Kidnapped! Read online

  ‘No, first I show you zumthing,’ said Pascal. He led me over to his family’s tent and peered round the door. ‘Sssh. Keep ze quiet.’

  So I kept very quiet and I peeped round the door and you will never guess what. There was Trevor Two-Legs! I’d been wondering where he’d got to. He was in Emilie’s tent, WITH EMILIE! They were sitting close together on an upturned box. Emilie had a book and she was reading to Trevor and pointing at something in the book.

  ‘What is she doing?’ I whispered to Pascal.

  ‘She is teaching him ze French,’ he whispered back. ‘She tells him zum French words and makes him say zem back and – look! Zat is what happens if he gets zem right!’

  At that moment Emilie leaned even closer to Trevor and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. SHE DID!

  Trevor turned very red and tried to move a bit further away but he couldn’t because he was trapped against the wall of the tent. Well, how about that! I don’t know what Tina would say if she could see them. Actually, I do know what she would say but I can’t tell you because your ears would probably burst into flames and you’d have to call the fire brigade to come and put them out.

  Anyhow, now I knew where Trevor had been all that time. He was learning French and I’m sure he was a very good pupil. BUT – and it was a big ‘but’, which is why it is in big letters – Pascal and I were on the hunt for stolen goods.

  We went searching high and low, in front of things, behind things, everywhere we could think of but there was no sign at all. We looked in the shed where the canoes were kept. We peeped into just about every tent, caravan and motorhome on the site, but found nothing.

  Pascal was sniffing round a patch of grass. I couldn’t see anything in front of him at all. He just stood there, only his head moving as he went sniff sniff sniff. I was thinking that if that was what bloodhounds were famous for, anyone could do it. I can go sniff sniff sniff – no problem.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked because I was getting bored with watching him do the same thing to the same patch of grass over and over again.

  ‘I’m sniffing,’ he explained. ‘I smell something.’

  Aha! So Pascal didn’t just like sniffing grass! He was on to something. I trotted over and joined him. I took one whiff and every nerve in my nose went crazy, as if they had just arrived at the best party ever!

  ‘Pascal! You know what that is? IT’S THE SMELL OF BARBECUED SAUSAGE!’

  ‘Of course, my petite champignon! You are so clever!’

  ‘Petite champignon? What on earth does that mean?’

  ‘Little mushroom,’ chuckled Pascal, and his eyes twinkled.

  I thought, Maybe this French bloodhound is going mad, but Pascal was already on the trail, nose to the ground. I trotted after him in an admiring kind of way. He is so clever. And handsome. Have I told you that before? Well he is.

  At last we reached a high hedge and followed it round until we came to some big wooden gates. That was where the sausage trail ended. The gates were padlocked of course and there was no way we could get in.

  ‘Let’s go back to the hedge and see if we can squeeze underneath,’ I suggested.

  ‘A good idea, my petite chou-fleur.’

  My heart sank. What was it going to be this time? ‘And what does “petite chou-fleur” mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Little cauliflower.’

  ‘I’m not a little cauliflower or a mushroom!’ I shouted and Pascal just grinned at me.

  ‘It is a term of affection,’ he said quietly.

  Huh! Little cauliflower indeed! I shall tell him he’s a big fat cabbage. I think he’s got vegetables on the brain. Anyway, I found a bit of space under the hedge and I thought I could squeeze through and I did but Pascal couldn’t because he’s bigger than me and more solid and his enormous ears kept getting caught on the branches.

  ‘You stay there then,’ I said. ‘I’ll hunt around and report back.’

  ‘Be careful, little cauliflower,’ he murmured and I heard the ketchup gurgle down the drain again.

  Well, I had hardly started to look around when guess what I saw? The trailer! And next to it was the barbecue set! I couldn’t see Mr Trevor’s dad’s golf bag anywhere or Pascal’s dog bowl but maybe they were in the trailer. Then I tried to work out where I was on the campsite and you will never guess where I was, not in a million years, so I will tell you.

  9 Buckets of Water and Other Shocking Behaviour

  I was in Madame Crêpe’s back garden! That was a surprise, I can tell you. I couldn’t have been more surprised if a van full of pies had exploded right in front of my nose and all the pies had come zooming straight into my mouth. CHOMP CHOMP, YUM YUM!

