Mystery of Holly Lane by Enid Blyton Page A

he had just taken Bert’s word for it. Now he didn’t know whether Bert had shut up a dog or the cat. He glared at the boy as if he could bite him.
    Bert howled afresh. He put his hand in his pocket and took out half a crown. He held it out to Goon. “Here you are. I’ve been wicked. Here’s the half-crown you gave me, Mr. Goon. I’ll never go after dogs again for you.”
    “Well, I think we’ve heard enough,” said Mr. Trotteville coldly. “Goon, you deserve to be reported for all this. I’ve a good mind to do so. Come on, Frederick.”
    “But — but I don’t understand it,” said Goon, his eyes popping out of his head. “Why, I heard that dog barking in the shed, I tell you! Hark! Isn’t that him barking now?”
    It was! Pip was walking up and down outside, with Buster on the lead, and Buster had recognized Mr. Trotteville’s car parked nearby. He was barking his head off in delight
    They all went to the front door — and poor Goon nearly fainted when he saw Buster, Buster himself, pulling on Pip’s lead and barking frantically.
    “Hallo, Pip,” said Fatty, in a very ordinary voice. “Thanks for taking Buster for a walk. Slip him off the lead, will you?”
    “No. No, don’t,” said Goon, finding his voice suddenly. “Wait till I’m indoors.”
    He shot into the house and slammed the door. Fatty grinned at his father. “I should like to know how the cat took the place of the dog,” murmured Mr. Trotteville, getting into the car with Fatty and Buster. Pip got in too, puzzled, but grinning all over his face.
    “Tell you when we get home,” said Fatty. “My word — I wouldn’t like to be young Bert right now!”
    Young Bert was indeed having a bad time. Mrs. Mickle was crying, Bert was howling, and Goon felt rather like howling himself. He felt a fool, an idiot — to bring that high-and-mighty Mr. Trotteville down to show him a dog locked up in his shed — and then his own black cat walked out! Gah!
    Bert told a peculiar tale of voices in every comer, when he had been left alone in the house. Goon looked round uneasily. Voices? What did Bert mean? He suddenly remembered Fatty’s ability to throw his voice, just like any ventriloquist. Could Fatty have been here? No, impossible!
    The more Goon thought about it, the more impossible everything seemed. He looked at Bert with so much dislike that the skinny little boy decided he’d slip off home. What with his Mum cross with him, and Mr. Goon looking as if he’d like to eat him up, and those voices he had heard, life wasn’t worth living! So Bert slipped off home.
    “I think Pip and I will get out of the car, and have an ice-cream, Dad,” said Fatty to his father, as they drove down the main street. “I somehow feel like one. You can have one too, Buster.”
    “Right,” said his father and stopped. “I’m glad Buster’s all right, Frederick. I’ll hear all about it later.”
    Fatty and Pip got out with Buster. “I say — do tell me what’s been happening!” said Pip.
    “Come in here and I’ll tell you,” said Fatty. “Goon tried to play a very dirty trick — and it didn’t come off. Come along.”
    And over three ice-creams Fatty told the horrified Pip the dreadful story of how Buster had nearly been shot for doing something he hadn’t done! Pip almost choked over his ice-cream!
    “Look — there’s Larry and Daisy and Bets,” said Pip, suddenly. “Let’s have them in and tell them too.”
    But it turned out that the other three had already had ice-creams, and were now on their way to fetch something. “Larry left the leather behind in the garden of that bungalow whose windows he cleaned the other day,” explained Daisy. “And Mother’s been hunting for it everywhere. So we thought we’d better go and find it in the bushes. It’s sure to be there still.”
    “We’ll all come — and then you can come back home with me and I’ll tell you a most peculiar tale,” said Fatty. “Most peculiar — isn’t it,