The Big Six

by Arthur Ransome

  “Listen,” exclaimed Pete. “What’s that?” And the next moment Joe, hot and dusty, came round the corner of the house wheeling Dick’s bicycle.

  “What news?” said Bill, Tom and Pete, all together.

  “None we couldn’t do without,” said Joe. “And I get a puncture in your bike, Dick. I get it mended in Acle. It’s all right now…. But everything else is all wrong. And my throat’s parched to nothing.”

  “The tea’s cold,” said Dorothea.

  “Good,” said Joe, and Dorothea poured him out a mugful and he took it down in big gulps.

  “I bike about two thousand mile,” said Joe.

  “You never,” said Bill.

  “Ten thousand,” said Joe. “All along of young Rob at Ranworth. I come there, going careful round by the church and I see young Rob and he see me, and then that old farmer come round the corner and he see me too, and he sing out to some others, ‘Here’s one of ’em,’ and come running. And I round with my bike and off and I think better not take the road to the Ferry, so I take t’other. They was after me but they didn’t catch me. Bet they took Ferry road.”

  “Go on,” said Dorothea. “Go on.”

  She filled up his mug and Joe gulped again, goggling at his listeners over the rim.

  “Well, I think no good my going off without seeing young Rob, so I wait a bit and make a round and come back and I don’t see nobody till I come down by the Maltster’s, and there were that young Rob on the staithe, and you wouldn’t believe it but that young Rob run away. So I hop on and after him and catch him, and he say to leave him go, he ain’t a Coot no more….”

  “That’s another,” said Bill gloomily.

  “‘Coot or no Coot,’ I say, ‘you’ll wish you was a dead one if you don’t talk sense.’ And I ask him if any boats been cast off. And he say no only them boats we cast off ourselves and I were mad as mad and just then there were that old farmer again behind me and two or three more up the road and young Rob he twist away and I jump on and ride for it and there was three or four tumbling over each other to stop me and one of ’em near had me off, but don’t and I keep going to South Walsham. Nothing cast off there neither, but chap on the staithe say ‘Ain’t you one …’ and I don’t wait. And then, coming into Acle there’s my front tyre gone flat. Lucky that weren’t in Ranworth. And I walk the last mile into Acle and I find our chap….”

  “The stomach-ache boy?” said Dorothea.

  “That’s him,” said Joe. “He won’t get no more stomach-aches out of being a Coot. He say right off he ain’t a Coot no more.”

  “We got nobody left,” said Bill. “The Coot Club’s bust already. Only us three and Tom.”

  “And Dick and me,” said Dorothea.

  “No boats adrift at Acle,” went on Joe, “nor anywheres else as he know. Well, I make him pinch what’s wanted off of his brother’s bike, and we mend that puncture in his yard while his Mum’s up to the village, and she come back and see me and he were into the house in two shakes and I were off again. I could hear her going on for near a mile.”

  “And then?” said Dorothea.

  “After them two goes at Ranworth I think better come back t’other way, and I cross Acle Bridge and round by Repps and through Potter hard as I could lick for fear they stop me, and back by Ludham…. Can I have another of them rolls?”

  “That lot’s all yours,” said Dorothea, and poured him out yet another mug of cold tea.

  “Well,” said Tom, “that means that the only boats set adrift are the ones we know about. So we’ve wasted the whole day.”

  “It isn’t really waste,” said Dorothea. “It’s exploring avenues. They always do it. You see Scotland Yard’s in the middle and the avenues are all round. They explore them one after another. They go down one and there’s nothing but … oh … a rabbit hutch. They go down the next one and there’s only an empty orchard. And then they go down the last one and there’s the villain and they catch him. What’s that, Pete?”

  Pete, who had been whispering to Bill, went pink.

  “Go on, Pete,” said Bill.

  “Why not go down that one first? I say. We got no time for all the others.”

