“We’re awfully hungry,” said Gwinny.
“Baked beans?” suggested the Ogre.
Everyone shuddered, and half of them groaned.
“Oh, very well,” said the Ogre. He felt in his pockets and produced a five pound note. “Can someone find a fish and chip shop open then?”
Five hands snatched at the note. Douglas naturally won and held it high above his head. “Then mind you get me sausages,” said Malcolm.
“I like fish cakes,” said Gwinny.
“And at least a mountain of chips,” said Johnny.
Douglas duly returned with a bulging carrier bag, which they dismembered on the kitchen table. The smell was so delicious that the Ogre’s pipe struggled out of his pocket and showed an active interest in the sausages. The Ogre watched it nervously.
“I shall never bring myself to smoke that again,” he said.
“But you must! It likes it!” Caspar protested.
So, when the vast meal was over, the Ogre dubiously picked the pipe up and put some tobacco in it. The pipe at once went stiff and began purring. Encouraged by this, the Ogre packed it properly and lit it. And shortly, he had almost forgotten it was alive.
“Go and get me these chemistry sets,” he said. “Now. As the car’s still out, I’m going to take them back to that unpleasant old man, before anything else happens.”
Grudgingly, Johnny and Malcolm obeyed. Reluctantly, they brought the sets to the kitchen and wistfully handed them over. And the Ogre got up from the littered table and took them back to the shop there and then. Everyone felt rather flat without them.
“Nothing will ever be the same again,” Gwinny said sadly.
“You’ve still got your people,” Malcolm reminded her.
“Oh, good heavens!” exclaimed Gwinny. “I never gave them their supper!” She hurried busily away at once with a handful of leftover chips.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nobody really blamed the Ogre for staying in bed the next morning. They found themselves breakfast. Then Caspar went upstairs and was just dropping the stylus into his favourite Indigo Rubber track, when he remembered the Ogre was still asleep and took the record off again. It was just as well, because Douglas came in the next minute.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s find Sally while the coast’s clear.”
He and Caspar fetched two of the chairs from the sitting room to the hall and sat in them while they went methodically through the address book. They took it in turns to telephone every soul in the book and ask them if they knew where Sally was. They had only got to B, when the doorbell rang. Douglas bawled to Gwinny to answer it.
The visitor was a man from the Council who told Gwinny he was the Rodent Operative. She and Malcolm and Johnny showed him the dustballs. They thought he was rather a nice man. He looked shrewdly at the scuttering, fluffy shapes.
“One of you’s been breeding a fancy kind of mouse here and let it get out, haven’t you?” he said. “I know children.”
They followed him from place to place round the house, watching with interest as he spooned out what looked like porridge oats with an old ladle and poured a little heap of the stuff in every corner.
“Don’t any of you touch this, mind,” he said. “It’s poison. Dries them up and does for them.”
This alarmed Gwinny. She was afraid her people might take it for porridge and eat it. So, as soon as the Rodent Operative had gone, she got Malcolm and Johnny to help her write out twenty-two cards, saying DANGER. They stuck the cards to matches and the matches into empty cotton-reels and put each notice beside one of the heaps of poison. Gwinny was not sure her people could read English, but she hoped they would get the idea all the same.
They were putting out the notices when Douglas and Caspar heard the Ogre come out of his bedroom.
“Take these chairs back,” Douglas said, with the receiver at his ear. “Then keep him away from here.”
Caspar trundled the chairs through the sitting room doorway and shut the door on them. When the Ogre stumbled downstairs in his dressing gown, Caspar met him at the foot of the stairs and hurried him away to the kitchen before he could ask what Douglas was doing. There he fed the Ogre solicitously with tea and pieces of charred toast.
“Very kind of you,” said the Ogre. “If I wasn’t so tired, I’d wonder what your motive was. Those blessed dustballs kept me awake half the night. Has the ratcatcher been?”
