Table of Contents
THE RILLOBY FAIR MYSTERY
Enid Blyton
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright© 1950 Enid Blyton.
Published by Wildside Press, LLC
wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com
CHAPTER 1
FIRST DAY OF THE HOLIDAYS
“ ’Morning, Mother! ’Morning, Dad!” said Roger, and ruffled his father’s hair as he passed him, and dropped a kiss on his mother’s curls.
“Don’t do that, Roger,” said his father impatiently, smoothing his hair down. “Why are you late for breakfast? And where’s Diana?”
“Can’t imagine,” said Roger cheerfully, helping himself to an enormous plateful of porridge. “Asleep, I suppose.”
“Never mind,” said his mother. “It’s only the second day of the holidays. Roger, you can’t possibly eat all that porridge—with sausages to follow.”
“Oh, jolly good,” said Roger, sitting down in front of his great plateful. “Any fried onions with them?”
“Not at breakfast-time, Roger. You know we don’t have onions then.”
“I can’t imagine why not,” said Roger. He began to eat his porridge, craning his neck to read the back of his father’s newspaper.
As the newspaper was folded in two, the reading matter was upside down for Roger, and his father glanced at him irritably.
“Roger! What are you screwing your head round like that for? Have you got a stiff neck?”
“No—only just reading that exciting bit in the paper about the dog that... ”
“Well, don’t. You know it’s bad manners to read a paper when someone else is reading it,” said his father. “Don’t they teach you manners at school?”
“No. They think we learn them at home,” said Roger cheekily.
Mr. Lynton glared over the top of his newspaper. “Well, then, perhaps I’d better teach you a few these holidays,” he began. And just at that moment Diana burst into the room, beaming.
“Hallo, Mother! ’Morning, Dad! I say, isn’t this a heavenly day—all daffodils and primroses and sunshine! Gosh, I do love the Easter hols.”
“Get your porridge, dear,” said her mother. “Roger, you haven’t taken all the cream surely?”
“No, there’s a spot left,” said Roger. “Anyway, it won’t hurt Diana to have plain milk. She’s too fat.”
“I’m not! Am I, Mother?” said Diana indignantly. Her father gave an exasperated click.
“Sit down, Diana. Eat your porridge. If you must be late, be late quietly. Breakfast is at eight o’clock—and it’s now half-past!”
Mr. Lynton gathered up his newspaper, put it beside his wife’s place, and went out of the room.
“What’s the matter with Dad this morning?” asked Diana, pulling up one of her stockings. “Blow this stocking. It keeps coming down. Why is Dad so mouldy, Mother?”
“Don’t talk like that, Diana,” said Mrs. Lynton. “There’s nothing wrong with your father except that he does like you two to be punctual for meals—and also he’s heard that his Uncle Robert is coming to stay. You know the dear old fellow bores your father terribly.”
“Oh my goodness—is Great-uncle Robert