The Big Six

by Arthur Ransome

  “We got to use tinned milk,” said Pete.

  “Course we got to,” said Joe.

  “I were just going off with the milk-can when I see them boats adrift,” said Pete.

  “Where is that can?” said Bill, glancing under the seat.

  “Oh gosh,” said Pete. “That were our milk-can that man take a kick at. I go and leave it on the staithe.”

  It was the last touch.

  “Cheer up, young Pete,” said Joe. “That handle come off twice already. We got to get a new one anyway.”

  “We got money for that,” said Pete, and at the thought felt better.

  CHAPTER XIII

  TWO WAYS OF LOOKING AT THE SAME THING

  TOM had already brought the Titmouse out of the dyke and round to the edge of the Doctor’s lawn when Dorothea arrived on the run to say she was sorry they were late and Dick would be coming in two minutes as soon as he had been able to put his photographs to wash.

  “Did he get any good ones?” asked Dr. Dudgeon, who was sitting on the wooden seat by the river, smoking an after-breakfast pipe.

  “One’s a beauty,” said Dorothea. “Two others would have been only they both came out on the same film. Joe’s rat’s rather blurry, but he knew it would be because of the focus. The flashlight picture of the Admiral came out all white. But the one of the Death and Glory is as clear as anything. You can even see Pete’s telescope. He developed them last night before going to bed and printed them before breakfast. He was fixing the prints when I thought I’d better come and explain why we were a bit late.”

  “What’s that?” asked Dr. Dudgeon, looking at the exercise book Dorothea had in her hand. “Holiday task?”

  “It’s part of my story,” said Dorothea.

  “What’s it called?”

  “The Outlaw of the Broads.”

  “Outlaw or Outlaws?” said Dr. Dudgeon, rather grimly.

  Before she had time to answer someone else came round the corner of the house.

  “Hullo, Uncle Frank,” said Tom.

  “Hullo to you,” said Mr. Farland.

  “You’ve met Dorothea,” said Dr. Dudgeon.

  “How do you do?” said Dorothea.

  “How do you do?” said Mr. Farland. “Well, Tom, I hope we shan’t be putting you in gaol.”

  “What for?” said Tom.

  “You and your young friends. Mr. Tedder’s got a list of crimes against them that looks pretty bad. That’s what I wanted to see you about, Dudgeon. They seem to have been up to something worse at Potter Heigham than casting off other people’s boats.”

  The Doctor took his pipe out of his mouth.

  “By Jove, Tom, I wish you’d never touched that cruiser in the spring, even though I did tell you I didn’t see what else you could have done. It’s going to be a bit difficult for me if Mr. Tedder comes and asks for a summons against those three for casting boats adrift when I know my own son set them an example.”

  “Oh well,” said Mr. Farland. “Tom doesn’t go in for stealing.”

  “Stealing!” exclaimed Dot and Tom together.

  “Old Sonning of Potter Heigham’s been on the telephone to me again this morning,” said Mr. Farland. “He was pretty well het up about all his boats being set adrift, but he didn’t know then that those young rascals had been into his store and cleared out a lot of gear. He says there’s a gross and a half of new gunmetal shackles missing.”

  “But I’m sure they never did,” said Tom.

  “Sonning’s sure they did,” said Mr. Farland, “and he’s asked us to advertise a reward for evidence leading to conviction. He says they’re bound to have sold them to someone else, and the only people who’d buy them would be other boatbuilders. He doesn’t think there’ll be any difficulty in getting the evidence.”

  “But Tom’s young friends seem to get along very well without money,” said Dr. Dudgeon. “I don’t suppose they’ve ever had more than a bob or two in their pockets in all their lives.”

  Tom looked at Dorothea. She had turned white and for a moment looked as if she were going to be sick. Both of them were remembering the feast in the Death and Glory and the crammed cupboards that night when the three small Coots had come back from Potter Heigham.

