Mystery of Banshee Towers (8 page)

“Fatty - there’s my uncle!”

Sure enough, there was Mr Goon, standing at the cross-roads, directing the busy traffic with a frown. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw Ern cycling along with Fatty! Stop!” he bawled. “Ern! You heard me. STOP!”

But alas, Ern disobeyed the Law. and pedalled faster than ever, leaving poor Mr Goon very angry indeed!

“Woof!” said a loud voice, as they pedalled past Mr Goon - and Buster suddenly stuck his head out of a wooden box that Fatty had tied to his rear mudguard! Bingo was in a similar box, on the back of Ern’s bicycle, but he was so much afraid of Mr Goon that he didn’t dare to venture even the smallest bark, as he passed him. He didn’t want to be plucked away from his beloved Ern by the loud-voiced Mr Goon!

“Good idea to take the dogs with us this way,” said Ern. “I reckon it’s really too far for them to run all the way there and back. They seem to like the ride, don’t they, Fatty? Gosh,
I’m
enjoying it too.”

As soon as they were out of the town, Fatty burst into song.

“Up the street

On pedalling feet,

Here we go, Ern and I!

And a song we sing

With a ting-a-ling-ling,

As we both go bicycling by!

Our wheels go round

With a swishity sound,

As fast as the wind we fly,

Through village and town,

Now up, now down,

Here we go, Ern and I!”

Ern almost fell off his bicycle in admiration. “Coo, Fatty - did you just make that up this very minute - just like that?”

“It suddenly came into my head,” said Fatty, modestly. “It goes nicely with our pedalling, Ern, doesn’t it?” And the two of them sang the Bicycling Song, as Ern called it, at the tops of their voices, pedalling in strict time to the rhythm of the lines!

Buster didn’t like the singing, and began to bark. Fatty turned round and addressed him. “No, Buster - you’ve got the words wrong -
and
the tune as well.”

That made Ern laugh. They pedalled on happily and soon came to the steep hill, up which they had to toil slowly. Banshee Towers glowered at the top as if not welcoming them at all. When they arrived there, the boys put their bicycles into the racks provided in the shed, and sauntered to the turnstile. Buster and Bingo running at their heels.

“Oh - you again,” said the man, grumpily. “Plus dogs! Didn’t I say that
no
dogs were allowed? I’d just like to know how those dogs got into Banshee Towers yesterday.”

“I’ve no idea,” said Fatty. “They suddenly appeared. One minute they were not there. The next they were. No one was more surprised than
we
were.”

“They can stay in that shed over there,” said the man. “But they can’t go indoors. See? “

“Right,” said Fatty, paying out two shillings. “I say, tell me one thing - does the old banshee wail on one special day each week - and if so, why? “

“The legend says that it was on a Thursday that calamity came to the Lord of Banshee Towers,” said the man. “And so the banshee wails that same day.”

“Oh - so Thursday is always the banshee’s great day?” said Fatty. “Very interesting. Have you any idea where your banshee lives?”

“Don’t ask daft questions,” said the turnstile man, losing his temper. “Go on in and don’t come bothering me.”

“Just
one
more question,” said Fatty. “Tell me - when did the banshee first begin to wail in modern times? It says in the catalogue that she used to wail a hundred years ago - or so the legend went - but hadn’t been known to wail since. I saw that the catalogue was printed six years ago. What made the banshee begin to wail again - did she conveniently find her voice six years ago, when the catalogue was printed, and this place was thrown open to the public? “

“Are you trying to say that the banshee isn’t real - that she’s a fraud?” said the man, angrily. “Well, you ask the tall, dark man you’ll see in the Armour Room today -
he’ll
soon put you right. He owns this place, see - and
he
ought to know about the banshee, didn’t he?”

“Ah, now that’s information worth having,” said Fatty, looking pleased. “I’ll certainly have a chat with the man who owns the place
and
the banshee too. Thanks a lot. What’s his name?”

“He’s an Austrian,” said the man, still very cross. “Name of Engler. And I hope he wipes the floor with you, you fat nuisance!”

“Now, now!” said Fatty, raising a finger in reproof, just as if he were a nurse addressing a child. “Now, now - mustn’t be rude. Mustn’t lose tempers! Don’t want to put you into a corner!”

And with that Fatty marched off to put the dogs into the shed, leaving a most irritated man behind him, and accompanied by a rather scared but most admiring Ern.

