by Enid Blyton
"They've disappeared," said Daisy. Mr. Goon did one of his snorts.
"No need to tell me that. I've got eyes in my head, haven't I? I may have lost a Most Important Clue! See? Where's that fat boy that's always with you? I bet he's at the bottom of this!"
"He isn't here," said Larry truthfully. "You'll probably find him at home if you badly want to see him, Mr. Goon."
"I wouldn't care if I never set eyes on him again, the cheeky toad!" said Mr. Goon, mounting his bicycle rather ponderishly and wobbling a little. "No, nor any of you neither. As for mat dog!"
He was about to ride off, when he stopped, wobbled again, and spoke to Larry.
"Where were you just now?"
"In the sweet-shop, having lemonade," said Larry. "Ho," said Mr. Goon. "And did you see that old fellow sitting on that bench?"
"Yes, we did," said Larry. "He seemed half-asleep and quite harmless."
"And did you see that other fellow talking to him?" demanded Mr. Goon.
"Well—he may have spoken to him. I don't know," said Larry, wondering why the policeman was asking all these questions.
"You'd better come alonga me," said Mr. Goon, at last. "I'm going to call on that old fellow, see, and I want you to back me up when I tell him I want to know about the other fellow."
The children felt distinctly alarmed. What! Mr. Goon was going to visit the real old man—who would probably be in bed—and ask him questions about the other man, whom he hadn't been there to see! Whatever would the poor old fellow say? He wouldn't in the least know what Mr. Goon was talking about!
The First Clue.
"I don't think we've got time to ..." began Larry. But Mr. Goon pooh-poohed him.
"It's my orders," he said pompously. "You may be witnesses. You come alonga me."
So the children went with Mr. Goon, Buster struggling wildly against the lead to get at the policeman's ankles. They turned one or two comers and came to a dirty little pair of cottages at one end of a lane. Mr. Goon went to the first one and knocked.
There was no answer at all. He knocked again. The children felt uncomfortable and wished they were at home. No answer. Then Mr. Goon pushed hard at the door and it opened into a room that was plainly half sitting-room and half bedroom. It was very dirty and smelt horrid.
In the far corner was a small bed, piled high with dirty bedclothes. In it, apparently asleep, his grey hairs showing above the blanket, was the old man. His clothes were on a chair beside him—old coat, corduroy trousers, shirt, muffler, hat, and shoes.
"Hey, you!" said Mr. Goon, marching in. "No good pretending to be asleep, see? I saw you a few minutes ago in the village street, on the bench."
The old man awoke with a jump. He seemed to be extremely surprised to see Mr. Goon in his room. He sat up and stared at him. "Wassat?" he said. It really did seem to be about the only thing he could say.
"It's no good pretending to be in bed and asleep," roared Mr. Goon. "You were on the bench in the middle of the street just now. I saw you!"
"I ain't been out of this room today!" said the old man, in a cracked voice. "I always sleeps till dinner, I do."
"You don't," shouted Mr. Goon. "You didn't today. And I want to know what that fellow said to you when he came and sat beside you on the bench. Now you tell me, or it'll be the worse for you!"
Bets felt sorry for the old man. She hated it when Mr. Goon shouted so. The old fellow looked more and more puzzled.
"Wassat?" he said, going back to the word he loved.
"See these children here?" said Mr. Goon, beside himself with annoyance at the old man's stupidity. "Well, they saw you there too. Speak up now, you kids. You saw him, didn't you? "
"Well," said Larry, hesitating. "well ..." He really didn't know what to say. He knew quite well it hadn't been the old man on the bench—and yet how could he say so without giving Fatty away?
Pip saw his difficulty and rushed in with a few clever words. "You see, Mr. Goon, it's difficult to say, isn't it, because an old man in bed and an old man dressed don't look a bit the same."
"Well, look at his clothes then," said Mr. Goon, pointing to the clothes. "Aren't those the very clothes he was dressed in?"
"They might not be," said Pip. "Sorry, Mr. Goon, but we can't help you in the matter."
Larry thought it was about time to go, for Mr. Goon's face was turning a familiar purple. So he and the others hurriedly went back up the lane and made their way to Fatty's, longing to tell him all that had happened.
