William and the Pop Singers (Just William, Book 35)

by Richmal Crompton

  He mounted a chair and thrust his ceiling brush in the direction of the ventilator—thrust it with such force that he lost his balance, slipped from his chair and fell headlong. The brush swept the chimney shelf in its descent, sending several blue and white jars crashing to the ground and scattering their contents—rice, sugar, currants and candied peel—in all directions.

  “Gosh!” said William, looking at them in dismay, “I didn’t mean to that ... It was a jolly good idea but the handle wasn’t quite long enough. If it’d been a bit longer I’d have pushed it open an’ then we’d have enlarged the hole an’ we’d have been out by now. We’d have got on the roof an’ slid down a drain-pipe.”

  “Well, we haven’t done,” said Ginger, “so we’ll have to think of somethin’ else.”

  “I bet I can think of somethin’ else all right,” said William. “Let’s try upstairs. There’s often int’restin’ things in a bathroom.”

  There were several interesting things in the bathroom, among them a spray, to which William turned his whole attention, giving liberal sprinklings of it to himself, Ginger and the floor.

  “I wish you’d remember that we’re s’posed to be gettin’ out," said Ginger.

  “Well, we’ve got to do a bit of experimentin’ to find how to get out, haven’t we?” said William. “I bet real prisoners used water sprays to get out. There mus’ be some way of usin’ a water spray to get out. If there was a guard underneath the window we could stun him by a sudden burst of water an’ get out before he came to.”

  “Well, there isn’t a guard underneath the window,” said Ginger, “so we can’t stun him. An’ we couldn’t open the window anyway, ’cause it’s locked same as all the others. Come on. Let’s try somethin’ else.”

  “All right,” said William, turning off the spray reluctantly. “Let’s go an’ see if there’s anythin’ interestin’ in the bedrooms. I bet there won’t be.”

  The bedrooms proved as devoid of interest as William had anticipated. He investigated wardrobes, cupboards, drawers and finally a square of three-ply wood behind an electric fire.

  “I bet there’s a chimney behind that,” he said. “If 1 could get this piece of wood out, I could climb up it an’ it’d be easier than the downstairs one ’cause it’s nearer the roof.”

  “Well, you can’t get that piece of wood out,” said Ginger.

  “I can have a try,” said William.

  He wrestled unsuccessfully for a few minutes, broke a nail, fell over backwards, then finally gave up the struggle.

  “I don’t think there is a chimney there.” He tapped the wood and listened thoughtfully. “Sounds to me more like one of those secret rooms where clergymen used to hide up in the olden days.”

  “When did they?” said Ginger.

  “Bronze Age or Stone Age or some time,” said William vaguely.

  “You’re thinkin’ of Druids,” said Ginger.

  “Maybe I am,” said William, “but I know they used to hide up in secret rooms ’cause I once read a story about it.”

  “Well, let’s get on with this escape,” said Ginger impatiently.

  William rose to his feet and looked round the room.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s try this tunnel idea. A lot of them got out by tunnels, so I don’t see why we shouldn’t.”

  “Well, we can’t start a tunnel in a bedroom,” said Ginger. “We’ve got to get down to a ground floor.”

  “There might be a cellar,” said William. “We could make a tunnel easy in a cellar, ’cause it’s half-way down in the earth to start with.”

  “We haven’t any spades,” objected Ginger.

  “Well, we can find things that’ll do for spades, can’t we?” said William. “Let’s go downstairs an’ have a look.”

  They went downstairs and had a look. Under the staircase there was a small door that they had not noticed before. William opened it and peered down a dim, steep flight of steps.

  “Gosh! It is a cellar,” he said excitedly. “Come on! Let’s find some tools an’ go down an’ start that tunnel. There was a poker an’ a shovel in the sitting-room an’ there was

  that fish slice an’ corkscrew an’ screwdriver thing in the kitchen drawer.”

