Heavy breathing disturbed the peace, and clumsy footsteps came over the grass towards their bush. Mr. Goon appeared, his face a familiar purple. He carried a small sack in his hand, and looked extremely angry. He flung the little sack down fiercely.
‘More Clues, I suppose!’ he sneered. ‘More of your silly, childish jokes! White rats and match-boxes! Huh! Gah! What a set of children! And now these Clues - hidden nicely under a bush for me to find, I suppose? What do you think I am? A nitwit?’
The children were astonished at this outburst, and Bets was really alarmed. Fatty put out a quick hand on Buster’s collar, for the little Scottie had got his hackles up and was growling fiercely, showing all his teeth.
‘What’s up, Goon?’ said Fatty, in a sharp, rather grown-up voice.
‘You know as well as I do!’ said the policeman. ‘More Clues! I suppose you’ll tell me next that you don’t know anything about that sack of Clues! Gah!’
‘What sack? What clues?’ said Fatty, really puzzled. ‘No - I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Goon.’
‘You don’t know - ho no, you don’t know!’ said Mr. Goon, and he laughed a nasty laugh. ‘You don’t know anything about red wigs, either, I suppose? Or writing rude letters to the Law? Well, I know a lot! Oho, don’t I? I’ll teach you to lay clues about for me to find. Think I’m a real hignoramus, don’t you?’
‘Shut up, Buster,’ said Fatty, for Buster was now snarling very loudly indeed. ‘Mr. Goon, please go. You’re frightening little Bets, and I don’t think I can hold Buster in much longer. I don’t know what you’re talking about - and certainly I’ve never seen the sack before.’
Buster gave such a fearfully loud snarl that Mr. Goon thought it would be best to do as Fatty said and go. He went, leaving the little sack on the ground, and stepped heavily away, looking as majestic as he could.
‘Well, what an unpleasant fellow,’ said Fatty, slipping his arm round Bets, who was in tears. ‘Don’t bother about him, Bets. We know the blustering, roaring old fellow by now. You need never be scared of him!’
‘I don’t like p-p-people to shout like that,’ sobbed Bets. ‘And oh Fatty, he said about your red wig! Has he found it?’
‘I wondered about that too,’ said Fatty. ‘We’ll look when we go back. I left it in the summer-house, didn’t I? Wish I hadn’t now.’
‘What’s this sack of clues that old Clear-Orf kept yammering about?’ said Larry. He pulled it towards him. ‘Some old collection of rubbish some tramp had left behind him under a bush, I suppose - and Mr. Goon found it and then thought it was some more of your false clues, Fatty, planted for him to find.’
Larry undid the neck of the little sack. It was not much bigger than a three-pound flour bag. Inside, half-wrapped in brown paper, were some curious things.
There was a small school dictionary - and when he saw it Pip sat up in surprise. ‘Golly! That’s my dicky, I do declare!’ he said. ‘The one I lost last hols. Isn’t it, Bets? Gracious, how did it get into this sack?’
This made every one sit up and take notice at once. Fatty reached out his arm and took the sack. He ran his fingers quickly through the dictionary, and noted that several words were underlined. One of them was ‘thief.’ Another was ‘fruit.’ Fatty found others, all underlined.
Pip’s name was in the front of the dictionary. There was no doubt at all but that it was his lost book. Fatty put his hand into the sack to see what else there was there.
He drew out - an alphabet book. ‘A is for Apple, so rosy and red!’ he chanted, ‘B is for Baby who’s just off to Bed.’ My goodness, no wonder old Clear-Orf thought we’d planted these things for him - a dictionary - and an alphabet book. Most peculiar!’
The next thing was a child’s copy-book with some of the pages filled in, not very neatly. Larry laughed.
‘This is some village kid’s little treasure-store, I should think,’ he said. ‘Though goodness knows how the kid got hold of Pip’s dictionary.’
Fatty dipped his hand in again. His eyes were suddenly very bright indeed. He pulled out an old bus time-table. He looked at it and then flipped it. It fell open at one much-thumbed page - and on that page there was a mark.
‘Do you know what is marked?’ said Fatty. ‘The 10.15 bus to Sheepsale! What do you think of that?’
The others stared at him. They were all very puzzled now. Fatty spoke excitedly.
‘These are real Clues! Don’t you understand, you donkeys? Goon thought they were silly, false ones put there by us to deceive him - but they’re real ones, ones that may help us to put our hand on the letter-writer this very day.’
Now it was the turn of the others to get excited. ‘Oooh,’ said Bets. ‘How silly of Mr. Goon to give them all to us.’
Fatty put his hand in once again and drew out a little, torn scrap of paper with some untidy writing on it. There were only two or three words to be made out. One was ‘spoonful,’ another was ‘stir,’ and another was ‘oven.’ Fatty read them and nodded. He was evidently very pleased indeed with this find.
‘Poor old Goon!’ he said. ‘He makes the one glorious find in this Mystery - and throws it down at our feet. Won’t he kick himself when he knows? What a bit of luck, oh what a bit of luck!’
INSPECTOR JENKS ARRIVES
The other four tried in vain to make Fatty tell them more. But he wouldn’t. ‘You can look at all these clues as much as you like,’ he said, ‘and if you use your brains they will tell you exactly what they tell me. Exactly. I could tell you everything in two minutes - but I do really think you should try to find out what I have found out.’
‘But that silly alphabet book!’ said Daisy. ‘It doesn’t tell me a thing!’
‘And all that time-table tells me is that there’s a bus to Sheepsale at 10.15, and it’s the bus the letter-writer probably took - but it doesn’t tell me anything else,’ said Pip. ‘As to my dictionary - well, that beats me!’
‘Come on - let’s get back home,’ said Fatty. ‘I’ve got to think this all out. It’s not a scrap of good going to Goon about it. He won’t believe a word. In fact I think he’s got it firmly in his head that I’m mixed up in all this letter-writing. I’m sure he thinks I wrote the letter to him!’
‘Well - who are we going to, then?’ asked Bets. ‘Inspector Jenks? I’d like that!’
‘I thought perhaps we’d better tell your mother first,’ said Fatty. ‘I don’t somehow feel as if I want to bring Inspector Jenks down here for an affair like this - and go right over Goon’s head with the clues that Goon himself presented us with. Doesn’t seem quite fair somehow.’
‘It seems quite fair to me!’ said Bets, who disliked Mr. Goon more than any of the others did. ‘Oh, Fatty - tell us all you know from these clues, do, do, do!’
‘Now, Bets, if you like to think hard and study these clues, you would know as much as I do,’ said Fatty. ‘Come on - let’s go home - and on the way you can all think hard and if nobody can find out what these clues mean, or who they’re pointing to, then I’ll tell you myself. But give your brains a chance, do!’
In silence except for Buster’s occasional yaps at a stray cat, they went home to Pip’s. When they got into the drive they saw a big black car there.
‘Whose is that?’ said Bets, in wonder.
‘And there’s Mr. Goon’s bike,’ said Daisy, pointing to where it stood by the front door. ‘He’s here too.’
Mrs. Hilton suddenly opened the front door and stood there, waiting for them, looking pale and worried.
‘Come in this way,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you’ve come. Mr. Goon is here - saying most peculiar things - and he’s got Inspector Jenks over too!’
‘Oh! Is he here?’ cried Bets in delight, and rushed into the drawing-room. The big Inspector sat there, his eyes twinkling as he saw Bets. He was very fond of her.