“I don’t know how you can hold your own like that, Fatty,” he said. “Straight I don’t. Look - there’s the Frenchman we saw yesterday. Wonder how he’s got on with the picture he was copying.”

“
Bonjour,
” said Fatty politely to the Frenchman, who was hurrying down the great hall, carrying a rolled-up canvas. “Finished your picture?”

“Ah,
bonjour, mon ami
!” said the Frenchman. “You come back so soon?”

“Well, my friend here loves the sea-pictures,” said Fatty. “You see, he wants to go into the Navy, so anything to do with the sea attracts him, even if it’s only pictures. Won’t you show us the copy you made of that grand picture? Is that it you are carrying?”

“Yes, yes, but I must hurry, or I would show it to you,” said the Frenchman, giving a polite little bow. “Someone awaits me outside.
Au revoir!
We shall meet again if you come often to this place. I am always here!”

He scurried off. Fatty looked after him thoughtfully. Funny little man! He looked round for the owner of the place, the Austrian called - what was it now - oh yes, Engler. That must be the man over there, in the Armour Room. Tall. Dark. Foreign-looking. He looked a hard sort of man. Better be careful of him!

“You go and have a look at your magnificent sea-picture, Ern,” said Fatty. “I’ll go and talk to the Austrian owner. I want to ask him a few questions about banshees.”

“Right,” said Ern, and wandered off happily round the big room, looking at this picture and that, saving his favourite picture to the last.

He came to it eventually, and stood in front of it, gazing at the great high cliff, the swirling waves, the grim rocks. He stared at the sea-gulls tossed by the tempestuous wind, and imagined himself in a boat on that angry sea, swept by foaming waves, the wind howling in his ears. Ha - if only
he
could paint a picture like that! It would be almost better than going into the Navy. No - on second thoughts he’d
rather
go to sea.

Ern stood for some time opposite the picture. Then suddenly a puzzled look came over his face. He stood closer to the picture and peered at the sea from this side and that. He scratched his head. He stood further back. Then he went to one side and stood there, and then to the other side, screwing up his eyes as if he were trying to see something. He shook his head and frowned.

“I’ll have to find Fatty,” he said at last. “It’s a puzzle, this is. Can’t make it out! Where
is
Fatty? Oh, there he is, talking to that man, Fatty! FATTY! Here, I’ve got something to ask you!”

Fatty had studied the Austrian owner of Banshee Towers, and had decided that he didn’t look to be the type that usually bought old places just because they were beautiful! “He’s a sharp business man, if I ever saw one!” thought Fatty. “It beats me why he bought this out-of-the-way place. He can’t make much money out of visitors, except for a month or two in the summer. I wonder if he owns the pictures as well.”

The Austrian was sitting on the big settee behind which the children had hidden the day before. He was studying a catalogue of some sort, frowning over it. He was big and burly, with great eyebrows and a big nose.

Fatty went up to him, and spoke in his politest voice. “Excuse me, sir, for interrupting - but I believe you own this magnificent old place?”

“What - er - dear me, you startled me!” said the man, in a very deep voice, with a decidedly foreign accent. “Yes, my boy, I own it. But, alas, it was a bad bargain. So few visitors come to see it.”

“I suppose they come because they hope to hear the Wailing Banshee,” said Fatty. “We heard it yesterday - a very fine performance, sir. Very fine. Best wailing I ever heard! How is it done, sir?”

“Done? My boy, who knows anything about the poor, poor unhappy banshees?” said the man. “Who knows how or why they wail? “

“Well, in these days, sir, I expect they wail because their machinery is started up,” said Fatty, unexpectedly. “I mean - modern banshees are all pretence, aren’t they?”

“Certainly NOT,” said the man angrily. “You think I am a fraud? You think my banshee does not exist? I own a very fine banshee - poor poor thing, how she wails! It rends the heart!”

“Let me see now - banshees are supposed only to wail because they want to warn the owner of the place that something terrible is going to happen to him, aren’t they?” said Fatty, putting on his most innocent expression. “You know, sir, I heard her wailing yesterday, and I hoped somebody would warn you that trouble and unhappiness might be coming to you. Of course, that wouldn’t be so if it wasn’t a
real
banshee - but simply some kind of machinery, sir - but you are certain it isn’t?”

“My boy, I give you leave to go into every room in Banshee Towers, and to look into every hole and corner and cranny there, to see if there is any machinery,” said Mr Engler, solemnly.