“Yes,” said Caspar, pointing to the heap of poison in the corner. “But Malcolm says you have to call him a Rodent Operative.”
The Ogre blinked sleepily at the pile of poison and Gwinny’s notice in front of it. “Why are you warning them?” he asked. “To give them a sporting chance?”
Caspar could not help laughing. “Gwinny did that,” he said. But he felt rather guilty, now that he knew the Ogre better. The Ogre liked making jokes. But he always made them with a perfectly straight face. Caspar feared that they had taken him seriously on a lot of occasions when he had only meant to be funny. “I’m sorry about the toast,” he said apologetically. “Only the dustballs ate the other end of the loaf, so I couldn’t make any more.”
“I’ve heard charcoal’s good for indigestion,” the Ogre said philosophically, and poured himself another cup of tea to help the toast down. Caspar was rather touched, because he saw that the Ogre was determined to behave well. He was wondering whether to go out and buy some more bread, when Douglas burst jubilantly into the kitchen. And so determined was the Ogre to behave well, that he did nothing but glower faintly.
“I’ve found her!” boomed Douglas, beaming with triumph.
“Found who?” the Ogre asked wearily.
“Sally, of course!” said Douglas. “She’s—”
The Ogre jumped up so hastily that his chair fell over and Caspar had to pick it up. “How on earth did you manage that?”
“I rang up everyone in the address book. And Aunt Joan told me.”
“And I rang Joan twice!” the Ogre said, in considerable disgust. “Where is Sally?”
“You’ll never believe it – with Aunt Marion! She—”
“Don’t tell me!” said the Ogre. “Joan and Marion thought it would teach me a lesson. Why did I take those chemistry sets back? I would have enjoyed turning Joan or Marion into a rather small hippopotamus. Did you ring Marion?”
“Yes, and I talked to Sally till the pips went. She—”
The Ogre hastened to the door and shoved Douglas aside. “Let me get to that phone!” But there he stopped and seemed puzzled. “What are you doing, wanting Sally back?” he asked Douglas. “I thought you were the anti-Sally party.”
Douglas went red. “Yes – I know,” he said. “But that was because I didn’t like all the change, really. Then the kids were so upset when she went, and – and I felt it was rather my fault she’d gone, because she tried like mad to be friends and I wouldn’t be.”
“You relieve my mind,” said the Ogre. “I thought it was my fault. How do you rate the chances of getting her back?”
“I keep trying to tell you!” said Douglas. “She said she can’t get here till about four o’clock, but—”
“You mean she’s coming today? Oh my God!” said the Ogre. “Look at the state this house is in!”
There followed some hours of hectic work. Malcolm and Johnny, who were busy wiring batteries to the doll’s house cooker so that Gwinny’s people could cook for themselves, were reluctant to stop, even for Sally. But Gwinny swore she would pull the wires out again unless they helped. She made them carry doll’s house and people out into the garden, to be away from the dust. Then everyone turned to.
It was hard work, because the vacuum cleaner proved to be broken and they had to manage without, but in the end the house gleamed and shone. No dust nor dustballs remained. Even Johnny’s and Caspar’s room was tidy, and the dustbins so full that their lids stood like hats, several feet too high, on top of wedged-down rubbish. The mop and the broom, which had both suffered much herdi
ng the invisible Johnny the night before, fell to pieces with use. The Ogre said they had better buy new ones, and another dustbin too.
“And some more baked beans, while we’re at it,” he said, looking round the empty larder.
Though Caspar knew this was only a joke, no one trusted the Ogre to go shopping. They all said they would go too and crammed themselves into the car. There Malcolm produced pencil and paper, rested the paper on Caspar’s back and made a list of essentials. It began with tinned salmon, because Malcolm liked it, and went on to caviare, because Gwinny said she had never had any.
“Put down porridge,” said the Ogre.
“Two dozen doughnuts, Malcolm,” said Johnny.
