“What about Milton House?” said Fatty. “That’s empty too.”
“It’s not for sale,” said the boy.
“Whyever not?” asked Fatty, surprised.
“Because somebody’s bought it, fathead,” said Pimples. “It was on the market for four years, and somebody bought it about a year ago.”
“Oh!” said Fatty, puzzled. “Well, why haven’t they moved in?”
“How should I know?” said Pimples, crunching up his peppermint. “I say, where do you get these humbugs? They’re jolly good.”
“I got them in London the other day,” said Fatty. “Have another? Do you know when the new people are moving in?”
“No idea,” said Pimples. “Once a house is sold, my boss, Mr. Richards, doesn’t take any more interest in it. Don’t tell me your Aunt Alicia has fallen in love with that desolate old place!”
“Well - it might be just what she’s looking for,” said Fatty. “I wonder now - perhaps the people who bought it don’t like it after all - and might sell it to my aunt. Do you know their name and address?”
“Gosh! - you do seem keen on your aunt having that house,” said Pimples. “Wait a minute. I may be able to put my hand on the name. It’s in this book, I believe.”