87

The Case of the Mysterious Fall

Mr Huntingdon was a strange man. He lived all alone in the huge ancient house that stood on the top of the hill. Apart from Mr Huntingdon, only one other person ever went into that house: his cleaning lady and housekeeper Mrs Crabtree.

Mr Huntingdon wasn’t a very nice man and he treated Mrs Crabtree like a slave:

‘Close the curtains! People are always trying to look in, trying to watch me. I won’t have it!’

‘Shake out those carpets! They’re full of deadly spiders.’

‘Don’t move that chair! All chairs must face south!’

Mr Huntingdon was also a very secretive man and spent most of his time in the house. The only time he ever left his house was on Friday mornings, when he would leave home to visit the shop of a fortune-teller in town. Half an hour later, he’d leave the shop and return home. He never stopped to buy anything. He never spoke to anyone.

One Friday, the fortune-teller had some terrible news for Mr Huntingdon. ‘This weekend,’ she told him, ‘you will be killed by a fall.’ It was an odd thing to be told, for sure, but Mr Huntingdon wasn’t particularly worried. After all, this was why he visited the fortune-teller – so that he could make sure nothing bad would ever happen to him.

Mr Huntingdon hurried home. He had a plan. ‘How can I fall if I spend all weekend lying down?’ he reasoned to himself. He got some rope and lay down in the middle of the floor of his enormous hallway. He called Mrs Crabtree. ‘I want you to tie me to the floor,’ he told her. ‘I want you to tie me so that I can’t move.’

Mrs Crabtree did as she was told. Maybe she should have asked why, but she didn’t. Mr Huntingdon would probably just have told her to mind her own business. When he was tightly tied to the floor, he told Mrs Crabtree to leave the house and lock the door behind her. He didn’t need her this weekend and she wasn’t to return until Monday morning. Mrs Crabtree left, leaving Mr Huntingdon smiling at how clever he was. He heard the door close and the key turn in the lock.

Mrs Crabtree was gone. There was nothing but silence … or was there? What was that sound? A sort of creaking – very quiet at first, but slowly getting louder. Mr Huntingdon looked up. Above him hung a huge chandelier. It was slowly, very, very slowly, starting to move. He suddenly knew he shouldn’t have sent Mrs Crabtree home. He shouted out for her, screaming her name again and again. It was too late. She wouldn’t be coming back for 48 hours. He tried to free his arms and legs, but it was no use. He wasn’t going anywhere. All he could do was look up at the chandelier and wait …

Mrs Crabtree arrived at eight o’clock on Monday morning. She opened the door and saw the body of Mr Huntingdon lying under the huge chandelier.

‘Oh dear,’ she sighed. ‘I should have had that fixed.’