  Ginger fetched poker and shovel, William armed himself with fish slice, corkscrew, and screwdriver, and the two began the descent. The steps led down into a large, dark earth-smelling room with a floor of brickwork and roughly whitewashed walls, festooned by cobwebs. The place was dark and airless. A small barred window, set high up in the wall and covered by dust, admitted a faint blurred light.

  “I bet no one’s been here for hundreds of years,” said Ginger.

  William was inspecting the brick floor.

  “I wonder where’s the best place to start the tunnel,” he said.

  “You can’t dig through bricks,” said Ginger.

  “No, you idiot!” said William, “but you can take up the bricks an’ dig under them, can’t you? There’s earth under them, isn’t there?”

  “I bet they’re stuck down jolly fast,” said Ginger.

  “They mus’ be looser in some places than others,” said William.

  He began to examine the uneven floor, pausing every now and then to give experimental prods with fish slice or corkscrew. Then he stopped suddenly and stood scowling down at a patch of brickwork.

  “They seem a bit loose here,” he said. He gave the place another prod. “Yes, I bet I could move one or two of these an’ it’d give me room to start the tunnel. ”

  Dropping on to his knees, he began to prise the edge of the fish slice between the bricks while Ginger set to work with shovel and poker near the opposite wall.

  They worked silently for a few minutes, then William gave a grunt.

  “It’s cornin’,” he said. “I’ll try the corkscrew now. I’ll try ’em both together. Where’s the screwdriver . . . ? It’s cornin’.”

  There was a rending and a grating sound. He gave a yell of triumph. “It’s come! I said we’d do it, didn’t I? I said we’d get out. Huh! Fancy them thinkin’ we couldn’t.”

  “We’ve not got out yet,’ said Ginger.

  “We’ve as good as got out,” said William. “We’ve started. We’ve got down to the earth. All we’ve got to do now is to dig the tunnel.”

  Ginger had left his own uncompleted work (he had only succeeded in scraping off a few layers of dirt and coal dust) and had come over to inspect William’s.

  “It won’t be much of a tunnel,” he said, “if it’s only goin’ to be the size of a brick. Gosh! A worm couldn’t escape through it.”

  “Don’t be such a chump. I’m goin’ to make it larger. I’m goin’ to take another brick out. I’ve got it out. An’— look! There’s somethin’ underneath it.”

  Ginger crouched down to examine a smallish envelope, made of mackintosh, that had been revealed by the dislodging of the brick.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “Dunno,” said William, “but I bet it’s treasure of some sort. Pound notes or foreign stamps or coupons to send up for somethin’.” He opened the envelope and drew out a yellow piece of paper. His expression changed to one of disgust. “Gosh! Jus’ an’ old bit of paper with some bits of music scribbled on it. I ’spect the man that made this floor was goin’ on to his music lesson an’ he dropped this music under this brick by accident an’ never knew what had happened to it.” He threw the envelope carelessly on one side and thrust the paper into his pocket. “Might come in useful. Bits of paper sometimes do. We might get in a muddle in this tunnel an’ need some bits of paper to show us the way out. A man in a Greek story did that getting’ away from a bull.”

  Ginger had wandered over to the darkest comer of the cellar.

  “I say! Come and look at this!” he called.

  William laid down the fish slice and joined him.

  A shelf of new wood supported a row of stone jars. A leaflet lay beside them entitled, “How to Make Ginger Beer.”<
br />
  “I remember Miss Barrows tellin’ my mother she was goin’ to try makin’ that stuff,” said Ginger. “This mus’ be it. She said it went on makin’ itself once you’d started it.”

  ‘Well, if it does that,” said William, “it won’t do any harm jus’ to drink a bit of it. Do it good, ’cause it’d make more room for the new lot. I’m jolly thirsty, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Ginger.

  “Well, come on. Let’s have a drink.”

  “The corks look jolly tight.”

  “We can push ’em up a bit. I bet the fish slice’ll do it. I’ll try the fish slice an’ the corkscrew an’ the screwdriver. They ought to get it off between them.”

  He probed and prised for a few minutes then gave another yell of triumph.

