Read Online Mystery of the Secret Room by Enid Blyton - Free Book Online Page B

properties standing well back from the road?” asked Fatty in a smooth, dignified voice. “My aunt would like to hear of some. She wants a large house and garden, if possible on the outskirts of the village.”
    “Well, you tell your aunt to ring me up or write to me,” said the elderly man, looking suspiciously over the tops of his large glasses. “Or give me her address and I’ll write to her.”
    This didn’t suit Fatty at all. What would be the good of that!
    “Well, she rather wanted me to take her some particulars today,” said Fatty. “Er - a house something like that one called Milton House might do for her.”
    “What price house does she want?” asked the house-agent, still loohng suspiciously at Fatty. He didn’t like boys.
    Fatty didn’t know what to say. He had a good deal of general knowledge, but the price of houses didn’t come into it. He hesitated.
    “Well - about five hundred pounds,” he said boldly, thinking that that was such a lot of money surely it would buy a house like Milton House.
    The house-agent gave a short bark of a laugh. “Go away!” he said. “Trying to have me on, aren’t you? Five hundred pounds indeed! Why, that would hardly buy a cottage these days. You go and tell your aunt she’d better spend her money on a doll’s house! And by the way, just give me your aunt’s address, will you?”
    Fatty was equal to this, and at once gave a perfectly marvellous address, which the house-agent wrote down rather doubtfully.
    “Er - perhaps you’d better give me her telephone number too,” said the man, hoping to catch Fatty out.
    “Certainly,” said Fatty. “Whiskers 0000.”
    Before the astonished agent could make any comment about this curious telephone number, Fatty had bade him a polite good-day and gone.
    “Phew!” said Fatty to himself, as he sprinted down the road at top speed. “What a nasty suspicious fellow! Well - I didn’t get much information out of him about Milton House. I’d better try the other agent - and this time my dear aunt will have to spend five thousand pounds on a house.”
    He marched into the other house-agents, and saw to his relief a boy sitting at a table. The boy did not look much older than himself, and was rather pale and pimply. In the ordinary way Fatty would have greeted him by saying, “Hallo, Pimples!” but this time he thought he had better not.
    “Good morning,” said Fatty, putting on his deepest, most important voice.
    “’Morning,” said Pimples. “What do you want?”
    “Well - it’s not so much what l want as what my Aunt Alicia needs,” said Fatty. “She is desirous of - er - purchasing a property, a secluded property, at about - er - five thousand pounds.”
    “Pom-pom-pom, aren’t we high and mighty!” said Pimples. “Who’s your aunt?”
    “She’s my uncle’s wife,” said Fatty, and grinned. He took out a bag of big bull’s-eye humbugs and offered Pimples one. Pimples grinned back and took one.
    “We aren’t used to people popping in and wanting to spend five thousand pounds on any property hereabouts,” said Pimples, grinning again. “But we’ve got plenty of empty houses if your aunt would like to choose one. There’s Elmhurst and Sunlands, and Cherry Tree and Burnham House, and -”
    “Got any down Chestnut Lane?” asked Fatty, sucking his humbug. Chestnut Lane was the road in which Milton House was.
    “Yes. House called Fairways,” said the boy, consulting a big book and putting his peppermint into his other cheek.
    “What about Milton House?” said Fatty. “That’s empty too.”
    “It’s not for sale,” said the boy.
    “Whyever not?” asked Fatty, surprised.
    “Because somebody’s bought it, fathead,” said Pimples. “It was on the market for four years, and somebody bought it about a year ago.”
    “Oh!” said Fatty, puzzled. “Well, why haven’t they moved in?”
    “How should I know?” said Pimples, crunching up his peppermint. “I say, where do you get these humbugs? They’re jolly good.”
    “I got them in London the other day,” said Fatty. “Have