Mystery #04 — The Mystery of the Spiteful Letters

‘Yes,’ said Bets. ‘I don’t know what it said though. It upset her. Mrs. Moon got out of her what it was and made her go and see Mother and Daddy about it. And they rang up Mr. Goon.’

‘And he came popping along, his eyes bulging with delight because he’d got a mystery to solve that we didn’t know about!’ said Fatty. ‘So there’s an anonymous letter-writer somewhere here, is there? A nasty, cowardly letter-writer - well, here’s our mystery, Find-Outers! WHO is the writer of the “nonnimus” letters?’

‘We shall never be able to find that out,’ said Daisy. ‘How on earth could we?’

‘We must make plans,’ said Fatty. ‘We must search for clues!’ Bets’ face lighted up at once. She loved hunting for clues. ‘We must make a list of suspects - people who could do it and would. We must...’

‘We haven’t got to work with Goon, have we?’ said Pip. ‘We don’t need to let him know we know, do we?’

‘Well - he already thinks we know most of this,’ said Fatty. ‘I don’t see why we shouldn’t tell him we know as much as he does, and not tell him how we’ve found out, and make him think we know a lot more than we do. That’ll make him sit up a bit!’

So, the next time that the Five Find-Outers met the policeman, they stopped to speak to him.

‘How are you getting on with this difficult case?’ asked Fatty gravely.   It - er - it abounds with such strange clues, doesn’t it?’

Mr. Goon hadn’t discovered a single clue, and he was astonished and annoyed to hear that there were apparently things the children knew and he didn’t. He stared at them.

‘You tell me what clues you’ve found,’ he said at last. ‘We’ll swap clues. It beats me how you know about this affair. You wasn’t to know a thing, not a thing.’

‘We know much more than you think,’ said Fatty solemnly. ‘A very difficult and - er - enthralling case.’

‘You tell me your clues,’ said Mr. Goon again. ‘We’d better swap clues, like I said. Better help one another than hinder, I always say.’

‘Now, where did I put those clues?’ said Fatty, diving into his capacious pockets. He brought out a live white rat and stared at it. ‘Was this a clue or not!’ he asked the others. ‘I can’t remember.’

It was impossible not to giggle. Bets went off into a delighted explosion. Mr. Goon glared.

‘You clear-orf,’ he said majestically. ‘Making a joke of everything! Call yourself a detective! Gah!’

‘What a lovely word!’ said Bets, as they all walked off, giggling. ‘Gah! Gah, Pip! Gah, Fatty!’

 

THE FIND-OUTERS MAKE THEIR FIRST PLANS

 

Everyone went to tea at Fatty’s that day. Mrs. Trotteville was out, so the five children had tea in Fatty’s crowded little den. It was more crowded than ever now that Fatty had got various disguises and wigs. The children exclaimed in delight over a blue-and-white striped butcher-boy’s apron and a lift-boy’s suit complete with peaked cap.

‘But, Fatty, whenever could you disguise yourself as a lift-boy?’ asked Larry.

‘You never know,’ said Fatty. ‘You see, I can only get disguises that do for a boy. If I were a grown-up I could get dozens and dozens - a sailor’s suit, a postman’s, even a policeman’s. But I’m a bit limited, being a boy.’

Fatty also had a bookcase crammed full of detective stories. He read every one he could find.

‘I pick up quite a lot of hints that way,’ he said. ‘I think Sherlock Holmes was one of the best detectives. Golly, he had some fine mysteries to solve. I don’t believe even I could have solved all of them!’

‘You’re a conceited creature,’ said Larry, trying on the red wig. He looked very startling in it. ‘How do you put those freckles on that you had with this?’ he asked.

‘Grease-paint,’ said Fatty. ‘There are my grease-paints over there - what actors use for make-up, you know. One day I’m going to make myself up as a black boy and give you all a fright.’

‘Oh - do give old Clear-Orf a scare too!’ begged Bets. ‘Let me try on that wig, Larry; do let me.’

‘We really ought to be making our plans to tackle this mystery,’ said Fatty, taking a beautiful gold pencil out of his pocket. Pip stared.

‘I say! Is that gold?’

‘Yes,’ said Fatty airily. ‘I won it last term for the best essay. Didn’t I tell you? It was a marvellous essay, all about...’

‘All right, all right,’ said Larry and Pip together. ‘We’ll take your word for it, Fatty!’

‘I had a marvellous report again,’ said Fatty. ‘Did you, Pip?’

‘You know I didn’t,’ said Pip. ‘You heard my mother say so. Shut up, Fatty.’

‘Let’s talk about our new mystery,’ said Daisy, seeing that a quarrel was about to flare up. ‘Write down some notes, Fatty. Let’s get going.’

‘I was just about to,’ said Fatty, rather pompously. He printed in beautiful small letters a heading to the page in the lovely leather notebook he held. The others looked to see what he had printed:

MYSTERY NO. 4. BEGUN APRIL 5TH.

‘Ooh - that looks fine,’ said Bets.

‘CLUES’ was the next thing printed by Fatty, over the page.

‘But we haven’t got any,’ said Pip.

‘We soon shall have,’ said Fatty. He turned over the page. ‘SUSPECTS’ was what he printed there.