“Woof,” said Timmy, sounding delighted. He thumped his tail on the floor. A fly came by his nose and he snapped at it. Uncle Quentin frowned.

“Have another scone, Father?” said George hurriedly. “When are you and Mother going to Spain?”

“Tomorrow,” said her mother firmly. “Now don’t look like that, Quentin. You know perfectly well it’s been arranged for weeks, and you need a holiday, and if we don’t go tomorrow all our arrangements will be upset.”

“Well, you might have warned me it was tomorrow,” said her husband, looking indignant. “I mean — I’ve all my notebooks to check and put away, and…”

“Quentin, I’ve told you heaps of times that we leave on September the third,” said his wife, still more firmly. “I want a holiday, too. The four children will be quite all right here with Timmy — they’ll love being on their own. Julian is almost grown-up now and he can cope with anything that turns up.”

Timmy snapped twice at a fly, and Uncle Quentin jumped. “If that dog does that again,” he began, but his wife interrupted him at once.

“There, you see! You’re as touchy and nervy as can be, Quentin, dear. It will do you good to get away — and the children will have a lovely two weeks on their own. Nothing can possibly happen, so make up your mind to leave tomorrow with an easy mind!”

Nothing can possibly happen? Aunt Fanny was wrong of course. Anything could happen when the Five were left on their own!

Chapter Two

A meeting on the beach

It really was very difficult to get Uncle Quentin off the next day. He was shut up in his study until the last possible moment, sorting out his precious notebooks. The taxi arrived and hooted outside the gate. Aunt Fanny, who had been ready for a long time, went and rapped at the study door.

“Quentin! Unlock the door! You really must come. We shall lose the plane if we don’t go now.”

“Just one minute!” shouted back her husband. Aunt Fanny looked at the four children in despair.

“That’s the fourth time he’s called out “Just one minute”,” said George. The telephone shrilled out just then, and she picked up the receiver.

“Yes,” she said. “No, I’m afraid you can’t see him. He’s off to Spain, and nobody will know where he is for the next two weeks. What’s that? Wait a minute — I’ll ask my mother.”

“Who is it?” said her mother.

“It’s the Daily Clarion,” said George. “They want to send a reporter down to interview Daddy. I told them he was going to Spain — and they said could they publish that?”

“Of course,” said her mother, thankfully, “Once that’s in the papers nobody will ring up and worry you. Say, yes, George.”

George said yes, the taxi hooted more loudly than ever, and Timmy barked madly at the hooting. The study door was flung open and Uncle Quentin stood in the doorway, looking as black as thunder.