The gargoyle grinned a huge banana grin and shook its ugly head.
“Maybe we could send it home on a bus,” suggested Christine hesitatingly.
“Oh sure,” snarled Beverley, exasperated. “How would it get on a bus looking like that? The driver would have a fit!”
“If it went upstairs . . .?” said Christine vaguely.
“. . . And came straight down through the floor. It must weigh half a ton. Try not to be an idiot, Christine!”
“Well I’m not having it here when my Mum comes home!” gabbled Christine, beside herself. “What’ll she say when she sees it there on the carpet, you can’t hoover round it or anything and our Kevin will cry or he might get trodden on when he’s crawling about trying to play with it and—and . . . it’ll have to go, Bev.”
“Well I can’t get rid of it, can I?” Beverley stamped her foot in rage.
The two girls glared at each other, flushed, then slowly calmed down. Beverley was struck by a horrifying thought. What if the gargoyle stayed till morning, then froze back? How would they get it out of the house then? Mrs. Lee would be furious. Christine too was having worrying thoughts.
“Do you think they’ll miss it at the church?” she said doubtfully. “Will they notice it’s gone?”
“Of course they will!” shouted Beverley. “How could anybody possibly not notice a four foot high gargoyle when it’s not there?” The strain of it all was making her a trifle incoherent. “You’d notice that ugly rotten thing anywhere!” In her annoyance she grabbed a hairbrush off the mantelpiece and threw it at the gargoyle’s head. There was a snapping sound as the gargoyle suddenly shot out its long tongue and swallowed the hairbrush at a gulp like a frog catching a fly. Then it grinned appreciatively.
“That was nice, was it?” said Christine, astonished.
Beverley thought hard. Where could they put the thing? Where would a big ugly statue not be noticed. She snapped her fingers as an idea came.
“I know!” she cried. “We’ll take it to Hannock Park!”
Hannock Park was a few streets away. It already had some life-sized statues of local politicians in it, grim-faced men in top hats and old-fashioned clothes; maybe nobody would notice an extra one. Beverley did not care where the statue was found, as long as it was not in Mrs. Lee’s front room.
“How will it get there?” asked Christine.
“It’ll have to walk,” answered Beverley, and instantly she realised that the gargoyle could not go through the streets dressed, or undressed, as it was, without attracting attention. “Chris—have you got any old clothes?”
They finally dressed the gargoyle in Christine’s granny’s old coat. It had a velvet collar and an ivory brooch but apart from these unsuitable features it served very well. On Beverley’s command the gargoyle stuck its hands enthusiastically into the armholes; there was a dreadful sound of lining tearing and Christine winced.
They eyed the gargoyle as it stood on the hearthrug, still grinning, its hideous head poking up from the velvet collar. The sleeves of the coat were so long that they hid its hands completely, and the hem was almost brushing the floor.
“We’d better see if it can walk in it,” muttered Beverley. “Walk about a bit, gargoyle.”
The gargoyle circled round the settee with a curious hump-backed shuffle, like an old tramp looking for dropped pennies.
“Stop. That’s good.” said Beverley. The gargoyle nodded and flicked its tongue in and out of its mouth like a snake.
“Don’t get carried away,” scolded Beverley.
“What about my Gran’s rainhat?” suggested Christine, in a burst of inspiration. They fetched it and tied it over the gargoyle’s carved curls. Christine was so pleased with the success of her idea that she brought an umbrella for it to hold.
Then they dashed upstairs and dressed hurriedly. Christine would not leave her little brother alone in the house so they wrapped him in blankets and put him in his pushchair, still sleeping. Making sure she had a key, Christine led the little procession out of the house and started up the street.
“Christine Lee! What do you think you’re doing, taking Kevin out at this time of night? Where are you going?” They all froze in horror at the sound of the shrill voice. It was Mrs. Nelson, who had promised their mother to keep an eye on them while she was at work. Tears of defeat pricked Beverley’s eyes. When her Mum and Dad got to hear about this she would probably never be allowed to play out again till she got married.
Beverley, after wondering whether to shout to Mrs. Nelson to mind her own rotten business and take to her heels with the gargoyle following, gave up the idea. The stupid thing would probably trip up on its coat and fall over, breaking every flagstone in the street.
Then they were saved. Mrs. Nelson, peering shortsightedly from her doorstep, gave a gasp of surprise.
“Oh! I didn’t know you were with them, Mrs. Lee! I am sorry. I thought they were on their own.” The street was dark, and without her glasses Mrs. Nelson had mistaken the gargoyle for Christine’s granny.
“Is your relative better then, Mrs. Lee?” asked Mrs. Nelson flustered at her supposed mistake.
“Nod!” hissed Beverley.
The gargoyle ponderously nodded.
“Oh, I am glad. I suppose she wasn’t as ill as you thought, then?”
There was another hiss from Beverley and the gargoyle’s great heavy head swayed from side to side.
“No, well, I am glad.” Mrs. Nelson repeated. She was still rather embarrassed and anxious to end the conversation. “Well—good night!”
She waved and popped hastily back indoors, shutting the door behind her. Luckily she did not see the gargoyle’s answering wave, with three inches of coat sleeve flapping over the end of its stubby hands.
“Come on,” Beverley whispered urgently, and the four of them went as fast as they could to the end of the road. They could not go too quickly. Whenever the gargoyle worked itself up to anything like a run, its feet made a noise like two small sledgehammers and the ground shook.
The only other incident which gave them any alarm on the way to the Park was when Kevin woke up and began to scream his surprise at finding himself out at night instead of in his cot at home.
“There, there,” said Christine kindly, bending down to comfort him. He yelled all the louder.
“The rotten little thing,” muttered Beverley, who couldn’t stand babies. She vaguely suspected that Kevin was misbehaving deliberately in order to get her into trouble. Then, behind Beverley, Kevin caught sight of the hideous stone monster. His face broke into a beaming smile.
“He likes the gargoyle,” said Beverley. “Put down the hood of the pushchair and let the gargoyle push him. That will shut him up.”
The gargoyle clamped its great stone hands on the handle of the pushchair and, while Beverley and Christine trailed alongside, it steadily wheeled Kevin, now chuckling and happy, to the gates of Hannock Park.
“Oh, no,” said Christine in dismay as they stopped outside. “The gates are padlocked!”
“Of course they are,” scowled Beverley. “What do you expect? It’s ten o’clock at night.” She shot a quick glance up and down the road. Nobody was about. “Gargoyle,” she ordered, “Break the chain.”
The gargoyle shuffled out from behind Kevin’s pushchair, grinning amiably.
“But that’s Council property, Beverley!” gasped Christine. “It can’t—” There was a sound like snapping cotton, and the chain and padlock lay broken on the ground at their feet.