The Mystery of the vanished prince
What a Waste of Holidays!
“I haven’t liked these holidays one bit,” said Bets,
dolefully, to Pip. “No Larry, no Daisy, no Fatty - a real waste of summer
holidays!”
“Well, you’ve had me,” said Pip. “Haven’t I taken you for
bike-rides and picnics and things?”
“Yes - but only because Mother said you were to,” said Bets,
still gloomy. “I mean - you had to do it because Mother kept saying I’d be
lonely. It was nice of you - but I did know you were doing it because it was
your duty, or something like that.”
“I think you’re very ungrateful,” said Pip, in a huff.
Bets sighed. “There you are - in a huff again already, Pip!
I do, do wish the others were here. It’s the first hols that every one but us
have been away.”
“Well, the other three will be back in a few days’ time,”
said Pip. “We shall still have two or three weeks left of these hols.”
“But will there be enough time for a mystery?” asked Bets,
rolling over to find a shadier place on the gras. “We nearly always have a
mystery to solve in the hols. I haven’t always liked our mysteries - but
somehow I miss it when we don’t have one.”
“Well, find one then,” said Pip. “What I miss most is old
Buster.”
“Oh yes,” said Bets, thinking of Fatty’s joyful, mad little
Scottie dog. “I miss him, too. The only person I keep seeing that I don’t want
to see is Mr. Goon.”
Mr. Goon was the village policeman, a pompous and ponderous
fellow, always at war with the five children. Bets seemed to meet him three or
four times a day, cycling heavily here and there, ringing his bell violently
round every corner.
“Look - there’s the postman,” said Pip. “Go and see if he’s
got anything for us, Bets. There might be a card from old Fatty.”
Bets got up. It was very hot and although she wore only a
sun-suit of frilly cotton, she still felt as if she was going to melt. She went
to meet the postman, who was cycling up the drive.
“Hallo, postman!” she called. “I’ll take the letters.”
“Right, Missy. Two cards - one for you and one for your
brother,” said the postman. “That’s all.”
Bets took them. “Oh, good!” she said. “One’s from Fatty -
and it’s for me!”
She ran back to Pip. “A card for you from Larry and Daisy,”
she said, “and one for me from Fatty. Let’s see what they say...”
Pip read his card out loud at once. “ ‘Coming back the day
after to-morrow, thank goodness. Any mystery turned up? We shan’t have much
time for one these hols unless we can dig one up quickly! We’re as brown as
gipsies. You won’t know us! Good disguise, of course! See you soon. Love to
Bets. - Larry and Daisy.’ ”
“Oh good, good, good!” said Bets, in delight “They’ll be
round here to-morrow, sure as anything. Now listen to my card, Pip.”
She read it out. “ ‘How’s things, Bets? I hope you’ve got a
first-class Mystery for me to set my brains to work on when I return the day
after to-morrow. When do Larry and Daisy come back? It’s time the Five
Find-Outers (and Dog) got their teeth into something. Be nice to see you again,
and old Pip too. Fatty.’ ”
Bets rubbed her hands together in glee. Her face shone. “All
the Find-Outers will be together to-morrow,” she said. “And, though there’s not
even the smell of a mystery about, I guess Fatty will run straight into one as
soon as he comes.”
“Hope you’re right,” said Pip, lying back on the grass
again. “I must say these hols have been pretty boring. I’d like a good
thrilling, juicy mystery to end up with.”
“What do you mean - a juicy mystery?” said Bets, puzzled.
Pip couldn’t be bothered to explain. He lay and thought of
all the mysteries he and Bets, Larry and Daisy, Fatty (and Buster, of course)
had solved. There was the Burning Cottage - and the Disappearing Cat - and the
Hidden House - gosh, there were a fine lot!
He suddenly felt hungry for another mystery. He sat up and
looked at Bets. “Let’s get the morning paper and see if there’s anything
thrilling in it,” he said. “Anything that has happened near us. We could tell
Fatty as soon as he comes then, and he might get us all on to it.”
Bets was thrilled. She went to get the paper. She brought it
out to Pip and they both studied it carefully. But there didn’t seem to be
anything happening at all.
“It’s nothing but pictures of frightful women and their
clothes, and horses racing and what hot weather it is, and -”
“Cricket scores, and...” went on Bets, in a voice as
disgusted as Pip’s.
“Oh well - cricket scores are interesting,” said Pip, at
once. “Look here - see this bowling analysis here?”
Bets wasn’t in the least interested in cricket. She turned
the page.
“Just like a girl,” said Pip, in an even more disgusted
voice. “The only thing of real importance in the paper is the cricket - and you
don’t even look at it!”
“Here’s something - look, it’s something about Peterswood,
our village,” said Bets, reading a small paragraph down in a corner. “And it
mentions Marlow too - that’s quite near.”
“What is it?” asked Pip, interested. He read the paragraph
and snorted. “Pooh - that’s not a mystery, or even anything interesting.”
Bets read it out. “ ‘The weather has been very kind to the
School Camps on the hills between Peterswood and Marlow. This week two or three
interesting visitors have joined the camps. One is little Prince Bongawah of
“Well, if you think that even Fatty can make any mystery or
even be interested in a silly thing like that you’d better think again,” said
Pip. “Who cares about Prince Bonga-bangabing, or whatever his name is?”
“Bongawah,” said Bets. “Where’s
Pip didn’t know and didn’t care. He rolled over on his face.
“I’m going to sleep,” he said. “I’m too hot for words. We’ve had five weeks of
hot sun and I’m tired of it. The worst of our weather is that it never stops
when it makes up its mind to do something.”
“I don’t care about the weather or anything,” said Bets,
happily. “It can do what it likes now that Fatty and the others are coming
back!”
Larry and Daisy came back first. They arrived home the next
morning, helped their mother to unpack, and then went straight round to Pip and
Bets.
“Larry! Daisy!” shouted Bets, joyfully, as they came into
the garden. “I didn’t think you’d be back so early. Gosh, how brown you are!”
“Well, you’re not so bad, either,” said Daisy, giving little
Bets a hug. “I say - what ages since we saw each other! Such a waste of hols
when we can’t go mystery-hunting together!”
“Hallo, Bets, hallo, Pip,” said Larry. “Any news? I must say
you’re a bad correspondent. I sent you four post cards and you never wrote
once!”
“You sent them! I like that!” said Daisy, indignantly. “I
wrote every single one of them! You never even addressed them.”
“Well, I bought them,” said Larry. “I say - any news of old
Fatty? Is he back yet?”
“Coming to-day,” said Bets, joyfully. “I keep listening for
his bicycle bell, or old Buster’s bark. Won’t it be lovely for all five of us -
and Buster, of course - to be together again!”
Every one agreed. Bets looked round at the little group,
glad to have Larry and Daisy there - but nothing was ever the same without
Fatty. Fatty, with his sly humour and enormous cheek and brilliant brains.
Bets’ heart swelled with joy to think he would soon be there too.
“There’s the telephone bell,” said Pip, as a loud, shrilling
ring rang out from the house. “Hope it’s not for me. I feel I simply cannot get
up. I think I’m stuck to the grass.”
Mrs. Hilton, Pip’s mother, appeared at a window. “That was
Every one sat up straight at this news. “Oh, I wish I’d
answered the phone,” said Bets. “Fatty has such a nice grinny voice on the
phone.”
Every one knew what she meant. “Yes - sort of chortly,” said
Larry. “Gosh, I wish I was always as sure of myself as Fatty is. He never turns
a hair.”
“And he always knows what to do, whatever happens,” said
Bets. “I say - do you think he’ll come in disguise, just for a joke?”
“Yes - of course he will,” said Larry. “I bet he’s got a
whole lot of new tricks and disguises and things - and he’ll want to practise
them on us at once. I know Fatty!”
“Then we’d better look out for some one peculiar,” said
Daisy, excited. “We simply can’t let him take us in the very first minute he
comes back!”
Fatty was, of course, simply marvellous at disguising
himself. Hc could make his plump cheeks even fatter by inserting cheek pads
between his gums and his cheek inside his mouth. He had a wonderful array of
false teeth that could be fitted neatly over his own. He had shaggy eyebrows to
stick over his own modest ones, and any amount of excellent wigs.
In fact, most of his considerable pocket-money went on such
things, and he was a never-ending source of joy and amusement to the others
when he donned one of his many disguises to deceive them or someone else.
“Now - we’ll watch out,” said Pip. “Every one who comes in
at the gate is suspect - man, woman, or child! It might be old Fatty!”
They hadn’t long to wait. Footsteps could be heard dragging
up the drive, and then a large, feathered hat appeared bobbing above the hedge
that ran along the pathway to the kitchen entrance. A very brown, plump face
looked over the hedge at them, with long gold ear-rings dangling from the ears,
and ringlets of black curls bobbing beneath the dreadful hat.
The children stared. The face smiled and spoke. “Buy some
nice white ’eather? Bring you luck!”
Round the hedge came a large gipsy woman, in a long black skirt,
a dirty pink blouse and a red shawl. Her feathered hat nodded and bounced on
her black curls.
“Fatty!” screamed Bets at once, and ran over at top speed.
“Oh, you’re Fatty, you are, you are! I recognized your voice - you didn’t
disguise it enough!”
Fatty Arrives
The other three children did not call out or run over. This
woman seemed much too tall to be Fatty - though he was tall now. The gipsy
woman drew back a little as Bets came running over, shouting joyfully.
“ ’Ere! ’Oo are you a-calling Fatty?” she said, in a husky
voice. “What you talking about?”
