right,” replied Mrs Brown. “In the corner.”
“It’s not there now,” called Mrs Bird. “Someone must have taken it away.”
“That’s very strange,” said Mrs Brown. “I didn’t hear anyone knock. And the laundryman hasn’t been yet. How very odd.”
“It’ll serve him right,” said Mrs Bird, as she returned to the kitchen, “if someone’s taken it. That’ll teach him a lesson!” In spite of her stern appearance, Mrs Bird was a kindly soul at heart, but she became very cross when people took advantage of others, especially Paddington.
“Oh well,” said Mrs Brown. “I expect it’ll sort itself out. I must try and remember to ask Paddington if he’s seen it when he comes in.”
As it happened Paddington was gone for quite a long time, so that when he did finally return, Mrs Brown had forgotten all about the matter. It had been dark for some time when he let himself into the garden by the back way. He pushed his basket up the path until he reached Mr Brown’s shed, and then, after a struggle, managed to lift a large object out of the basket, and place it in a corner behind the lawn-mower. There was also a small cardboard box marked GI FAWKES, which rattled when he shook it.
Paddington shut the door of the shed, carefully hid the cardboard box underneath his hat in the bottom of the basket, and then crept quietly out of the garden and round to the front door. He felt pleased with himself. It had been a very good evening’s work indeed – much better than he had expected – and that night, before he went to sleep, he spent a long time writing a letter to Jonathan in which he told him all about it.
“Gosh, Paddington,” exclaimed Jonathan, several days later, when they were getting ready for the display. “What a super lot of fireworks!” He peered into the cardboard box, which was full almost to the brim. “I’ve never seen so many.”
“Honestly, Paddington,” said Judy admiringly. “Anyone would think you’d been collecting in the street or something.”
Paddington waved a paw vaguely through the air and exchanged a knowing glance with Jonathan. But before he had time to explain things to Judy, Mr Brown entered the room.
He was dressed in an overcoat and gumboots and he was carrying a lighted candle. “Right,” he said. “Are we all ready? Mr Gruber’s waiting in the hall and Mrs Bird’s got the chairs all ready on the veranda.” Mr Brown looked as eager as anyone to start the firework display and he eyed Paddington’s box enviously.
“I vote,” he said, holding up his hand for silence when they were all outside in the garden, “that as this is Paddington’s first November the Fifth, we let him set off the first firework.”
“Hear! hear!” applauded Mr Gruber. “What sort would you like, Mr Brown?”
Paddington looked thoughtfully at the box. There were so many different shapes and sizes it was difficult to decide. “I think I’ll have one of those you can hold in the paw first,” he said. “I think I’ll have a sparkler.”
“Dull things, sparklers,” said Mr Curry, who was sitting in the best chair helping himself to some marmalade sandwiches.
“If Paddington wants a sparkler, he shall have one,” said Mrs Bird, giving Mr Curry a freezing look.
Mr Brown handed Paddington the candle, taking care not to let the hot wax drip on to his fur, and there was a round of applause as the sparkler burst into life. Paddington waved it over his head several times and there was another round of applause as he moved it up and down to spell out the letters P-A-D-I-N-G-T-U-N.
“Very effective,” said Mr Gruber.
“But that’s not how you spell Paddington,” grumbled Mr Curry, his mouth full of sandwich.
“It’s how I spell it,” said Paddington. He gave Mr Curry one of his special hard stares, but unfortunately it was dark and so the full effect was lost.
“How about lighting the bonfire?” said Mr Brown hurriedly. “Then we can all see what we’re doing.” There was a crackle from the dried leaves as he bent down to apply the match.
“That’s better,” said Mr Curry, rubbing his hands together. “I find it rather draughty on this veranda of yours. I think I’ll let off a few more fireworks if there are no more sandwiches left.” He looked across at Mrs Bird.
“There aren’t,” said Mrs Bird. “You’ve just had the last one. Honestly,” she continued, as Mr Curry moved away and began rummaging in Paddington’s box, “the cheek of some people. And he never even brought so much as a Catherine wheel himself.”
“He does spoil things,” said Mrs Brown. “Everyone’s been looking forward to this evening. I’ve a good mind…” Whatever Mrs Brown had been about to say was lost as there came a cry from the direction of the garden shed.
“Crikey, Paddington,” shouted Jonathan. “Why ever didn’t you tell us?”
“Tell us what?” asked Mr Brown, trying to divide his attention between a Roman candle which had just fizzled out and the mysterious object which Jonathan was dragging from the shed.
“It’s a guy!” shouted Judy with delight.
“It’s a super one too!” exclaimed Jonathan. “It looks just like a real person. Is it yours, Paddington?”
“Well,” said Paddington, “yes… and no.” He looked rather worried. In the excitement he had quite forgotten about the guy which he’d used when he’d collected the money for fireworks. He wasn’t at all sure he wanted the others to know about it in case too many questions were asked.
“A guy!” said Mr Curry. “Then it had better go on the bonfire.” He peered at it through the smoke. For some odd reason there was a familiar look about it which he couldn’t quite place.
“Oh no,” said Paddington hurriedly. “I don’t think you’d better do that. It’s not really for burning.”
“Nonsense, bear,” said Mr Curry. “I can see you don’t know much about Guy Fawkes Night. Guys are always burned.” He pushed the others on one side and with the help of Mr Brown’s garden rake placed the guy on top of the bonfire.
“There!” he exclaimed, as he stood back rubbing his hands. “That’s better. That’s what I call a bonfire.”
Mr Brown removed his glasses, polished them, and then looked hard at the bonfire. He didn’t recognise the suit the guy was wearing and he was glad to see it wasn’t one of his. All the same, he had a nasty feeling at the back of his mind. “It… it seems a very well-dressed sort of guy,” he remarked.
Mr Curry started and then stepped forward to take a closer look. Now that the bonfire was well and truly alight it was easier to see. The trousers were blazing merrily and the jacket had just started to smoulder. His eyes nearly popped out and he pointed a trembling finger towards the flames.
“That’s my suit!” he roared. “My suit! The one you were supposed to send to the cleaners!”
“What!” exclaimed Mr Brown. Everyone
