Mystery #04 — The Mystery of the Spiteful Letters

‘Unless you know more about them than you make out!’ said Mr. Goon, darkly and mysteriously, suddenly remembering how he had seen Fatty post a letter at Sheepsale the morning before. ‘Ho, you’re a deep one, you are - never know what your game is, I don’t! I wouldn’t put anything past you, Master Frederick Trotteville!’

‘Thank you, Mr. Theophilus Goon,’ said Fatty, and grinned. Mr. Goon longed to box his ears. Then he suddenly remembered that those letters had been out of his possession once - that time when he had apparently dropped them in the road, after colliding with the red-haired telegraph-boy. He stared suspiciously at Fatty.

‘That telegraph-boy your friend?’ he asked suddenly. Fatty looked mildly surprised.

‘What telegraph-boy?’ he asked.

‘That red-haired fellow with the freckles,’ said Mr. Goon.

‘I’m afraid I’ve no red-haired, freckled telegraph-boy for a friend, much as I would like one,’ said Fatty. ‘But why all these questions about a telegraph-boy?’

Mr. Goon wasn’t going to tell him. But he made a mental note to get hold of that telegraph-boy and ask him a few questions. Perhaps he and Fatty were in league together!

‘Well, I’ll go now,’ said Fatty politely, ‘unless you’ve got any more questions to ask me about telegraph-boys, Mr. Goon? Oh - and would you like another clue? Wait a bit, I’ll see if I’ve got one about me!’

To Mr. Goon’s rage he felt in his pockets and produced a doll’s straw hat. ‘Now was that a clue?’ murmured Fatty, but, seeing Mr. Goon gradually turning a familiar purple, he moved swiftly through the door.

‘If you don’t clear-orf,’ said Mr. Goon, between his teeth, ‘if you don’t clear-orf... I’ll... I’ll...’

But Fatty had cleared-orf. He sprinted back to Pip’s. The mystery of the letters was warming up again!

 

THREE MORE SUSPECTS

 

He was soon back in the playroom, relating everything to the others. How they roared when they heard about Mr. Goon coming in and hearing that Fatty had seen all the letters!

‘That must have given him a shock!’ said Pip. ‘He’ll wonder for hours how you’ve seen them. I bet he’ll go about looking for that telegraph-boy now - he knows he’s the one who handed him the letters he was supposed to have dropped.’

‘Well, he’ll be lucky if he finds the telegraph-boy, even if he goes up to the post-office to look for him!’ said Fatty. ‘But I say - now we know why none of the bus passengers posted the letter! It was delivered by hand instead! No wonder we didn’t see anyone popping the letter into Sheepsale post-box!’

‘It must be some one who didn’t catch the bus yesterday for some reason,’ said Daisy thoughtfully. ‘We really must find out if anyone who regularly catches that bus, didn’t take it yesterday. If we can find out the person who didn’t go as usual, we may have discovered who the letter-writer is!’

‘Yes - you’re right, Daisy,’ said Larry. ‘Shall one of us catch the 10.15 bus tomorrow, Fatty, and ask the conductor a few questions?’

‘Perhaps we’d better not,’ said Fatty. ‘He might think it a bit funny, or think us cheeky, or something. I’ve got a better idea than that.’

‘What?’ asked the others.

‘Well, what about going in to see Miss Tremble this morning?’ said Fatty. ‘We know she usually takes the Monday morning bus. We could get from her the names of all the people who always catch it at Peterswood. After all, it starts off by the church, and that’s where she gets in. She must know everyone who takes it on Mondays.’

‘Yes. Let’s go and see her now,’ said Bets. ‘Mrs. Moon is back with her kidneys, Fatty. She wasn’t long. Pip gave her the message, and she said, ‘Well, well, she wasn’t surprised to hear that Mrs. Lamb had got one of those letters, she was the dirtiest, laziest woman in the village!’

‘Well, I must say her cottage was jolly smelly,’ said Fatty. ‘Come on - let’s go in next door. We’ll ask Miss Trimble if she’s seen your cat, Pip.’

‘But Whiskers is here,’ said Pip in surprise, pointing to the big black cat.

‘Yes, idiot. But Miss Trimble’s not to know that,’ said Fatty. ‘We’ve got to have some excuse for going in. She’ll probably be picking flowers in the garden, or taking the dog for an airing. Let’s look over the wall first.’

Their luck was in. Miss Trimble was in the garden, talking to Miss Harmer, who looked after Lady Candling’s valuable Siamese cats for her.

‘Come on. We’ll go up the front drive and round to where she’s talking,’ said Fatty. ‘I’ll lead the conversation round to the bus.’

They set off, and soon found Miss Trimble. Miss Harmer was pleased to see them too. She showed them all the blue-eyed cats.

‘And you really must come and see the daffodils in the orchard,’ said Miss Trimble, setting her glasses firmly on her nose. Bets gazed at them, hoping they would fall off.

They all trooped after her. Fatty walked politely beside her, holding back any tree-branches that might catch at her hair. She thought what a very well-mannered boy he was.

‘I hope you found your mother well on Monday,’ said Fatty.