Mystery of the Vanished Prince by Enid Blyton Page A

said Fatty in disgust. “You don’t know a thing - not even the name of the woman!”
    “Oogleby-oogleby,” said Sid, suddenly, looking excited. Every one looked at him.
    “Now what does that mean?” wondered Fatty. “Say it again, Sid - if you can.”
    “Oogleby-oogleby-oogleby!” said Sid, valiantly, going red in the face.
    “He’s talking foreign, isn’t he?” said Ern, with a laugh at his own wit. “Here, Sid - write it down. And mind your spelling!”
    Sid took Ern’s pencil and wrote painfully on a page of his notebook. Every one crowded round to see what he had written.
    “MARGE and BERT,” Sid had printed.
    “Marge and Bert,” said Larry. “Does he mean margarine and butter?”
    Every one looked at Sid. He shook his head at once, and then pretended to hold something in his arms and rock it.
    “Now what’s he doing?” wondered Bets. “Rock-a-bye-baby - Sid, you’re dippy!”
    “Oh - I know - he’s pretending to be holding two babies - he must have written the names of the twins!” cried Daisy. Sid nodded, pleased.
    “Ar,” he said. “Oooogly-oogly.”
    “Well, I don’t know if it’s going to help us to know the name of those twin babies,” said Fatty, looking extremely doubtful, “but I suppose it might. Thanks for your help, Sid - such as it is. Ern, see he doesn’t eat any more toffee. Honestly, it’s disgraceful.”
    “What are we going to do now?” asked Pip.
    “We’re going to find out who lets these caravans and see if they’ll tell us the name and address of the woman who took that one,” said Fatty, waving towards the empty caravan nearby. “Come on. We’ll go now.”
    “Can I come too?” asked Ern, eagerly. But Fatty said no, he’d no bicycle. He didn’t want Ern, Sid and Perce trailing round them all morning. It would look rather conspicuous to go about in such a large company.
    “All right,” said Ern, mournfully. “Spitty.”
    Bets looked at him delighted. “Oh, Ern! I’d forgotten you used to say that, when you meant “It’s a pity.” Fatty - don’t you remember how he used to run all his words together when we knew him before?”
    “Yes,” said Fatty, getting on his bike. “Swunderful! Smarvellous! Smazing!”
     

An Interesting Morning
     
    And now began a morning of real investigation for the Find-Outers. They rode off down to Marlow, where the agent lived who let the caravans. Fatty had copied down the address from a big notice in the field.
    “CARAVANS TO LET,” it said, “APPLY CARAVANS LTD. TIP HILL, MARLOW.”
    They found Tip Hill, which was a little road leading up a hill. Halfway up, in a small field, stood a caravan, marked “CARAVANS LTD. Apply here for caravans to be let.”
    “Here we are,” said Fatty. “Who would like to do this part?”
    “Oh you, Fatty,” said Bets. “You always do this sort of thing so well. We’ll come and listen.”
    “No, you won’t,” said Fatty. “I’m not going to have a lot of giggling and nudging going on behind me. If I do this, I do it alone.”
    “All right - do it alone,” said Pip.
    Fatty went in through the little gate and up to the door of the caravan. He knocked on it.
    It opened, and a youth stood there, with a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth.
    “Hallo!” he said. “What you want?”
    “I’m anxious to find the person who rented one of the caravans next to the School Camp Field,” said Fatty. “Could you tell me her name and address, please? I’d be most obliged. She left before I could ask her what I wanted to know.”
    “My word - aren’t we la-di-da!” said the youth. “Think I’ve got time to hunt up names and addresses of your caravan friends, Mister?”
    Fatty glanced at the side of the caravan. He saw the name of the owners there in small letters. “Reg and Bert Williams.” He guessed the youth was just an employee.
    “Oh well, if you haven’t time, I’ll go and ask Mr. Reginald Williams,” said Fatty, at a venture. He turned away.
    The youth almost fell down the caravan steps. “Ere, you! Why didn’t you tell me you knew Mr. Reg?” he called. “I’ll