“He put a parcel of shackles down,” said Joe.
“I find ’em this morning in the stove,” said Pete. “Near took the skin off of my knuckles.”
“Where are they?” said Tom. “What have you done with them?”
“Took ’em to Mr. Tedder,” said Joe.
“And that Tedder say we steal ’em,” said Pete. “And George Owdon he think the same.”
“Gosh,” said Tom. “The Potter Heigham shackles.”
“That’s what we think,” said Joe. “And Mr. Tedder’s taking ’em over to Potter to make sure. Look. There he go.”
Mr. Tedder now in full uniform came bicycling round the corner on his way to Potter Heigham. The parcel in its bit of sacking was fastened to his handlebars, and as he went by he gave them the sort of look that ought to be given to a gang of criminals by one whose business it is to put a stop to their crimes.
“Anyway,” said Tom, pointing into the shop, “we’ve got to see who comes to fetch that bicycle. And if he’s got a bit torn out of one leg of his trousers….”
“We’d better not wait quite so near the shop,” said Dick.
“And not all of us,” said Tom. “The chap would see us and sheer off and get his bicycle another time.”
They crossed the road and were debating who should stay on watch when someone whom they all knew came round the corner. He seemed in very good spirits. He always was. They saw him take off his black felt hat to the old lady from the sweet-shop. They saw him nod to the boy from the dairy who was collecting milk bottles. They expected a nod themselves and the usual cheerful inquiry as to how all the birds were getting on. But though they saw that he knew them, he neither nodded nor spoke to them, and instead looked suddenly grave.
“That’s another what think we done it,” said Bill.
“But it’s the old parson,” said Tom. “He knows we wouldn’t.”
“He’s going into the bicycle shop,” said Dick.
Two minutes later they saw the old parson come out again. He was wheeling that rusty, ancient bicycle and saying good-bye and thank you to Mr. Bixby who had come with him to the door of the shop.
“Well, Reverend,” said Mr. Bixby, “them tyres is a bit worn and you’ll expect to get a few punctures in an old tyre. They don’t last for ever. Now I got some nice new ones and they’ll never be cheaper than what they are now….”
“I’ll have to give myself new ones for a Christmas present,” said the old parson, mounted his bicycle and rode away.
“It weren’t him pushing off boats at Ranworth in the middle of the night,” said Bill.
“You don’t catch old Reverend poking shackles down our chimbley,” said Joe.
“Was his trousies tore?” asked Pete.
“It wouldn’t be him even if they was,” said Joe. “It just mean we got to look for some other bike.”
“And I thought we’d really got it,” said Tom.
Dick’s mind was working already on another clue.
“It’s a pity you took those shackles straight to Mr. Tedder,” he said. “You ought to have taken them to Scotland Yard.”
“We did take ’em there,” said Joe. “But there weren’t nobody on duty but Dot.”
“And our bloodhound,” said Pete.
“She did want to keep ’em,” said Joe. “But we was dead certain sure they was some of them shackles from Potter, and we want to get rid of ’em quick.”
“We couldn’t really have kept them at Scotland Yard,” said Tom.
“There might have been a clue with them,” said Dick. “What were they like?”
“Just new shackles,” said Joe. “Good ’uns. Grease still on ’em from the store.”
“Grease?” said Dick. “There might have been fingerprints.”
“Plenty of ours,” said Bill. “We all had a look at ’em.”
“Were they all alike?” asked Dick.
“Couple o’ dozen big ’uns and six little ’uns,” said Bill.
“Eight little ’uns,” said Pete.
“But I say,” said Tom. “There was a whole gross and a half of shackles stolen.”
“That Tedder he ask where was the rest of ’em,” said Joe. “He make out we was keeping ’em.”
“Taking us for thieves,” said Pete hotly. “And he got Dunlop tyres himself.”
“Oh, shurrup Pete,” said Bill. “We know it ain’t old Tedder.”