Bets stopped suddenly. She stared at the woman, who stared
back insolently, with half-closed eyes. Then the gipsy thrust a bunch of
bedraggled heather at Bets, almost into her face. “Lucky white ’eather” she
whined. “Buy some, little Missy. I tell you, I ain’t sold a spray since
yesterday.”
Bets backed away. She looked round at the others. They still
sat there, grinning now, because of Bets’ sudden fright. She went very red and
walked back to the other three children.
The woman followed, shaking her heather in quite a
threatening manner. “If you don’t want my ’eather, you let me read your ’and,”
she said. “It’s bad luck to cross a gipsy, you know.”
“Rubbish,” said Larry. “Go away, please.”
“What do she want to call me Fatty for?” said the woman,
angrily, pointing at poor Bets. “I don’t reckon on insults from the likes of
you, see?”
The cook suddenly appeared, carrying a tray of lemonade for
the children. She saw the gipsy woman at once.
“Now you clear off,” she called. “We’ve had enough of you
gipsies lately at the back door.”
“Buy a spray of ’eather,” whined the woman again and thrust
her spray into the cook’s angry face.
“Bets - run and tell your father there’s a gipsy here
again,” said the cook, and Bets ran. So did the gipsy woman! She disappeared at
top speed down the drive and the children saw her big, feathered hat bobbing
quickly along the top of the hedge again.
They laughed. “Gosh,” said Pip, “just like old Bets to make
an idiotic mistake like that. As if any one could think that awful old creature
was Fatty! Though, of course, she did have rather a husky voice for a woman.
That’s what took Bets in.”
“It nearly took me in too,” said Daisy.
“Hallo - here’s some one else!”
“Butcher boy,” said Pip, as a boy on a bicycle came
whistling up the drive, a joint of meat in his basket on the front.
“It might be Fatty,” said Bets, joining them again, looking
rather subdued. “Better have a jolly good look. He’s got a fine butcher boy
disguise.”
They all got up and stared hard at the boy who was now
standing at the backdoor. He whistled loudly, and the cook called out to him.
“I’d know it was you anywhere,
The four children gazed at the boy’s back-view. He certainly
might be Fatty with a curly brown wig. Bets craned forward to try and make out
if his hair was a wig or not. Pip gazed at his feet to see if they were the
same size as Fatty’s.
The boy swung round, feeling their stares. He screwed up his
face at them cheekily. “Never seen any one like me before, I suppose?” he said.
He turned himself round and round, posing like a model. “Well, take a good
look. Fine specimen of a butcher’s boy, I am! Seen enough?”
The others stared helplessly. It could be Fatty - it was
more or less his figure. The teeth were very rabbity though. Were they real or
part of a disguise?
Pip took a step forward, trying to see. The boy backed away,
feeling suddenly half-scared at the earnest gaze of the four children.
“Here! Anythink wrong with me?” he said, looking down at
himself.
“Is your hair real?” suddenly said Bets, feeling sure it was
a wig - and if it was, then the boy must be old Fatty!
The butcher’s boy didn’t answer. He looked very puzzled, and
put up his hand to feel his hair. Then, quite alarmed by the serious faces of
the others, he leapt on his bicycle and pedalled fast away down the drive,
completely forgetting to whistle.
The four stared after him. “Well - if it was Fatty, it was
one up to him,” said Larry, at last “I just don’t know.”
“Let’s have a look at the meat he left on the table,” said
Pip. “Surely even Fatty wouldn’t go bicycling about with joints of meat, even
if he was pretending to be a butcher’s boy. Sausages would be much cheaper to
get.”
They went into the scullery and examined the meat on the
table. The cook came in, astonished to see them bending over the joint.
“Don’t tell me you’re as hungry as all that,” she said,
shooing them away. “Now don’t you start putting your teeth into raw meat,
Master Pip!”
It did look as if Pip was about to bite the meat; he was
bending over it carefully to make quite sure it was a real joint, and not one
of the many “properties” that Fatty kept to go with his various disguises. But
it was meat all right.
They all went out again, just as they heard a rat-a-tat-tat
at the front door. “That’s Fatty!” squealed Bets and rushed round the drive to
the front door. A telegraph boy stood there with a telegram.
“Fatty!” squealed Bets. Fatty had often used a telegraph
boy’s disguise, and it had been a very useful one. Bets flung her arms round
his plump figure.
But, oh dear, when the boy swung round, it certainly was not
Fatty. This boy had a small, wizened face, and tiny eyes! Clever as Fatty was
at disguises he could never make himself like this! Bets went scarlet.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, backing away. “I - I thought you
were a friend of mine.”
Her mother was now standing at the open door, astonished.
What was Bets doing, flinging her arms round the telegraph boy? The boy was
just as embarrassed as Bets. He handed in the telegram without a word.
“Behave yourself, Bets,” said Mrs. Hilton, sharply. “I’m
surprised at you. Please don’t play silly jokes like that.”
Bets crept away in shame. The telegraph boy stared after
her, amazed. Larry, Pip, and Daisy laughed till they ached.
“It’s all very well to laugh,” said Bets, dolefully. “I
shall get into an awful row with Mother now. But honestly, it’s exactly like
one of Fatty’s disguises.”
“Well, of course, if you’re going to think every telegraph
boy is Fatty, just because Fatty’s got a telegraph boy’s uniform, we’re in for
a funny time,” said Pip. “Gosh, I wish old Fatty would come. It’s ages since he
telephoned. The very next person must be Fatty!”
It was! He came cycling up the drive, plump as ever, a broad
grin on his good-humoured face, and Buster running valiantly beside the pedals!
“Fatty! FATTY!” shrieked every one, and almost before he
could fling his bicycle into the hedge, all four were on him. Buster capered
round, mad with excitement, barking without stopping. Fatty was thumped on the
shoulder by every one, and hugged by Bets, and dragged off into the garden.
“Fatty - you’ve been ages coming!” said Bets. “We thought
you’d be in disguise, and we watched and watched.”
“And Bets made some simply frightful mistakes!” said Pip.
“She’s just flung her arms round the telegraph boy! He was awfully startled.”
“He still looked alarmed when I met him cycling out of the
gate,” said Fatty, grinning at Bets. “He kept looking round as if he expected
Bets to be after him with a few more hugs.”
“Oh, Fatty - it’s fine to see you again,” said Bets,
happily. “I don’t know how I could have thought any of those people here this
morning were you - that awful gipsy woman - and the butcher boy - and the
telegraph boy.”
“We honestly thought you’d be in disguise,” said Larry.
“Gosh - how brown you are - almost black. Any one would think you were a
foreigner! You haven’t got any paint on, have you? I’ve never known you get
burnt so brown.”
“No - I’m just myself,” said Fatty, modestly. “No complexion
powder, no paint, no false eyelashes, no nothing. I must say you’re all pretty
brown yourselves.”
“Woof,” said Buster, trying to get on to Bets’ knee.
“He says he’s sun-burnt too,” said Bets, who could always
explain what Buster’s woofs meant. “But it doesn’t show on him. Darling Buster!
We have missed you!”
They all settled down to the iced lemonade that was left.
Fatty grinned round. Then he made a surprising statement. “Well, Find-Outers -
you’re not as smart as I thought you were! You’ve lost your cunning. You didn’t
recognize me this morning when I came in disguise!”
They all set down their glasses and stared at him blankly.
In disguise? What did he mean?
“What disguise? You’re not in disguise,” said Larry. “What’s
the joke?”
“No joke,” said Fatty, sipping his lemonade. “I came here in
disguise this morning to test out my faithful troop of detectives - and you
didn’t recognize your chief. Shame on you! I was a bit afraid of Bets, though.”
Pip and Bets ran through the people who had appeared since
breakfast that morning. “Mrs. Lacy - no, you weren’t her, Fatty. The postman -
no, impossible. The man to mend the roof - no, he hadn’t a tooth in his head.
That old gipsy-woman - no, she really was too tall, and anyway she ran like a
hare when she thought I was going to fetch Daddy.”
“The butcher boy - no,” said Larry.
“And we know it wasn’t the telegraph boy, he had such a
wizened face,” said Daisy. “You’re fooling us, Fatty. You haven’t been here
before this morning. Go on - own up! ”
“I’m not fooling,” said Fatty, taking another drink. “I say,
this lemonade is super. I was here this morning - and I tell you, Bets was the
only one I thought was going to see through me.”
They all stared at him disbelievingly. “Well, who were you,
then?” said Larry at last.
“The gipsy woman!” said Fatty, with a grin. “I took you in
properly, didn’t I?”
“You weren’t,” said Daisy, disbelievingly. “You’re pulling
our legs. If you’d seen her, you’d know you couldn’t be her. Awful creature!”
Fatty put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a pair of
long, dangling gilt ear-rings. He clipped one on each ear. He pulled out a wig
of greasy black curls from another pocket and put it on his head. He produced a
bedraggled spray of heather and thrust it into Daisy’s face.
“Buy a bit of white ’eather!” he said, in a husky voice, and
his face suddenly looked exactly like that of the brown gipsy. The others
looked at him silently, really startled. Even without the big feathered hat,
the shawl, the basket, the long black skirt, Fatty was the gipsy woman!
“You’re uncanny!” said Daisy, pushing the heather away. “I
feel quite scared of you. One minute you’re Fatty, the next you’re a gipsy
woman to the life. Take that awful wig off!”
Fatty took it off, grinning. “Believe me now?” he asked.
“Gosh, I nearly twisted my ankle, though, when I sprinted down the drive. I
honestly thought young Bets here was going to get her father. I wore
frightfully high-heeled shoes, and I could hardly run.”