They found Fatty in the wood-shed at the bottom of his garden, trying to make himself a bit respectable. All his old-man clothes were in a sack, ready for use again. He was just smoothing down his hair when the others poured in.
"I say!" began Fatty, his eyes bright. "That was a bit queer, wasn't it? I mean—that man being so surprised to see me—and sitting down and saying things to me. I almost forgot I was deaf and shouldn't hear them!"
"What did he say?" asked Pip, and Fatty told him. The others listened breathlessly.
"And then up comes Goon, spots this fellow, and makes an awful to-do about adjusting his bike-chain, in order to have a good squint at the chap," said Larry.
“Looks suspicious to me. I mean—it looks as if Goon knew the fellow and wanted to know what he was up to."
"Is it a clue?" asked Bets eagerly.
"You and your clues!" said Pip scornfully. "Don't be silly, Bets."
"I don't think she is silly," said Fatty thoughtfully. "I think it is a clue—a clue to something that's going on—maybe even something to do with the Mystery. You know what the Inspector said—that it is thought that Peterswood may be the meeting-place of the thief-gang—the place where messages are passed on, perhaps, from one member to another."
"And perhaps the old man is the fellow who takes the messages and passes them on!" cried Daisy. "Oh, Fatty! Is he the chief burglar, do you think? "
"Course not," said Fatty. "Can you imagine a poor feeble old thing like that doing anything violent? No, he's just a convenient message-bearer, I should think. Nobody would ever suspect him, sitting out there in the sun, half-asleep. It would be easy enough for any one to go and whisper anything to him."
"But he's deaf," objected Daisy.
"So he is. Well then, maybe they slip him messages," said Fatty. "Golly—I feel we're on to something!"
"Let's think," said Larry. "We shall get somewhere, I feel, if we think!"
They all thought. Bets was so excited that not a single sensible thought came into her head. It was Fatty as usual who came out with everything clear and simple.
"I've got it!" he said. "Probably Peterswood is the headquarters of the gang, for some reason or other, and when one member wants to get into touch with another, they don't communicate with each other directly, which would be dangerous, but send messages by that old fellow. And, Find-Outers, if I go and sit on that bench day in and day out, I've no doubt some of the members of the gang will come along, sit by me, and deliver messages in some way, and..."
"And you'll learn who they are, and we can tell the Inspector, and hell have them arrested!" cried Bets, in great excitement.
"Well, something like that," said Fatty. "The thing is—the old man always sits there in the afternoon, and that's really when I ought to sit there, because it's then that any messages will come. But how can I sit there, if he's there?"
"That's why that man was so surprised this morning," said Daisy. "He knew the old man never was there in the mornings—and yet it seemed as if he was, this morning I He never guessed it was you. Your disguise must have been perfect."
"It must have been," said Fatty modestly. "The thing is—can we possibly stop the old fellow from going there in the afternoons? If we could, I could sit on that bench, and you could all sit in the sweet-shop and watch."
"We can't drink lemonade for hours," said Bets.
"You could take it in turn," said Fatty. "The thing is, we must take notice of what the messengers are like, so that we should reco
gnize them again. I shan't dare to look at them too closely, in case they suspect something. So you would have to notice very carefully indeed. I shall take whatever messages they pass on to me, and leave it to you to see exactly what the men are. I know how we could do it too! We could go round a corner and toot a hooter! Then Goon would think to himself, 'Ha, hooter on a bike! Maybe the man I want!' and go scooting round the corner."
"Yes, that's quite well worked out," said Fatty. "The thing is—Goon .probably hasn't noticed the hooter on the man's bike."
"Well, tell him then," said Larry. "Hell be awfully bucked at that. Let's go and tell him now."
"Come on then. Well go and look for him," said Fatty. But just then Larry looked at his watch and gave an exclamation. "Golly! We'll be frightfully late for lunch I Well have to tell Goon this afternoon."
"I will," said Fatty. "See you later!"
That afternoon Mr. Goon, enjoying a brief afternoon dinner nap, was surprised to see Fatty coming in at the door, and even more surprised when the boy presented his bit of information about the hooter on the bicycle.
