“WHAT’S UP?”
“What on earth _can_ be up?” thought Nipper to himself, as he sat up in
bed, in the big sunny room that was the three boys’ bedroom. There was
Hugh asleep on the sofa in his clothes. And there was David (who was to
have been out all night) lying in bed, in a wild, restless attitude,
one arm flung across the pillow. His hands and face were very dirty,
and there was what looked like a smudge of blood across his cheek. His
clothes, covered with dust and earth and bits of bracken, lay in a heap
on the floor.
Nipper looked about for something convenient to throw at his brother
in order to waken him and inquire what was up, but before he had time
to do so, something else had attracted his attention. Strolling down
the rose walk outside the window, and dipping his head every now and
then to avoid the long thorny arm of a rose tree stretched out to hook
passers-by, or a dew-drenched branch of crimson rambler, came the
Mysterious Tramp. His arm was in a sling, and the sling was made of
a Cub’s neckerchief. He had a strange look on his face, as if he was
puzzled and worried, but also happy.
What could be up? Nipper was about to shout “Hullo” out of the window,
when once more his attention was diverted. Running across the field
came Bobby Brown.
Of course--he had forgotten--he and Bobby had arranged to meet at
seven, and go out in search of Danny. It must be seven, and he had
forgotten to get up quick, and dress. He leaned out of the window to
see if it really was seven, by the sundial--he could tell the time by
the sundial, it was so much easier than the nursery clock, with its
silly gold face and little niggly hands. Yes, the sun said it was six,
that meant seven by summer time.
Signing to Bob to wait, Nipper slipped softly out of bed. He decided,
after all, not to wake the twins and Hugh; they might go and spoil his
adventure. He had a very small pretence at a wash, dressed, had a try
to put the comb through his hair, and gave up the attempt, decided not
to wash his teeth, knelt down and said his prayers, which were nearly
all for the intention of finding Danny, and then slipped gently down
the wide oak staircase, and out of a window, into the sunny garden.
He found Bobby Brown standing in the middle of a geranium border, his
mouth wide open, and his blue eyes very round.
“Hullo!” said Nipper. “What _are_ you doing--staring at nothing like a
stuck pig.”
“Sh-sh-sh!” said Bobby, and pointed up at the store-room window a few
feet above his head.
“He must be potty,” Nipper told himself, and also leapt into the middle
of the geranium bed; he had never thought of doing this before; it was
delightful to think how angry Mr. Pooks would be if he could see, but
it was Bobby who had started it, and Bobby never set bad examples--Miss
Prince said so.
“Listen,” said Bobby.
Nipper listened. A hoarse, strange voice was talking in the store-room.
The store-room was a small room opening out of the hall. It was always
kept locked, because Mr. Ogden kept his guns and fishing rods in there.
The windows were barred. Who on earth could be talking in it?
“Make a back, you fat-head, instead of standing there staring, and I’ll
have a squint,” commanded Nipper.
Bobby meekly obeyed, and presented a small fat back, upon which Nipper
ruthlessly stepped, with hard and painful boots.
“Ow-w-w-oo!” said Bobby.
“Don’t give in to yourself!” replied Nipper, sternly, getting a firmer
foothold, and clutching the edge of the window with his fingers. And
then he suddenly stood quite still, as if frozen with horror--for he
found himself looking full into the face of Black Bill, the one person
in the world of whom he had a real dread. And it was Black Bill, with
rumpled hair, bits of bracken in his beard, his shirt all torn open at
the neck, and hanging in shreds, his arms tied down to his sides, and a
look of sullen rage in his terrible eyes.
With a gasp Nipper staggered off Bobby’s back and broke five geraniums
in his fall. In a few horrified words he explained what he had seen.
“Whatever _can_ be up?” said Bobby.
“That’s what I keep thinking,” said Nipper. “It’s awful mysterious. But
we’d better go and search for Danny.”
Creeping round to the old cucumber frame where they had hidden their
secret store, they drew forth their provisions for the day, and
the other things they had collected, as likely to be useful on the
expedition for the relief of Danny.
Having packed everything into a small Gladstone bag, they set forth
upon their quest, taking turns with the bag, which they carried over
their shoulders slung on a stick.
Their methods were as follows: Tramping round the country, they visited
every place that they themselves would have chosen as the best place to
hide a kidnapped boy in, and walking round it, they shouted as loud as
possible a certain call which Danny had taught them, and which it was
an understood thing in the Pack must always be answered, whenever and
wherever heard.
It was like a huge game of hide-and-seek.
The day before, Nipper and Bobby had visited, among other places,
a windmill, seven farms, five churches, four sheds or cowhouses in
fields, a boat house, a village football pavilion, the golf club, some
waterworks, a lime kiln, and a disused sandpit. But only echoes had
answered their oft-repeated call.
Footsore, and sore of throat, and very tired of the Gladstone bag, they
had returned home at night, still entirely determined to persevere
in the search until they should find Danny. “We _won’t_ give in
to ourselves,” they told each other, every time things were very
disappointing, and Danny did not prove to be in the farm buildings, or
imprisoned with the golf clubs, or in the coal-holes of the various
churches.
We will now leave these two dauntless tenderpads, making their way
towards a deserted grange four miles away, and return to what was
happening at the Hall.