, said Fatty politely, and spelt it out carefully for Mr. Larkin. And my address is Bong Castle, India.
Mr. Larkin laboriously wrote it all down, placing his notebook on a window-ledge to write legibly. When he looked up again, Mr. Hoho-Ha had gone.
Larkin grunted and picked up his firewood. All this silly police business annoyed him. Why couldnt he be left in peace to do his job? But he didnt seem to have much of a job now! All those boilers raked out - nothing to light or keep going. No nice warm boiler-house to sit in and read his paper. Nothing to do but look after a silly little poodle!
Fatty was behind a bush, watching Larkin going down the path. He noted every action - the shuffling limp, the stoop, the way the cap was pulled half-side-ways over the mans face. Yes - he could disguise himself well enough as Larkin to deceive even his old wife!
Fatty had a good look round while he was about it. He looked into shed and greenhouses, boiler-house and summerhouse, keeping a sharp lookout for anyone else. But he saw nobody.
He would, however,
Fatty came to the river-gate leading into the grounds of Tally-Ho. It was only a small wicket-gate, quite unlike the two imposing drive-gates at the front of the big house, through which so many cars had driven in and out that summer.
Nobody was about at all. Fatty went a little way along and climbed over the fence into the grounds. He made his way cautiously to the big house, standing, desolate and empty, with no smoke coming from its many chimneys.
He peeped into a window. Inside was a big room, with dust-sheets over the chairs. A large, polished table stood in the middle. On it was a great bowl full of dead flowers.
Fattys gaze slid round the room. Chairs. Little tables. A stool - and lying on the floor beside the stool was a curious little object, grey, solid, and rubbery.
Fatty wondered what it was. And why was it on the floor? He stared at it curiously. Then he suddenly knew what it was. Of course! It was a little rubber bone, the kind given to dogs to play with and chew!
Must be Poppets, said Fatty. One of her playthings that she left behind on the floor.
He left the window and went along a path under a rose pergola - and suddenly, just at the end of it, he came face to face with Mr. Larkin, who was trudging round the corner with some firewood.
Mr. Larkin jumped violently and dropped all his wood. Fatty stepped forward at once and picked it up. Then he addressed the scared Mr. Larkin in a very foreign-sounding voice indeed!
Excuse, please! I come here to see my old friends, the Lorenzos - ah, such old friends they are! And I find the house shut tight - nowhere is there anybody. Please, good sir, you can tell me of my friends?
Theyve gorn, said Mr. Larkin. Aint you seen the papers? Bad lot, they are.
Gorn? echoed Fatty, in a very puzzled voice. I do not understand.
Well - theyve gorn - just gorn, said Mr. Larkin impatiently. Fatty stared at him. He looked just the same miserable fellow as before - plumpish under his untidy old overcoat, a scarf round his chin and throat, and a cap pulled down over his eyes. He peered at Fatty suspiciously through his thick glasses.
We dont allow no strangers here, said Mr. Larkin, backing away from Fattys stare. Fatty was taking him all in, suddenly filled with a longing to disguise himself like this old fellow. If he disguised himself as Bob Larkin he could go all round the house and peep into every window without anyone being surprised. He might even get into the house if he could find the keys. Possibly Larkin had some. Yes - he would do it one night - it would be fun.
Youll have to give me your name, said Mr. Larkin, suddenly remembering that the police had asked him to take the name of anyone coming to the house. Foreigner, arent you? He took out a dirty little notebook and sucked a pencil.
You can write down my name as Mr. Hoho-Ha, said Fatty politely, and spelt it out carefully for Mr. Larkin. And my address is Bong Castle, India.
Mr. Larkin laboriously wrote it all down, placing his notebook on a window-ledge to write legibly. When he looked up again, Mr. Hoho-Ha had gone.
Larkin grunted and picked up his firewood. All this silly police business annoyed him. Why couldnt he be left in peace to do his job? But he didnt seem to have much of a job now! All those boilers raked out - nothing to light or keep going. No nice warm boiler-house to sit in and read his paper. Nothing to do but look after a silly little poodle!
Fatty was behind a bush, watching Larkin going down the path. He noted every action - the shuffling limp, the stoop, the way the cap was pulled half-side-ways over the mans face. Yes - he could disguise himself well enough as Larkin to deceive even his old wife!
Fatty had a good look round while he was about it. He looked into shed and greenhouses, boiler-house and summerhouse, keeping a sharp lookout for anyone else. But he saw nobody.
He would, however,
Similar Books
