GO AHEAD SECRET SEVEN by Enid Blyton

CHAPTER 6 A SHOCK TO POOR GEORGE

But George didn't look behind him. He only looked in front, and followed the man steadily. Once, when he stopped to light a cigarette, George darted into a nearby gate, afraid that the man might turn and see him.

He crept out after half a minute, and saw the man walking on again, swinging his bag. After him went George, deciding to get a little nearer, so that he could see exactly where the man lived when he went into his house.

So he crept quite near, feeling very bold and successful. And then suddenly something happened.

George heard sudden footsteps behind him, and then a heavy hand fell on his shoulder and a sharp voice spoke loudly.

"And what do you think you are doing, creeping along in the dark after that gentleman in front? What's this you've got on your wrist? A truncheon! Don't tell me you meant to use it, you wicked little scoundrel!"

George was so astounded that he couldn't say a word. He stared up at the man, who dragged him to a nearby lamp-post.

"Is your face blacked, or are you dark-skinned?" said the man.

He was a young fellow, strong and determined-looking, and he gave George a sudden shake.

"Have you lost your tongue?" He dabbed at George's face, and whistled. "You've blacked it. What for? Are you one of the wretched little hooligans who think they can hit innocent people, rob them and run away?" demanded the young man, and shook George roughly again.

George found his tongue. "Let me go!" he said, indignantly. "Of course I'm hot a hooligan! I'm only shadowing somebody for, well, just for practice!"

"I don't believe, a word of it," said the man. "I've followed you right from the bus, you little wretch! I watched you hiding here and there, creeping round the corners, following that old fellow with the bag. Come along with me. I'll take you to the police-station. You can tell your tale there!"

George was really frightened now. He tried to wriggle away, but the man held him too tightly.

"Please don't take me to the police-station," begged George. "My mother would be so upset. Take me home. I'll tell you my name and address, and come with you. You'll see I'm a decent boy, not a hooligan. I wouldn't dream of following anyone to rob them."

"All right. I'll take you to your home," said the young man, grimly. "And I'll have a word with your father, young man. What you want is a good hiding!"

And poor George had to trot beside him all the way home, held so tightly by his collar that he could hardly breathe.

He didn't have at all a pleasant time at home. The young man made his harmless adventure seem very, very serious. His mother was shocked. His father was angry.

"Well, I didn't mean any harm," said poor George, rather sulky now. "It was only the orders I had from Peter, who is the head of the Secret Seven, our society. We were just practising several things, in case some mystery or other turned up. That's all. I had to shadow someone, and I did. But there wasn't any harm in it!"

"I see," said his father. "Well, that's the end of the Secret Society for you, George. If I'm going to have you hauled home by a member of the public, accusing you of following some harmless old fellow, and carrying a truncheon, and with your face blacked, well, all I can say is that that Secret Society is leading you into bad ways."

"I agree," said his mother. "He mustn't belong any more."

George looked at his parents in the utmost dismay. "But Dad! Mother! You don't understand. I couldn't possibly not belong to the Secret Seven. They wouldn't let me go. I must belong!"

"That's enough, George," said his father, curtly. "You know I won't be argued with. A little more of this and you'll get a jolly good hiding. Go and wash that black off your face, and tell this Secret Society of yours tomorrow that you no longer belong. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Dad," said George, shocked and miserable. He said good night in a low voice, gave the young man a fearful scowl, and went out of the room. He debated whether to slam the door or not, but decided not to. His father did not look kindly on any show of temper.

Poor George! He washed his black face, undressed, and got into bed. What a dreadful thing not to belong to the Secret Seven any more! What would they do without him? They would only be Six. Would they call themselves the Secret Six? That would still be S.S.

Or, dreadful thought, would they get someone else instead of him? George felt as if he really could not bear that. He buried his face in his pillow and gritted his teeth. It was too bad! He had only done what Peter had told him, and he had done it jolly well too, and that horrid young man had thought he was up to mischief and had hauled him home.

Tomorrow he must go and tell Peter and Janet. They would have to call a meeting on Monday night and decide what to do without him. He would be there for the last time. He would never, never attend one of those exciting secret meetings after that.

"I shall howl if I go on thinking like this," said George fiercely, and hit his pillow hard, pretending it was the young man who had caught him. Take that! And that!

He felt better then, but it was a long time before he fell asleep. Poor George!