"I don't know if it will be of any use to you, Mr. Goon," he said, earnestly. "But we thought you ought to know. After all, it's a clue, isn't it?"
"Ho! A clue to what?" demanded Mr. Goon. "You aren't interfering again, are you? And anyway, I noticed that there hooter myself. And if I hear it tooting, I'll soon be after the cyclist."
"What do you want him for?" asked Fatty innocently.
Mr. Goon stared at him suspiciously. "Never you mind. And look here, how is it you know all about this here hooter, when you wasn't with the others? You tell me that."
"Oh, they told me," said Fatty. "I'm afraid you're angry with me for trying to give you a clue, Mr. Goon.
I'm sorry. I didn't know you had already noticed the hooter. I won't trouble you with any of our information again."
"Now look here, there's no harm in ..." began Mr. Goon, afraid that perhaps Fatty might withhold further information that might really be of use. But Fatty was gone. He visited a shop on the way home and bought a very nice little rubber hooter. Mr. Goon was going to hear it quite a lot! In fact, he heard it a few minutes later, just outside his window, as he was finishing his nap. He shot upright at once, and raced to the door.
But there was no cyclist to be seen. He went back slowly—and the hooter sounded again. Drat it! Where was it? He looked up and down the road once more but there really was no sign of a bicycle. There was only a boy a good way down, sauntering along. But he hadn't a bicycle.
He had a hooter, though, under his coat, and his name was Fatty!
Fatty Delivers His Message.
The next afternoon Fatty did not dress up as the old man, but instead, put on his Balloon-woman's petticoats and shawls again. The others watched him, down in the shed at the bottom of Fatty's garden. Bets thought she could watch him for days on end, making himself up as different people. There was no doubt at all that Fatty had a perfect gift for dressing up and acting.
"I'll go and sit on the seat beside the old man," said Fatty. "He's sure to be there this afternoon, waiting for any possible messages—and you can snoop round and see if Goon is anywhere about. If he isn't, I'll take the chance of telling the old man not to appear for a few afternoons as the police are watching. That should make him scuttle away all right if he's in with the
"I’ll come and buy another balloon from you," said Bets eagerly. "That will make it all seem real."
"Oh, it'll be real enough," said Fatty. "All I hope is that Goon won't come and ask me for my licence again."
"He won't, if you are sitting in the middle of the village street, and he thinks you've got to hunt all through your petticoats for it, and make him look silly," said Larry. "He can't bear to be made to look silly. And anyway, he won't want to draw attention to himself if he's watching for any possible gang members. He won't think you're one."
"Quite right," said Fatty. "Well reasoned out, Larry. Now—am I ready?"
"You look simply marvellous," said Bets admiringly. "You really do. I can't think how you manage to make your face go so different, Fatty. It doesn't look a bit like you."
"Oh, I practise in front of a mirror," said Fatty. "And "I've got some marvellous books about it. And, of course, I've got the gift—you see..."
"Oh, shut up, Fatty," said Larry good humouredly. "We all know you're marvellous, without you telling us!"
The Balloon-woman suddenly screwed up her face, and her mouth went down at the corners in a most pathetic manner. She fished out a big red handkerchief, decidedly dirty, and began to weep most realistically.
"Don't be so unkind to me," she wept, and the others roared with laughter. Fatty peeped out at them from the corner of his hanky. "A pore old woman like me!" he wept. "Sleeping out under hedges at night..."
"With layers of petticoats to keep you warm!" chuckled Larry. Then he stopped and looked quickly out of the window of the shed.
"Quick! There's your mother, Fatty. What shall we do?"
There wasn't time to do anything. Mrs. Trotteville was even then looking in at the door. She had come to speak to the children, but when she saw the old Balloon-woman, she was very much astonished.
"What are you doing here?" she asked sharply. "I saw you going down the garden-path the other day."
Bets spoke up before Fatty could answer.
"She sells lovely balloons," she said. "I want to buy one, Mrs. Trotteville."
"There's absolutely no need to buy one in the garden-shed," said Mrs. Trotteville. "You can buy one in the street. I don't want pedlars or tramps in the garden. I am surprised that Buster did not bark."