  “But we don’t know which it is,” said Dorothea. “And it wouldn’t be detecting if we did. And anyway it isn’t waste. We’ve learnt one thing for certain.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why, we know for certain now that whoever cast all those boats off chose places where the Coots were. It couldn’t happen that way by accident every time. Tomorrow we’ll try to find the villain’s bicycle. But I say, Dick, we ought to go home. And I’ve got to go to the Death and Glory to get The Outlaw. Joe’s got the key.”

  “Gosh!” said Joe. “Didn’t Pete bring that book for you this morning?”

  “I put it out to bring,” said Pete.

  “Let’s go there now,” said Dick.

  “We’ll all go,” said Tom.

  “All right,” said Joe, biting into a roll.

  “Let him finish his grub,” said Tom. He was looking at the map on which a pencilled line under the name of a place meant that it was an outpost of the Coot Club. “That means no one at Acle,” he said. “No one at Potter, no one at Wroxham, no one at Ranworth…. There’s only us at Horning left….”

  “There won’t be us if we can’t find who cast off them boats,” said Bill.

  Dorothea looked out of the door. It was beginning to grow dusk outside and the thickening mist made it seem later than it was.

  “I say, we must go,” said Dorothea. “Come on, William.”

  She went out of the door and waited a moment. William followed her. The others were crowded round Tom, who had taken down the map of the Northern Broads and was rubbing out the pencilled lines under the names of the places that had been outposts of the Coot Club and would be so no more.

  “Come on, William,” said Dorothea.

  “We’re just coming,” called Tom. “I say, Dick, how soon will you and Dot be coming in the spring? We’ll want everybody we can get if the birds are to have half a chance….”

  Dorothea and William started on their way.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A SCRAP OF FLANNEL

  DOROTHEA waited a moment at the drawbridge over the Coot Club dyke. There was nothing more that could be done that day and she wanted to get hold of The Outlaw and hurry home to be in time for Mrs. Barrable’s supper, even if she herself did not feel hungry after all those sausage rolls. Bother those boys. “Coming,” Tom had said, but they were still talking in Scotland Yard. She crossed over into the Farlands’ garden, putting William on his leash for fear he might get interested in botany. She went through the garden, round the Farlands’ boathouse and through the wooden gate into the Wilderness. Here she unleased the bloodhound, and the stout William paddled on ahead, sniffing, trotting, scratching among the osiers and then trotting on again. He had formed a high opinion of the Wilderness and the wet autumn mist gave a new flavour to its delightful smells.

  Dorothea listened for the others, could not hear them, and went on picking her way through the damp grass along the narrow path beside the river while William, who scorned paths, was exploring through the willow bushes far ahead. It certainly was pretty misty. Her mind went back to that day of fog in the spring when the Teasel had lost her way on Breydon Water and William had been a pug-rocket. Everybody had given him good marks for that, but now, as a bloodhound, Dorothea had to admit to herself that the younger Coots were right in not taking William very seriously. William’s interests came and went like patches of sunlight on a windy day with clouds. A bloodhound ought to think of one thing at a time. If only, for example, William were a little more like Dick … in one of his scientific moods, of course. Bother those boys! Dorothea wished she had borrowed the key from Joe. She would have had time to get the book and be back at Scotland Yard….

  She came to the place where the Wilderness dyke opened into the river. Here the path turned to the left along the dyke a
nd Dorothea looked ahead of her through the mist for the first glimpse of the Death and Glory. There she was, just beyond the next lot of overhanging willows. Hullo! Dorothea quickened her pace. Tom and the others must have gone round by the road and been quicker than her. There was one of them already at the old boat, standing on the bank, leaning over and patting her enormous chimney pot.

  “Hullo!” called Dorothea. “You’ve been jolly quick.”

  She got no answer out of the mist.

  She called again.

  Whoever it was at the green chimney pot turned suddenly and rushed off into the bushes. The next moment there was a startled squeal from William, a squeal of pain and fright and rage all mixed together, a shout, the crash of someone falling, another squeal from William and the noise of running feet.

  “He’s trodden on William!” cried Dorothea. “Hi! William! William!”

  Steps sounded behind her.

  “What’s the matter?” called Tom.

