“But it wasn’t an island!” Buffy protested. “I just ran and ran over a really big field.”
“That’s strange,” said Gordon. “Cave Island is the only place on the map with a waterfall and fir trees. And you can see clearly that there is water between here and there. Can you have forgotten the sea, do you think?”
“No, I remember everything now.”
Gertrude began hopping up and down. There was something she had to say.
“Maybe the sea had frozen and you thought it was a field?”
“Bravo,” said Gordon. “What luck that we have our small police!”
He nodded. “That’s probably what happened. This all took place out there on the island. The same island that the fox moved to. Not good, not good at all…”
“What shall I do?” Buffy asked in confusion.
“Tomorrow we’ll come up with something,” answered Gordon.
Gertrude yawned. This was all so exciting, but she was tired too.
“Some of us must now go to bed,” Gordon said, and he patted Gertrude on the head.
He went up to the attic to fetch the two small beds. He made them up for Sune and Gertrude.
As far as the washing went, Gordon had a plan.
The small police were each given a glass of milk and an evening cake: sugar cones dipped in icing sugar. After all that sugar they were forced to wash themselves, including the tail if they were a mouse. It was simple. Afterwards they brushed their teeth, put on their pajamas and snuggled into their beds.
“I think I will also go to bed,” said Gordon. “Tomorrow we must talk about Cave Island and what we can do.”
They all lay in the prison with their beds in a row.
“Good night,” said Gordon.
“Sleep well,” said Buffy.
“Good night and sleep well,” said Sune.
Gertrude said nothing at all because she was already asleep.
Then Gordon turned out the light and sighed deeply. Yes, he was tired in fact.
He lay there, thinking through the case. A whole small mouse family, almost a year ago, had had its nest destroyed by a hungry fox. The mouse mother and all her children had run in different directions. Had any of them been caught and eaten by the fox? Buffy, at least, had run and run as far as she could. She had run the whole day.
What had happened then? Yes, he knew. Buffy had climbed a tree and taken nuts because she’d been so terribly hungry. Then Detective Gordon had spotted her and called, “Stop, in the name of the law!”
What a terrible way to say hello to a mouse child who had fled through storm and snow from a ghastly catastrophe. How rude of him!
But what had happened to Buffy’s mother? And to her fifteen brothers and sisters? It was a long time ago now. Perhaps one should simply hope that everything had turned out well…
Gordon heard that the small police were sleeping deeply as they snored quietly. He also heard Buffy turn over in bed. Of course she couldn’t sleep.
“Shall we have an extra cake, Buffy?” Gordon whispered. “A strawberry-crusted cake. Then we might find it easier to sleep.”
Buffy sat straight up.
“I have to go,” she said. “I have to rescue my mother.”
“But,” Gordon said, “it’s so long since it happened!”
“All the more reason to hurry,” said Buffy.
“Buffy. You can’t go out looking alone.”
“Yes, I can,” she said. “I am in fact Chief Detective.”
“Then I’ll come too,” said Gordon. “But it’s dark!”
“There are searchlights.”
“It’s raining,” said Gordon.
“We have raincoats.”
“But who will look after the small police?”
Gordon turned on the light. He found that Sune and Gertrude were sitting up in their beds, listening to every word.
“We’ll come too,” said Gertrude. “I’m not tired any more!”
“Me neither,” said Sune. “I’ve slept enough.”
All the police and small police hurried out of bed and dressed. Out came proper raincoats. Out came an umbrella. Out came searchlights and the police hats.
Gertrude stood looking at the pistol, which was kept in a glass case.
“Shall we take the pistol? Bang, bang.”
“Never the pistol,” Buffy and Gordon said at the same time. “It will never be used.”
“No?” Gertrude was disappointed.
Gordon took down the cake tins from the shelf. First he tried to put the tins into the big backpack, but they didn’t fit. Then he tipped all the cakes straight into the pack, taking an almond dream cake while he was at it.
“Please hurry,” said Buffy. “We’ve no time to lose.”
So they hurried out, and Gordon bumped into the hedgehog on its way into the police station.
“Very important,” said the hedgehog, “I must report a hare who was running so fast that I—”
Gordon raised his hand. “Not now,” he said. “Important police investigation!”
“We have to find a mother!” squeaked Gertrude and Sune.
And off they went into the dark, making a beeline through the forest. The hedgehog could see how Buffy went first with a searchlight. Light played over the path. Then came the two young ones sharing an umbrella and holding smaller searchlights. And last of all, Gordon, carrying a very large backpack, and puffing.
Lucky they had the small police with them, Gordon thought, otherwise Buffy would be running so fast he could never keep up.
They went through the big forest and then the path led away up a mountain.
“That’s the right way,” puffed Gordon, still last.
Away from the forest cover, rain poured down on them and the wind took hold of the umbrella. The little ones were almost lifted up and blown away. Gordon clasped the umbrella to his heavy body and the young police walked beside him so as not to get so badly wet.
“It’s hard work being police!” said Sune.
“And one is a little frightened of all the ghosts up here on the mountain,” said Gertrude.
“Yes, one is a little scared,” said Sune.
Gordon called out to Buffy that they must all sing a happy police song. It should be about how one must bravely keep moving forwards all the time. Carry on, carry on, and never give up, or something of the sort. Couldn’t Buffy quickly write a song like that?
But Buffy could only think about her mother and how urgent their mission was, so this was the best she could do:
Tramp, tramp, tramp and tramp.
Tramp, tramp and trampety-tramp.
The song was easy to remember and easy to sing. Buffy sang it first and the small police followed in their squeaky voices. Gordon hummed like a big bumble bee. It sounded very beautiful and comforting up there on the mountain.
When all four had sung the song about fifteen times, they felt a little braver and a little more energetic. And then suddenly they weren’t going uphill any more.
“We’re on top of the mountain!” said Buffy. “Now it’s downhill all the way to the sea.”
The wind grabbed hold of the umbrella and tumbled it down the mountain.
“We’ll get a bit wet,” said Gordon. “But we’ll be even wetter quite soon.”
So they sang the song one more time, only faster now they were going down the hill.
Tramp, tramp, tramp and tramp.
Tramp, tramp and trampety-tramp.
Tramp, tramp, tramp and tramp.
Tramp, tramp and trampety-tramp.
Tramp, tramp and trampety-tramp.
And after that, another fifteen times. By then they were down the mountain, and in front of them was the sea. The sun came up after their long night of trudging. It stopped raining, but they were already soaked through. Away in the distance was an island. They could make out fir trees, a little mountain, and possibly a waterfall.
Cave Island.
