Mystery #04 — The Mystery of the Spiteful Letters

‘Not pleased even now, Mr. Goon!’ said Fatty sweetly. ‘Oh dear - there’s no pleasing you at all, I’m afraid. Wait a minute - I believe I’ve got a really good clue to hand you - ah, here it is!’

He took out a match-box and gave it to the policeman. Mr. Goon opened it suspiciously. It was a trick match-box, and, as Mr. Goon opened it, he released a powerful spring inside which sprang up and shot the match-box high in the air. Mr. Goon got quite a shock.

He went purple, and his eyes bulged.

‘So sorry, so sorry,’ said Fatty hastily. ‘It must have been the wrong match-box. Wait a bit - I’ve got another...’

If Buster had not been there with his ready teeth Mr. Goon might quite well have boxed Fatty’s ears. He looked ready to burst. Fearing that he might say something he ought not to, poor Mr. Goon hurriedly mounted his bicycle and rode up the drive, breathing so heavily that he could be heard all the way to the kitchen-door.

‘He’s gone to talk to Mrs. Moon again,’ said Pip. ‘I expect they’ll come to blows! Let’s get on. Oh, Fatty, I thought I should burst when that trick match-box went up in the air. Goon’s face!’

They strolled down the lane to the river. It was pleasant there, for a breeze blew across the water. The children found a sunny place beside a big bush and lay down lazily. A swan came swimming by, and two moor-hens chugged across the water, their heads bobbing like clockwork.

‘Let’s forget all about the Mystery for a bit,’ said Daisy. ‘It’s so nice here. I keep on thinking and thinking about those letters, and who could be writing them - but the more I think the less I know.’

‘Same here,’ said Pip. ‘So many Suspects - and not one of them could apparently have Done the Deed. A most mysterious mystery.’

‘One that even the great detective, Mr. Frederick Sherlock Holmes Trotteville can’t solve either!’ said Larry.

‘Correct!’ said Fatty, with a sigh. ‘I almost - but not quite - give it up!’

Larry’s hat blew away and he got up to go and get it. ‘Blow!’ he said. ‘There’s old Clear-Orf again - cycling over the field-path. He’s seen me too. Hope he doesn’t come and make a row again. He’d like to eat you alive, Fatty, you’re so aggravating.’

‘Sit down quickly, in case he hasn’t seen you,’ said Daisy. ‘We don’t want him here.’

Larry sat down. They all watched the blue water flowing smoothly by. The moor-hens came back again, and a fish jumped at a fly. A very early swallow dipped down to the water. It was all very peaceful indeed.

‘I should think old Clear-Orf didn’t see me after all,’ said Larry. ‘Thank goodness. I think I’m going to sleep. There’s something very soothing about the gurgling of the water - a lovely, peaceful afternoon.’

Heavy breathing disturbed the peace, and clumsy footsteps came over the grass towards their bush. Mr. Goon appeared, his face a familiar purple. He carried a small sack in his hand, and looked extremely angry. He flung the little sack down fiercely.

‘More Clues, I suppose!’ he sneered. ‘More of your silly, childish jokes! White rats and match-boxes! Huh! Gah! What a set of children! And now these Clues - hidden nicely under a bush for me to find, I suppose? What do you think I am? A nitwit?’

The children were astonished at this outburst, and Bets was really alarmed. Fatty put out a quick hand on Buster’s collar, for the little Scottie had got his hackles up and was growling fiercely, showing all his teeth.

‘What’s up, Goon?’ said Fatty, in a sharp, rather grown-up voice.

‘You know as well as I do!’ said the policeman. ‘More Clues! I suppose you’ll tell me next that you don’t know anything about that sack of Clues! Gah!’

‘What sack? What clues?’ said Fatty, really puzzled. ‘No - I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Goon.’

‘You don’t know - ho no, you don’t know!’ said Mr. Goon, and he laughed a nasty laugh. ‘You don’t know anything about red wigs, either, I suppose? Or writing rude letters to the Law? Well, I know a lot! Oho, don’t I? I’ll teach you to lay clues about for me to find. Think I’m a real hignoramus, don’t you?’

‘Shut up, Buster,’ said Fatty, for Buster was now snarling very loudly indeed. ‘Mr. Goon, please go. You’re frightening little Bets, and I don’t think I can hold Buster in much longer. I don’t know what you’re talking about - and certainly I’ve never seen the sack before.’

Buster gave such a fearfully loud snarl that Mr. Goon thought it would be best to do as Fatty said and go. He went, leaving the little sack on the ground, and stepped heavily away, looking as majestic as he could.

‘Well, what an unpleasant fellow,’ said Fatty, slipping his arm round Bets, who was in tears. ‘Don’t bother about him, Bets. We know the blustering, roaring old fellow by now. You need never be scared of him!’

‘I don’t like p-p-people to shout like that,’ sobbed Bets. ‘And oh Fatty, he said about your red wig! Has he found it?’

‘I wondered about that too,’ said Fatty. ‘We’ll look when we go back. I left it in the summer-house, didn’t I? Wish I hadn’t now.’