Mystery #04 — The Mystery of the Spiteful Letters

‘Well, the next time I gave my prep in, it was written in old Tubbs’ own handwriting,’ said Fatty, with a grin. ‘Golly, it gave him a start to see a prep all done in his own writing!’

‘What did he say? ’ asked Pip.

‘He said, “And who’s done this prep for you this time, Trotteville?” And I said, “My goodness, sir, it looks as if you have!” ’ said Fatty. The others roared with laughter. Whether Fatty’s school tales were true or not, they were always funny.

Pip slipped the blank piece of paper into the envelope that Fatty had addressed and stuck it down. He took the stamp that Fatty offered him and put it on.

‘There!’ he said. ‘I’ll post it on my way home tonight. It’ll catch the half-past six post and it will be there tomorrow morning. Then if I don’t manage to spot the re-addressed letter my name isn’t Pip.’

‘Well, it isn’t,’ said Bets. ‘It’s Philip.’

‘Very funny!’ said Pip. ‘I don’t think!’

‘Now don’t squabble, you two,’ said Fatty. ‘Well, we’ve done all we can for the moment. Let’s have a game. I’ll teach you Woo-hoo-colly-wobbles.’

‘Gracious! Whatever’s that?’ said Bets.

It was a game involving much woo-hoo-ing and groaning and rolling over and over. Soon all the children were reduced to tears of mirth. Mrs. Trotteville sent up to say that if anybody was ill they were to go down and tell her, but if they were just playing, would they please go out into the garden, down to the very bottom.

‘Oooh. I didn’t know your mother was back,’ said Pip, who had really let himself go. ‘We’d better stop. What an awful game this is, Fatty.’

‘I say - it’s almost half-past six!’ said Larry. ‘If you’re going to post that letter, you’d better go, young Pip. Brush yourself down, for goodness sake. You look awful.’

‘Gah!’ said Pip, remembering Mr. Goon’s last exclamation. He brushed himself down, and re-tied his tie. ‘Come on, Bets,’ he said. ‘Well, so long, you others - we’ll tell you Gladys’s address tomorrow, and then we’ll go and see her and examine our first clue - the “nonnimus” letter!’

He ran down the path with Bets. Fatty leaned out of the window of his den and yelled, ‘Oy! You’re a fine detective! You’ve forgotten the letter!’

‘So I have!’ said Pip and tore back for it. Fatty dropped it down. Pip caught it and ran off again. He and Bets tore to the pillar-box at the corner and were just in time to catch the postman emptying the letters from the inside.

‘One more!’ said Pip. ‘Thanks, postman! Come on, Bets. We’ll try out your book-idea as soon as we get home.’

 

DISAPPOINTMENT FOR PIP AND BETS

 

Bets flew to find the book that Gladys had lent her, as soon as she got home. She found it at once. It was an old school prize, called The Little Saint. Bets had been rather bored with it. ‘The Little Saint’ had been a girl much too good to be true. Bets preferred to read about naughty, lively children.

She wrapped the book up carefully, and then went down to say good-night to her mother. Mrs. Hilton was reading in the drawing-room.

‘Come to say good-night, Bets?’ she said, looking at the clock. ‘Did you have a nice time at Fatty’s?’

‘Yes! We played his new game, Woo-hoo-colly-wobbles,’ said Bets. ‘It was fun.’

‘I expect it was noisy and ridiculous if it was anything to do with Frederick,’ said her mother. ‘What’s that you’ve got, Bets?’

‘Oh Mother, it’s a book that Gladys lent me,’ said Bets. ‘I was going to ask Mrs. Moon her address so that I could send it to her. Could I have a stamp, Mother!’

‘You don’t need to ask Mrs. Moon,’ said her mother. ‘I’ll see that Gladys gets it.’

‘Oh,’ said Bets. ‘Well - I’ll just put her address on it. I’ve written her name. What’s her address, Mother?’

‘I’ll write it,’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘Now don’t stand there putting off time, Bets. Go up to bed. Leave the parcel here.’

‘Oh, do let me just write the address,’ said poor Bets, feeling that her wonderful idea was coming to nothing, and that it wasn’t fair. ‘I feel like writing, Mother.’

‘Well, it must be for the first time in your life then!’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘You’ve always said how much you hate writing before. Go up to bed, Bets, now.’

Bets had to go. She left the book on the table by her mother, feeling rather doleful. But perhaps Pip would see the address later on in the evening, if her mother wrote it on the parcel.

Pip said he’d keep an eye open. Anyway, what did it matter? His own letter would come in the morning and they’d soon find out the right address.

He saw the book on the table when he went down ready for dinner, cleaned and brushed. He read the name on the wrapping-paper... but there was no address there yet.

‘Shall I write Gladys’s address for you, Mother?’ he asked politely. ‘Just to save you time.’

‘I can’t imagine why you and Bets are so anxious to do a little writing tonight!’ said Mrs. Hilton, looking up from her book. ‘No, Pip. I can’t be bothered to look up the address now, and I can’t remember it off-hand. Leave it.’