The Rilloby Fair Mystery. Enid blyton

you know, a man who collects rarities of many kinds—in particular old papers, letters and documents.”

      “Er—hasn’t he got some of Lord Macaulay’s letters?” said Snubby innocently, remembering what Great-uncle had mentioned in the train.

      There was a surprised silence, during which Loony could be heard scratching himself vigorously.

      “Shut up, Loony,” said Snubby, and poked him with his toe. Loony stopped.

      “Well, it’s the first time I’ve ever heard you make an intelligent remark,” said Mr. Lynton in surprise. “I shouldn’t have thought you had ever heard of Lord Macaulay’s name.”

      “Er—Snubby is quite right,” said Great-uncle hastily.

      “There were some of Macaulay’s letters, they were among the stolen articles. Richard, it was the most extraordinary theft. Doors were locked. Windows were fastened tightly. There was no skylight or other way into the room where these papers were kept. And yet one night thieves got in, took the whole lot, and vanished the way they came—through locked doors or fastened windows! What do you think of that?”

      “I think it’s rather foolish to make a statement like that,” said Mr. Lynton. “Thieves can’t get through locked doors unless they have a key.”

      “Well, they hadn’t a key,” said Great-uncle. “The keys are kept on Sir John’s key-ring in his pocket. There are no duplicates in existence. What is more—the doors showed no fingerprints of any sort.”

      “The thieves wore gloves,” said Mrs. Lynton.

      “Green gloves,” said Snubby before he could stop himself.

      Great-uncle looked extremely startled. Mrs. Lynton stared at Snubby, puzzled. First it was Green Hands, now it was Green Gloves. What did he mean?

      Mr. Lynton took no notice of Snubby’s remark. He just put it down to Snubby’s usual silliness.

      “Well, Uncle Robert,” he said, picking up his paper again, “all I can say is, if that’s what you ran away from—the idea of thieves going through locked doors—it wasn’t very sensible of you. You should have stayed to try and find out who stole the papers. Why, if your hosts didn’t know you well, they might think it was you, as you ran away.”

      “I hardly think so,” said Great-uncle, on his high horse at once. “No, my dear Richard, that is quite unthinkable. Quite.”

      “I expect it was gypsies or tramps,” said Mrs. Lynton soothingly.

      Great-uncle gave a most unexpected snort. He looked scornfully at Mrs. Lynton. “My dear Susan! Do you think a gipsy or a tramp would know what papers were valuable and what were not? This thief knew exactly what to take.”

      “Well, I’ve no doubt the mystery will be solved sooner or later,” said Mr. Lynton, opening his paper again. “I imagine if the thief is as clever as you say, he’ll try his hand somewhere else.”

      “He’s already tried it three times,” said Great-uncle. “Sir John told me. He thinks it must be the same thieves because each time they apparently passed through locked doors quite easily.”

      “Well, I’ll believe somebody can go through locked doors when I see them,” said Mr. Lynton dryly.

      “Great-uncle—do you think the thief will steal papers again somewhere?” asked Diana. “I’d like to read about it, if he does. Would it be in the papers?”

      “Oh yes,” said Great-uncle. “It’s always in the paper. I think I’ve got a report of the last theft in my bag. You can go and get it, if you like.”

      Roger sped upstairs with Loony at his heels. Loony always went upstairs with everybody if he could, and then tried to get in their way going down again, either by getting between their legs, or hurling himself on top of them as they went down. There was a thunderous noise after a minute or two, and then a crash and a yelp.

      “Oh dear,” said Mrs. Lynton. “Are you hurt, Roger?”

      Roger came limping in, followed by a saddened Loony. “I’ve smacked him,” he explained to Snubby. “He did his cannon-ball act at me and sent me flying down the stairs. He’s loonier than ever. I’ve got the paper. Where’s the burglary reported, Great-uncle?”

      Great-uncle found the report. It wasn’t much more than a few lines. The children read them eagerly.

      Then Diana noticed an advertisement nearby and pointed to it.

      “Look,” she said. “There’s a notice about a fair held in the same town. I wonder if Barney and Miranda were there.”

      “Is this the Barney you told me about—the boy with the monkey that had the adventure with you last summer holidays?” asked his mother. Roger nodded.

      “Yes. He’s awfully nice, Mother. He leads a peculiar sort of life, you know—going from fair to circus and circus to fair, earning his living with Miranda, his monkey. She’s a darling.”

      Mrs. Lynton looked doubtful. “Well, I don’t like monkeys,” she said. “But from all you have told me, Barney seems a nice boy, though a queer, roving kind of character.”

      “I wonder if he’s at the fair advertised here,” said Diana, looking at the notice again. “Look, Roger—it gives all the performers—the main ones, anyway—Vosta and his two chimpanzees, Hurly and Burly—what lovely names; Tonnerre and his elephants. Shooting gallery in charge of the famous cracksman, Billy Tell... ”

      “Short for William Tell, I suppose,” grinned Snubby. “Go on.”

      “Hoopla stalls, roundabouts, swing-boats—no, it doesn’t say anything about a boy with a monkey,” said Diana, disappointed. “Though perhaps they wouldn’t mention him, really—he wouldn’t be one of the chief performers.”

      “Anyone got his address?” asked Snubby. Nobody had. Barney was a very bad letter-writer, and the children had not heard from him since Christmas.

      “Come on let’s finish our game,” said Roger, losing interest in the paper. “No, you can’t get on my knee, Loony. Go and play with Sardine—a nice little game of Spit-and-Hiss, or Growl-and-Snap. You’ll like that!”

CHAPTER 5

      DIANA HAS AN IDEA

      A day or two went by. Great-uncle tried to settle down and go on writing what he called his “Memoirs,” which Roger said were another name for “Nodding over a Pipe.” Snubby had settled in at once, as usual. He was perfectly at home, and Roger’s usually neat bedroom now always looked exactly as if a whirlwind had just passed by.

      “If Snubby doesn’t mess it about, Loony does,” Roger complained. “I’m tired of keeping my shoes and the bedroom slippers and hair-brushes in a drawer so that Loony can’t get them.”

      “So am I,” said Diana. “And I do wish he wouldn’t drag all the mats in a heap and leave them on the landing or in the hall for people to fall over. I nearly broke my ankle twice yesterday. As for poor Great-uncle, he’s so scared of falling over mats or brushes left about that he walks like a cat on hot bricks—lifting up his feet very gingerly indeed.”

      Roger laughed. “Oh dear—that lunatic dog put half a dozen brushes into the pond this morning, and two of them were Great-uncle’s. Snubby told him he supposed Mother was washing the brushes in pond-water because it was good for them—and he believed him!”

      “There’s Loony now—barking at Sardine, I suppose,” said Diana. She leaned out of the window. “Loony, Loony! Shut up! Haven’t you learnt by now that once Sardine is up on the wall you can’t get her off. SHUT UP!”

      Her mother’s voice came floating up from the garden. “Diana! Stop yelling out of the window like that. Your Great-uncle is trying to work.”

      “That