Mystery #04 — The Mystery of the Spiteful Letters

He gulped. This was getting too much for him. Three red-headed boys all vanishing into thin air - and now a completely solid bicycle doing the same thing. He supposed that red-headed fellow must have taken it somehow without his seeing - but how?

‘Gah!’ said Mr. Goon, wiping his hot forehead. ‘What with these here letters - and hysterical women - and red-headed disappearing fellows - and that cheeky toad, Frederick Trotteville - my life in Peterswood ain’t worth living! First one thing and then another. I’d like to talk to that Frederick Trotteville. I wouldn’t put it past him to write me that cheeky anonymous letter. It’s him that done that - I’d lay a million dollars it was. Gah!’

 

CLUES, REAL CLUES AT LAST!

 

The Five-Find-Outers and Buster met in the little summer-house at the top of Pip’s garden that afternoon. It was warm and sunny there, and they wanted to be quite alone and hear again and again of all that Fatty had done that morning - especially of his neat escape from Mr. Goon’s boxroom.

‘I simply can’t imagine what he said when he unlocked the door and found you gone, Fatty’ said Bets. ‘I’d have loved to be there!’

Fatty showed them the two specimens of handwriting he had taken from Miss Tittle and Mrs. Moon. He told them that Nosey couldn’t write, so that ruled him out completely. ‘And if you look at this receipt, which Mrs. Nosey signed, you’ll see she could never have written those letters either, even if Nosey had told her what to put into them,’ said Fatty.

‘It’s a funny thing,’ said Daisy, ‘we’ve had plenty of Suspects - but one by one we’ve had to rule them out. There honestly doesn’t seem to be a single real Suspect left, Fatty.’

‘And except for seeing the letters, we’ve got no real Clues either,’ said Larry. ‘I call this a most disappointing Mystery. The letter-writer went a bit mad this week, didn’t he - or she - sending letters to Mrs. Lamb - and Mrs. Moon and Mr. Goon. Before that, as far as we know, only one a week was sent.’

‘Isn’t old Clear-Orf funny when I keep pretending I’ve got a new Clue?’ said Fatty, grinning. ‘Do you remember his face when I pulled old Waffles, the white rat, out of my pocket? I just happened to have him there that day.’

‘Poor old Clear-Orf doesn’t believe anything we say any more,’ said Pip. ‘I do wonder if he really suspects somebody of writing those letters - someone we don’t know about?’

‘He may have some clues or ideas we haven’t been able to get,’ said Fatty. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if he solves this Mystery after all - and not us.’

‘Oh, Fatty!’ cried everyone in dismay.

‘How can you say that?’ said Bets. ‘Wouldn’t it be dreadful if he did - so that Inspector Jenks was pleased with him, and not with us.’

Inspector Jenks was their very good friend, and had always been very pleased with them because they had managed to solve some curious mysteries in Peterswood before. They had not seen him since the Christmas holidays.

‘Let’s get out of this summer-house,’ said Larry. ‘It’s absolutely melting in here! Fatty, don’t forget to take your red-haired wig and things back with you tonight. This summer-house isn’t an awfully safe hiding-place for them. Pip’s mother might easily walk in and see them stuffed under the seat.’

‘I’ll remember,’ said Fatty, yawning. ‘Golly, it was funny going into Goon’s house this morning as a red-headed messenger-boy - and coming out just myself, and nobody spotting me! Come on - let’s go for a walk by the river. It’ll be cool there. I shall fall asleep in this heat!’

As they went down the drive they met Mr. Goon cycling up. They wondered which of the household he was going to see. He stopped and got off his bike.

‘You know that there telegraph-boy, that brought you that telegram some time back?’ he said. ‘Well, I happen to know he’s a fake, see? There’s no telegraph-boy like that. And I’m making strict inquiries into the matter, I am - yes and into fake telegrams too, see? And I warn you all, if you hob-nob with red-heads, you’ll get into Serious Trouble. Very Serious Trouble.’

‘You do frighten me,’ said Fatty, making his eyes go big.

‘And I’ll have None of your Sauce!’ said Mr. Goon majestically. ‘I know more than what you think, and I advise you all to be careful. Call that dog orf!’

‘Come here, Buster,’ said Fatty, in such a mild voice that Buster took no notice at all. He went on prancing round Mr. Goon’s ankles.

‘I said, call him orf!’ repeated Mr. Goon, doing little prances too, to avoid sudden rushes by Buster.

‘Come here, Buster,’ said Fatty again, in an extremely polite voice. Buster ignored him completely.

‘That’s not calling him orf!’ shouted Mr. Goon, beginning to lose his temper. ‘Yell at him, go on! Nuisance of a dog!’

Fatty winked at the others, and with one accord they all opened their mouths and yelled at the top of their voices. ‘COME HERE, BUSTER!’

Mr. Goon jumped violently at the noise. He glared. Buster also jumped. He went to Fatty.