Mystery of Holly Lane Read Online Free PDF

him.
    He unlocked the door of his shed, and opened it a little, listening. Was any one about? Or could he slip safely out into the road?
    He could hear nothing, so he slipped out of the shed, locked the door and made his way up the side-path through the shrubbery.
    As he went through the bushes, a voice hailed him. “Hey, you! What you doing there!”
    It was the gardener, looking with interest at the shabby old woman.
    Fatty immediately went all foreign. He flapped about with his hands, moved his shoulders up and down and said “Ackle-eeta-oomi-poggy-wo?”
    “Can’t you speak English?” said the gardener. “See — there’s the kitchen door if you want anything.”
    “Tipply-opply-erica-coo,” said Fatty in a most grateful voice, and slid out of the gardener’s sight. He grinned to himself. His disguise must be pretty good if the gardener didn’t see through it!
    He decided that it would be quite a good idea to go on being rather foreign. It was so easy to talk gibberish! Fatty could go on and on for a very long time, apparently speaking in a foreign language, shrugging his shoulders like his French master at school, and waggling his hands about
    He made his way down the road. Nobody took the least notice of him, which was very good. Fatty decided that he looked rather like one of the faded old women who sometimes sat on committees with his mother.
    He came to the road where Goon lived and went up to his house. Was Goon in? Fatty knocked at the door.
    It opened, and a skinny little boy stood there, the same skinny little fellow who had followed Goon to the door when Pip had been waiting for him.
    The boy looked at him with sharp eyes. “Mr. Goon’s out,” he said. “There’s only my Mum in. She’s cleaning. If you want to leave a message I’ll call her.”
    “Ah — zat would be kind,” said Fatty, giving the boy a sudden beaming smile. “I vill come in.”
    He pushed past the boy and went into Goon’s office. He sat down, spreading out his skirts and patting the back of his hair with his hand.
    “I’ll fetch me Mum,” said the boy, who didn’t quite know what to make of this visitor. Was she a friend of Mr. Goon?
    ” ‘Ere, Mum — there’s a funny old foreign lady come to see Mr. Goon,” Fatty heard the boy say. “She’s set herself down in the office.”
    “All right. I’ll see what she wants,” said Mum’s voice. Mum then appeared at the office-door, wiping her hands on an apron.
    Fatty gave her a gracious smile and nodded her head. “I come to see dear Mr. Goon,” he announced. “He is expecting me — yes?”
    “I don’t rightly know,” said Mum. “He’s out just now. Will you wait? I’m just cleaning out for him — I come every morning. I have to bring Bert with me because it’s holidays, but he’s useful.”
    Fatty beamed at the skinny little woman, who really looked very like Bert. “Ikkle-dokka-runi-pie,” he said, in a very earnest voice.
    “Pardon?” said Mum, startled. “You’re foreign, aren’t you? I had a foreigner once who lodged with me. She was right down clever — read my hand like a book!”
    “Ah — so!” said Fatty. “I too read the hand. Like a book.”
    “Do you really?” said Mum, and came a little farther into the room. Fatty racked his brains to remember who she was. He knew he had seen her before. Then he remembered. Of course — she was a friend of Jane, the house parlour-maid, and sometimes came to help Cook when they had a party — he had heard them talking about her — what was her name now? Ah, yes — Mickle.
    Mum wiped her hands again on her apron and held one out to Fatty. “What’s my hand tell you?” she asked, eagerly.
    Fatty took it in his and frowned over it. “Ah — your name it is Mickle! Mrs. Mickle. You live at — at — Shepherd’s Crescent….”
    “Coo!” said Mum, most impressed. “Is that all written in my hand? Go on.”
    “You have five sisters,” said Fatty, remembering the gossip he had heard. “And er — er