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The ranger’s voice rang out above the general hubbub in the common room, just catching the attention of the elder Hobbit as she made her way to the kitchen entryway. Rose and Prim had already gone past the door and ducked into the hallway leading to their rooms and that of the missing cook.
Granny Greenhill stopped dead in her tracks at the man’s command, and just in time, it seemed, as the object of the ranger’s attention came hurtling toward her. Mungo had thrown his hands and arms in front of him, intending to push her out of the way. Her old limbs responded to the urgency of the situation and she managed to sidestep his headlong onslaught.
Mungo plunged willy-nilly past her. And as he did so, she raised her stout yew wood walking stick in a firm two handed grip and smacked him soundly on the backs of his knees. He stumbled with a loud oomph and went skidding a short distance on his belly.
He tried to scramble up to his feet, but Granny hobbled up to him at a rather remarkable pace for one her age and gave him a sharp thump between his shoulder blades. She stood over him, glaring as he sneaked a look up at her.
‘Wished I’d a’caught you in my henhouse, you scalliwag, that time my prize hen went missing! I know it was you, Mungo Brandybuck, so don’t you go looking all guiltless at me. And I’m betting that it was you, too, as stole those combs of honey from my bee shed.’ She shook her stick at him for emphasis.
Several of the nearby lads ran up to secure Mungo - and just in time to his calculations as it looked as if she meant to whack him once more for good measure.
‘You just march him over to the Shiriff and that ranger,’ she instructed them. ‘Wouldn’t be one whit surprised if he didn’t have a hand somehow in Miz Cela’s going missing!’
‘My stars!’ she said as they marched Mungo off. The surge of action and excitement hit her all of a sudden and she felt a bit weak in the knees. She made her way to a nearby table and sat down on one of the chairs. ‘Land’s sake! That was a bit of a hullaballoo now wasn’t it?!’ She held her right hand to her chest, catching her breath.
‘Thirsty work,’ she went on, nodding her head to a Hobbit standing next to her. ‘Fetch old Gran a half pint, won’t you dear? A little something to steady the nerves.’
Her investigation of what Rowan and Prim were doing, and just exactly where they’d gone off to could wait, she decided . . . until she’d caught her breath fully and fortified herself with a bit of ale.
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