“So that’s why you looked so tall,” said Pip. “Of course -
your long skirt hid your feet. Well, you took us in properly. Good old Fatty. Let’s
drink to his health, Find-Outers!”
They were all solemnly drinking his health in the last of
the lemonade when Mrs. Hilton appeared. She had heard Fatty’s arrival and
wanted to welcome him back. Fatty got up politely. He always had excellent
manners.
Mrs. Hilton put out her hand, and then stared in
astonishment at Fatty. “Well, really, Frederick,” she said, “I cannot approve
of your jewellery!”
Bets gave a shriek of delight. “Fatty! You haven’t taken off
the ear-rings!”
Poor Fatty. He dragged them off at once, trying to say
something polite and shake hands all at the same time. Bets gazed at him in
delight. Good old Fatty - it really was lovely to have him back. Things always
happened when Fatty was around!
Disguises
Bets quite expected some adventure or mystery to turn up
immediately, now that Fatty was back. She awoke the next morning with a nice,
excited feeling, as if something was going to happen.
They were all to meet at Fatty’s playroom that morning,
which was in a shed at the bottom of his garden. Here he kept many of his
disguises and his make-up and here he tried out some of his new ideas.
Many a time the others had arrived at his shed to have the
door opened by some frightful old tramp, or grinning errand boy, all teeth and
cheeks, or even an old woman in layers and layers of skirts, her cheeks
wrinkled, and with one or two teeth missing.
Yes - Fatty could even appear to have a few of his front
teeth missing, by carefully blacking one here and there, so that when he
smiled, black gaps appeared, which seemed to be holes where teeth had once
been. Bets had been horrified when she had first seen him, with, apparently,
three front teeth gone!
But this morning it was Fatty himself who opened the door.
The floor was spread with open books. The four children stepped over the madly
barking Buster and looked at them.
“Finger-prints! Questioning of witnesses! Disguises!” said
Bets, reading the titles of some of the books. “Oh, Fatty - is there another
mystery on already?”
“No,” said Fatty, shutting up the books and putting them
neatly into his bookcase at the end of the shed. “But I seem to have got a bit
out of practice since I’ve been away - I was just rubbing up my brains, you
know. Any one seen old Goon lately?”
Every one had. They had all bumped into him that morning as
they rode round to Fatty’s on their bicycles. As usual the policeman had been
ringing his bell so violently that he hadn’t heard theirs, and he had ridden
right into the middle of them.
“He fell off,” said Daisy. “I can’t imagine why, because
none of us did. He went an awful bump too, and he was so angry that nobody
liked to stop and help him up. He just sat there shouting.”
“Well, he enjoys that,” said Fatty. “Let’s hope he is still
sitting there, shouting, then he won’t interfere with us!”
“Woof,” said Buster, agreeing.
“What are we going to do for the rest of these hols if a
mystery doesn’t turn up?” asked Pip. “I mean - we must all have had picnics and
outings and things till we’re tired of them. And Peterswood is always
half-asleep in the summer. Nothing doing at all.”
“We’ll have to tickle up old Goon, then,” said Fatty, and
every one brightened at once. “Or what about my ringing up Inspector Jenks and
asking him if he wants a bit of help in anything?”
“Oh, you couldn’t do that,” said Bets, knowing quite well
that Fatty could do anything if he really wanted to. “Though it would be
awfully nice to see him again.”
Inspector Jenks was their very good friend. He had been
pleased with their help in solving many queer mysteries. But Mr. Goon had not
been nearly so pleased. The bad-tempered village policeman had wished many and
many a time that the five children and their dog lived hundreds of miles away.
“Well - perhaps I won’t bother the Inspector just yet - not
till we’ve smelt out something,” said Fatty. “But I was thinking we ought to
put in a bit of practice at disguises or something like that - we haven’t done
a thing for weeks and weeks - and suppose something did turn up, we’d make a
muddle of it, through being out of practice.”
“Oh do let’s practise disguises!” said Bets. “All of us, do
you mean?”
“Oh, yes,” said Fatty. “Rather! I’ve got some smashing new
disguises here. I picked them up on my cruise.”
Fatty had been for a long cruise, and had called at many
exciting places. He opened a trunk and showed the four children a mass of
brilliant-looking clothes.
“I picked these up in Morocco,” he said. “I went shopping by
myself in the native bazaars - my word, things were cheap! I got suits for all
of us. I thought they would do for fancy-dress, though they will do for foreign
disguises too!”
“Oh, Fatty - do let’s try them on!” said Daisy, thrilled.
She picked out a gay, red skirt of fine silk, patterned in stripes of white.
“There’s a white blouse to go with that,” said Fatty,
pulling it out. “Look - it’s got red roses embroidered all over it. It will
suit you fine, Daisy.”
“What did you get for me, Fatty?” asked Bets, dragging more
things out of the trunk. “You are a most surprising person. You’re always doing
things nobody else ever thinks of. I’m sure Pip would never never bring me home
any clothes like this if he went to Morocco.”
“I certainly shouldn’t,” said Pip, grinning. “But then I’m
not a millionaire like old Fatty here!”
Fatty certainly seemed always to have plenty of money. He
was like a grown-up in that, Bets thought. He seemed to have dozens of rich
relations who showered tips on him. He was always generous with his money,
though, and ready to share with the rest of them.
Bets had a curious little robe-like dress that reached to
her ankles. It had to be swathed round and tied with a sash. The others looked
at her, and marvelled.
“She looks like a little foreign princess!” said Larry. “Her
face is so sunburnt that she looks like an Indian - she might be an Indian!
What a wonderful disguise it would make for her!”
Bets paraded round the shed, enjoying herself. She glanced
into the big clear mirror that Fatty kept there, and was startled. She looked a
real little foreigner! She drew the hood of the frock over her head, and looked
round with half-shut eyes. Fatty clapped.
“Jolly good! An Indian princess to the life! Here, Larry -
stick this on. And this is for you, Pip.”
The boys pulled on brilliant robes, and Fatty showed them
how to wind cloths for gay turbans. All of them were so brown that in a trice
they seemed to be transformed into a different race altogether. Nobody would
have thought them English.
Fatty stared at the four parading round his shed. He
grinned. His brain set to work to try and evolve a plan to use these gay
disguises. A visiting princess? A descent on Goon for some reason? He racked
his brains for some bright idea.
“We might be the relations of the little Prince Bongawah of
Tetarua State,” said Bets, suddenly. “I’m sure we look exactly like them!”
“And who’s Bongawhatever-it-is when he’s at home?” asked
Larry. Bets explained.
“He’s a little foreign prince who is staying at one of the
School Camps on the hills between Peterswood and Marlow,” she said. “We read
about him in the paper. He brought a State Umbrella with him, but the paper
said he only used it once!”
“I bet he did,” said Larry, grinning. “Got a State Umbrella,
Fatty?”
“No,” said Fatty, regretfully. He looked at every one
admiringly. “Honestly, you’re wizard! Of course, your dark-brown faces make you
look first-class in those foreign clothes. Any one would think you belonged to
some black or brown race of people. I only wish you could parade through the
village!”
“You dress up too, Fatty, and let’s go parading!” said Bets.
But Fatty had no time to answer because Buster began to bark loudly, and tore
out of the open door at sixty miles an hour.
“Now what’s up with him?” said Fatty, in surprise. “I wonder
if old Goon’s anywhere about?”
Bets peered out of the door and up the garden path. “It’s
three boys,” she said. “Goodness - I know who one is! It’s Ern!”
“Ern!” echoed every one, and ran to the door. Three boys
were coming down the path towards the shed, and Buster was dancing excitedly
round Ern’s ankles, barking madly.
Fatty shut the door of the shed and faced the others. His
eyes sparkled.
“It’s Ern Goon!” he said. “Old Goon’s nephew! Let’s pretend
you’re foreign royalty visiting me. If you speak English, speak it badly, see?
And if I speak to you in nonsense language, you speak the same. Let’s see if we
can take old Ern in properly!”
Ern was, as Fatty said, a nephew of Mr. Goon the policeman.
He had once been to stay with his uncle and had been involved in a mystery. Mr.
Goon had not been kind to Ern, but the Five Find-Outers had, and Ern thought
the world of Fatty. Now here he was, coming to pay a call with two others. What
a chance to try out the foreign “disguises”!
Footsteps came right up to the door. Ern’s voice could be
heard speaking sternly to his two companions. “Now you behave yourself, see?
Both of you. And spit that toffee out, young Sid.”
Whether Sid spat the toffee out or not could not be gathered
by the five children in the shed. Bets giggled and Pip gave her a sharp nudge.
There was a knock on the shed-door. Fatty opened it and
stared solemnly at Ern. Then his face took on a surprised and pleased
expression. He smiled broadly and held out his hand.
“Ern! Ern Goon! This is a pleasure! Do come in, Ern, and let
me introduce you to my foreign visitors!”
Ern, Sid and Perce
Ern was still the same old Ern. He was plump, red-faced, and
his eyes bulged slightly, just as his uncle’s did, though not quite so much. He
grinned shyly at Fatty, and then gazed in awe at the four silent “foreigners,”
dressed in such brilliant clothes.
“Pleased to see you, Fatty,” he said, and shook hands for a
long time. Then he turned to the two boys behind him. They were not so old as
he was, and very alike.
“These here boys are my twin brothers,” he explained. “This
one’s Sid - and this one’s Perce. Speak up Sid and Perce. Remember your
manners. Come on - say ‘how do you do’ like I told you.”
“How do you do,” said Perce, and bobbed his towsled head,
going a brilliant scarlet with his effort at manners.
“Ar,” said Sid, hardly opening his mouth at all. Ern glared
at him.