  Dr. Dudgeon was going on talking. “And it’s all very well, Farland, but Tom isn’t the only one who thinks they didn’t have anything to do with the casting off of those boats. Ella had a talk with them and she’s come down on their side. Tedder’s been here too and he tells me there was a free fight about it yesterday among some of the men and young Pete’s father got a black eye. Tedder wanted to know what he was to do about it, and I told him he couldn’t serve a summons on a man for having a black eye nor yet on someone else for giving him one unless he was in at the fight, or unless one of them asked for a summons against the other. I hope that’s good law.”

  Mr Farland laughed. “Good enough,” he said. “By the way, where are they now, Tom?”

  Tom looked up doubtfully. “You’re not going to arrest them?” he said.

  “Wish I could,” said Mr. Farland. “At least, I wish we had proof enough against them to get the thing settled. I’d only like to know where they are, in case somebody else finds his boat adrift.”

  “They’ve gone to Ranworth to be out of the way,” said Tom. “So if any more boats are cast off everybody’ll know it isn’t them.”

  “They may be tired of the game,” said Mr. Farland. “Three times they’ve done it….”

  “But they haven’t done it at all,” said Dorothea.

  “Put it differently,” said Mr. Farland. “Three times boats have been cast adrift when they were somewhere handy to do it if they had had it in mind.”

  He had a few more words with Dr. Dudgeon, said goodbye, and a moment later they heard him start his car and drive off on his way to Norwich to the office of Farland, Farland & Farland.

  “My goodness, Tom,” said Dr. Dudgeon. “I used to think that Coot Club of yours was a very good thing, but I can’t say I’m so sure about it today.”

  “But they haven’t done a single thing,” said Tom indignantly.

  “Things keep happening where they are,” said his father.

  “Suppose,” said Dorothea, “someone else likes doing those things and always manages to do them when the Coots are there to get the blame.”

  Dr. Dudgeon looked at her gravely. “Potter Heigham’s a long way from Horning,” he said.

  “Well, nothing else is going to happen where they are,” said Tom. “They’ll be all right at Ranworth.”

  “If anything were to happen there,” said Dr. Dudgeon, puffing at his pipe, “I might begin to think there was something in Dorothea’s brilliant theory. But I don’t think anything will. Whatever else those young rascals may be, they are not half-wits, and if they’ve cast off boats here and at Potter they’ll take good care not to do the same at Ranworth now the hue and cry is out after them. No. Nothing will happen there, but that won’t stop Uncle Frank and Mr. Tedder from finding out what they can about the other things.”

  Mrs. Dudgeon was walking across the lawn with a parcel.

  “Cook’s made you a pie,” she said. “Keep it this way up and give the innocents my love.”

  “Innocents!” exclaimed Dr. Dudgeon.

  “I’m sure they are,” said Mrs. Dudgeon. “And you can tell them their parents think so too. They wanted to bring them home but I told them it would be rather hard on the boys to spoil their holiday if they haven’t done anything. So you’re to tell them they’d better keep away from the staithe and wait till things blow over.”

  “You haven’t heard the worst, Ella,” said Dr. Dudgeon, and told her about the stolen shackles.

  “It’s not the sort of thing those boys would do,” said Mrs. Dudgeon and got a grateful look from both Tom and Dorothea.

  Dick came running with a damp photograph in his hand.

  “Sorry I’m so late,” he said. “I had to give it a bit of a wash after fixi
ng. Ill go on washing it on the way.”

  It was a pretty good photograph of the Death and Glory, with the water foaming round her forefoot, Bill and Joe sailing her, and Pete looking through the big telescope. Mrs. Dudgeon looked at it over her husband’s shoulder. “They aren’t that kind of boys,” she said. “Don’t tell me.”

  “I hope to goodness you’re right,” said Dr. Dudgeon.

  *

  The Titmouse sailed away down river to carry the news to the emigrants at Ranworth. Dick towed the photograph overboard, holding it first by one corner and then by another, to get it properly washed. Tom and Dorothea were talking over what Mr. Farland had said.

  “The Admiral doesn’t think they did it,” said Dick.

  “And we don’t. And their fathers and mothers don’t. And Tom’s mother doesn’t,” said Dorothea. “But everybody else does. I say, Tom, where did they say they got the money for all those stores?”

