Enid Blyton 
The Mystery of the Burnt Cottage 

It was at half-past nine on a dark April night that all the excitement began.

The village of Peterswood was perfectly quiet and peaceful, except for a dog barking somewhere. Then suddenly, to the west of the village, a great light flared up.

Larry Daykin was just getting into bed when he saw it. He had pulled back his curtains so that the daylight would wake him, and he suddenly saw the flare to the west.

“Golly! What’s that!” he said. He called to his sister. “Daisy! I say, come here and look. There’s a funny flare-up down in the village somewhere.”

His sister came into the bedroom in her nightdress. She looked out of the window.

“It’s a fire!” she said. “It looks pretty big, doesn’t it? I wonder what it is. Do you think it’s some one’s house on fire?”

“We’d better go and see, ” said Larry, excited. “Let’s get dressed again. Mummy and Daddy are out, so they won’t know anything about the fire. Come on, hurry.”

Larry and Daisy dressed quickly, and then ran down the stairs and out into the dark garden. As they went down the lane they passed another house, and heard the sound of hurrying footsteps coming down the drive there.