“Let’s go and talk to Dot,” said Dick. “Dot’ll know why the thief didn’t put them all down your chimney instead of only a few.”
“Dot scare him off before he had time,” said Joe.
“If we could find where he’s hidden the rest of them,” said Dick.
They went slowly back to Scotland Yard. Seeing the old parson ride happily away on the bicycle that, since it had Dunlop tyres and had lost a pump, they had been sure was the one for which they were looking, had damped the hopes of Tom and Dick. But they looked at such bicycles as they found on the way, and Dick noted in his pocket-book that the milkboy’s bicycle had Dunlop tyres, and so had the bicycle of the district nurse. There were three bicycles against the wall of the inn. Two had Dunlop tyres and one Palmers. They waited to see their owners, but went on again when three young men in brown pullovers and baggy knickers came laughing out of the inn and rode away. “Foreigners,” said Tom. “Just touring.” There was a bicycle in the doorway of Jonnatt’s, the boatbuilders. “Dunlop tyres,” said Joe hopefully. But Tom read the owner’s card on the toolbag, and they went on again. Mr. Jonnatt himself was hardly likely to have been riding over to Ranworth in the dark to cast off other people’s boats. The clue of the bicycle marks at Ranworth seemed to have led to nothing at all. The shackles seemed more promising, but the shackles, tied to Mr. Tedder’s handlebars, were already far away.
“There might easily have been fingerprints on them,” said Dick again. “And really we ought to have photographed them before giving them up to the police.”
“What if they ain’t Potter shackles,” said Peter.
“If they ain’t Potter shackles,” said Bill, “we could do with ’em ourselves. Any hope Mr. Tedder bring ’em back?”
“If they aren’t claimed,” said Tom, “you’ll get them. You found them.”
“They’re bound to be the stolen shackles,” said Dick. “That’s why they were put down your chimney.”
They were still talking about the shackles when they came to Dr. Dudgeon’s and went round to find Dorothea and William looking after Scotland Yard.
“Hullo,” said Dorothea, looking up from her writing. “You haven’t done all the bicycles already?”
“Only a few,” said Tom. “All Dunlops and not the one we want.”
“Oh,” said Dorothea. “And what did Mr. Tedder say when you showed him those things?”
“He say we steal ’em,” said Pete. “He’ve taken ’em to be ’dentified at Potter. And I say, Dot, his bike got Dunlop tyres.”
Dorothea considered for a moment. “I don’t think it was him I saw at your chimney. Besides, William’s quite friendly with him. And he never wears grey trousers.”
“You didn’t see any fingerprints on the shackles, Dot, did you?” asked Dick.
“I never looked.”
“There’s another thing,” said Dick. “That paper said a gross and a half of shackles were stolen. Why did the villain put only a few down their chimney?”
Dorothea frowned, thinking hard.
“Likely he want the rest himself,” said Bill.
“It’s not that,” said Dorothea. “Why didn’t he keep them all? Perhaps he meant to put them all down the chimney, only he heard me and bolted. He may have dropped the others somewhere, only we didn’t see them when we were hunting round after William got a bit of his trousers. We weren’t looking for them really.”
“It was pretty dark,” said Tom.
“And misty,” said Dorothea.
“Come on,” said Joe. “Let’s go and have another look.”
They found nothing and gathered disheartened beside the Death and Glory.
“He must have managed to take them away,” said Tom.
“If he brought them,” said Dorothea.
“He must have all the others somewhere,” said Tom.
Dick was looking closely at the chimney pot. “They dust things with some kind of powder,” he said, “and then they photograph them. There ought to be fingerprints….”
“Dick,” said Dorothea. “He’s coming again. I know he is. That’s his plan.” She turned to the younger Coots. “Don’t you see? If he’d left the whole lot at once, people might think you’d found them. So he left just a few and you took them to Mr. Tedder. That’s what he thought you’d do. And Mr. Tedder thinks you stole them but he isn’t sure. Well, if the villain leaves another lot and you take that to Mr. Tedder too, it’ll look more suspicious than ever…. As if you were just giving up a little at a time. He’ll come again. He’ll come again tonight. We must never leave the Death and Glory without a guard. Isn’t that right, Dick?”