“You still sucking that toffee, Sid? Didn’t I tell you to
spit it out, see?”
Sid made an agonized face, pointed to his mouth, and shook
his head.
“ ’E means, his teeth’s stuck fast again,” explained Perce.
“ ’E can’t say a word then. Couldn’t speak all day yesterday, neither.”
“Dear me,” said Fatty, sympathetically. “Does he live on
toffee then?”
“Ar,” said Sid, with another effort at opening his mouth.
“Does ‘Ar’ mean yes or no?” wondered Fatty. “But I’m
forgetting my manners now - Ern, let me introduce you to some very
distinguished friends of mine.”
Ern, Sid and Perce stared unblinkingly at Bets, Pip, Larry,
and Daisy, not recognizing them in the least as ordinary children. Bets turned
her head away, afraid of giggling.
“You have no doubt heard of the little Prince Bongawah of
Tetarua State,” went on Fatty. “This is his sister, Princess Bongawee.” He
waved his hand towards the startled Bets.
“Lovaduck!” exclaimed Ern, staring, “So this is the Prince’s
sister, is it! We’ve seen Prince Bongawah, Fatty - we’re camping out in the
field next to his. He’s a funny little fellow with a cocky little face.” He
turned to Sid and Perce.
“You can see they’re sister and brother, can’t you?” he
said, to Bets’ indignation. “Liike as two peas!”
“You’re right, Ern,” said Perce.
“Ar,” said Sid, working the toffee round a bit to produce
his usual remark.
Bets inclined her head majestically and looked at the three
awed boys through half-closed lids.
“Popple, dippy, doppy,” she said in a high and mighty voice.
“What’s she say?” asked Ern.
“She says, ‘your hair is very untidy,’ ” said Fatty,
enjoying himself.
“Coo,” said Ern, and swept his hand over his standing-up
hair. “Well, I didn’t know as we were going to see royalty, like, else I’d have
done me hair. Who are the others, Fatty?”
“This is Pua-Tua,” said Fatty, waving his hand towards
Daisy. “She is a cousin of the Princess’s, and waits on her - a very nice girl
indeed.”
Ern bowed, because Daisy did. Perce bowed too, but Sid
didn’t. His toffee had got stuck again, and he was concerned with that. His
jaws moved unceasingly.
“And the others are Kim-Pippy-Tok, and Kim-Larriana-Tik,”
said Fatty, making Bets long to burst into giggles.
Pip moved forward, put his face close to Ern’s, and rapidly
rubbed noses. Em started back in surprise.
“It’s all right,” said Fatty, soothingly. “That is their way
of greeting a friend.” Sid and Perce backed away, afraid of the same kind of
greeting.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Ern, with a gasp. Then he gazed
at Fatty in awe. “You haven’t half got some posh friends,” he said. “What about
those other friends of yours - Larry and Daisy and Pip and little Bets.”
“They’re not very far away,” said Fatty, truthfully. “Did
you say you were camping out somewhere, Ern?”
“Yes,” said Ern. “We got a chance of a camp-out, me and Sid
and Perce together - got the loan of a tent, see, and Ma said she’d be glad to
see the last of us for a bit. So off we skipped, and put up our tent in the
field next to one of the School Camp fields. We aren’t half having a good
time.”
“Sright,” said Perce.
“Ar,” said Sid. He suddenly put his hand into his pocket and
brought out a round tin. He took off the lid and offered the tin to Fatty.
Fatty peered in. It was almost full of dark-brown, revolting-looking toffee in
great thick pieces.
“Er - no thanks, Sid,” said Fatty. “I don’t want to spoil my
dinner. And don’t offer it to my visitors, because they will probably have to
make speeches this afternoon, and I don’t want them to be struck dumb by your
toffee.”
“Ar,” said Sid, understandingly, and replaced the lid
carefully.
“Where does he get that toffee from?” asked Fatty. “I’ve
never seen anything like it!”
“’E gets it from the ’oopla stall at the Fair near the
camp,” explained Perce. “’E’s a nib at throwing rings round things, is our Sid.
Gets himself a tin of toffee that way each day.”
“Ar,” said Sid, beaming proudly.
“Tickly - pickly - odgery, podgery, pooh,” announced Larry
suddenly. Ern, Sid, and Perce stared at him.
“What’s’e say?” asked Perce.
“He says that Sid looks rather like a bit of toffee
himself,” said Fatty, at once. “Chewed-up toffee, he says.”
There was a pause, in which at least five of the children
longed to burst into laughter.
“Bit rude, that,” said Ern at last. “Well - I suppose we’d
better be off. Been nice to see you, Fatty. Sorry we couldn’t see the others
too.”
“Have you seen your uncle, Mr. Goon?” asked Fatty.
“Coo, no,” said Ern. “I’d run a mile if I saw him. Don’t you
remember how he treated me when I stayed with him last year? Sid and Perce
don’t like him neither. I say, Fatty - any more mysteries going?”
“Not yet,” said Fatty. “But you never know when one might
boil up, do you?”
“Tooky-oola-rickity-wimmy-woo,” said Pip solemnly. “We - go
- get - icy-cream.”
“Why - he can talk English!” said Ern, in amazement. “Hear
that? I say - why shouldn’t we all go and get ice-creams? There’s a man down by
the river we could go to. I don’t want to go into the village in case I meet my
uncle.”
Fatty grinned. He looked at the other four, who gazed back
expectantly. Their “Disguises” had gone down so well with Ern, Sid, and Perce
that they were longing to go out in them. Fatty didn’t see why they shouldn’t!
If they took the river road they wouldn’t meet a great many people or attract a
crowd, but it would be fun to see the faces of the few they met!
“Iccky, piccky, tominy, wipply-wop, Kim-Pippy-Tok,” he said,
politely bowing to Pip, and waving him to the door. “We’ll all go and get
ice-creams by the river. The Princess must go first, Ern.”
“Course,” said Ern, hurriedly getting out of the way. “Now
she would look fine with a State Umbrella like her brother had. It’d suit her
all right - and what’s more, I wouldn’t mind carrying it, either, she’s such a
little duck.”
Bets drew her hood over her face to hide her laughter. Fatty
looked at Ern as if suddenly struck with a good idea. The others waited
expectantly.
“Ah, yes - of course. I’d forgotten that the Princess
Bongawee must not go out without her State Umbrella,” he said. “What a good
thing you reminded me, Ern.”
“Lovaduck! Has she got one too?” asked Ern.
Fatty disappeared and the others waited. Whatever sort of
“State Umbrella” was Fatty going to fetch?
He came back, with an enormous, gaily covered umbrella over
his head. Actually it was his mother’s golf umbrella, but as Sid, Perce, and
Ern had never seen a golf umbrella in their lives, they honestly thought it was
a very grand “State” umbrella.
“Here, Ern - you can do as you said, if you like, and carry
it over the Princess’s head,” said Fatty, and Ern nearly had a fit.
“Would she let me?” he asked.
“Dimminy-dooly-tibbly-tok,” said Bets, and gave him a sudden
smile. He blushed and looked at Fatty.
“What’s she say?” he asked.
“She says, she likes you, and she wants you to carry it for
her,” said Fatty, promptly.
“The way you understand their language beats me!” said Ern,
admiringly. “But then you always were a one, weren’t you, Fatty? Well - I’ll be
proud to hold the umbrella over Her Highness, or whatever she’s called. Sid and
Perce, get behind.”
The five Find-Outers were by now quite unable to contain
their laughter. Pip was purple in the face with his efforts to stop exploding.
Fatty looked at him.
“Tickly-kickly-koo, jinny-peranha-hook!” he said, and then
burst into laughter as if he had made a joke. The others immediately took the
opportunity of joining in and Larry, Daisy, Pip, and Bets rocked from side to
side, roaring with laughter, holding on to one another, much to the
astonishment of Ern and his two brothers.
“What’s the joke?” asked Ern, suspiciously.
“It’s too difficult to translate it for you,” said Fatty.
“Come on, now - the Princess in front, with Ern carrying her umbrella - her
cousin, Pua-Tua, just behind - and us others following.”
The little procession went down the garden path, passing the
kitchen-door on the way. The house parlourmaid stood there, shaking a mat, and
she stared open-mouthed as they passed. Ern felt terribly important.
It was very disappointing not to meet more people on the way
down to the river. They met old Mrs. Winstanton, who was so short-sighted that
all she saw was the big umbrella, which made her think it must be raining. She
hurried home before she got caught in a shower!
They met the grocer’s boy, who stared in amazed and
mystified silence. Bets giggled. Ern gave the boy a dignified bow which
mystified him still further. What was all this going on? He followed them a
little way, and then went to deliver his goods and a tale of “dressed-up
furriners under a HUGE umbrella” to a fascinated housekeeper.
They met nobody else at all. They came to the river-path and
walked solemnly along it.
“There’s the ice-cream man!” said Ern, thankfully. “Pore Sid
- he won’t be able to have one, what with his toffee and all!”
Mr. Goon gets a Surprise
The ice-cream man was lying on the river bank, fast asleep,
his tricycle-van pulled back into the shade. Fatty woke him.
He sat up, amazed at the brilliant group around him, topped
by the huge umbrella held by Ern, who was now getting a little tired of its
weight.
“What’s all this?” said the ice-cream man. “Charades or
something?”
Ern opened his mouth to introduce the Princess Bonga-wee,
but Fatty frowned at him. He didn’t want the joke to go too far - and he had an
uneasy feeling that the ice-cream man wouldn’t be taken in quite as easily as
some people. It wouldn’t do to spoil the joke for Ern. Ern, Sid, and Perce werc
in the seventh heaven of delight to think they had gone walking with a princess
and her followers.