  “They said they’d earned it,” said Tom.

  Dorothea opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing.

  The Titmouse, after tacking down to the Ferry, swept round the corner with a free wind.

  “They’ll be wondering what on earth’s happened,” said Tom. “I said we’d be down there soon after breakfast.”

  “They won’t mind when they see Dick’s photograph,” said Dorothea.

  “What went wrong with the flashlight one?” asked Tom.

  “Fogged,” said Dick. “It was my own fault. I had the flashlight close to the Admiral to show her knitting in her chair, and I forgot that it was in front of the camera.”

  And then, as they turned the next bend below No. 7 nest, they saw the Death and Glory moored against the reeds.

  “They’ve come to meet us,” said Dorothea.

  “Young idiots,” said Tom. “They ought to have stopped in Ranworth. What’s the good of plans if people don’t stick to them?”

  The next moment he was bringing the Titmouse alongside and the three Coots were tumbling out into the cockpit of the Death and Glory.

  “What’s happened?” asked Tom, when he saw their worried faces.

  “Someone cast off half a dozen boats,” said Joe. “They was blown all across the Broad against them reeds and Pete see ’em when he turn out.”

  “I go and leave our milk-can on the staithe,” said Pete.

  “What did you do?” asked Tom. “Salvage them and take them back?”

  “Not likely,” said Joe. “And have everybody saying they seen us casting ’em off. We up sail and bolt for it.”

  “Anybody see you?”

  “They come on the staithe just before we make the dyke,” said Bill. “And young Rob were there. He know the Death and Glory, being a Coot. It’s the worst yet….”

  “Good, oh good!” said Dorothea.

  “What do you mean…. Good?” said Joe angrily.

  “It means one more person on our side,” said Dorothea.

  Tom explained. “Dad said that if boats got cast off at Ranworth while you were there, he’d begin to believe someone else was doing it, because you wouldn’t be such fools.”

  “Well, we wasn’t,” said Joe. “But now there’s another lot’ll be out after us. We may as well give up.”

  “Oh, no,” said Dorothea.

  “Mother says your people say you can stay on the river, at least at Ranworth, but better keep away from Horning staithe.”

  “We can’t lie at Ranworth,” said Bill. “Not now.”

  “Tell you what,” said Joe. “We’ll lie in the Wilderness above the Ferry.”

  “Well, that’s off the river and handy for us,” said Tom.

  “Emigrating ain’t no good,” said Bill.

  “I say,” said Tom. “You know all that money you had the other night….”

  “We got some still,” said Joe. “Are you wanting any?”

  “Where did you say you got it?”

  “Earned it,” said Joe. “Selling fish….” He caught Bill’s eye, and winked. “Thirty bob and a tanner we get and another half-crown for Pete’s baits. Coining money we was….”

  “That’s all right,” said Tom with relief. “I thought it was….”

  “Why, what about it?” said Joe.

  “You know the night those boats were sent adrift at Potter. Someone took a lot of new shackles from Sonning’s store.”

  “Nobody don’t say we was stealing?” burst out Pete indignantly, and Dorothea’s heart warmed again.

  “They put the two things together,” said Tom, “and they’re advertising to catch the thieves.”

  “Papering ’em, same’s they did you over that cruiser?”

  “Yes,” said Tom a little uncomfortably. “They think the thieves’ll have sold them, and they’ll catch them that way.”

  “Hope they do and hope they skin ’em,” said Joe. “Broads ain’t Yarmouth.”

  “And that’ll let us out,” said Bill.

  “Not about Sir Garnet and those other Horning boats and now this Ranworth lot,” said Tom.

  “Someone must be doing it on purpose,” said Dorothea. “But everyone thinks it’s the Coots so they aren’t looking properly for anyone else.”

  “It’s getting pretty serious,” said Tom.

  “What we want are detectives,” said Dorothea.

  Dick, who had been holding his print in the water, fished it up and shook the drops from it. “I say,” he said. “Can I stick it flat on one of your windows while it dries?”

