Mystery #04 — The Mystery of the Spiteful Letters

He set off on his bicycle to the Rectory Field, where Old Nosey, the gypsy, lived in a dirty caravan with his wife. In his basket he carried a parcel, in which he had packed two of his father’s old pipes, and a tin of tobacco he had bought. Larry met him as he cycled furiously down the village street, keeping a sharp look-out for Goon.

‘Fatty!’ said Larry, and then clapped his hand over his mouth, hoping that no passer-by had heard.

‘Fathead!’ said Fatty, stopping by Larry. ‘Don’t yell my name out when I’m in disguise! Yell out Bert, or Alf, or Sid - anything you like, but not Fatty.’

‘Sorry! I did it without thinking,’ said Larry. ‘I don’t think any one heard. What are you going to do, Fatty - er, I mean Sid!’

‘I’m going to deliver a parcel to Old Nosey, said Fatty. ‘From an Unknown Friend! And he’s got to sign a receipt for it. See?’

‘Golly, you’re clever,’ said Larry, filled with admiration. ‘Of course - you can easily get him to sign his name - and address too, I suppose - by delivering a parcel to him and asking for a receipt! I’d never have thought of that. Never.’

‘I’ve put a couple of old pipes and some tobacco in,’ said Fatty, with a grin. ‘Nice surprise for Old Nosey! I’m delivering a parcel to Miss Tittle too - and one to Mrs. Moon later. I’ve a feeling that if we’ve got specimens of all three in the way of hand-writing, we shall soon be able to spot the real letter-writer! I’m going to ask them to give me a receipt in capital letters, of course.

‘Good for you,’ said Larry. ‘I’ll tell Pip and Bets to look out for you later - delivering something to Mrs. Moon!’

Fatty rode off, whistling. He soon came to Rectory Field. He saw the caravan standing at the end, its little tin chimney smoking. Mrs. Nosey was outside, cooking something over a fire, and Nosey was sitting beside it, sucking at an empty pipe. Fatty rode over the field-path and jumped off his bicycle when he came to Nosey.

‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Parcel for you! Special delivery!’

He handed the parcel to the surprised Old Nosey. The gypsy took it and turned it round and round, trying to feel what was inside. ‘Anythink to pay?’ asked Mrs. Nosey.

‘No. But I must have a receipt, please,’ said Fatty, briskly, and whipped out a notebook, in which was printed in capital letters:

RECEIVED, ONE PARCEL,

by ..............

‘Will you sign your name and address there, please, in capital letters?’ he asked, showing Nosey where he meant.

‘I’m not signing nothing,’ said Nosey, not looking at Fatty.

‘Well, if you want the parcel, you’ll have to sign for it,’ said Fatty. ‘Always get a receipt, you know. It’s the only thing I’ve got, to show I’ve delivered the parcel. See?’

‘I’ll sign it,’ said Mrs. Nosey, and held out her hand for the pencil.

‘No,’ said Fatty. ‘The parcel is for your husband. I’m afraid he must sign it, Madam.’

‘You let me,’ said Mrs. Nosey. ‘Go on - you give it to me to sign. It don’t matter which of us does it.’

Fatty was almost in despair. Also he thought it a very suspicious sign that Nosey didn’t seem to want to sign his name and address in capital letters. It rather looked as if he was afraid of doing so.

‘I shall have to take the parcel back if your husband doesn’t give me a proper receipt for it,’ he said, in as stern a voice as he could manage. ‘Got to be business-like over these things, you know. Pity - it smells like tobacco.’

‘Yes, it do,’ said Old Nosey, and sniffed the parcel eagerly. ‘Go on, wife, you sign for it.’

‘I tell you,’ began Fatty. But Nosey’s wife pulled at his elbow. She spoke to him in a hoarse whisper.

‘Don’t you go bothering ’im. ’E can’t write nor read!’

‘Oh,’ Said Fatty blankly, and let Mrs. Nosey sign a receipt without further objection. He could hardly read what she wrote, for she put half the letters backwards, and could not even spell Peterswood.

Fatty cycled off, thinking. So Old Nosey couldn’t write. Well, he was ruled out too, then. That really only left Miss Tittle - because Mrs. Moon had had one of the letters and could be crossed off the List of Suspects.

He went home and fetched a cardboard box into which he had packed a piece of stuff he had bought from the draper’s that morning. He was just in time to catch Miss Tittle setting out to go for the day to Lady Candling’s again.

‘Parcel for you,’ said Fatty briskly. ‘Special delivery. Will you please sign for it - here - in capital letters for clearness - name and address, please.’

Miss Tittle was rather surprised to receive a parcel by special delivery, when she was not expecting one, but she supposed it was something urgent sent to be altered by one of her customers. So she signed for it in extremely neat capital letters, small and beautiful like her stitches.

‘There you are,’ she said. ‘You only just caught me! Good morning.’

‘That was easy!’ thought Fatty, as he rode away. ‘Now - I wonder if it’s really necessary to get Mrs. Moon’s writing? Better, I suppose, as she’s been one of the Suspects. Well, here goes!’