  “It’s comin’,” he said.

  It came.

  With a loud report the cork flew up to the ceiling while cascades of froth poured down the side of the bottle.

  “Well, there’s not goin’ to be much left of that one,” said William. “It’s all cornin’ out in soap suds. Let’s try another.”

  They tried another. The same thing happened. With a still louder report the cork flew up to the ceiling and a cascade of froth poured down the side of the jar.

  “I’ll try another,” said William doggedly.

  “Wait a minute,” said Ginger. There was a warning note in his voice. “I think I can hear somethin’. Listen!”

  Footsteps were coming along the drive. The dusty window revealed—faintly but unmistakably—a pair of stalwart boots advancing towards the front door.

  “Who is it?” whispered Ginger.

  “Dunno,’ said William. “It can’t be Henry or Douglas. They’ve not got that sort of feet. Let’s wait an’ see.”

  Two loud knocks resounded through the house.

  “P’raps it’s jus’ someone askin’ the way somewhere or bringin’ the Parish Magazine,” said Ginger. “They’ll go I away soon.”

  They watched the window hopefully, but the feet did not reappear.

  Two more knocks resounded through the house. Then suddenly there came a sound of an engine, and a small red car was seen passing the window and drawing up at the front door. They heard the sound of voices.

  “They’re talkin’ to each other,” said William. “I’m goin’ up to see what’s happenin’.”

  “You’d better not,” said Ginger, but William was already half-way up the cellar steps.

  Ginger followed, his face tensed in anxiety.

  In the hall William paused for a moment listening. Then voices still continued outside the closed front door. Suddenly there was the sound of a key being turned in that lock.

  “Quick!” gasped William.

  He grabbed Ginger by the arm and drew him behind the oak chest.

  The front door opened and two men entered. One was Police-Constable Higgs, an officer well known to William and Ginger, the other a young man whom William and Ginger had never seen before.

  “What did you say you heard?” said the young man.

  “Two revolver shots,” said P.C. Higgs. “I was passing the gate and I heard them—plain as plain could be. Two revolver shots coming from this house. I knew it was supposed to be an empty house—”

  “Of course it’s an empty house,” said the young man. He was fair and slight with an abrupt manner and a high-pitched voice. “It’s my house. It belonged to my uncle and he left it to me when he died quite recently. There’s a housekeeper but she’s away at present.”

  “I know,” said P.C. Higgs. “We’ve been told to keep an eye on it an’ I was keepin’ an eye on it when I heard those two revolver shots just now . . . Perhaps we should search the house, sir. ”

  “We shall have to go very carefully,” said the young man. “As a matter of fact I’m not at all surprised to hear of those revolver shots. There are plots and counter plots at work. I think I’d better tell you the whole story.”

  “Perhaps you had, sir,” said P.C. Higgs, glancing nervously around.

  P.C. Higgs was not a man to court danger, but he was a conscientious officer of the law and had accustomed himself to take what came to him with as little fuss as possible.

  “Well,” began the young man, “my uncle’s most treasured possession was a few bars of a string quartet, written and signed by Haydn himself. He always said that he had left it to me in his will and meantime was keeping it in a safe hiding-place which he would reveal to me in due course. But the old chap popped off suddenly before he’d had time to do anything about it. I hadn’t given much thought to the matter till I was approached by an American who’d heard about it and offered me two hundred pounds for the manuscript. And now I can’t find the dam thing anywhere. I’ve searched the place through and can’t find a trace. I’ve come along today just to have one more look. A sort of last hope.”

  “But—but the revolver shots, sir,” said P.C. Higgs.

  “Oh yes,” said the young man, lowering his voice. “I’ve thought for some time that there was probably more than one collector after the thing. I was reading a book only last night with something of the same idea. Two men after the same bit of loot and they both went to the house where it was hidden and met unexpectedly and—well, there was a regular shooting match.”

  P.C. Higgs’ usually ruddy countenance had paled.

  “Perhaps we ought to get help, sir,” he said.

