Mystery of Holly Lane by Enid Blyton

minute.”
    Pip was fetched. Fatty spoke to him urgently. “Pip? Listen. No time for explanations. I want you to do something for me.”
    “Right,” said Pip’s voice, sounding excited. “I say — is this a mystery starting up?”
    “No. Nothing like that. Listen now. I want you to come up here quickly, unlock my shed, get old Buster out of it, and bring him down to Goon’s house. Put him on a lead. Don’t come into Goon’s — just wait outside till I come out. Tell you everything then!”
    Click, Fatty put down the receiver. He rubbed his hands and grinned. Aha, Mr. Goon, you are going to be very, very surprised!
    He got into the car beside his father, who glanced at him sideways. “I gather, Frederick,” he said, “that you are quite happy about this Buster affair now? But you possibly do not want to tell me why?”
    “How right you are, Dad,” said Fatty, cheerfully. “I’ll just tell you this: Goon played a very dirty trick, but it’s not going to come off!”
    There was silence after that. Mr. Trotteville drove straight to Goon’s house, and the two of them got out. Goon himself had just arrived, and was astonished to find the house completely empty. No Mrs. Mickle, no Bert!”
    Mr. Trotteville and Fatty went in at the front door, and at the very same moment Mrs. Mickle and Bert arrived at the back. Bert’s eyes were red, and he looked frightened. Mrs. Mickle was in a rage.
    She spoke to Mr. Goon. “I’m sorry to have left the house so sudden-like, Mr. Goon — but that dratted boy of the butcher’s came along and told me I was wanted at home — so I left Bert here in charge, and rushed home — and I wasn’t wanted after all. Just wait till I get that butcher’s boy!”
    Bert gave a sudden sniff. Mrs. Mickle looked at him in disgust. “And Bert — who I left here just to stay till you were back, sir — he come racing home, howling like I don’t know what. Scared of being left in your place alone, and telling such tales as I never heard the like of in my life!”
    “Mr. Trotteville, this is the boy who caught Buster chasing sheep last night,” said Goon.
    “I never!” said Bert, suddenly, and burst into tears. “I never, I never!”
    “Bert! How can you tell stories like that?” said his mother. “Why, you stood there and told Mr. Goon all about it this morning. I heard you!”
    “I never, I never, I never,” said Bert, and sniffled again.
    “He’s a bit nervous, I expect,” said Goon, surprised and most displeased. “You caught the dog yourself, didn’t you, Bert?”
    “I never,” said Bert, who seemed quite incapable of saying anything else.
    Goon gave it up. “Well, the dog’s in the shed, and it’s the very dog Bert brought in and put there himself.”
    “I never!” said Bert, making Mr. Goon long to box his ears. The big policeman strode out through the kitchen and into the garden, taking with him the keys of the shed. He inserted one into the lock, and flung the door open, expecting Buster to rush out and declare himself.
    But no dog arrived. Instead, Mr. Goon’s extremely large black cat strolled out haughtily, sat down outside the shed, and began to wash himself.
    Goon’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. Fatty gave a roar of laughter and Bert howled in fright. Bert had put Buster into the shed; and to see the black cat come out instead of the dog was quite terrifying to poor Bert.
    “I never, I never, I never!” he sobbed, and hid his face in his mother’s apron.
    Goon’s mouth opened and shut like a goldfish’s, and he couldn’t say a word. The cat went on washing itself, and Bert went on howling.
    “Well, Mr. Goon, if it’s a cat that was shut into this shed, and not Buster, I really don’t think it’s worthwhile our wasting our time with you any more,” said Mr. Trotteville, sounding quite disgusted. “Did you say that you yourself saw the dog that was put into the shed?”
    Goon hadn’t seen Buster. He had been out when Bert arrived with the dog and