  Just for a moment the photograph of themselves sailing wiped their troubles from the minds of the Coots. Dick came aboard and put the print to dry against the glass of one of the cabin windows. The light poured through it. Joe, Bill and Pete admired their ship. “That peak ought to be a bit higher,” said Joe, “but it’s a grand picture.”

  They went out again into the cockpit. Dorothea, sitting in the Titmouse, was talking to Tom.

  “Why shouldn’t we find out ourselves?” she went on almost as if talking to herself alone. “I’ve never tried writing a detective story.”

  Tom heard her.

  “Plenty of detectives in Horning,” he said. “They’re all detectives now and every single one of them’s trying to prove the Coots have been casting off boats when they haven’t touched a single one.”

  “Why shouldn’t we be detectives too?” said Dorothea.

  “We don’t need to be detectives to know we ain’t done it,” said Joe. “We know that without.”

  “We could use my camera,” said Dick. “They always have one.”

  The Death and Glories looked doubtfully from face to face.

  “All the world believed them guilty,” said Dorothea. “Their fathers’ and their mothers’ grey hairs went down in sorrow to their graves…. Were going down …” she corrected herself. “The evidence was black on every side…. And I say …”She suddenly changed her tone. “William’ll make a splendid bloodhound.”

  “But William ain’t a bloodhound,” said Pete. “Nothing like it.”

  “Well, we need one anyway,” said Dorothea, “and William’s the best we’ve got.”

  “What’s the camera for?” asked Bill.

  “Photographing clues,” said Dick.

  “When there’s a murder,” said Dorothea, “they always dash in and photograph everything.”

  “But there ain’t a murder, not yet,” said Bill.

  “There may be,” said Dorothea excitedly. “The villain fights like a rat once he’s cornered.”

  Bill, despairing of Dorothea, turned to Tom. “We ain’t none of us villains,” he said. “You know that.”

  “Who said we were?” said Tom. “But everyone thinks we are and with one thing and another it looks like it. Why, you yourselves thought I’d pushed off that cruiser from the staithe. And I thought you’d done it. The D’s are right. If we’re going to clear ourselves and save the Coot Club we’ve got to find out who really did do it. Someone did.”

  “All Homing’s trying to catch him
,” said Joe. “There’s that Tedder popping out everywhere. And George Owdon and that other watching the staithe. And them Towzers. And our Dads. And Jonnatt’s chaps. And Hannam’s. Everybody in the place is out to catch him. Trouble is, they all think he’s us, barring our Dads.”

  “Well,” said Tom again. “That’s one up to us. We know who it isn’t. And they don’t.”

  “Them boats couldn’t have got loose by accident,” said Joe.

  “Too many of them,” said Tom.

  “There may be a whole gang of villains,” said Dorothea. “Can’t we do what you did when Tom was being chased by the Hullabaloos and you had sentinels everywhere?”

  “Put the whole Coot Club on to it?” said Joe. “We could do that. No nests to watch now. We can turn ’em all on. And tell ’em we’ll drown anybody who lets a boat get cast adrift without seeing who done it. We could do that. We got members at Ranworth and Potter and Acle….”

  “That boy who had a stomach-ache?” said Dorothea.

  “He won’t have another, not in a hurry,” said Joe grimly.

  “Bill’s got a bike,” said Pete.

  “We’ve each got one,” said Dick.

  “So’ve I,” said Tom. “Let’s do that. We’ll turn all the Coots on everywhere to report the moment a boat gets cast adrift anywhere, and then we’ll go there and find out who did it.”

  “From end to end of the country the net was set,” said Dorothea. “Day and night patrols were out, risking their lives against a ruthless enemy. Here a chance word, there a suspicious glance was noted. The telephone bell rang continually….”

  “But I say,” said Tom. “It mustn’t. It’s bad enough with victims ringing up every other minute. And it’s always Dad or Mother who goes to the telephone. I can’t sit by it all day.”

  “All right,” said Dorothea. “It doesn’t matter. The order had gone out that the detectives were never to telephone. The wires were tapped. The villain might be listening. So the messengers, their lives in their hands, rode through the darkling night.”

  “Most of ’em’s got bikes,” said Joe. “And you could hang the string from your window, Tom.”