warm roof and peeked down over the edge. Dr Hourgood was coming out of the door. Fennymore could see the dome of his belly billowing out under his black hat. The doctor was carrying a sack over his shoulder. Fennymore recognised it. It was Monbijouâs hay-sack, but there was clearly no hay in it now â it was too stuffed for that. Fennymore squinted and tried to see more. The sack didnât seem to be heavy. At least, Dr Hourgood had no problem carrying it.
He was standing right under Fennymore now. He looked all around, to the right and to the left. Fennymore wriggled back, but the doctor didnât look up at all. With swift and confident steps he was making hotfoot for a car, which was parked behind some bushes. It was a big shiny black vehicle, far too big for the little dirt track that led to The Bronx. The sunflowers, which normally reached up towards the sky here, had been pushed aside, and the car had completely mangled some of them.
The doctor dropped the sack into his car boot and closed the lid. Then he got into the car, his cream gloves gleaming on the black steering wheel. A huge cloud of dust rose up as the doctor accelerated. And then he was gone.
Fennymore climbed down off the roof. The doctor had left all the doors open, and Fennymore strolled through the hall into the living room. It was empty.
âMonbijou?â called Fennymore. âFizzy? Hubert?â
But there wasnât so much as a glimmer of sky-blue, not the tiniest freckle and not the smallest scrap of silvery grey fabric was to be seen.
On the table lay a piece of paper. Someone had written something on it in ink. Fennymore had seen this ink before. Dr Hourgoodâs fountain pen! He picked up the piece of paper and held it right in front of his nose. Oh, these letters! He couldnât make head or tail of them. It was pointless. Fennymore looked around the room once more. Was there really nobody there?
He stuck his fingers in his mouth again and whistled the dachshund signal.
A terrible snoring came from the sofa, which was now standing the right way up. The comfy blanket, which was spread out over what looked like a little mountain, moved, and a tangled white head of hair appeared from under it.
âWah!â yawned Beardy, raising his arm in a stretch and staring at Fennymore in surprise.
Oh, no, thought Fennymore with a guilty pang. Iâd almost forgotten about him .
Beardy was starting to seem a bit more like his father. Something about the look in his eyes.
âEr, hello, Dad,â he said again tentatively.
Beardy said nothing, just looked at Fennymore.
âTell me, you wouldnât happen to know where the others are?â Fennymore asked.
Not that he expected to get a sensible answer. But he didnât know what else to say.
âHubertwork,â said Beardy, sitting up.
Fennymore started. That was the first time Beardy hadnât spoken in rhyme. Could the effects of the potion be fading already?
But his hope was short-lived.
âSnip, snap, shiver, quiver,â cried Beardy.
Then he gave a little cluck and started to giggle. He giggled and giggled until he fell back on the sofa and rolled with laughter on the blanket.
Here we go again, thought Fennymore.
He took another look at the note from Dr Hourgood. At the same moment, Beardy caught hold of it, still giggling and snorting, âShiver quiver.â He gave a tug and there was a tearing sound and Fennymore was left with only a scrap of paper in his hand.
âStop! What are you at?â
But Beardy didnât stop. With obvious enjoyment, he started chewing on the paper.
âStop it!â shouted Fennymore frantically. How was he going to bring Beardy to his senses? Before long the paper wasnât going to be decipherable at all, regardless of whether Fennymore could read or not.
He thought suddenly of the sponge that he still had in his pocket. He pulled it out and offered it to his father.
âLook. A
He was standing right under Fennymore now. He looked all around, to the right and to the left. Fennymore wriggled back, but the doctor didnât look up at all. With swift and confident steps he was making hotfoot for a car, which was parked behind some bushes. It was a big shiny black vehicle, far too big for the little dirt track that led to The Bronx. The sunflowers, which normally reached up towards the sky here, had been pushed aside, and the car had completely mangled some of them.
The doctor dropped the sack into his car boot and closed the lid. Then he got into the car, his cream gloves gleaming on the black steering wheel. A huge cloud of dust rose up as the doctor accelerated. And then he was gone.
Fennymore climbed down off the roof. The doctor had left all the doors open, and Fennymore strolled through the hall into the living room. It was empty.
âMonbijou?â called Fennymore. âFizzy? Hubert?â
But there wasnât so much as a glimmer of sky-blue, not the tiniest freckle and not the smallest scrap of silvery grey fabric was to be seen.
On the table lay a piece of paper. Someone had written something on it in ink. Fennymore had seen this ink before. Dr Hourgoodâs fountain pen! He picked up the piece of paper and held it right in front of his nose. Oh, these letters! He couldnât make head or tail of them. It was pointless. Fennymore looked around the room once more. Was there really nobody there?
He stuck his fingers in his mouth again and whistled the dachshund signal.
A terrible snoring came from the sofa, which was now standing the right way up. The comfy blanket, which was spread out over what looked like a little mountain, moved, and a tangled white head of hair appeared from under it.
âWah!â yawned Beardy, raising his arm in a stretch and staring at Fennymore in surprise.
Oh, no, thought Fennymore with a guilty pang. Iâd almost forgotten about him .
Beardy was starting to seem a bit more like his father. Something about the look in his eyes.
âEr, hello, Dad,â he said again tentatively.
Beardy said nothing, just looked at Fennymore.
âTell me, you wouldnât happen to know where the others are?â Fennymore asked.
Not that he expected to get a sensible answer. But he didnât know what else to say.
âHubertwork,â said Beardy, sitting up.
Fennymore started. That was the first time Beardy hadnât spoken in rhyme. Could the effects of the potion be fading already?
But his hope was short-lived.
âSnip, snap, shiver, quiver,â cried Beardy.
Then he gave a little cluck and started to giggle. He giggled and giggled until he fell back on the sofa and rolled with laughter on the blanket.
Here we go again, thought Fennymore.
He took another look at the note from Dr Hourgood. At the same moment, Beardy caught hold of it, still giggling and snorting, âShiver quiver.â He gave a tug and there was a tearing sound and Fennymore was left with only a scrap of paper in his hand.
âStop! What are you at?â
But Beardy didnât stop. With obvious enjoyment, he started chewing on the paper.
âStop it!â shouted Fennymore frantically. How was he going to bring Beardy to his senses? Before long the paper wasnât going to be decipherable at all, regardless of whether Fennymore could read or not.
He thought suddenly of the sponge that he still had in his pocket. He pulled it out and offered it to his father.
âLook. A
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