  I was still in a state of shock and surprise when Mini Crêpe came out of the house and saw me.

  ‘Ooh la la! Zat ’orrible dog is in ze garden, Maman!’ she yelled.

  I looked all around for the horrible dog but I couldn’t see one anywhere. Then I realized that Mini Crêpe was talking about me! ME!! A horrible dog? I don’t think so! I told her straight up. I said, ‘Listen, mate, if anyone’s horrible around here it is YOU and your mother, always shouting at everyone, bossing us about, telling us what to do. And I’m not even talking about the frying pans and carrots even though I just have.’

  I was going on at her like that when Madame herself came bursting out of the house, not to mention her apron, waving half her kitchen at me again. I think she must have a thing about saucepans and suchlike. Not only that but Barbarossa came charging out with her. I might have known!

  He didn’t even stop to say hello. He came straight for me, barking his head off and jaws wide open. He could swallow an elephant with a mouth that big. I knew he liked me but you can go off people and I wasn’t going to take any chances with those great fangs of his. I zipped back to the hedge and slipped beneath it.

  A moment later I heard a crash and a startled yelp as Barbarossa careered into it. This was followed by a scream of rage from Madame Crêpe and a large saucepan came whizzing over the top of the hedge before bouncing harmlessly down the field in front of us.

  I expected Barbarossa to slip beneath the hedge at any moment but he didn’t. Maybe he was too big. Anyhow, Pascal took one look at me and understood the situation.

  ‘Trouble,’ he grunted and I nodded. We hightailed it as far as the campsite’s play area and hid beneath the big log-climbing pyramid. Pascal flopped down on the ground and frowned at me.

  ‘Spill ze beans,’ he growled.

  ‘What beans?’ I asked. ‘I don’t have any beans. Besides I’m getting fed up with all these vegetables. First of all it was mushrooms, then cauliflowers and now beans.’

  ‘Princess,’ he smiled, ‘when I said spill ze beans I meant tell me everyzing.’

  I told him all about the trailer, the barbecue set, Barbarossa and the house.

  ‘So, Madame Crêpe iz ze rubber,’ Pascal muttered grimly.

  ‘She’s a rubber?’ I repeated. ‘What is she rubbing?’

  ‘She rubbed ze trailer and ze barbecue and –’

  Light dawned. Bulbs flashed. ‘Ah! You mean robber! Yes, yes, you are quite right, my ginormous, hunky cabbage. Madame and her daughter are the thieves! Now we must tell everyone and this time the police-legs can arrest them!’

  Then I told him he was so clever to track the barbecued sausage smell to the garden and he said I was so brave to go under the hedge and face the dragons. ‘Like ze real princess,’ he added and I felt my eyes turn into stars and my heart almost burst but I’m glad it didn’t.

  We emerged carefully from the log pyramid. Luckily there was no sign of Madame or Barbarossa and his gang. We made our way to the silver shell only to find Mr Trevor’s mum and dad on their way out.

  ‘Where have you been?’ demanded Mr Trevor’s dad. ‘We’ve been hunting for you all over the place!’

  I sat there and said it was a pity he hadn’t hunted in Madame Crêpe’s garden because then he might have found his stolen golf clubs. Of
course he didn’t understand a word or a woof I said. Those two-legs really are the most useless things in the History of Nature. In fact, if there was a Museum of Stupidity those two-legs would be the biggest exhibit of all.

  ‘We are going out,’ said Mr Trevor’s dad. ‘We’re going into town to get some food. Trevor is on the water chute with Emilie. We won’t be long. Make sure you behave yourselves.’

  I looked at him. Behave myself? What did he think I was? Some kind of super-criminal-hooligan kind of dog? I was shocked. I looked at Pascal and said, ‘See what I have to put up with?’

  Pascal nodded wisely. He is such a support. Anyway, we had to stop them from going so Pascal stretched himself in front of the caravan door so Mr and Mrs would have to climb over him if they wanted to go anywhere at all and I told them everything I knew about Madame Crêpe and the stolen equipment.

  ‘So you must call the police-legs and tell them and then they can come to the campsite and arrest Madame and Mini and put them in jail,’ I explained.