Buster was there, of course, sitting at the Balloon-woman's feet. He looked as if she was his best friend—as indeed she was, if only Mrs. Trotteville had known it.
"Where's Frederick?" asked Mrs. Trotteville, looking all round for Fatty.
"Er—not far away," said Larry truthfully. "Er—shall I go and look for him, Mrs. Trotteville? "
"Oh no. I suppose you are all waiting for him," said Mrs. Trotteville, "Well, I'm afraid this woman and her balloons must go—and please do not come into the garden again!"
"No, Mum," said the Balloon-woman, and bobbed a funny little curtsey that nearly sent Bets into fits of laughter. They all went out of the shed and up the path to the front gate.
"That was a narrow squeak," said Larry, when they were safely out in the road.
"Narrow squeaks are exciting! " said Pip.
They made their way to the main street of the village. There, on the sunny bench, was the old man as usual, bent over his stick, looking half-asleep.
"I'll go and sit down by him," said Fatty, swinging his voluminous skirts out around him as he walked. "You walk behind me now, and keep a watch out for Goon. Bets can tell me if he's anywhere about when she comes to buy a balloon. You can all go and have lemonade in that shop, to begin with."
The Balloon-woman sat down on the bench with her bunch of gay balloons. The old man at the end of the seat took no notice of her at all. The balloons bobbed in the wind, and passers-by looked at them with pleasure. A mother stopped to buy one for her baby, and the four watching children giggled as they saw Fatty bend over the baby in the pram and tickle its cheek.
"How does he know how to do things like that?" chuckled Larry. "I'd never think of those things."
"But it's those little touches that make his disguises so real," said Daisy, in admiration. They went into the lemonade shop and sat down to have a drink. A man was sitting at a table nearby, lost in a big newspaper. Larry glanced at him, and then gave Pip a kick under the table. Pip looked up and Larry winked at him, and nodded his head slightly towards the man.
The others looked—and there was old Clear-Orf, in plain clothes, pretending to read a newspaper, and keeping an eye on the bench across the road, just as they too intended to do!
"Good morning, Mr. Goon," said Larry politely. "Having a day off?"
Mr. Goon grunted ba
d-temperedly. Those children again! They seemed to turn up everywhere.
"You having a lemonade too?" said Pip. "Have one with us, Mr. Goon. Do."
Mr. Goon grunted again, and returned to his newspaper. He was in plain clothes and looked rather strange. The children couldn't remember ever having seen him in anything but his rather tight-fitting uniform before. He wore flannel trousers, a cream shirt open at the neck, and a belt that he had pulled too tight. Bets thought he didn't look like Mr. Goon at all.
She finished her lemonade. "I'm going to buy a balloon," she said. "The one I bought at the Fair has gone pop. Order me an ice, Pip, and I'll be back to have it soon. We are all going to have ices, aren't we?"
"Where's that fat boy?" asked Mr. Goon, as Bets got up.
"Fat boy? What fat boy?" said Larry at once, pretending to be puzzled.
Mr. Goon gave a snort. "That boy Frederick. Fatty, you call him. You know quite well who I mean. Don't act so daft."
"Oh, Fatty! He's not far off," said Larry. "Do you want to see him? I'll tell him, if you like."
"I don't want to see him," said Mr. Goon. "But I know he's always up to something. What's he up to now?"
"Is he up to something now?" said Larry, a surprised look on his face. "How mean of him not to tell us!"
Bets giggled and went out. She crossed the road to where the old Balloon-woman sat, her skirts almost filling half of the bench.
"May I have a blue balloon, please?" she said. She bent over the bunch of balloons and whispered to Fatty. "Mr. Goon is in the lemonade shop—in plain clothes. He looks so funny. I think he's watching the old man. You'll have to watch till you see Mr. Goon go off, and then give your message."
"Have this balloon, little Miss!" said the Balloon-woman, winking at Bets to show that her message had been heard. "This is a fine strong one. Last you for weeks!"
Bets paid for it, and went back to the shop. Larry had just ordered ices. He raised his eyebrows at Bets to ask her if she had delivered the message all right. She nodded. They began to eat their ices slowly, wondering if the policeman meant to stay in the shop all the afternoon.