“Nine ice-creams, please,” said Fatty. Ern corrected him.
“Eight, you mean,” he said.
“You’ve forgotten Buster,” said Fatty.
“Coo, yes,” said Ern, suddenly remembering that Buster too
loved ice-cream. Buster had been as good as gold, following the procession
solemnly, and hadn’t even been to say how-do-you-do to any dogs he met.
The ice-cream man handed out the ice-creams, making a few
more remarks as he did so.
“Pouring with rain, isn’t it?” he said to Ern, who was still
valiantly holding the umbrella over Bets. “Just as well not to get wet.”
“Funny, aren’t you?” said Ern.
“Not so funny as you look,” said the ice-cream man. “Where’d
you get that umbrella? Out of a cracker?”
“Ha - that’s where you came from, I s’pose,” said Ern, at
once. “BANG - and out of a cracker you fell!”
“That’s enough, Ern,” said Fatty, hastily, seeing a storm
about to blow up between the ice-cream man and Ern. “Come on - let’s take our
ice-creams a bit farther down the path, where it’s cooler.”
The ice-cream man remarked that he knew where he could get
Ern a clown’s hat to go with his umbrella, but Ern was not allowed to reply.
Fatty hustled him away, and his umbrella caught in the low-swinging branches of
a tree. Bets had to stand still while poor Ern struggled to release it, his
ears burning at a few more remarks from the witty ice-cream man.
They went on at last again, holding the freezing ice-cream
cartons in their hands. Sid had one too, and every one was curious to see how
he could manage to eat an ice-cream with his mouth still full of toffee. His
toffee slab seemed unending. So far as any one knew he still had the same piece
in his mouth.
And then someone came cycling round the corner of the path -
someone burly and red-faced, with a dark-blue uniform and helmet.
“It’s Uncle!” gasped Ern, in a panic.
“Goon!” said Fatty. “Old Clear-Orf! Well, well - this is
going to be funny!”
Buster recognized Goon with delight. He tore up to his
bicycle and jumped at his feet. Goon got off at once and kicked out at the
excited little Scottie.
“Clear-Orf!” he said, angrily. “Here, you, call this dog
orf, or I’ll kick him into the river. Proper little pest, he is.”
“Hallo, Mr. Goon,” said Fatty, politely. “I haven’t seen you
for a very long time. Come here, Buster. Heel, sir, heel!”
Buster ran to Fatty reluctantly, and Mr. Goon had time to
take in the whole group. He gaped. What a lot of foreigners - and Ern with
them. Ern! He didn’t even know Ern was in the district. He advanced on Ern, who
almost dropped the huge umbrella he was still holding.
“Ern! What you doing here?” thundered Mr. Goon. “And bless
me, if it isn’t Sid and Perce too! What’s all this about? And what’s the
umbrella for?”
“Uncle! Don’t shout like that,” begged Ern. “This is a
princess here, and that’s why I’m holding an umbrella over her. It’s a State
Umbrella. Don’t you know one when you see one?”
Mr. Goon didn’t even know a golf umbrella when he saw one,
much less a State one. He stared at Ern disbelievingly. Era went on in an
urgent voice.
“Uncle, you’ve heard of Prince Bongawah, who’s staying in
one of the camps, up on the hills over there, haven’t you? Well, this is his
sister, Princess Bongawee - and that’s her cousin - and...”
Goon was amazed. He looked at Bets, wrapped closely and
gracefully in her robes, the hood partly drawn across her sunburnt face. Her
face seemed faintly familiar to him, but he didn’t for one moment think of Bets
Hilton. She stood there rather haughtily, a little scared, without saying a
single word.
Goon cleared his throat. He looked at Fatty, who said
nothing. “They were visiting Fatty,” explained Ern. “And of course, I told them
about Prince Bongawah, who’s camping in the field next to us, Uncle - and I’d
have known this princess was his sister - they’re as like as two peas.”
“But how did you come to be mixed up with them?” asked Goon,
suspiciously.
“Your nephew, Ern, came to pay a call on us, that’s all, Mr.
Goon,” said Fatty, delighted that Ern should be telling Mr. Goon such a
marvellous tale. “And the Princess Bongawee liked Ern, and requested him to
hold her - er - her State Umbrella over her. And Ern’s good manners are well
known - so here he is.”
Mr. Goon had never had any opinion of Ern’s manners at all.
He considered that Ern had none. He stared first at Ern, then at the haughty
little Princess, and then at Fatty. Fatty stared back unwinkingly.
“She a real Princess?” asked Mr. Goon, in a confidential
aside to Fatty. Before Fatty could answer, Bets spoke in a high little insolent
voice that amused Fatty immensely.
“Ikky-oola-potty-wickle-tok,” she said.
“What’s she say?” asked Goon with interest.
“She wants to know if you’re a real policeman,” said Fatty,
promptly. “What shall I tell her?”
Mr. Goon glared at him. Bets interrupted again.
“Ribbly-rookatee, paddly-pool,” she said.
“What does that mean?” asked Mr. Goon. Fatty put on an
embarrassed look.
“I don’t like to tell you, Mr. Goon,” he said.
“Why? What’s it matter?” said the policeman, curious.
“Well - it’s rather a personal remark,” said Fatty. “No - I
don’t really think I can tell you, Mr. Goon.”
“Go on - you tell me,” said Goon, getting angry.
“Yes - you tell him,” said Ern, delighted at the idea of the
Princess saying something rude about his uncle.
“Ar,” put in Sid, unexpectedly. Goon turned on him at once.
“What you interfering for? And what do you mean by standing
there with your mouth full in front of royalty? Go and empty your mouth!”
“Ar,” said Sid, in panic.
“It’s toffee, Uncle,” said Ern. “Stick-me-tight toffee. It
can’t be spit out.”
Bets went off into a peal of laughter. Then she hurriedly
spoke a few more words. “Wonge-bonga-smelly-fiddly-tok.”
“There she goes again,” said poor Goon. “You tell me what
she said then, Master Frederick.”
“I can’t possibly,” persisted Fatty, making Goon feel so
curious that he could hardly contain himself. His face began to go purple, and
his eyes bulged a little. He stared at the little Princess, who giggled again.
“I only say - why he got FROG face!” said Bets, in a very
foreign voice. Everyone immediately exploded, with the exception of poor Sid
who couldn’t get his mouth open.
Mr. Goon exploded too, but in a different way. He was very
angry. He took a step forward and Ern instinctively lowered the umbrella and
put its vast circle just in front of Mr. Goon’s nose.
“Don’t you hurt the Princess, Uncle,” came Ern’s quavering
voice from behind the huge umbrella. Then Buster joined in the fun again, and
flew at Mr. Goon’s ankles, snapping very deftly at the bicycle clips that held
his trousers tightly round his legs.
Mr. Goon roared in anger. “I’ll report that dog! I’ll report
you too, Ern - trying to stick that umbrella into me!”
“Mr. Goon, I hope you won’t upset the relations of the
British with the Tetaruans,” said Fatty, solemnly. “We don’t want the Prince of
Tetarua complaining that you have frightened his sister. After all, Teturua is
a friendly State. If the Prime Minister had an incident like this reported to
him by an angry Prince, there might be...”
Mr. Goon didn’t stay to listen to any more. He knew when he
was defeated. He didn’t know anything about the Tetaruans, but he did know that
little States were very touchy nowadays, and he was rather horrified to hear
what Fatty said. He got on his bicycle, aimed a last kick at Buster, and sailed
away in a purple dignity.
“I’ll have something more to say to you, young Ern,” he
shouted, as he pedalled past, with Buster at his back-wheel, making him wobble
almost into the river. “I’ll come up to your camp, you see if I don’t!”
He left Ern petrified by his threat, but still valiantly
holding the umbrella. Every one collapsed weakly on the grass, and even Sid
managed to open his mouth wide enough to let out a sudden guffaw.
“Our poor ice-creams,” said Bets, suddenly relapsing into
English, and looking at the ice-cream in her carton. It was like custard.
Nobody noticed she was speaking English except Fatty, who gave her a little
frown.
They licked up their ice-creams with difficulty. Sid managed
to pour his somehow into his mouth, between his stuck teeth. Fatty grinned
round.
“A most creditable performance!” he said. “Princess, my
congratulations!”
“Binga-bonga-banga,” said Bets, graciously.
“What about fresh ice-creams?” said Fatty. But Ern, Perce,
and Sid couldn’t stay. Ern had heard the church clock striking twelve, and as
he had been promised a camp dinner by the caravanners next to his tent, if he
got back at half-past twelve, he felt impelled to go.
He bowed most politely to Bets, and handed the State
Umbrella to Fatty. “Pleased to have met you,” said Ern. “I’ll tell your brother
about you when next I see him over the hedge. Like as peas in a pod, you are!”
Sid and Perce nodded a good-bye, and then they all went off
to get the ferry across the river to the hills on the other side.
“Thank goodness we can talk properly again,” said Larry. “My
word, Fatty - what a morning! I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself so much!”
Disappearance!
Two days later Fatty, Larry, and Pip all had tremendous
shocks. Fatty got down to breakfast before his mother and father, and poured
himself out some coffee. He took the two papers they had each morning to his
own place, and prepared to enjoy them in peace.
The headlines flared at him, big and black. “Disappearance
of a Prince from Camp. Vanishes in the night. Prince Bongawah gone.”
And in Larry’s house, Larry too was reading the same
headlines out to Daisy, having found the papers on the front doorstep and
brought them in.
