The boys stood up. “Sorry about your shoe, sir,” said Fatty.
“So am I,” said Mr. Smellie dryly. “It’s got my name inside. So I’ve no doubt Mr. Goon will be along here in the morning. Good night. And try not to suspect me of any more fires, thefts, killings, or anything of that sort, will
you? I am really only a harmless elderly fellow interested in nothing but my old papers!”
The boys left, distinctly subdued. They couldn’t help thinking that Mr. Smellie hadn’t had anything to do with the firing of the cottage. But, then, who had?
“I’m tired,” said Lany. “Meet tomorrow at Pip’s place. Your bruises came in useful. Fatty. Without them I don’t believe we’d have got free!”
“They looked fine, didn’t they?” said Fatty cheerfully. “Well, good night. We’ve had an adventurous evening, haven’t we?”
The other three were amazed and admiring when they heard all that had happened to Lany and Fatty. But they were even more puzzled than amazed.
“It’s a most extraordinary thing,” said Pip thoughtfully. “We keep finding that all kinds of people were hiding in the garden that night – and all of them were there for some definite reason. Even the tramp – he was after eggs. And yet we can’t put our fingers on the real wrongdoer. Could the tramp have done it? Could Horace have set fire to the cottage, although he was only gone three minutes? Could Mr. Smellie have done it? Horace says he saw him in the house, getting his papers – but it’s possible he might have fired the cottage after that.”
“Yes. But somehow I feel certain he didn’t now,” said Larry. “Let’s go down to Hiccup’s garden and have a Big Think. We may have missed something.”
They all went down. They saw Lily hanging out the clothes, and whistled to her. With a quick look round to see that Mrs. Minns was not about, she ran to them.
“Lily! Where exactly did you and Horace hide in the bushes?” asked Larry. “Were you in the ditch by the workroom?”
“Oh no,” said Lily, and she pointed to some bushes by the drive. “We were there. We never went near the ditch.”
“And old Smellie says he only hid for a moment by the gate. But someone hid in the ditch!” said Fatty thoughtfully. “Let’s go there, every one.”
They went to the ditch. The nettles were rising up again
by this tame, but it was still easy to see where they had been flattened by some one. The children squeezed through the gap and went to look at the footprint on the space where the turf had been taken away. It was still there, but fainter now.
“You know,” said Daisy suddenly, “You know, these footprints – the one here and the ones round about the stile – all point one way. They are coming towards the house, but not going away. Whoever hid in the ditch came across the fields to the house – but there are no footprints at all to show that he went back that way.”
“He might have gone out of the front gate, silly,” said Fatty. “Well, I must say I feel defeated today. Our clues don’t tell us anything now – and all our Suspects seem to be innocent. I feel a bit tired of finding out things that lead us nowhere. Let’s do something else today. Let’s go for an all-day picnic.”
“Oooh yes” said every one. “We’ll go back for our bikes. We’ll go to Buraham Beeches and have a lovely time.”
Bets’s mother would not allow her to go, because it was too far for an eight-year-old to ride. The little girl was very disappointed.
“I’d rather Bets didn’t go for a picnic today anyway,” said her mother. “She looks a bit pale. Leave Buster behind and let her go for a walk with him. She’ll like that.”
Bets did love taking Buster for walks, tat it hardly made up for missing a picnic. Fatty was very sorry for her when she stood at the gate waving to them as they went off on their bikes.
“I’ll bring you back heaps of primroses!” he called. “Look after Buster, won’t you?”
Buster wagged his tail. He meant to look after Bets, not have Bets look after Mml He too felt sad when he saw the children going off without him. But he knew that he could never run fast enough to keep up with bicycles.
It had been raining in the night and everywhere was muddy. Bets thought she had better put on her rubber
boots. She went to get them. Buster pattered after her on
muddy paws.
“It’s a pity you can’t wear goloshes or something, Buster,” she said. “You get awfully muddy.”
The two of them set off for a walk. Bets went down the lane to the river. She chose a little path that ran alongside the river for some way, and then turned back again across a field that led to the stile where the children had seen the exciting footprints a few days before.
Bets danced along, throwing sticks for Buster, and remembering not to throw stones for him to fetch because Fatty said they broke his teeth. She stooped down to pick up a stick – and then stood still in the greatest astonishment.
There, plainly to be seen on the muddy path in front of her, was a line of footprints exactly like the ones the children had found by the stile! Bets by now knew the prints by heart, for she had gazed at Fatty’s drawings so often. She felt absolutely certain that they were the same. There was the rubber sole with its criss-cross markings, and the little squares with the blobs at each corner!
“Ooh, look, Buster,” said Bets at last. She could feel her heart thumping with excitement. Buster came to look. He sniffed at the footprints and then looked up at Bets, wagging his tail.
“They’re the same prints, aren’t they, Buster, dear?” said Bets. “And listen, Buster – it only rained last night -so some one must have walked along here since then – and that some one is the person we’re after – though we don’t know who! Oh, Buster – what’s the best thing to do? I do feel so excited, don’t you?”
Buster capered round the little girl as if he understood eveiy single word she said. She stood for a moment or two looking down at the line of footprints.
“We’ll follow them, Buster,” she said. “That’s what we’ll do! We’ll follow them. See? I don’t know how long it is since the person walked along here, but it’s not very long, anyway. Come on – we may even catch up with the person who made the prints. Oh, this is exciting!”
The htde girl followed the footprints with Buster. He put his nose down to them and Mowed them too, though it was really the smell he was following, not the marks thehiselves. Along the muddy path thef went, and then crossed a road to the other side. Then up another footpath, where they showed quite plainly, and then into alaue Here they were not so easy to follow, but Buster’s nose was most useful, for he could follow the smell, even where there was no footprint to be seen.
“You really are very clever, Buster,” said Bets, in great admiration. “I wish my nose was like yours. Yes – that’s right – that’s another of the prints – and here’s another -and another. Look – they’re going to the stile.”
So they were. It was plain that the owner of the prints had crossed the stile and jumped down on to the field beyond. Bets grew more and more excited.
“The prints are going the same way as the other prints did!” she said to Buster. “Look! Now, Buster, dear, use your nose well across this field because I can’t see anything on the grass, of course.”
Buster went across the field in a straight line, his black nose held close to the ground. He could smell exactly where the person had walked. Soon Bets came to a bare muddy bit and there she saw a footprint clearly outlined. “You are going the right way. Buster,” she said. “Keep your nose down! Hurry! Maybe we shall find the person if we’re quick! I believe these footprints have only just been made.”
The footprints did not lead to the gap in the hedge. Instead they led over another stile and up the lane that led to Bets’ own house. But at Mr. Hick’s gate the prints turned and went up Mr. Hick’s own drive!
Bets was amazed. So the man who fired the cottage had actually gone back to it today! She wondered if he had gone to the front door or the back door. She went up the muddy drive, her face down, watching the prints. They went right to the front door. Just as she got there the door opened and Mr. Hick appeared. He seemed astonished to see Bets.