“Oh, thank you, sir, that’s very kind of you, but I’ll take your word for it that you’ve no machinery hidden in any of the rooms,” said Fatty. “Let’s change the subject, sir. What wonderful sea-pictures there are here! What collection are they from, sir? I don’t recognize any of them.”

“Well, you seem to be an intelligent boy,” said the Austrian, obviously struck by Fatty’s ready conversation. “So I’ll tell you. They are from a famous collection of pictures in Count Ludwig’s castle in Austria. He is a cousin of mine, and he has lent me the pictures to attract visitors to Banshee Towers. A truly wonderful collection - but alas, few people look at the pictures. Just a few artists to copy them - and one or two visitors like yourself notice them.”

“They are worth a lot of money, I suppose?” said Fatty.

“Oh yes, yes - thousands of pounds!” said Mr Engler.

“I wonder you dare to risk the chance of some thief coming here to steal them,” said Fatty.

“Now, my boy - use your sense,” said Mr Engler. “It is not easy to take great pictures like these from their frames and carry them off unnoticed! Ha - would
you
be able to do it?”

It was at this very moment that Ern decided to go and find Fatty. Mr Engler jumped when Ern’s voice came into the room, sounding urgent.

“Fatty! Fatty, here! I’ve got something to ask you!”

“Excuse me, sir - that’s my friend. I’d better go and see what he wants,” said Fatty, surprised to see Ern looking so agitated. “Thank you for giving me so much information. Very kind of you.”

He went over to Ern. “Ern! What is it? Now don’t blurt it out at the top of your voice, for goodness sake. Come into the hall and tell me quietly.”

“Well, Fatty, you know that sea-picture I liked so much - the one I showed you yesterday, with the high cliffs and the swirling sea below?”

“Yes, I remember it quite well. It’s still over there,” said Fatty, waving an arm towards it.

“Yes - well, there’s something very queer about it today,” said Ern, agitated. “Come and look.”

“What do you mean - queer?” asked Fatty, surprised, as they came up to the picture.

“Something’s gone out of it,” said Ern. “Something I noticed particularly yesterday, Fatty. It’s not there today, straight it isn’t!”

“Well, what
was
it?” asked Fatty, exasperated. “The picture looks
exactly
the same to me!”

“Fatty, I promise you I’m telling the truth,” said Ern. “I promise you! Now look - see that rock there - and the sea swirling up to it - and that wave coming up behind? Well, Fatty,
yesterday there was a little red boat
painted on that wave, with two tiny sailors in it. I noticed it particularly, and I thought to meself, well, the artist put in that boat just so’s people looking at his picture would realize how enormous the cliffs were, and how grand the sea was, swirling round the rocks. See? If the artist hadn’t put a boat there, I wouldn’t have known how steep and high the cliffs were, so - so…”

“So the picture would have lost some of its grandeur, you mean,” said Fatty, with much interest. “Ern, this is, as you say, very queer. In fact, most peculiar.
Why
did someone paint out that boat? It must have been the Frenchman who did it, of course.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t like boats,” said Ern. “Maybe he gets seasick. But Fatty, you can’t see any marks where he might have washed the boat off the picture, or painted it out with greens or blues! That’s what beats me!”

“It certainly is very strange,” said Fatty, extremely puzzled. “You really
are
quite sure, Ern, that the boat was there yesterday?”

“Well, Bets was with me when we looked carefully at the picture.” said Ern. “She liked the painting too. I expect she’d remember the boat all right. We’ll ask her.”

“Ern, listen - don’t mention this to anyone - not to anyone at all.” said Fatty. “I can’t at the moment think why anyone should remove - or wash out - a boat from a sea-picture, but I’d like to think about it before we tell anyone. See?”

“Right,” said Ern. “Now I’ll go and look at some of the others. Maybe
all
the boats have been removed!” But no - those pictures that had boats in them, still had their boats - and their clouds - and their waves. Ern could see nothing missing in them. Nor could Fatty.

“Look - there’s the Frenchman who was copying the picture yesterday,” said Ern suddenly. “He’s copying that small one over there now. Let’s go and ask him if
he
removed that little boat from the big picture.”

But before they could get to him, Mr Engler, the Austrian, had gone over to him, and was in close conversation. Then the two men arose and went into the Armour Room, finally disappearing into a small room beyond.