In Pip’s house, Pip was, as usual trying to read his
father’s newspaper back to front. The back page was never very interesting to
Pip, because it was all about horse-racing, golf, and tennis, in none of which
he took any interest. Cricket scores were usually in too small print for him to
see. So he waited patiently for his father to study the cricket scores himself
on the back page, when Pip would be able to read the front page.
And there, staring at him, were some very interesting
headlines. “Prince vanishes. Tetarua informed. Boys in camp questioned.”
Pip nudged Bets and nodded his head towards the paper. She
read the headlines too. Good gracious! That must be the Prince Bongawah whose
sister she had pretended to be. How very extraordinary! Bets thought hard about
it. Would it matter her having pretended? No, it couldn’t. They had only done
it to play a trick on Ern.
Yet another person was most interested in the disappearance
of the young prince. That was Mr. Goon, of course. He also read it in his
morning newspaper, and a few minutes later his telephone bell rang, and he had
the news from headquarters. He thought rapidly.
“My word - I’ve met the Prince’s sister,” he thought. “If we
get hold of her, we might get some news! I’d better get on to the Inspector
straightaway.”
He corrected himself. “I should say the Chief Inspector!
He’s had promotion again. I’ve never had any. Got enemies, I have, no doubt of
that. Keeping a Good Man down, that’s what they are. Wait till I get them!”
He brooded for a few minutes on enemies that prevented
promotion, and then rang up headquarters again and asked for the Chief
Inspector.
“He’s busy,” said the voice at the other end. “What do you
want him for, Goon?”
“Something to do with the Prince Bongawah Disappearance,”
said Goon, pompously. “Very interesting.”
“Right. Hold on a minute,” said the voice. Then Goon heard
the Chief Inspector’s voice, sharp, confident and a little annoyed.
“What is it, Goon? I’m busy.”
“Sir, it’s about that Prince Bongawah, or whatever his name
is,” said Goon, “I’ve met his sister, sir, the little Princess Bongawee. I
wondered if any one had thought of questioning her. She might know something
about her brother’s disappearance.”
There was a moment’s silence. Then the Chief Inspector’s
voice came again, sounding astonished.
“Sister? What sister? This is the first time I’ve heard of
her.”
Goon swelled with importance. “Yes, sir. I met her two days
ago, sir, with her cousin, who looks after her. And two of her train, sir, all
very posh and high and mighty.”
There was another astonished pause. “Is that really you
speaking, Goon?” said the Chief Inspector’s voice at last. “This really is so
astonishing.”
“Course it’s me speaking, sir,” said Goon, surprised and
hurt. “Why shouldn’t it be? I’m just reporting somethink to you, as is my duty.
Would you care for me to interview the Princess, sir?”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” said the Chief Inspector. “I
must ask a few questions of somebody here. We’ve had no reports of any sister
or Princess or cousin! I must find out why.”
Goon waited, feeling pleased to have caused such a
commotion, Ha - let Inspector Jenks ask all the questions he liked, he’d have
to Ict him, Goon, handle this in the end! That was a bit of luck meeting Fatty
with those Tetaruans and their umbrella. A thought struck him. How was it that
Fatty knew them?
“Drat that boy!” thought poor Goon. “Here I’ve got a fine
bit of investigation in my hands - and I’ve got to say it’s that fat boy that
introduced me to the Princess! Then the Inspector will get on to that toad of a
boy, and he’ll take the whole matter out of my hands!”
He sat and brooded about this, the telephone receiver stuck
to his left car. Then he brightened. He could say that his nephew, Ern, had
introduced him. After all, it was Ern who had given him all the details. That
was quite true. He needn’t bring Fatty into it at all.
The Chief Inspector’s voice came down the telephone again,
making Goon jump.
“Are you there, Goon? Well, I’ve made a few enquiries this
end, and nobody seems to know anything about a sister who’s called Princess
Bongawee. But seeing that you appear to have met her, I suppose we must enquire
into it. How did you meet her?”
“Well, sir - my nephew Ern was with her, and he told me
about her and who she was,” said Goon.
“Ern - your nephew Ern! ” said the Inspector, astounded. He
remembered the plump, rather spotty, extremely plain nephew of Mr. Goon quite
clearly. Hadn’t he been mixed up in another mystery? Oh yes - and had come
quite well out of it too, in the end. But Ern! In the company of a Tetaruan
Princess! The Inspector wondered again if this telephone call was a hoax. But,
no, it couldn’t be. He knew the harsh voice of Mr. Goon’s only too well!
“What was Ern doing with the Princess?” asked the Inspector,
at last.
“Well - he was holding a - a State Umbrella over her,” said
Mr. Goon, beginning to feel that this tale of his didn’t really sound very
credible.
There was another pause. The Inspector swallowed once or
twice. Was Goon all right? Had he got a touch of the sun? This tale of a
Princess - and Ern - and a State Umbrella sounded nonsense to him. The
Inspector simply didn’t know what to make of it at all.
“Look here, Goon,” he said, “this is all very extraordinary
- but I suppose there may be something in it if you think it’s important enough
to telephone me about. I think I will leave you to contact this - er -
Princess, and ask her a few questions. Why she’s here, when she came - what
she’s doing, who she’s with, and so on. Go and do that now. I’ll send a man
over to check what you find.”
“Right, thank you, sir,” said Goon, pleased that he was
going to handle the matter first. He clicked down the receiver, and went to get
his helmet. It was a great pity he had to go and see that toad of a boy, Fatty.
Master Frederick Trotteville. Huh! He’d soon show him he’d got to answer his
questions, though. He’d Stand No Nonsense from that Pest.
He cycled round to Fatty’s house. He knocked sharply at the
front door. The maid opened it, and he asked for Fatty.
“He’s gone out, sir,” said the maid.
“Where’s he gone?” demanded Mr. Goon.
Mrs. Trotteville, Fatty’s mother, heard Mr. Goon’s rather
loud voice, and came into the hall.
“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Goon,” she said, politely. “Did you want
Frederick? He’s out, I’m afraid. Was there something you wanted to ask him?”
“Well, Madam, I did want to ask him a few questions about
the Princess Bongawee,” said Mr. Goon. “But perhaps you can tell me. Was she
staying here?”
Mrs. Trotteville looked amazed. “What Princess?” she asked.
“I’ve never even heard of her.”
“She’s the sister of that Prince Bongawah that’s vanished,”
explained Mr. Goon.
This didn’t convey anything to Mrs. Trotteville at all. She
hadn’t taken any interest in the morning’s report of the Prince’s
disappearance. She had merely thought he hadn’t liked cold baths or something,
and had run away. And anyway, what was it to do with Frederick?
“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr. Goon,” she said.
“Frederick has only been back home for two or three days and as far as I know
he hasn’t been about with any Princesses at all. I feel sure he would have
introduced them to me if he knew any. Good morning.”
“But - do you mean to say you didn’t ask her in to tea or
anything?” said Mr. Goon desperately.
“Why should I, if I have never even met her?” said Mrs.
Trotteville, thinking that Mr. Goon must be out of his mind. “Good morning.”
She shut the door and left a perspiring Mr. Goon outside.
Now he had got to go and find that fat boy. Where would he be? He might be
round at those precious friends of his - the Hilton’s - or those other’s -
Larry and Daisy somebody-or-other.
Mr. Goon cycled first to Larry’s house. But again he drew a
blank. Larry and Daisy were both out.
“Probably round at Master Trotteville’s,” said their maid.
But Mr. Goon knew better. Nobody was going to send him trapesing back there
again!
He cycled, very red in the face now, down the road, and all
the way to Pip’s. He cycled up to the front door, and hammered angrily on the
knocker.
The five children were out in the garden with Buster. Buster
growled at the knocking and Fatty put a restraining hand on him.
Bets went peeping round the hedge to see who it was at the
front door. She ran back, looking scared.
“It’s Mr. Goon. Old Clear-Orf. He looks very red and cross,”
she said. “Oh dear - do you think he’s come to ask us about the Princess I
pretended to be? He’s really so very silly, I’m sure he thinks I was real!”
Fatty got up. “Come along,” he said. “Out of the gate at the
bottom of the garden we go, top speed. If any one calls us, we’re not here! If
Goon is hunting for the Princess Bongawee, let him hunt! Do him good. Shut up,
Buster - if you bark, you’ll give the game away!”
They all fled silently down the garden to the little gate
that opened on to the lane at the bottom. Buster ran too, without even half a
growl. Something was Up, was it? Well, he could play his part too, then!
When Mrs. Hilton took Mr. Goon out into the garden to find
the children, there was no one there. No one in the summer-house either! How
peculiar!
“I am sure I heard them out here a minute ago,” she said.
“Pip! Bets! Where are you?”
No answer at all. Mrs. Hilton called once more and then
turned to the purple Mr. Goon. “I expect you will find them either at Frederick
Trotteville’s, or at Larry’s,” she said. “Perhaps you would like to go there?”
Mr. Goon had a vision of himself chasing from one house to
another endlessly in search of an elusive Fatty. He scowled, and sailed away
morosely on his bicycle.
“Really,” thought Mrs. Hilton, “that policeman’s manners get
worse and worse every day!”
Ern and Mr. Goon
Somebody else was also very excited that morning, besides
the Find-Outers and Mr. Goon. Ern was most astonished when he heard the news of
Prince Bongawah’s disappearance. He learnt it in rather a peculiar fashion.
Ever since he had met the Princess Bongawee at Fatty’s
house, he had kept a look out for the little Prince over the hedge. He was
longing to tell him that he had met his sister.
But somehow he hadn’t caught sight of him. Still, Ern didn’t
give up, and that very morning he had squirmed right through the hedge, hoping
to find the Prince himself.
