by Enid Blyton
His captor ran his hands over him. Then he got out a small pocket-torch, and flashed it once, very quickly, on Philip’s gagged face. He saw the tuft of hair standing straight up on Philip’s forehead and gave a gasp.
‘Philip! You little ass! What are you doing out here, creeping about in the dark?’
With a shock of amazement and delight, Philip recognised Bill’s voice. Gosh, so it was Bill! Well, he didn’t mind his mouth being full of earth then. He pulled at the gag, making gurgling sounds.
‘Shut up!’ whispered Bill urgently, and he took off the gag. ‘There may be others about. Don’t make a sound. If you’ve anything to say whisper it right into my ear, like this.’
‘Bill,’ whispered Philip, his mouth finding Bill’s ear, ‘there’s a man hidden in the bushes at our front gate. We spotted him there, and I slipped out to warn you if I could. Be careful.’
Bill undid Philip’s wrists. The boy rubbed them tenderly. Bill knew how to tie people up, no doubt about that! Good thing he hadn’t knocked him out.
‘The back door’s open,’ he whispered into Bill’s ear. ‘As far as I know there’s nobody waiting about at the back. Let’s try and get into the house. We can talk there.’
Very silently the two made their way back to the gap in the hedge that Philip knew so well. Neither of them trod on the gravel, in case the slight crunch might warn any hidden watcher.
They squeezed through the gap slowly and carefully. Now they were in Philip’s own garden. Taking Bill by the arm he led him slowly over the dark lawn, under the trees, towards the house. There was no light in it anywhere now. Mrs Mannering had gone to bed.
The back door was still unlocked. Philip pushed it open, and the two of them went in. ‘Don’t put on the light,’ whispered Bill. ‘We don’t want anyone to know that we’re awake here. I’ll lock this door.’
They went cautiously upstairs. One of the stairs creaked loudly, and Jack, who was waiting in the bedroom, shot to the door. Luckily he didn’t switch the light on.
‘It’s all right – it’s only me,’ whispered Philip. ‘And I’ve got old Bill.’
‘Good egg!’ said Jack in delight, and dragged them into his room. Bill gave his hand a hearty shake. He was very fond of the whole family.
‘I must rinse my mouth out,’ said Philip. ‘It’s full of earth still. I didn’t dare to do any spitting out in the garden, because of the noise. Ugh! It’s horrible!’
‘Poor Philip!’ said Bill remorsefully. ‘I didn’t know it was you, old fellow. I thought it was somebody lying in wait for me, and I meant to get him, before he got me!’
‘You did it jolly well,’ said Philip, rinsing his mouth out. ‘Now where’s my tooth-paste? I really must clean my teeth! Oh, blow!’
His hand, seeking for his tooth-paste in the dark, had knocked over a glass. It fell into the basin and smashed. It made a tremendous noise in the silent night.
‘Go and warn the girls not to put their light on, if this has woken them,’ said Bill urgently to Jack. ‘Quick! And see if it has waked Aunt Allie. If it has, warn her too.’
Lucy-Ann was awake, and Jack just managed to stop her switching on the light. His mother did not stir. Her room was further away and she had not heard the sound of breaking glass. Lucy-Ann was astonished to hear Jack’s urgent voice.
‘What’s up?’ she asked. Anything gone wrong? Are you or Philip ill?’
‘Of course not,’ said Jack impatiently. ‘Get your dressing-gown on, and wake Dinah. Bill’s here! But we’re not to put on any lights, see?’
Something fluttered by his head with a low squawk. ‘Oh, Kiki! I wondered where you were,’ said Jack. ‘What made you sleep in the girls’ room tonight? Come along and see Bill!’
Lucy-Ann awoke an astonished Dinah. The two girls put on their dressing-gowns and went to the boys’ room. Kiki was already there, nibbling Bill’s ear in delight, making soft noises in his ear.
‘Hallo! hallo!’ said Bill, when the girls crept softly into the room. ‘Which is which? I can only feel you. Ah, this must be Lucy-Ann – I can smell your freckles!’
‘You can’t smell freckles,’ said Lucy-Ann, giggling. ‘But you’re right, it is me, all the same. Oh, Bill, where have you been so long? You didn’t answer any of our letters at all.’
