Mystery of the Vanished Prince by Enid Blyton Page B

get the address if you wait half a tick.”
    Fatty grinned. It was nice to bring that lazy little monkey to heel! “Very well. But make haste,” said Fatty.
    The youth made haste. Fatty thought that Mr. Reg, whoever he was, must be a pretty terrifying person if he could shake up a fellow like this merely at the mention of his name! The youth hunted through a large file and produced a list of the caravans up on the hill by the School Camp Field.
    “Now which caravan is it?” he asked. Fatty had noted the name, of course.
    “It was called ‘River-View,’ ” he said. “Quite a small one.”
    The youth ran his finger down a list. “Ah - here we are - Mrs. Storm, 24 Harris Road, Maidenbridge. That’s not far from here - ’bout two miles.”
    “Thanks,” said Fatty, and wrote it down.
    “You going to see Mr. Reg?” asked the youth, anxiously, as Fatty turned to go.
    “No,” said Fatty, much to the youth’s relief. He went out to where the others were waiting.
    “Got it!” he said, and showed them the name and address. “Mrs. Storm, 24 Harris Road, Maidenbridge. About two miles from here. Come on - let’s get going.”
    Feeling rather excited, the Five rode off to Maidenbridge. Had Mrs. Storm got the Prince? Would she tell them anything at all?
    They came into Maidenbridge, and asked for Harris Road. It turned out to be a narrow, rather dirty little street, set with houses in a terrace.
    They arrived at No. 24. It was even dirtier than the rest in the street. Ragged curtains hung at the windows, and the front door badly wanted a lick of paint.
    “I’ll tackle this too,” said Fatty. “You ride to the end of the street and wait for me. It looks funny for so many of us to be standing at the front door.”
    Obediently the others rode off. Fatty stood his bicycle at the kerb and knocked. An untidy woman, her hair down her back, opened it. She said nothing, but just looked at Fatty, waiting.
    “Oh - er, excuse me,” said Fatty, raising his cap politely. “Are you Mrs. Storm?”
    “No. I’m not,” said the woman. “You’ve come to the wrong house. She don’t live here.”
    This was a bit of a shock.
    “Has she left then?” asked Fatty.
    “She never did live here, far as I know,” said the woman. “I’ve bin here seventeen years, with my husband and my old Ma - I don’t know no Mrs. Storm. Not even in this street, I don’t.”
    “How strange,” said Fatty. He looked at the paper with the name and address on. “Look - it says Mrs. Storm, 24 Harris Road, Maidenbridge.”
    “Well, that’s this house all right - but there’s no Mrs. Storm,” said the woman. “There’s no other Harris Road but this, either. Why don’t you go to the post office? They’ll tell you where she lives.”
    “Oh thanks, I will,” said Fatty, “Sorry to have troubled you for nothing.” He raised his cap again and departed on his bike, puzzled. He joined the others, told them of his failure, and then they all cycled to the post office.
    “I want to find some one’s address here, please,” said Fatty, who was certainly in command that morning. “I’ve been given the wrong address, I’m afraid. Could you tell me where a Mrs. Storm lives?”
    The clerk got out a directory and pushed it across to Fatty. “There you are,” he said. “You’ll find all the Storms there, hail, thunder and snow!”
    “Ha, ha, joke,” said Fatty, politely. He took the directory and looked for STORM. Ah - here were three Storms in Maidenbridge.
    “Lady Louisa Storm,” he read out to the others. “Old Manor Gate. No - that can’t be her. She wouldn’t rent a caravan. Here’s another - Miss Emily Storm.”
    “She wouldn’t have twin-babies, she’s a Miss,” said Bets. “We want a Mrs.”
    “Mrs. Rene Storm,” read out Fatty. “Caldwell House. Well, that seems to bc the only one that’s likely.”
    They left the post office. Fatty turned to Daisy. “Now you can do this bit, Daisy,” he said. “You must find out if Mrs. Rene Storm has twin-children.”
    “Oh, I can’t,” said Daisy, in a fright. “I simply can’t walk