Everybody but Dick was ready to agree. Dick was thinking about something else.
“Feeling the chimney,” he said. “Feeling to see if it was warm and if anybody was at home. He’ll do just the same when he comes again. So the sooner he comes the better….”
“We don’t want no more of them shackles,” said Bill.
“Go on, Dick,” said Dorothea.
“Fingerprints,” said Dick. “He’ll come and feel the chimney.”
“But it won’t take no mark,” said Bill.
“It would if it was wet paint,” said Dick, pulling off his spectacles, polishing them hurriedly and putting them on again.
“Gee whillikins!” said Joe.
“Gosh!” said Tom.
“That’s just what Scotland Yard would do,” said Dorothea.
“I’ve got some paint,” said Tom, “but not much.”
“That won’t take much if we lay that on thin,” said Joe.
“And the villain comes lurking through the bushes,” said Dorothea. “Watching for blood-hounds … he won’t want to be grabbed again … and he’ll come to the Death and Glory like he did before … and lean over … and feel the chimney … and there’s nothing like wet paint, the way you leave a print on it if you touch it by mistake.”
“Fine,” said Tom.
“But he’ll leave us with the rest of them shackles,” said Bill.
“Who care?” said Joe. “If he get his fingers on our chimbley anybody’ll see somebody bring ’em and not us.”
“He won’t come if he sees us anywhere about,” said Dorothea.
“We’ll all get right out of the way,” said Tom.
“Let’s get the paint on,” said Pete. “I’ll lay a coat on quick as nothing.”
“Is it quick-drying paint?” asked Dick.
“Fairly quick,” said Tom.
“We’d better put it on just before we go to the Admiral’s,” said Dick.
“I never told you,” said Dorothea. “Mrs. Barrable wants us all to come to tea.”
“We’d better watch he don’t get a chance to bring them shackles before the paint’s on,” said Bill.
“He won’t want to cart shackles about in daylight,” said Joe. “A gross’ll make a tidy parcel. There were a mist last night and he wait till near dark then.”
“Grub at Scotland Yard,” said Tom. “Then we’ll have a proper go at bicycles. Then we’ll put the paint on, and then we’ll go to the Admiral’s and lie low.”
*
Bicycles in the afternoon were as disappointing as they had been in the morning. As Dorothea said, it was like the story of the man who hid a gold piece under a molehill and when he came to look for it found that the goblins had raised molehills all exactly alike all over the field. They were looking for one bicycle with Dunlop tyres and all the bicycles in the world seemed to have tyres of no other make.
Late in the afternoon they gave up, after making a long list of Dunlop-tyred bicycles, not one of the owners of which seemed likely to be the villain they were seeking. They did not mind much, for Dick’s idea promised an even better result. Pete did the painting of the chimney, with the others posted as sentinels round the Wilderness, to make sure that nobody else had any idea of what was being done. Dick tried an experiment. The result was a splendid print of his hand, so that part of the chimney had to be painted again and Dick had to take his hand to Scotland Yard to get the paint taken off with turpentine borrowed from Mrs. Dudgeon. But there could be no doubt that the thing would work, and the whole Coot Club went off in high hopes to keep out of the way at Mrs. Barrable’s.
*
Mrs. Barrable gave them a high tea so that the Death and Glories had no need to worry about supper. They told her some of what they were doing but not all, and she did not ask questions.
“You see, Admiral,” explained Dorothea, “you don’t know who the villain is, and we don’t know. And if you knew what we were doing you might be saying something to somebody and the villain might make a good guess without you ever thinking you’d given him a hint. In the books detectives never talk. At least, when they do they’re sorry afterwards and find themselves in cellars with the water rising while the villain plays the piano overhead to stop anybody from hearing their cries for help.”