‘I know,’ said Bill. You see – I was on a peculiar job – hunting down a gang of rogues – and then, before I knew what was happening, they got wind of what I was doing – and began to hunt me down! So I had to go into hiding, and keep dark.’
‘Why – would they have kidnapped you or something, Bill?’ asked Lucy-Ann, scared.
‘Oh, there’s no knowing what they would have done to me,’ said Bill airily. ‘I should certainly have disappeared for good. But here I am, as you see.’
‘So that’s what that man at the front gate was there for – hoping to get you,’ said Philip. ‘Why have you come to see us now, Bill? Do you want us to do anything?’
‘Well,’ said Bill, ‘I’ve got to disappear for some time, and I wanted to see your mother particularly, to give her a few things to keep for me – just in case – well, just in case I didn’t turn up again. I’m what is called a “marked man” now, as far as this particular gang is concerned. I know too much about them for their own comfort.’
‘Oh, Bill – but where are you going to disappear to?’ asked Lucy-Ann forlornly. ‘I don’t like you to disappear into the blue. Can’t you tell us?’
‘Oh – I’ll probably lead the simple life somewhere in the wilds,’ said Bill. ‘Till these fellows have given up hunting for me, or get themselves caught, I don’t want to disappear – don’t think that! I’m not afraid of any of them, but my chiefs can’t afford to let anyone get hold of me. So I’ve got to vanish completely for a time – and not even get into touch with you or my family.’
There was a silence. It wasn’t nice to hear all this, told in a low voice in the darkness of midnight. Lucy-Ann groped for Bill’s hand. He squeezed her fingers.
‘Cheer up! You’ll hear from me again some day – next year, or the year after. I shall take some kind of disguise – become a miner somewhere in the wilds of Alaska – or – or a lonely ornithologist on some desolate island – or . . .’
Jack gave a gasp. Something clicked in his mind as a really brilliant idea slid into place there.
‘Bill! Oh, Bill! I’ve thought of something grand!’
‘Sh! Not so loud!’ said Bill. And just take Kiki on your shoulder now, will you, before she nibbles away the whole of my left ear.’
‘Listen, Bill,’ said Jack urgently. ‘I’ve thought of something. We had a great disappointment today – I’ll tell you about it first.’
‘Go on, then,’ said Bill, thankful that Kiki was no longer on his shoulder.
‘I don’t expect you know, but we’ve all had measles pretty badly,’ said Jack. ‘That’s why we’re not back at school. Well, the doctor said we ought to go away for a change, and Aunt Allie decided we could go on a bird-watching expedition, with Dr Johns and his party, to some lonely coasts and islands off the north of Britain – you know, places that only birds live on, and only bird-lovers visit.’
‘I know,’ said Bill, listening intently.
‘Well, Dr Johns got hurt in an accident today,’ said Jack. ‘So we can’t go because there is nobody to take us. But – why can’t you take us – disguised as some bird-man or other? – then we’d have a perfectly glorious holiday, you’d be able to get off into the unknown without anyone knowing – and we could leave you behind there when we come back – quite safe!’
There was silence. All the children waited breathlessly for Bill’s answer. Even Kiki seemed to be listening anxiously.
‘I don’t know,’ said Bill at last. ‘It’s too much like using you as a smoke-screen – and if my enemies saw through the smoke – well, things wouldn’t be too good for you or for me either. I don’t think it’s possible.’
The mere thought of Bill’s turning the
wonderful idea down made the children more enthusiastic and urgent about it. They each had a few words to contribute.
‘We were so disappointed not to go – and now this does seem a way – and after all, it would only be for about two weeks, as far as we’re concerned. We’d be going back to school then.’
‘You’re awfully good at disguises. You could easily look like an ornithologist – sort of earnest, and always peering into the distance for birds, and with field-glasses over your shoulder . . .’
‘Nobody could possibly know. We’d all be absolutely safe up in the northern seas, so wild and desolate, with you. Think of May up there – the sea so blue, the birds all soaring and gliding, the sea-pinks out all over the place . . .’
You’d be safe, Bill – no one surely would ever dream of hunting for you in a place like that. And oh, we do want that kind of holiday. We’ve felt mouldy after measles.’
‘Not so loud,’ whispered Bill. ‘I’ll have to talk things over with your mother first – even if I think it’s all right myself. It’s a bold idea – and I don’t think it would occur to anyone for one moment that I would go off openly like that. And I must say that a holiday with you four – and Kiki too, of course – is just what I’m needing at the moment.’