While the Ogre drove towards the shopping centre and the list lengthened, a curious smell began to fill the packed car. Caspar sniffed. It reminded him disturbingly of some of the smells Johnny had produced with the chemistry set. Douglas was sniffing too. They exchanged glances. But, for the moment, the main worry was the shopping list. Douglas took it away from Malcolm.
“We don’t want,” he said, crossing things out vigorously, “salmon, caviare, porridge, peanuts, or more than a dozen doughnuts. But you haven’t put in sandwich spread.” And he put it in.
“Why sandwich spread, just because you like it?” Johnny demanded belligerently. “Why can’t Malcolm have salmon?”
“Douglas,” said the Ogre, “stop being so domineering and allow each of us one luxury. Mine’s porridge. Gwinny can have caviare if she insists – though, honestly, Gwinny, you’d be better off with crisps – and then we’ll buy a few optional extras like eggs, bread and butter.”
“Do I get more crisps for the same money?” asked Gwinny.
“About a hundred times more,” said Caspar.
“Then put me down crisps,” said Gwinny.
The list was adjusted accordingly, and Caspar thought of tea just as they reached the shopping centre. The Ogre turned into the big gravelled parking area and found a space over in the far corner. They opened the doors and piled out. While the Ogre was locking the car, Douglas pounced on Johnny and Malcolm.
“You’ve kept some of those chemicals, haven’t you? Hand them over.”
Johnny and Malcolm looked sulkily at one another, and then from Caspar to the Ogre, hoping for some support against Douglas. But Caspar heartily supported Douglas and said so, and the Ogre at that moment happened to be half inside the car locking the far door.
After a second, Malcolm fetched a small phial from his pocket. “Oh, all right!” he said. “It was only Dens Drac., because I haven’t tried that yet.”
“So’s mine!” Johnny said in surprise. Having given himself away in this manner, Johnny was also forced to yield up his phial. Its stopper was cracked, which accounted for the smell.
“Typical!” Douglas said disgustedly. “Don’t you both realise we’ve all had enough of that!” He took both phials and hurled them away into the lane between the parked cars. Both burst as they hit the ground. Johnny and Malcolm miserably watched the white grains inside soak away into the wet gravel.
The Ogre came out of the car in time to see what Douglas had done. “That was rather uncalled-for,” he said. “Have you considered the effect of broken glass on car tyres? Go and pick up the bits.” And, when Douglas had grudgingly done so, the Ogre sent him with Johnny to the ironmonger while the rest of them went to buy food. “I’m not having either of you handle groceries with whatever that is on your hands,” he said.
Johnny and Douglas set off. Johnny was very resentful. Whatever Caspar said, it seemed to him that Douglas had no right to order him about. And he told Douglas so, several times.
“Oh, all right!” Douglas said at length. “I’m sorry. Are you satisfied now?”
“No,” said Johnny. “You’d no call to break my Dens Drac.”
“And what do you think you’d have done with it if I hadn’t?” said Douglas. “Made some awful mess, I bet.”
“I shall never know now, shall I?” Johnny pointed out.
When they reached the ironmonger’s, however, they stopped arguing about Dens Drac. in order to argue about whether to get an orange plastic dustbin or a shiny metal one. And having decided on the metal one, they disputed brooms, then mops.
“Sally likes them to match,” said Douglas. “I know she does.”
“Just because you do,” said Johnny. “I say, let’s get her a present, shall we?”
Quite suddenly, he and Douglas were overwhelmed with excitement that Sally was really coming back. They bought the first mop to hand. Then, without disputing at all, they went to the Chemist next door and pooled their money for a cake of soap shaped like a strawberry, which pleased them both very much. Douglas put it in the dustbin and carried that and the broom back to the car. Johnny marched beside him carrying the mop like a lance, with the dustbin lid for a shield.
To their annoyance, they were first back to the car. It was locked and deserted. They were wondering what to do with the dustbin while they went to look for the others, when Douglas said, “Hey, look! Mushrooms or something.”