He was most astonished to find two policemen nearby. They
pounced on Ern at once. “What are you doing in this field?” demanded one, his
hand on Ern’s neck.
“I only just came over to look for someone,” said Ern
wriggling. “Lemme go. You’re hurting.”
“You’ll get hurt a lot more if you come interfering here
now,” said the policeman grimly. “You might even disappear - like the little
Prince!”
This was the first Ern had heard of any disappearance. He
stared at the two policemen. “Has he disappeared?” he said, astonished. “Coo,
think of that! When did he go?”
“Sometime in the night,” said the policeman, watching Ern
closely: “Hear anything? You’re camping in that tent, I suppose?”
“Yes. I didn’t hear nothing at all,” said Ern, at once. “Coo
- to think I met his sister, the Princess, a few days ago!”
“Oh yes?” said one of the policemen, mockingly. “And did you
have tea with his mother the Queen, and dinner with his old man?”
“No. But I had an ice-cream with his sister,” protested Ern.
“Oh yes?” said both policemen at once. One of them gave him
such a violent shake that Ern almost fell over. “Now you get along,” he said.
“And just remember it’s always best to keep your nose out of trouble. You and
your tales! What you want’s a good whipping!”
Ern felt that it was the last thing he wanted. He squeezed
back through the hole in the hedge, hurt to think that his tale had been
disbelieved. He determined to go and tell Fatty about the Prince’s
disappearance. It didn’t occur to him that it was already in all the papers.
He set off by himself, without Sid or Perce. Perce was in a
bad temper that morning, and Sid as usual had his mouth full of Stick-Me-Tight
toffee, so there was no conversation to be got out of him at all. Ern felt that
he wanted a little intelligent company. Neither Sid nor Perce could be called
really interesting companions.
He decided to borrow a bicycle from one of the nearby
caravanners. There was one there, leaning against the caravan. Ern snooped
round, looking for the owner.
He found him at last, a boy a bit older than himself. “Lend
me your bike?” called Ern.
“Sixpence,” called back the thrifty owner. Ern parted
reluctantly with sixpence, and rode off down the field path to the gate,
wobbling over the ruts.
Meanwhile, Mr. Goon was cycling grumpily back home again.
Just as he turned a corner he caught sight of a plump boy cycling towards him.
It was Ern. Ern, however, was not particularly anxious to meet his uncle, so he
turned his bike round hurriedly and made off in the opposite direction.
For some reason Mr. Goon took it into his head to think that
the fat boy in the distance was Fatty in one of his errand boy disguises.
He began to pedal furiously. Oho! So that toad of a boy was
Up to his Tricks again, was he? He was disguising himself so as to keep away
from Mr. Goon and his questions, was he? Well, he, Mr. Goon, would soon put an
end to that! He would cycle after him till he caught him.
So Mr. Goon cycled. The pedals went up and down furiously,
he rang his bell furiously as he rounded the corner, and he looked furious too.
Any one looking at Mr. Goon at that moment would have thought that he was on
Very Important Business Indeed.
Ern took a look over his shoulder when he heard the furious
ringing of Mr. Goon’s bell coming round the corner. He was horrified to find
his uncle racing after him down the street. Ern began to pedal very quickly
indeed.
“Hey you!” came a stentorian voice from halfway down the
street. Ern’s heart almost failed him. His uncle sounded so very stern. But
what had he, Ern done now? Was his uncle going to go for him for protecting the
princess with the State Umbrella?
Ern pedalled away and shot round a corner. So did Mr. Goon.
Both got hotter and hotter, and Ern became more and more panic-stricken. Mr. Goon
began to get very angry indeed. He was absolutely certain it was Fatty leading
him this dance. Wait till he got him! He’d pull off his wig, and show him he
couldn’t deceive him!
Ern turned another corner, and found himself cycling up a
path into a barn. He couldn’t stop. Hens and ducks fled out of his way. Ern
ended up on the floor of a dark barn, panting, and almost in tears.
Mr. Goon came up the path at top speed too. He also landed
in the dark barn, but not on the floor. He came to a stop just by Ern.
“Now, you just take off that wig,” commanded Mr. Goon, in an
awful voice. “And let me tell you what I think of boys who lead me a dance like
this, just when they know I want evidence regarding the Princess Bongawee!”
Ern stared up at his uncle in amazement. What was he talking
about? Did he think Ern was wearing a wig? It was dark in the barn, and at
first Mr. Goon did not see that it was Ern. Then, as his eyes grew used to the
shadows, he saw who it was. His eyes bulged almost out of his head.
“Ern! What you doing here?” he almost yelled.
“Well, Uncle - you chased me, didn’t you?” said Ern, in
alarm. “I was frightened. Didn’t you know it was me? You pedalled after me all
right.”
Mr. Goon collected himself with an effort. He stared down at
Ern, who was still on the floor. “What did you run away from me for?” he asked,
sternly.
“I told you. You chased me,” said Ern.
“I chased you because you were running away,” said Mr. Goon,
majestically.
“Well, Uncle - I ran away because you were chasing me,” said
poor Ern, again.
“You being cheeky?” asked Mr. Goon, in an awful voice.
“No, Uncle,” said Ern, thinking it was time he got up. He
was too much at Mr. Goon’s mercy on the floor. Anything might happen to him
with his uncle so furious! Ern didn’t know what was the matter at all. All he
had done was to try to get away from his uncle.
“Have you seen that fat boy to-day?” asked Mr. Goon,
watching Ern slowly and cautiously get up.
“No, Uncle,” said Ern.
“You seen that there Princess again?” asked his uncle.
“No, Uncle,” said Ern, in alarm. “I say - you’re not after
her, are you?”
“Do you know where she lives?” said Mr. Goon, thinking that
perhaps he might get something out of Ern, if he couldn’t find the elusive
Fatty.
“Why don’t you ask Fatty?” said Ern, innocently. “He knows
her very well. I expect she sees him every day. Coo - she might know something
about her brother’s disappearance. I never thought of that! ”
“Now you listen here, Ern,” said Mr. Goon, solemnly. “You
remember Chief Inspector Jenks? Well, I’ve been talking to him on the phone
to-day, see, about this same disappearance. And he’s put me in charge of the
case. I’m trying to find that princess to question her. But do you think I can
find that pest of a boy to ask him about her? He’s nowhere to be found! Makes
me think he’s disappearing too - on purpose!”
Ern picked up his bike, listening hard. He thought it very
likely indeed that Fatty was avoiding Mr. Goon. Ern considered it was a very
sensible thing to do. Perhaps Fatty was on to this case too? Perhaps - oh joy -
perhaps a mystery had suddenly turned up right under his very nose. Maybe Fatty
was avoiding Mr. Goon so that he shouldn’t have to give away what he knew about
the Princess.
Ern grinned suddenly, much to his uncle’s astonishment. “What
you grinning at all of a sudden?” he asked suspiciously.
Ern didn’t answer. His grin faded. “Now you look here, young
Ern,” boomed Mr. Goon, “if I catch you hanging round Peterswood, hob-nobbing
with that pest of a boy, I’ll have you and Sid and Perce cleared out of that
camp in double-quick time - do you hear me? You don’t know nothing about this
case at all, and you aren’t going to know anything, either. I know you and your
ways - telling tales of this and that and the other! All you can tell that boy
this time is that I’m in charge of this, and if he doesn’t tell me all he knows
about that princess before teatime, so’s I can report to the Chief Inspector,
he’ll get into Serious Trouble. Very Serious Trouble.”
Mr. Goon was quite out of breath after this long speech. Ern
edged out of the barn. The hens peeping round the door scattered at once,
clucking. Ern leapt on his bicycle and rode out at top speed.
“You go and tell that boy I want him!” yelled Mr. Goon, as a
parting shot. “I’m not going all over the place after him again!”
Ern cycled quickly to Fatty’s, relieved to have got away
from his uncle without a cuff or a blow. He hoped to goodness he would find
Fatty at home. He was lucky! Fatty was in his shed with the others, keeping a
watch for Goon.
Ern poured out his tale, and was disappointed to find that
the others already knew about the Prince’s disappearance from the papers. “What
about that Princess, Fatty?” said Ern. “Don’t she know nothing about her
brother?”
“Ern - she wasn’t a real Princess,” said Fatty, thinking it
was time to own up to their joke. “That was only young Bets here dressed up in
some things I brought from Morocco. And her cousin was Daisy, and the others
were Larry and Pip!”
“Kim-Larriana-Tik, at your service,” said Larry, with a bow.
“Kim-Pippy-Tok,” said Pip, with another bow. Ern stared,
bewildered. He rubbed his hand over his eyes. He stared again.
“Lovaduck!” he said at last. “No, I can’t believe it! Just
you dressed up, little Bets! And you looked a real princess too. Coo! No wonder
my uncle’s wanting to see you, Fatty, and ask about the Princess - and no
wonder you don’t want to see him! Took him in properly, we did! Me with the
State Umbrella and all!”
Bets began to laugh. “You were fine, Ern,” she said. “Oh
dear - didn’t we talk a foreign language beautifully! Onna-matta-tickly-pop!”
“Beats me how you can talk like that,” said Ern,
wonderingly. “But I say - what’s the Inspector going to say about all this? My
uncle says he told him all about the Princess this morning, and he’s been put
in charge of the case! He says I’m to tell you to Keep Off! He’s met the
Princess too, he says, and you’ve got to tell him where she lives so that he
can interview her.”