‘Oh, Bill – I believe you’ll do it!’ said Lucy-Ann, hugging him with ecstasy. ‘What a lovely ending to a horrid day!’
5
Exciting plans
Bill spent the night, unknown to Mrs Mannering, in the little spare room. He said he would talk to her the next morning. He was relieved to find that a daily maid came in each morning, but that no one except the family slept in the house at night.
‘We children do all the beds and things upstairs, now that we have recovered,’ said Dinah. ‘So you can stay up here unseen, if you like. We’ll bring breakfast up.’
But the next morning everything was upset again. Mrs Mannering knocked on the wall separating the girls’ room from hers, and Dinah went running in to see what the matter was.
‘Dinah! The most sickening thing has happened!’ said Mrs Mannering in disgust. ‘I’ve got measles now – look at my spots. I thought I’d had it when I was your age – but it’s measles right enough. Oh dear, I wish I had engaged that Miss Lawson and let her take you off to Bournemouth or somewhere yesterday. Now what are we to do?’
‘Oh dear!’ said Dinah. Then she decided to tell her mother about Bill being there. Perhaps that would help. ‘I’ll get you your dressing-jacket and tidy the room,’ she said briskly, ‘because there’s someone who wants to see you. He may help quite a lot. It’s Bill!’
‘Bill!’ said Mrs Mannering, amazed. ‘When did he come? I waited up till eleven, but I felt so terribly tired I just had to go to bed. Well, now – I wonder if old Bill would take you off my hands for a bit and leave Hilda, the daily, to look after me!’
‘I’m sure he would,’ said Dinah, delighted. ‘Poor Mother! You feel worst the first two or three days and after that it’s not so bad. There – are your pillows comfy? I’ll send Bill in now.’
The news was broken to the others. The children were sorry and dismayed. Did grown-ups actually get measles then? Poor Mother! Poor Aunt Allie! She would certainly want them out of the house now.
‘She’s ready to see you, Bill,’ said Dinah. ‘I say – I suppose you’ve had measles all right, haven’t you?’
‘Oh, dozens of times,’ said Bill cheerfully, going to Mrs Mannering’s room. ‘Cheer up – we’ll get things right in no time!’
‘But you can only have measles once,’ began Lucy-Ann. Then the door was shut, and the children could hear only a murmur of voices in the room.
They went down to breakfast. The boys had more or less got back their ordinary appetites, but the girls still only picked at their food. Dinah looked at Lucy-Ann.
‘Your freckles hardly show,’ she said. ‘Nor do Jack’s. A bit of sun will do us all good. I don’t feel like this bacon, do you? Oh dear – I wish Bill would hurry up and come down. I do want to know what they’ve decided.’
Bill did not come down. The children heard the door above opening, and then a soft whistle. Bill was evidently afraid the daily was about. But she had gone out to do the shopping.
‘It’s all right,’ called Dinah. ‘Hilda’s out. Come down if you want to. We’ve saved you some breakfast.’
Bill came down. ‘Your mother doesn’t want any breakfast except toast and tea,’ he said. You make the toast, Dinah. I see the kettle’s boiling – we can make tea as soon as the toast is ready. Then I’m going to ring up the doctor, and then ring up Miss Tremayne, your mother’s friend, and ask her to come along for a week or two to be with the invalid. She says she’ll like that.’
The children listened in silence. And what about us?’ asked Jack at last. ‘Didn’t you decide?’
Yes, I decided,’ said Bill. ‘Your aunt begged me to take you away for two weeks – and I told her I was due to disappear for a while, so I’d go off to the northern seas with you. I didn’t scare her with my reasons for disappearing – she’s really feeling bad this morning – and she’s so thankful to think you’ll get away for a change that she hardly asked me any questions at all.’
‘So we’re to go?’ said Jack, unable to keep the joy out of his voice, even though he was very sorry about Aunt Allie. ‘How absolutely super!’
The four faces glowed. Kiki picked a piece of rind out of the marmalade and, as nobody said anything, took a piece of lump sugar from the sugar-basin.
‘Mother will be quite all right, won’t she, with Miss Tremayne?’ said Philip earnestly. ‘She wouldn’t like one of us to stay with her, would she? I’ll stay, if so.’