  “One of the others went round by the road,” said Dorothea, “and I startled him and somehow he trod on William….”

  Tom looked over his shoulder.

  “But we’re all here,” he said, and she saw Pete, Joe, Bill and Dick coming along behind him.

  “What’s up?” said Pete.

  “There was someone at your boat,” said Dorothea.

  “Come on,” cried Joe, and the crew of the Death and Glory rushed past Tom and charged along the dyke to get to their ship.

  “Where is he?” said Bill.

  “Can’t see no one,” said Joe.

  “But there was a minute ago,” said Dorothea. “Didn’t you hear William squeal? He got trodden on. William! William!”

  They had all reached the Death and Glory. Joe and his mates were already aboard looking here and there about their ship. Joe was in the cockpit. He had pulled the big key out of his pocket and was opening the cabin door.

  “Door’s all right,” he said. “Nobody ain’t been here.”

  “But I saw him,” said Dorothea. “I saw him. I thought it was Tom. He was patting the chimney and I called out and then he ran away into the bushes and he must have fallen over William. And where is William? William! William! Come to heel!”

  SOMEONE WAS PATTING THE CHIMNEY

  Just then William, breathless and muddy, came out of the bushes, shaking his head as if he were worrying a rat. He came up to Dorothea and plumped, panting, on the ground.

  “He’s bitten him!” cried Dorothea. “Good dog. Good dog. I knew there was somebody here. And William’s a bloodhound after all. Look what he’s got.”

  William, after a little coaxing, gave it up, a torn and slobbery scrap of grey flannel.

  “Somebody’s trousies,” said Pete. “It’s like what Tom wear.”

  “Well, it wasn’t me,” said Tom. “I was behind her with you.”

  “Course it weren’t you,” said Pete. “I only say it’s a bit of trousies like what you wear.”

  “And anyway,” said Tom, “old William wouldn’t bite me. He’d be much more likely to bite one of you.”

  “He wouldn’t bite any of us, said Dorothea. “I don’t believe he’s ever bitten anybody before.”

  Dick, when his turn came, looked at the bit of flannel. “It may be another clue,” he said.

  “The villain himself!” said Dorothea.

  “Which way did he go?” said Dick.

  “He went off into the bushes,” said Dorothea. “Just there. Then there was a crash and William yelled and he yelled too, not exactly yelling, just short, and then I heard him running.”

  “Come on,” said Tom. “Let’s go after him.”

  “With William,” said Dorothea. “Good William. Worry him. Worry him. Come on. You’ve got to be a bloodhound again.”

  But William had had enough excitement and would take no interest in the search as the others worked their way through the bushes.

  “Dick better go first,” said Joe, remembering the detective work that Dick had done at Ranworth.

  “Go on, Dick,” said Tom.

  It was easy tracking. Anybody could see the place where William’s enemy had stumbled and crashed over the unsuspecting bloodhound. Anybody could see where he had charged on towards the road.

  “He didn’t make for the gate,” said Tom.

  “Why should he with that old lock on it?” said Joe. “Nobody do.”

  Dick stooping low moved slowly on.

  “Oh, go on, Dick,” said Tom. “We might catch him if we hurry.”

  “I didn’t think of that,” said Dick simply. “I was looking for more clues. He might have dropped something.”

  They found nothing. They came to the fence that divided the Wilderness from the road. No scraps of grey flannel had caught in splinters or nails. There was nothing to show exactly where their quarry had climbed over. They climbed over themselves and looked up and down the road. No one was in sight.

  “Too late,” said Dorothea.

  “Dick’s found something,” said Pete.

  Dick had stopped short close by the fence and was looking at the ground.

  “What is it, Dick?” said Tom.

  “Bicycle,” said Dick. “He had a bicycle and stood it here, leaning against the fence. You can see where his handlebar rested and made a mark in the moss. And there’s a bit of track. Look out. Don’t tread on the marks. They’re pretty dim.” He went down on his knees. ‘If only it wasn’t so dark…. I do believe it’s the same bicycle…. Dunlop tyre.”

