Mystery #04 — The Mystery of the Spiteful Letters

‘She’s not the one, either,’ said Pip, as she disappeared in the direction of the market. ‘I didn’t think she was. She was too nice.’

The vicar disappeared too, without coming in their direction at all. Now only Mr. Goon and the sour-faced man were left. Mr. Goon stared at Fatty, and Fatty raised his eyebrows and smiled sweetly.

‘Anything I can do for you, Mr. Goon?’

‘What you hanging about here for?’ said the policeman. ‘Funny thing I can’t seem to get rid of you children. Always hanging on my tail, you are.’

‘We were thinking the same thing about you too,’ said Fatty. He watched the sour-faced man, who was standing nearby at the kerb, still reading his paper about dogs and horses. Fatty wondered if he wanted to post a letter, but was waiting till the children and Mr. Goon had gone. Or was he really waiting for his brother, as he had said?

‘There’s the sweet-shop over the road,’ said Fatty, in a low voice, popping his letter into the post-box. ‘Let’s go over there and buy something. We can keep a watch on the post-box all the time. Then if dear old Clear-Orf or the sour-faced fellow are bursting to post letters, they can do it without feeling that we are watching!’

So they all crossed to the sweet-shop and went in. Larry and Daisy started an argument about whether to buy peppermints or toffees, and Fatty watched the post-office carefully through the glass door. He could see, but could not be seen, for it was dark in the little shop.

The sour-faced man folded up his paper and looked up and down the village street. Mr. Goon disappeared into a tobacco shop. Fatty watched breathlessly. There was no one about in the street now - would that man quickly slip a letter into the post-box?

A car drove up. The driver called out a greeting, and the sour-faced man replied. He opened the door and got in beside the driver. Then they drove off quickly. Fatty gave such a heavy sigh that the others looked round.

‘He didn’t post a letter,’ said Fatty. ‘He was telling the truth. Somebody picked him up in a car. Blow! Bother! Dash!’

‘Well, even if he had posted a letter, I don’t see that we could have collared him,’ said Pip. ‘We didn’t know his name or anything about him. But I say - it’s pretty peculiar, isn’t it - not a single one of the passengers posted a letter - and yet one is always posted every single Monday!’

‘Well - we’ll just wait till 11.45 when the post-man comes to collect the letters,’ said Fatty. ‘In case one of the passengers comes back, Ah, there goes Goon, off to the market. I suppose he’s buying butter and cream to make himself a bit fatter!’

The children waited patiently by the post-office till the postman came and took out the letters. Nobody came to post any. It was most disappointing.

‘We’re just where we were! ’ said Fatty gloomily. ‘Sickening, isn’t it? I don’t think we’re such good detectives as we hoped we were! You go off to the market. I want to have a good think. I may get a much better idea soon!’

So off to Sheepsale market went the others, leaving poor Fatty behind, looking extremely gloomy.

 

A LOVELY DAY

 

The children had a really lovely time at the market. They loved every minute of it. It was such a noisy, lively, friendly place, the birds and animals were so excited, the market-folk so good-humoured and talkative.

They found Mrs. Jolly’s sister, and she insisted on giving each of them a large brown egg, and a small pat of her golden home-made butter for their breakfast. Bets was simply delighted. She alway loved an unexpected present more than any other.

‘Oh thank you!’ she said. ‘You are kind - just exactly like Mrs. Jolly. She gives us sweets. Is your name Jolly, too?’

‘No. I’m Mrs. Bunn,’ said Mrs. Jolly’s sister and Bets very nearly said, ‘Oh, that’s just the right name for you!’ but stopped herself in time. For Mrs. Bunn was exactly like her name - big and round, and soft and warm, with eyes like black-currants.

‘Let’s go and find Fatty and tell him to come and see the market,’ said Bets. ‘I don’t like to think of him glooming by himself. We’re stuck over this case, and I don’t believe even Fatty can unstick us.’

‘There’s the artist girl, look!’ said Pip. And there she was, in the middle of the market, painting hard, gazing at all the animals and birds around her in delight. The children went and looked at her picture and thought it was very good indeed.

Bets went to find Fatty. He was sitting on a bench in the village street, lost in thought. Bets looked at him in admiration. She could quite well imagine him grown-up, solving deep mysteries that nobody else could. She went up to him and made him jump.

‘Oh, Fatty, sorry! Did I make you jump? Do come and see the market. It’s marvellous.’

‘I haven’t quite finished my pondering yet,’ said Fatty. ‘Perhaps if I talk to you, Bets, I might see things a little more clearly.’

Bets was thrilled and proud. ‘Oh yes, do talk to me, Fatty. I’ll listen and not say a word.’