  That was when Mr Trevor’s mum threw a bucket of water at us, including the bucket. It landed on my head and everything went dark and I couldn’t see. All I heard was a lot of scuffling and Pascal moaning and then it went quiet. By the time I got the bucket off my head Mr and Mrs had gone and all that was left was a large puddle on the caravan floor and an even larger mountain of wet brown fur sitting outside and looking very sorry for itself.

  ‘I’m wet,’ Pascal said, as if I hadn’t noticed. He got to his feet and gave himself a shake. Have you ever been in a monsoon? I hadn’t either until Pascal shook himself dry. Now we were both soaked.

  I was about to complain when Trevor and Emilie appeared. They were wearing their swimming cozzies and had towels wrapped round them. He was wearing a face like thunder and she was trotting happily at his side trying to hold his hand. Sweet!

  ‘What have you two been doing?’ demanded Trevor. ‘Having a water fight?’

  I could have asked him the same question since we all seemed to be wet. They came into the caravan to dry off and we followed them in and I tried to explain about Madame Crêpe all over again. I even did my very best ear-semaphore signalling but Trevor was just being dense and didn’t understand a woof I said.

  He went into the little kitchen to make some sandwiches or something because Emilie said she was hungry. I said I was hungry too and Pascal said he was hungry but Trevor didn’t bother to make either of us sandwiches. Typical. He just ignored us. We could have been invisible.

  The caravan door banged shut and I thought it was the wind but it wasn’t because then the caravan gave a little rock as if a mini-earthquake had taken place and just as we were all looking at each other and wondering what was happening, the caravan began to move! It did!

  In fact it wasn’t just moving, it was travelling. Hey, we were being towed out of the caravan park. Someone was towing us and it certainly wasn’t Mr Trevor’s mum and dad because they’d gone to town in their car!

  Trevor scrambled to the window at the front of the caravan. He stared out and then turned back and looked at us with a face as white as a bowl of milk with a hole at the bottom.

  ‘It’s Madame Crêpe!’ he cried. ‘She’s stealing the caravan and we’re being kidnapped!’

  10 It All Gets Terribly Exciting!

  Trevor was right. Madame Crêpe was stealing the silver shell! Maybe she didn’t know we were inside but the fact was that we were. Now the silver shell was bucketing about and we were slippy-sliding all over the place. Nothing had been put away so plastic plates came whizzing off the table and skittered across the floor. Pans fell off the cooker. The wardrobe door banged open and vomited shirts and skirts and socks and shorts and underpants across the room.

  Pascal had spreadeagled himself on the floor in an effort to stay in one place. It didn’t work. As we hurtled round corners he slid everywhere like a strange furry plane that had crash-landed. Inside a caravan.

  ‘Do something, Trevor!’ Emilie cried. ‘You must save us!’

  And I thought, Yes, Trevor Two-Legs. Save us. Do something. That would be a good idea.

  And then he did.

  ‘My mobile!’ he shouted. ‘Quick, Emilie, what’s the emergency number in France?’

  ‘One-One-Two! No, wait, One-Two-Three! One-Two-Two! Two-One-One! I DON’T KNOW! I CAN’T REMEMBER!’

  Huh! Girls are useless. Hang on, I’m a girl. So we’re not so useless after all. In fact I am very clever. Not only can I stick my back paws in my ears, I can eat ice cream and roast beef at the same time! Aha! I bet you couldn’t do that.

  ‘I think you were right the first time,’ said Trevor Two-Legs. ‘I’ll call one-one-two.’

  It worked!

  ‘Police? Can you understand English? You can? Ooh la la! We are prisoners in a stolen caravan. We are being kidnapped from our campsite. No, I don’t know where we are. If I look out of the window I can see we are following the river. Which side of the river? The left-hand side. Please come quickly. Whoa!’ (That was when we went whizzing round a sharp bend and Trevor was thrown on to the sofa.) ‘How many? There are two of us.’

  My ears went on red alert, I can tell you. ‘Two of us?’ I told him. I said, ‘Listen, mate, there are four of us in this speedy house on wheels. We might be dogs but we are just as important as you are. If it hadn’t been for us the stolen property would never have been discovered. In fact if it hadn’t been for us making that discovery then Madame Crêpe probably wouldn’t have stolen the silver shell and we wouldn’t be in the dreadfully dangerous situation that we are in right now. In fact put like that it’s all OUR fault.’