‘She would be much better with you all out of the house,’ said Bill, helping himself to bacon. ‘She’s tired out and wants a really peaceful time. Measles is beastly, but at least it will make her rest in bed for a while!’
‘Well, then, we can really look forward to going off with a light heart,’ said Jack cheerfully. ‘Oh, Bill – you always turn up just exactly at the right moment!’
‘Here’s Hilda!’ said Philip suddenly. ‘You’d better hop upstairs, Bill. Take your plate. I’ll bring you more toast and tea when we take Mother’s up. Isn’t that toast finished yet, Dinah?’
‘Just,’ said Dinah, and put the last piece in the toast-rack. ‘No, Kiki, leave it alone. Oh, Jack, look at Kiki’s beak – just dripping with marmalade. There won’t be any left for us. Greedy bird!’
Bill disappeared upstairs. Hilda went into the kitchen and began to fill up the kitchen stove. Dinah went out to tell her about Mrs Mannering having the measles. Hilda was most sympathetic, but looked very worried.
‘Well, I daresay I can manage,’ she said, ‘but what with all you children here too . . .’
‘Oh, but we shan’t be,’ said Dinah. ‘We’re going off on a bird-expedition, as soon as we can – and Miss Tremayne is coming to see to Mother – so . . .’
‘Hilda! Hill-da! Hilllll-da!’ called a voice, and Hilda jumped.
‘My, that’s the missus calling!’ she said. ‘And you told me she was in bed! Coming, Madam!’
But it was only Kiki, of course, doing one of her imitations. She cackled with laughter when Hilda came running into the dining-room.
‘Wipe your feet!’ she ordered. ‘Don’t sniff! How many times have I told you to . . .’
Hilda went out and banged the door. ‘I don’t mind taking orders from them as has the right to give them,’ she said to a giggling Dinah, ‘but take orders from that ridiculous bird I will not. I hope, Miss, that you’re taking that parrot with you. I don’t want the minding of her whilst you’re gone. Drive me crazy, she would.’
‘Oh, of course we’ll take her!’ said Dinah. ‘Jack would never dream of going without her.’
The doctor came. Miss Tremayne arrived. Hilda agreed to sleep in. Everything seemed to be going well. Bill, ensconced in the spare room, whose door he kept locked in case Hilda should come ba
rging in, made a few quick plans.
‘Pack up your things. Order a taxi for eight o’clock tomorrow night. We’ll catch the night train to the north. I’ll slip out tonight and make the rest of the plans for the journey and the holiday. I’ll meet you at Euston, and it won’t be as the Bill Smugs you know! I shall then be Dr Walker, the naturalist. I’ll come over and introduce myself in a loud voice as soon as I see you arrive, in case there’s anyone about that knows you – or me either! Then off we’ll go.’
It all sounded very thrilling. What a mysterious way to begin a holiday! It sounded as if they were setting off for a first-class adventure, but of course they weren’t. It would be fun if they were, but what could happen on lonely bird-islands? Nothing at all except birds, and more birds and yet more birds.
Bill slipped off that night. No one had known he was in the house, not even Miss Tremayne, who had been given the little dressing-room leading off Mrs Mannering’s room. Mrs Mannering had promised not to say that Bill had been there, in case it meant danger to him. But she was so heavy and sleepy that day, that she really began to wonder if Bill had actually been there at all, or if she had dreamt it.
The children packed. No need to take best dresses or anything like that! Shorts and jerseys, rubber shoes, bathing-suits and mackintoshes were the things they would want. And a few cardigans, some towels – and what about some rugs? Were they going to sleep under a roof or not? Bill hadn’t said. For all they knew they might be sleeping in tents. What fun! They decided not to take rugs. Bill would be sure to take things like that if they needed them.
‘Field-glasses – note-books – pencils – my camera – and a rope,’ said Jack, trying to think of everything. Lucy-Ann looked astonished.
‘A rope?’ she said. ‘Why a rope?’
‘We might want to go cliff-climbing if we want to examine nesting-places there,’ said Jack.
‘Well, you can go cliff-climbing if you like. I shan’t!’ said Lucy-Ann, with a shiver. ‘I’d hate to climb down steep cliffs with just a rope round me and hardly anything to put my feet on.’