The Enchanted Castle by E. Nesbit (online e book reading .TXT) 📕

The children would have not only to account for the apparent absence of one of themselves, but for the obvious presence of a perfect stranger.

“I can’t go back to aunt. I can’t and I won’t,” said Mabel firmly, “not if I was visible twenty times over.”

“She’d smell a rat if you did,” Gerald owned, “about the motorcar, I mean, and the adopting lady. And what we’re to say to Mademoiselle about you⁠—!” He tugged at the ring.

“Suppose you told the truth,” said Mabel meaningly.

“She wouldn’t believe it,” said Cathy; “or, if she did, she’d go stark, staring, raving mad.”

“No,” said Gerald’s voice, “we daren’t tell her. But she’s really rather decent. Let’s ask her to let you stay the night because it’s too late for you to get home.”

“That’s all right,” said Jimmy, “but what about you?”

“I shall go to bed,” said Gerald, “with a bad headache. Oh, that’s not a lie! I’ve got one right enough. It’s the sun, I think. I know blacklead attracts the concentration of the sun.”

“More likely the pears and the gingerbread,” said Jimmy unkindly. “Well, let’s get along. I wish it was me was invisible. I’d do something different from going to bed with a silly headache, I know that.”

“What would you do?” asked the voice of Gerald just behind him.

“Do keep in one place, you silly cuckoo!” said Jimmy. “You make me feel all jumpy.” He had indeed jumped rather violently. “Here, walk between Cathy and me.”

“What would you do?” repeated Gerald, from that apparently unoccupied position.

“I’d be a burglar,” said Jimmy.

Cathy and Mabel in one breath reminded him how wrong burgling was, and Jimmy replied:

“Well, then a detective.”

“There’s got to be something to detect before you can begin detectiving,” said Mabel.

“Detectives don’t always detect things,” said Jimmy, very truly. “If I couldn’t be any other kind I’d be a baffled detective. You could be one all right, and have no end of larks just the same. Why don’t you do it?”

“It’s exactly what I am going to do,” said Gerald. “We’ll go round by the police-station and see what they’ve got in the way of crimes.”

They did, and read the notices on the board outside. Two dogs had been lost, a purse, and a portfolio of papers “of no value to any but the owner.” Also Houghton Grange had been broken into and a quantity of silver plate stolen. “Twenty pounds reward offered for any information that may lead to the recovery of the missing property.”

“That burglary’s my lay,” said Gerald; “I’ll detect that. Here comes Johnson,” he added; “he’s going off duty. Ask him about it. The fell detective, being invisible, was unable to pump the constable, but the young brother of our hero made the inquiries in quite a creditable manner. Be creditable, Jimmy.”

Jimmy hailed the constable.

“Halloa, Johnson!” he said.

And Johnson replied: “Halloa, young shaver!”

“Shaver yourself!” said Jimmy, but without malice.

“What are you doing this time of night?” the constable asked jocosely. “All the dicky birds is gone to their little nesteses.”

“We’ve been to the fair,” said Kathleen. “There was a conjurer there. I wish you could have seen him.”

“Heard about him,” said Johnson; “all fake, you know. The quickness of the ’and deceives the hi.”

Such is fame. Gerald, standing in the shadow, jingled the loose money in his pocket to console himself.

“What’s that?” the policeman asked quickly.

“Our money jingling,” said Jimmy, with perfect truth.

“It’s well to be some people,” Johnson remarked; “wish I’d got my pockets full to jingle with.”

“Well, why haven’t you?” asked Mabel. “Why don’t you get that twenty pounds reward?”

“I’ll tell you why I don’t. Because in this ’ere realm of liberty, and Britannia ruling the waves, you ain’t allowed to arrest a chap on suspicion, even if you know puffickly well who done the job.”

“What a shame!” said Jimmy warmly. “And who do you think did it?”

“I don’t think⁠—I know.” Johnson’s voice was ponderous as his boots. “It’s a man what’s known to the police on account of a heap o’ crimes he’s done, but we never can’t bring it ’ome to ’im, nor yet get sufficient evidence to convict.”

“Well,” said Jimmy, “when I’ve left school I’ll come to you and be apprenticed, and be a detective. Just now I think we’d better get home and detect our supper. Good night!”

They watched the policeman’s broad form disappear through the swing door of the police-station; and as it settled itself into quiet again the voice of Gerald was heard complaining bitterly.

“You’ve no more brains than a halfpenny bun,” he said; “no details about how and when the silver was taken.”

“But he told us he knew,” Jimmy urged.

“Yes, that’s all you’ve got out of him. A silly policeman’s silly idea. Go home and detect your precious supper! It’s all you’re fit for.”

“What’ll you do about supper?” Mabel asked.

“Buns!” said Gerald, “halfpenny buns. They’ll make me think of my dear little brother and sister. Perhaps you’ve got enough sense to buy buns? I can’t go into a shop in this state.”

“Don’t you be so disagreeable,” said Mabel with spirit.

“We did our best. If I were Cathy you should whistle for your nasty buns.”

“If you were Cathy the gallant young detective would have left home long ago. Better the cabin of a tramp steamer than the best family mansion that’s got a brawling sister in it,” said Gerald. “You are a bit of an outsider at present, my gentle maiden. Jimmy and Cathy know well enough when their bold leader is chaffing and when he isn’t.”

“Not when we can’t see your face we don’t,” said Cathy, in tones of relief. “I really thought you were in a flaring wax, and so did Jimmy, didn’t you?”

“Oh, rot!” said Gerald. “Come on! This way to the bun shop.”

They went. And it was while Cathy and Jimmy were in the shop and the others were gazing through the glass at the jam tarts and Swiss rolls and Victoria sandwiches and Bath buns under the spread yellow muslin in the window, that