I knocked.
An old lady opened the door. She had plump pink cheeks and unruly white hair tied back in a bun.
“Oh, my dear boy, you must be starving! Come inside!”
She grabbed me by the arm, and gave it a squeeze as to measure the amount of flesh on my bones. I did not like that much, and William suddenly growled. Then I saw the cat that was sitting at the hearth. It was black, and it regarded us with cold, piercing eyes.
But inside the house, the smell of cooking was even more tantalising. I think I could even smell apple pie. My stomach growled.
The granny seated me on a chair at a scrubbed wooden table covered with a bright gingham cloth. She dished up some beef and vegetable stew with mashed potatoes and a big slice of warm, buttered bread. It was like heaven!
William was sitting at my feet, his hair brisling. It was that cat: it was taking all his self-control to leave it alone.
“Ma’am, would you mind if I share my food with my dog?” I asked politely.
She glared at William, but smiled sweetly at me. “Of course not, my dear,” she said and dished some stew into a saucer that she plonked in front of William.
I ate and ate. I think I had three helpings of that stew.
My eyes started drooping after that, but before I could go to bed the old woman brought me a piece of apple pie and a tall glass of cold milk. Then, without having asked us any questions about who we were or what we were doing there, she brought a armload full of soft blankets and made a bed for me on the sofa.
I dropped off to sleep almost immediately.
It felt like only a few seconds later when William prodded my ear with a cold, wet nose. “Alex! We have to get out of here. Now!” he insisted.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. We’d been lucky to find this nice old granny to take care of us; what could possibly be wrong? I started to get up.
“Wait! Don’t move,” William ordered. “I don’t know where that cat is hiding.” As he sniffed around the room I glanced at the clock over the hearth. It was past midnight.
“The cat’s not here,” said William, “He must be out with her. We’d better leave before they come back.”
“William, have you gone mad? This granny cannot possibly have anything to do with Brumbum or Scabscratch!”
“I know that,” he said indignantly. “But she is dangerous. Look!” he pointed towards a corner of the room.
“There’s nothing there, William,” I said, yawning. I wanted to go back to sleep.
“But there was something there when we arrived,” he insisted.
“Yes, I remember, clever dogtective,” I whispered back. “But it was just an old broomstick. So what?”
As I said the words I realised what William was implying: the black cat, the broomstick, the way she’d squeezed my arm … it could mean only one thing …
I jumped out of bed that instant and threw on my clothes. William came back from the kitchen with some bread and cheese, which I stuffed into my backpack. We were ready to go.
The front door was locked.
I could not find a back door.
The windows wouldn’t open.
I panicked. I knew then how Hansel and Gretel must have felt!
William had disappeared. I was terrified. Then I spotted a cat flap in the front door. He must have slipped through it, but what about me? I wouldn’t fit. The next minute the door swung open, and I froze with fear. Was it her?… I breathed a sigh of relief. William stood there looking very pleased with himself.
“She wasn’t clever enough to outsmart us, Alex. She locked us in but left the keys under the doormat!”
I was eager to leave right away, but first William made me stuff pillows under the blankets to make it look like I was still sleeping there. We also piled up smaller pillows at the foot of the sofa to look like him. Then we carefully locked the door behind us and slipped out into the night.
Towards the south, the night sky glowed with the glare of the city lights of London. We headed in that direction, keeping close to the hedges that lined the road.
I kept glancing up at the sky, afraid to spot the old woman bearing down on us on her broomstick.
At daybreak a greengrocer’s truck pulled up.
“Fancy a lift, sonny?” asked the friendly driver.
“Yes, please,” I answered.
We settled ourselves comfortably between the cabbages and carrots, and we were off.
It was time to find Carl Cloghopper.