Free Mystery of the Hidden House by Enid Blyton

redly in the west.
    “Pore dying sun that sinks to rest.” thought Ern, and felt excited and pleased. That was a good line, a very good one indeed. Ern never wrote a cheerful “pome.” They were all very very sad, and they made Ern feel deliciously sad too.
    He walked on, his eyes on the ground, thinking about the dying sun. He suddenly saw a piece of rag fluttering and picked it up. Nobody could tell what colour it had been. Ern looked at it. Was it a clue? He pondered over it. He wished he was like Fatty, able to tell at a glance what things were clues and what weren’t.
    He put it into his overcoat pocket. Fatty would know. He cast his eyes on the ground again. Aha! What was this in the ditch? A button! Yes, with a bit of brown cloth attached to it. Surely that was a clue? Ern looked at the ground in the ditch, and noted the broken twigs and the way the frosty ground was rubbed and scraped. “Been somebody here!” thought Ern in excitement. “And this button’s off his coat. That’s a Far Clue, a really Meaty One.
    He put that into his pocket too. He was feeling really thrilled now. Two clues already!
    He found the broken shoe-lace. He found the cigar-end and sniffed at it in a very knowing manner. “Ha! A good cigar! Whoever was here has money to spend. I’m getting on. I see a man with a brown coat with brown buttons, smoking a good cigar, and wearing reddish laces in his shoes. I don’t know about that bit of rag. That doesn’t fit in somehow.”
    He picked up an empty cigarette packet. It had held Players’ cigarettes. “Coo! He smokes cigarettes as well!” said Ern, feeling cleverer and cleverer. That went into his pocket too. He was getting on! Who would have thought there were so many clues left carelessly lying about like that? No wonder detectives went hunting for them after a robbery.
    He picked up a broken tin next. It looked as if it had possibly been a tin of boot-polish, but it was so old and rusty that there was no telling what it might have been. Anyway it went into his pocket too.
    Then he found Pip’s bit of paper blowing about. Ern picked it up. “Lovaduck! Now we’re getting hot! This is somebody’s telephone number - in Peterswood too. I’m really getting hot! Pity Fatty didn’t come up with me - we’d have had a fine time collecting clues!”
    He then found Daisy’s ragged old handkerchief, embroidered with “K” in the corner. This seemed a first-class clue. “K!” he thought. “K for Kenneth. K for Katie. Or it might be a surname of course. Can’t tell.” That went into his pocket as well.
    After that he only found two more things that seemed worth picking up. One was a burnt match, the other was the stub of a pencil. It had initials cut into it at the end. E.H.
    With a pocketful of interesting clues Ern went down the hill again. It was getting dark. He would dearly have liked to stay longer and find more clues but he couldn’t see clearly any longer. Anyway he had done well, he felt.
    When he got home his uncle was out. Ern got himself some tea, then took out his notebook and opened it at the page marked “Clues.”
    He sharpened his pencil and set to work to put down a list of all the things he had found.

CLUES
    1. Piece of rag.
    2. Brown button with bit of cloth.
    3. Broken shoe-lace, reddish colour.
    4. End of good cigar.
    5. Empty cigarette packet (Players).
    6. Broken tin, very rusty.
    7. Bit of paper with telephone number.
    8. Ragged handkerchief, “K” in corner.
    9. Burnt match.
    10. Pencil, very short, E.H. on it.
    “Look at that,” said Ern, in satisfaction. “Ten clues already! Not a bad bit of work. I’d make a good detective. Lovaduck! Here’s uncle!”
    Mr. Goon could be heard coming into the little hall, and a familiar cough sounded. In haste Ern swept all the clues into his pocket, and was just stuffing his notebook away when his uncle came in. Ern looked so guilty that Mr. Goon was suspicious at once. Now what had that boy been up to?
    “Hallo, Uncle,” said Ern.
    “What you doing