  Three torches leapt from the pockets of the Death and Glories and the tracks, such as they were, were lit by a blaze of light.

  “Dunlop all right,” said Bill.

  “Look same as yours,” said Joe.

  “It may not be the same bicycle,” said Tom.

  “I’m sure it is,” said Dorothea. “He went to Ranworth and now he’s been here. Oh, if only we hadn’t all come along the river. If some of us had come by the road we’d have found the bicycle and we could have looked to see if its pump had lost its tube.”

  “We might have caught him proper,” said Pete.

  “Wonder which way he went,” said Joe.

  But they could find no tracks on the hard road. They searched about but could find no other clues. Dorothea remembered Mrs. Barrable.

  “Dick,” she said, “we’ve simply got to go. But I must just get The Outlaw.”

  They climbed over the fence again and went back to the Death and Glory.

  “But what were he doing?” said Joe. “That’s what beat me. If it were the same chap. He come to Ranworth and push them boats off. We know that. But what were he after here? Pushing off the Death and Glory? Dorothea and William stop that for him. Good old Puggy!”

  “I told you he’d be jolly useful,” said Dorothea over her shoulder. “The bloodhound leapt on his quarry. With a fearful struggle the villain tore himself free, little knowing that he had left in the jaws of his pursuer the clue that at last would bring him to the gallows.”

  “He ain’t touched our mooring ropes,” said Joe as they came to the Death and Glory. “I know that. I moor her myself and all’s as I leave it.”

  Dick was looking again at the scrap of flannel. “Grey flannel trousers,” he said. “And rides a bicycle with Dunlop tyres. Probably lives in Horning … this side of the river anyhow because of his using the Ferry. And he’s lost the indiarubber tube from his pump. And one of his tyres has got a puncture.”

  “That ain’t much good,” said Bill. “Lots of chaps get punctures. My old back tyre’s patches all over.”

  “And of course by now he may have got a new tube for his pump,” said Tom.

  “We know a good lot about him anyhow,” said Dorothea, climbing into the cockpit on the way to get her book.

  “We’ll have a look at every bike in the village tomorrow,” said Joe.

  “Look here, Dot,” said Dick. “What, exactly, was he doing when you saw him?”

  “Patting the chimney,” said Dorothe
a. “At least, that was what it looked like.”

  “You come and do it,” said Dick, “and we’ll watch and see if we can guess what he did it for.”

  Dorothea obediently hopped ashore again. This, after all was the way detecting should be done. “I was a long way off,” she said, “so I couldn’t really see. I thought … I say, Tom had better do it … (She reached out towards the chimney)…. I’m not tall enough. He was reaching out at first…. Yes…. Like that and … No … much nearer the top. Patting it…. And then his other hand was on the top too … No … Much higher….”

  “Oh, look here,” said Tom. “My arms aren’t a mile long.”

  “Just stay like that a minute,” said Dorothea and ran back along the edge of the dyke to the place from which she had first seen the Death and Glory and her visitor.

  “He was a lot bigger than Tom,” she called, and came back. “And I think he must have had his knee on the roof of the cabin.”

  Dick was taking notes.

  “I believe I know why he was patting the chimney,” he said, doubtfully. “But it may have been something else.”

  “Go on,” said Tom.

  “He’s someone who knows they light their stove in the evenings and he wanted to feel the chimney to see if they were at home.”

  “Why don’t he look through the windows?” asked Bill.

  “Somebody might be in the fo’c’sle,” said Dick. “If the chimney was warm he’d know there was somebody about.”

  “If he want to see us why do he run off when Dot call out?” asked Bill.

  “He were up to no good,” said Pete.

  “Like enough,” said Joe. “If Dot ain’t seen him we’d have come back to find the old ship floating down river like all them others.”

  “Perhaps it’s a pity he didn’t have time to send her adrift,” said Tom. “If he had, then everybody would have known that it’s somebody not us pushing boats off.”

  They considered this for a moment, and then Dorothea remembered Mrs. Barrable again.

  “Come along, Dick,” she said. “It’s nearly dark already.”