  “We’d better await developments,” said the young man. He entered the sitting-room, followed by the constable. “Yes, they’ve been at work here all right. Even searched the chimney for a hiding place. It’s clear that we’re up against professionals. Pity you haven’t a revolver with you.”

  “Yes, sir,” said P.C, Higgs. “Yes, indeed.”

  “We’ll have a good look round,” said the young man. He flung open the kitchen door. “Good Lord! This place has been simply ransacked. Just look! Groceries turned out of their containers and scattered broadcast. They weren’t going to overlook any possible hiding place. I’ve heard of people hiding valuables in rice and sugar jars and so on. It’s quite an old trick . . . Well, we’ll try upstairs now shall we?”

  “If—if you like, sir,” said P.C. Higgs.

  “You’ve heard no movement up there since we came in, have you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Just those two shots?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Odd that we’ve heard no further sounds.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “They may, of course, have hit each other in vital spots simultaneously . . . but I suppose that’s hardly likely.”

  “No, sir.”

  “It may possibly have been a couple of back-fires from the road.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the constable. He seemed to accept the explanation with relief.

  “Well, let’s make our way upstairs.”

  Their footsteps were heard ascending the staircase. Their voices came muted from the upper regions.

  Slowly and painfully William and Ginger arose from their cramped positions behind the chest. They stared at each other dazedly.

  “Let’s get out quick,” said William. “Look! The front door’s open an’ they’re upstairs.” He darted out of the house, ran a few yards down the drive then darted back again. “They’re standin’ at the upstairs window,” he panted. “They can’t help seein’ us if we go down to the gate.”

  “Let’s get behind the chest again,” said Ginger.

  “No,” said William. “We’ve got to get out while the door’s open. If they come down an’ shut it an’ go away we’ll be locked in again. Let’s get behind this bush, quick. They’ll never see us there.”

  The two plunged behind a sturdy hydrangea that grew by the front door.

  “It’s a jolly good hiding-place,” said William. “I vote we stay here till they’ve gone. It’s a long way down to the gate an’ they’ll be sure to see us out of one of the windows if they’re in the house an’ then ole Higgs’ll be on
our track.”

  “All right,” said Ginger resignedly.

  William had raised his head from the bush and was gazing with interest at the car that stood at the door.

  “It’s got a funny sort of safety belt,” he said. “I’m goin’ to have a look at it.”

  “You can’t, William,” protested Ginger. “They’ll see you.”

  “No, they won’t,” said William. “It’s too close underneath them. They’d see us goin’ down the drive, but they wouldn’t see us right underneath the window, ’cept they’ve got eyes in their chins.”

  He approached the car, opened the door and inspected the belt.

  “No, it’s jus’ an ordin’ry one,” he said. “A bit posher than most of ’em, that’s all.”

  But there had been a shopping basket full of parcels on the seat and the sweeping gestures with which William had carried out his examination of the safety belt had dislodged the basket and sent its contents—lettuce, loaf, packet of tea and bag of cherries—rolling over the drive.

  “Gosh!” moaned Ginger helplessly.

  “’S all right,” said William. “I can pick ’em up.” He put lettuce, loaf, tea and half-emptied bag of cherries back into the basket, replaced it on the seat and closed the door. “There’s some cherries dropped out, but I bet he won’t notice.”

  “But look at all those cherries on the ground,” said Ginger. “They’ll see ’em an’ start gettin’ suspicious . . .”

  “We’ll pick ’em up an’ put ’em in our pockets,” said William. “They’re too dirty to put back into the bag, anyway. It won’t take a minute . . .”

  Quickly they stuffed their pockets with the fallen cherries and returned to the shelter of the hydrangea bush.

  “We might as well eat ’em,” said William. “No good- wastin’ ’em.”

  “What is it they’re lookin’ for?” said Ginger, putting a cherry into his mouth. “I couldn’t make it out, could you?”

  “Bars of something,” said William, wiping a dusty cherry on his pullover before eating it. “Sounded like string.”