“All right,” said Mrs. Barrable. “Whatever you are up to, I’d better not know. I’d never forgive myself if a chance word of mine or William’s…. By the way, how much does William know?”
“He’s bitten the villain once,” said Dorothea. “I think probably he’d know him again…. But he won’t talk…. I say, though, if ever you hear him growling at anybody in particular please will you let us know?”
*
It was quite dark when Tom and the Death and Glories set out homewards. The Admiral had put her foot down against letting Dick and Dorothea go with them.
“Better go careful now,” said Joe, when they reached Dr. Dudgeon’s house. “You going in, Tom?”
“What do you think?” said Tom. “Not I. I’m coming with you. Two of us go by the river and two by the road. Give us a chance of catching him if he’s not been and gone. You chaps got torches?”
Tom and Bill went through the Farland garden. Joe and Pete went by road.
“Hear anything?” Joe stopped with his hand on the fence before climbing over into the Wilderness.
“Someone moving in there,” whispered Pete.
“’St!”
PAINTING THE CHIMNEY
They waited, listening.
“Come on,” said Joe. “Don’t make a row getting over.”
Again they listened.
“Get him round the legs if he come this way,” said Joe.
They crept through the bushes. A torch glimmered in the darkness.
“It’s only the others,” said Pete.
“Coots for ever,” called Joe softly.
“And ever,” came the answer.
The four of them met beside the Death and Glory.
“Now,” said Tom and switched the light of his torch on the shining green chimney. Three other torches joined Tom’s.
“Put ’em out. Put ’em out,” said Joe. “Who’s to see in all that glare. One light’s enough.”
Three torches went out. Tom climbed on the cabin roof and searched every inch of the chimney. The others watched the patch of light slipping this way and that over the green paint.
“Not a mark,” said Tom. “He hasn’t been.”
The chimney was exactly as they had left it.
“May come yet,” said Joe hopefully. “He’ve got all night to come in.”
“Look here,” said Tom. “If he does, one of you come and fetch me right away. I’ll
leave the string out of my window. You know what Dick said about looking at clues while they’re fresh.”
“We’ll take turns keeping awake,” said Joe.
“I’ll keep awake,” said Pete, yawning.
“No need,” said Tom. “I was forgetting. He won’t come in the night. Not with you sleeping aboard. He wants to come when there’s nobody here. Well, I’m off. See you in the morning.”
They watched the glimmer of his torch through the bushes until it disappeared. Joe unlocked the cabin door. Bill lit the lantern. They made ready for the night.
“Tell you what,” said Joe, when they were already in their bunks. “We’ll out that lantern. If he do come we don’t want to fright him off. And don’t you go snoring, Pete, telling him the crew’s aboard.”
“I don’t snore,” said Pete. “I know who do.”
Joe wriggled out of his blankets, blew out the lantern, and settled for the night once more.
CHAPTER XXI
MORNING VISITORS
IN the cool September morning, when the sun brought no warmth through the willows, smoke was drifting from the Death and Glory. Joe, Bill and Pete, who had washed but not breakfasted, were standing on the cabin roof looking at the chimney. As a bit of new paintwork it was a great success. As a snare for other people’s fingerprints it was a failure. There was not a mark on it.
Joe gently touched it with his thumb.
“Now you done it,” said Bill.
“Very near dry,” said Joe, looking closely at the faint print he had left on the shining surface.
“She were wrong, thinking he’d come again,” said Pete.
“’Sh!” said Joe.
Steps were coming through the bushes, and presently they saw Mr. Tedder.
“Morning,” said Joe and Bill. Pete said nothing. He could not forget that Mr. Tedder had accused them of stealing and that, no matter what the others might say, Mr. Tedder’s bicycle had Dunlop tyres.
“Morning,” said Mr. Tedder. “I come here to look for you last night near lighting-up time. But you wasn’t here. Wasted near an hour watching for you.”
The Big Six Page 20