  Oh dear. I should have kept quiet, shouldn’t I.

  It didn’t matter anyway because Trevor had no idea what I was woofing on about.

  He was far too busy phoning his parents and telling them what was going on. ‘Dad, stop shouting at me and listen. It’s not our fault. Madame Crêpe has stolen the silver shell. I’ve already told the police. YES, OF COURSE I’LL TELL MADAME CRÊPE NOT TO SCRATCH THE CARAVAN! NO, DAD, I DON’T KNOW IF MADAME HAS GOT YOUR GOLF CLUBS WITH HER. JUST COME AND SAVE US. PLEEEEEASE!’

  We were really speeding along now. We had managed to squeeze ourselves into tight places where we could hold on to something. My teeth were firmly gripped round a table leg. Even so, sometimes I was under the table and sometimes I was swooshing out around it, polishing the floor with my tail.

  At last, in the distance we could hear police sirens. Wee-woo, wee-woo! They were getting nearer and nearer. Trevor rushed to the back window.

  ‘I can’t see them yet!’ he yelled. ‘They’re still some way off. I bet Madame Crêpe must have heard them.’

  He was right too. The silver shell began to slow down. Madame Crêpe was coming to a stop! We were saved! Trevor was back at the front window, watching, as Madame pulled over to the side of the road.

  She leaped out, raced round to the back of the car, unhitched the caravan, whizzed back to her car and took off again – without us! She was making a run for it!

  Emilie threw herself into Trevor’s arms. ‘You saved us!’ she cried. ‘You saved my life – AGAIN! You are so brave! And so ’andsome!’

  Hang on a minute, I thought, that’s what I say about Pascal. He’s brave and handsome, although he isn’t quite so brave and handsome at the moment because he’s just been sick on the caravan floor. It must have been all those bendy roads and all that bouncing. I shall probably have to hold his paw and lick his ears again.

  Just as we were all thinking Whoopee, we’re saved, the caravan began to move again, ALL BY ITSELF! It wasn’t being pushed and it wasn’t being pulled. It was simply rolling downhill – STRAIGHT TOWARDS THE RIVER!

  ‘We must jump out!’ Trevor cried.

  ‘We’re going too fast!’ sobbed Emilie. ‘We’re going to die – and get wet!’

  Then everything went higgledy-piggledy-bounce and there was an enormous SPLOSH! and a moment later we were being carried away by the riv
er. The silver shell was afloat, but look! Water was coming in under the door.

  The police sirens were right beside us now and we could see them racing along the road and there were Mr Trevor’s mum and dad too, and Emilie’s parents, all in their cars, bouncing along the river bank, waving and shouting at us.

  Two police cars went speeding ahead. Mr Trevor’s dad was bellowing at us from his car. ‘They’re going to throw a rope for you! Hang on to it and we can pull you to safety. The rapids are just ahead. You don’t want to get caught up in them. The caravan might get scratched!’

  Looking out of the front window of the caravan, we could see the police-legs up ahead, waiting to throw a life-saving rope to us. Trevor balanced on the table and opened the roof hatch so he could stretch out and catch it but when Mr Police-Legs threw the rope it missed by miles and simply fell into the water.

  ‘We’re going to drown!’ Emilie sobbed and I thought If she cries much more we’ll drown from her tears, let alone the river. Mind you I wasn’t exactly happy. My heart was in my throat. Then I realized that with all the bobbing about on the river it was actually Pascal’s back foot that had got jammed under my chin.

  Now we were coming to a bridge where the road crossed the river and the rapids began. I stared in utter astonishment. My eyes almost popped out of their sockets. You will never guess who was standing on the bridge parapet.

  ?????

  There, see, you couldn’t guess, could you. I will have to tell you. It was Barbarossa and Bish and Bosh the alien.

  What on earth were they doing there?

  Just as the silver shell was about to go swooshing beneath the bridge I saw Barbarossa leap into the air with a single gigantic bound.

  My goodness, if he’d had a cape he would have been just like Superman but without the red underpants.

  There was a loud thump on the roof as he landed and skidded about. A moment later his big head was pushing through the roof hatch and then he came tumbling in WITH THE END OF A ROPE CLASPED IN HIS JAWS!