– but there most definitely wasn’t a door!
“I can’t understand it,” said Mr Brown as he entered the dining-room. “I’ve looked everywhere and there’s no sign of Paddington. I told you I should have stayed at home with him.”
Mrs Brown looked worried. “Oh dear, I hope nothing’s happened to him. It’s so unlike him to go out without leaving a note.”
“He’s not in his room,” said Judy.
“Mr Gruber hasn’t seen him either,” added Jonathan. “I’ve just been down to the market and he says he hasn’t seen him since they had cocoa together this morning.”
“Have you seen Paddington anywhere?” asked Mrs Brown as Mrs Bird entered, carrying a tray of supper things.
“I don’t know about Paddington,” said Mrs Bird. “I’ve been having enough trouble over the water pipes without missing bears. I think they’ve got an air lock or something. They’ve been banging away ever since we came in.”
Mr Brown listened for a moment. “It does sound like water pipes,” he said. “And yet… it isn’t regular enough, somehow.” He went outside into the hall. “It’s a sort of thumping noise…”
“Crikey!” shouted Jonathan. “Listen… it’s someone sending an S.O.S.”
Everyone exchanged glances and then, in one voice, cried: “Paddington!”
“Mercy me,” said Mrs Bird as they burst through the papered-up door. “There must have been an earthquake or something. And either that’s Paddington or it’s his ghost!” She pointed towards a small, white figure as it rose from an upturned bucket to greet them.
“I couldn’t find the door,” said Paddington, plaintively. “I think I must have papered it over when I did the decorating. It was there when I came in. I remember seeing it. So I banged on the floor with a broom handle.”
“Gosh!” said Jonathan, admiringly. “What a mess!”
“You… papered… it over… when… you… did… the… decorating,” repeated Mr Brown. He was a bit slow to grasp things sometimes.
“That’s right,” said Paddington. “I did it as a surprise.” He waved a paw round the room. “I’m afraid it’s in a bit of a mess, but it isn’t dry yet.”
While the idea was slowly sinking into Mr Brown’s mind, Mrs Bird came to Paddington’s rescue. “Now it’s not a bit of good holding an inquest,” she said. “What’s done is done. And if you ask me it’s a good thing too. Now perhaps we shall get some proper decorators in to do the job.” With that she took hold of Paddington’s paw and led him out of the room.
“As for you, young bear – you’re going straight into a hot bath before all that plaster and stuff sets hard!”
Mr Brown looked after the retreating figures of Mrs Bird and Paddington and then at the long trail of white footprints and pawmarks. “Bears!” he said, bitterly.
Paddington hung about in his room for a long time after his bath and waited until the last possible minute before going downstairs to supper. He had a nasty feeling he was in disgrace. But surprisingly the word ‘decorating’ wasn’t mentioned at all that evening.
Even more surprisingly, while he was sitting up in bed drinking his cocoa, several people came to see him and each of them gave him ten pence. It was all very mysterious, but Paddington didn’t like to ask why in case they changed their minds.
It was Judy who solved the problem for him when she came in to say good night.
“I expect Mummy and Mrs Bird gave you ten pence because they don’t want Daddy to do any more decorating,” she explained. “He always starts things and never finishes them. And I expect Daddy gave you one because he didn’t want to finish it anyway. Now they’re getting a proper decorator in, so everyone’s happy!”
Paddington sipped his cocoa thoughtfully. “Perhaps if I did another room I’d get another thirty pence,” he said.
“Oh no, you don’t,” said Judy sternly. “You’ve done quite enough for one day. If I were you I shouldn’t mention the word ‘decorating’ for a long time to come.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” said Paddington sleepily, as he stretched out his paws. “But I was at a loose end.”
The old box-room was finished at last and everyone, including Paddington, agreed that he was a very lucky bear to move into such a nice room. Not only was the paintwork a gleaming white, so that he could almost see his face in it, but the walls were gaily papered and he even had new furniture of his own as well.
“In for a penny, in for a pound!” Mr Brown had said. And he had bought Paddington a brand-new bed with special short legs, a spring mattress, and a cupboard for his odds and ends.
There were several other pieces of furniture and Mrs Brown had been extravagant and bought a thick pile carpet for the floor. Paddington was very proud of his carpet and he’d carefully spread some old newspapers over the parts where he walked so that his paws wouldn’t make it dirty.
Mrs Bird’s contribution had been some bright new curtains for the windows, which Paddington liked very much. In fact, the first night he spent in his new room he couldn’t make up his mind whether to have them drawn together so that he could admire them, or left apart so that he could see the view. He got out of bed several times and eventually decided to have one drawn and the other left back so that he could have the best of both worlds.
Then something strange caught his eye. Paddington made a point of keeping a torch by the side of his bed in case there was an emergency during the night, and it was while he was flashing it on and off to admire the drawn curtain that he noticed it. Each time he flashed the torch there was an answering flicker of light from somewhere outside. He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes, and stared in the direction of the window.
He decided to try a more complicated signal. Two short flashes followed by several long ones. When he did so he nearly fell out of bed with surprise, for each time he sent a signal it was repeated in exactly the same way through the glass.
Paddington jumped out of bed and rushed to the window. He stayed there for a long while peering out at the garden, but he couldn’t see anything at all. Having made sure the window was tightly shut, he drew both curtains and hurried back to bed, pulling the clothes over his head a little farther than usual. It was all very mysterious and Paddington didn’t believe in taking any chances.
It was Mr Brown, at breakfast next morning, who gave him his first clue.
“Someone’s stolen my prize marrow!” he announced crossly. “They must have got in during the night.”
For some weeks past Mr Brown had been carefully nursing a huge marrow which he intended to enter for a vegetable show. He watered it morning and evening and measured it every night before going to bed.
Mrs Brown exchanged a glance with Mrs Bird. “Never mind, Henry, dear,” she said. “You’ve got several others almost as good.”
“I do mind,” grumbled Mr Brown. “And the others will never be as good – not in time for the show.”
“Perhaps it was one of the other competitors, Dad,” said Jonathan. “Perhaps they didn’t want you to win. It was a jolly good marrow.”
“That’s quite possible,” said Mr Brown, looking more pleased at the