It was in the spot where he had broken the phials. Several large, round white things were pushing up through the gravel, definitely growing. They did almost seem to be giant mushrooms. Douglas and Johnny were so intrigued by them that they dragged the dustbin over there to have a look. Whatever they were, there were nearly fifty of them, bulging and pressing up from the ground like big, solid bubbles. One or two of them had lines or strips of black and white squares across them.
“You know,” Johnny said, laughing a little. “They almost look like crash helmets.”
“They do rather,” Douglas agreed. “I wonder what they are.” Cautiously, he stretched out the broom and tapped the top of the nearest. It gave out a hard, solid rapping – exactly the noise you would expect from hitting a crash helmet with a broomstick.
The thing – whatever it was – objected to being rapped. It shook angrily, scattering gravel. The next second, it had grown to a complete sphere, and there was a face in the front of it. It was not a pleasant face, either. It was a coarse, sly, aggressive face, and it glared at them.
“It is a crash helmet!” exclaimed Johnny. “What’s he doing buried in the ground like that?”
They stared at the buried man in some perplexity, wondering how he got there and whether to help him out. While they stared, the face shook its chin free of sand and stones and spoke. it said.
“What language is that?” said Johnny.
“It might be Greek,” Douglas guessed, equally mystified.
A clattering of gravel made them look up. The other mushrooms, up and down the lane between the cars, had also grown into men in crash helmets. The next nearest was now only buried from the waist downwards. He had his hands on the gravel and was levering to get his legs free. Beyond him, a number had grown to full height and were stepping up on to the ground, shaking their boots. They were all identically dressed in black leather motorcycle suits and white crash helmets, and they all had most unpleasant faces.
With one accord, Douglas and Johnny looked round to see how near the car was. It was twenty yards off. Between them and it, the lane was filled with motorcyclists stepping free of the ground and moving menacingly down towards them.
“I don’t like the look of this,” said Douglas. “And don’t tell me it’s my fault. I know.”
The nearest man struggled up from the earth and shook himself. Stones clattered from his leather clothes and mud spattered the boys. Carefully he drew his boot from the last of the gravel and walked a step or so towards them.
he demanded of Douglas.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” Douglas said.
The man looked round at the other motorcyclists.
“” he said angrily.
From the way the others reacted, it was clear that, whatever this meant, it meant no good to Johnny and Douglas. They all gave the boys most unpleasant, blank looks and strolled nearer. “ ” sa
id one. And one who was still only half out of the ground added, “” Neither of these suggestions sounded pleasant. Johnny looked despairingly round what he could see of the car park between the advancing leather suits. He found nothing but cars, lines of them, locked, silent and deserted. There did not seem to be another soul in sight.
“Get back to back,” said Douglas. “Use the mop on them.”
Johnny at once scrambled round Douglas and leant against his back. He held the dustbin lid as a genuine shield and put the head of the mop under one arm, with the stick pointing outwards towards what was now a circle of menacing motorcyclists. Behind him, he heard the clang of the strawberry soap rolling in the dustbin as Douglas raised that for a shield and levelled the broom. Johnny was glad that he had such a tall back as Douglas’s to stand against. If it had been Caspar’s or Malcolm’s back, he would have felt a great deal more frightened.
Not that their defences seemed to impress the motorcyclists. Some laughed jeeringly. One said, ” which was clearly a sarcastic remark of some kind, and all of them laughed.
Then the first of them said, “” And they closed in. Johnny found his mop gripped and twisted, and hung on to it desperately. Behind him, Douglas braced his back against Johnny’s and hung on to the broom. Several more motorcyclists converged casually and quietly from the sides.
“Help!” shouted Johnny.
The Ogre, walking heavily under an enormous cardboard box, led the others up the next lane by mistake. Near the end of it, he stood on tiptoe to look for the right lane. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s over there. What’s going on in that lane?”
The Ogre Downstairs Page 17