Fatty groaned. “I knew this would happen! Why did I do such
a fool thing! It was just because you turned up when you did, Ern. Well - I
suppose I’d better ring up the Chief Inspector and tell him everything. All I
hope is that he’ll laugh.”
“Better go and do it now,” said Pip, nervously. “We don’t
want old Goon round complaining about us again. If you get the Inspector on
your side, we’ll be all right.”
“Right,” said Fatty, getting up. “I’ll go now. So long! If
I’m not back in five minutes you’ll know the Inspector has gobbled me up!”
He went off down the garden path to the house. The others
looked rather solemnly at one another. What in the world would the Inspector
say when he heard there was no Princess?
And worse still - whatever would Goon say? He must have told
the Inspector all about her. He wouldn’t like it one little bit when he knew it
was all a joke!
Two Unpleasant Talks
The Chief Inspector was not at all pleased with Fatty’s
tale. At first he couldn’t make head or tail of it, and his voice became quite
sharp.
“First Goon telephones a cock-and-bull story of some Princess
who says she’s Prince Bongawah’s sister, and now you ring me and say there’s no
such person, it was only Bets dressed up,” said Inspector Jenks. “This won’t
do, Frederick. A joke’s a joke, but it seems to me you’ve gone rather far this
time. You’ve made Goon waste time on a lot of nonsense, when he might have been
doing a bit of more useful investigation.”
“I quite see that, sir,” said poor Fatty. “But actually it
was all an accident - we’d no idea when we dressed up and called Bets the
Princess Bongawee that Prince Bongawah was going to disappear. It was a most
unfortunate coincidence. I mean - we couldn’t possibly have guessed that was
going to happen.”
“Quite,” said the Chief Inspector. “You have a very curious
knack of turning up in the middle of things, Frederick, haven’t you? Accidental
or otherwise. You’ll certainly make Goon gnash his teeth over this! By the way
- how on earth did that nephew of his - Ern or some such name - come to be
mixed up in this idiotic Princess affair?”
“He just happened to barge in on us when we were dressing
up,” explained Fatty. “You know he and his twin brothers are camping in the
field next to where the little Prince was camping, don’t you? It’s a pity he’s
such a mutt or he might have noticed something.”
There was a pause. “Yes,” came the Chief Inspector’s voice,
at last. “I’d let Goon question them, but I don’t think he’d get much out of
Ern, somehow. You’d better see if you can find out something, Frederick -
though you don’t deserve to come in on this, you know, after your asinine
behaviour.”
“No, sir,” said Fatty, humbly, his face one huge grin at the
thought of “coming in on this”! That meant a little detective work again. Aha!
So these hols were going to have something exciting, after all!
“All right,” said Inspector Jenks. “Make your peace with
Goon if you can, and tell him to telephone me afterwards. He will not be pleased
with you, Frederick. Neither am I. You’d better try and rub off this black mark
quickly!”
Without saying good-bye the Chief Inspector rang off, and
Fatty heard the receiver click back into place. He put back his own, and stood
by the wall, thinking hard. He felt thrilled, but rather uncomfortable. Quite
by accident he had got mixed up with the Prince Bongawah simply because Bets
had dressed up as a Princess and Ern had seen her! How could he have known the
Prince was going to disappear, and that old Goon would immediately spread the
news about his mythical sister? Just like Goon! Always on to the wrong thing!
It was going to be most unpleasant breaking the news to Goon
that the Princess of Bongawah was just a joke. She didn’t really exist. It was
only Bets, dressed up, who had taken in old Goon!
“I play too many jokes,” thought Fatty to himself. “But it’s
going to be a pretty poor life for me and the others if I cut out all the
tricks and jokes we like. We play them too well, I suppose. Gosh - there’s Goon
coming in at the front gate! Now for it!”
Fatty went to the front door before Mr. Goon could hammer at
the knocker. He wasn’t particularly anxious for his mother to hear what he had
to say to Goon.
Goon stared at Fatty as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Here I’ve been chasing you all day and you come and open the door to me before
I’ve even knocked!” hc said. “Where have you been?”
“That doesn’t matter,” said Fatty. “Come into this room, Mr.
Goon. I’ve something to say to you.”
He took the burly policeman into the little study, and Goon
sat down in a chair, feeling rather astonished. “I’ve got plenty to ask you,”
he began. “Been after you all day to get some information.”
“Yes. Well - you’re going to have quite a lot of
information,” said Fatty. “And I’m afraid it will be a bit of a shock to you,
Mr. Goon. There’s been an unfortunate misunderstanding.”
“Huh! ” said Mr. Goon, annoyed at Fatty’s way of speaking.
“I don’t want to know about unfortunate misunderstandings, whatever they may be
- I just want to ask you about this here Princess Bonga - er, Bonga-what’s her
name.”
“Bongawee,” said Fatty, politely. “I was going to tell you
about her. She doesn’t exist.”
Goon didn’t take this in at all. He stared at Fatty,
bewildered. Then he poked a big fat finger into the boy’s face.
“Now you look here - you can pretend all you like that she
doesn’t exist, but I saw her with my own eyes. She’s important in this here
case, see? You may want to pretend that you don’t know her now, nor where she
is, but I’m not having any of that. I’m in charge of this, and I’m going to
demand answers to my questions. Where’s this Princess now?”
Fatty hesitated. “Well - I’ve already told you she doesn’t
exist,” he said. “There’s no such Princess. It was only Bets dressed up.”
Goon went a dull red, and his eyes bulged a little more. He
pursed up his mouth and glared. Now what was this boy up to? The Princess was
Bets dressed up! What nonsense! Hadn’t he heard her talk a foreign language
with his own ears?
“You’re making up a tale far some reason of your own, Master
Frederick,” he burst out at last. “I not only saw the Princess, but I heard
her. She talked all foreign. Nobody can talk foreign if they don’t know the
language.”
“Oh yes, they can,” said Fatty. “I can ‘talk foreign’ for
half an hour if you want me to. Listen!”
He poured out a string of idiotic, completely unintelligible
words that left Mr. Goon in a whirl. He blinked. How did this boy do these
things?
“There you are,” said Fatty, at last. “Easy! You try, Mr.
Goon. All you have to do is to let your tongue go loose, if you know what I
mean, and jabber at top speed. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just complete
nonsense. You try.”
Mr. Goon didn’t even begin to try. Let his tongue go loose?
Not in front of Fatty, anyway! He might try it when he was by himself, perhaps.
In fact, it might be a good idea. He, too, might be able to “talk foreign”
whenever he pleased. Mr. Goon made a mental note to try it out sometime when he
was quite by himself.
“See?” said Fatty, to the dumbstruck policeman. “I only just
let my tongue go loose, Mr. Goon. Do try. Anyway, that’s what Bets and the
others did - we didn’t really ‘talk foreign’ as you call it.”
“Do you mean to say that that procession Ern was with was
just Bets and your friends dressed up?” said poor Mr. Goon, finding his tongue
at last. “What about the State Umbrella?”
Fatty had the grace to blush. “Oh that - well, actually it
was a golf umbrella belonging to my mother,” he said. “I tell you, it was all a
joke, Mr. Goon. Ern happened to come along when they were all dressed up, and
you know what he is - he just fell for everything, and swallowed the whole tale
of Princess and lady-in-waiting and all! We went out for ice-creams - and then
we met you!”
Mr. Goon suddenly saw it all now. He was full of dismay and
horror. To think of all he had told the Chief Inspector too! How was he to get
out of that? He buried his face in his hands and groaned, quite forgetting that
Fatty was still there.
Fatty felt extremely uncomfortable. He didn’t like Mr. Goon
at all, but he hadn’t meant to get him into this humiliating fix. He spoke
again.
“Mr. Goon, it was a silly mistake and most unfortunate, of
course, that the Prince Bongawah should go and disappear just after we’d
pretended Bets was his sister. I’ve told the Chief Inspector all about it. He’s
just as annoyed with me as you are, but he does see that it was pure
coincidence - just an unlucky chance. We’re all very sorry.”
Mr. Goon groaned again. “That golf umbrella! I told him it
was a State Umbrella. He’ll think I’m potty. Every one will think I’m potty.
Here I am, struggling for promotion, doing my very best, and every time you
come along and upset the apple-cart. You’re a toad of a boy, that’s what you
are!”
“Mr. Goon, I am sorry about this,” said Fatty. “Look here -
let’s work together this time. I’ll try and make up for this silly beginning.
We’ll solve this mystery together. Come on - be a sport!”
“I wouldn’t work with you if the Inspector himself told me
to!” said Mr. Goon, rising heavily to his feet. “Once a toad, always a toad!
And what would working with you mean? I’ll tell you! False clues put under my
nose! Me running about at night to find people that aren’t there! Me arresting
the wrong person while you’ve got the right one up your sleeve! Ho - that’s
what working with you would mean!
“All right,” said Fatty, getting angry at being called a
toad so often. “Don’t work with me, then. But if I can put any information your
way I will, all the same - just to make up for upsetting your apple-cart.”
“Gah!” said Goon, stalking out. “Think I’d listen to any
information from you! You think again, Master Frederick Trotteville. And keep
out of this. I’m in charge, see, and I’ll solve this mystery or my name’s not
Theophilus Goon!”
A Little ‘Portry’
Mr. Goon went to telephone the Chief Inspector. He felt
extremely gloomy and downhearted. Why did he always believe everything Fatty
said and did? Why didn’t he spot that the State Umbrella was no more than a
golf umbrella? What was there about that pest of a boy that always made him
come to grief?
“I’ll never believe a word he says again,” thought Mr. Goon,
taking down the telephone receiver. “Never in this world! He’s a snake in the
grass! He’s a - a toad-in-the-hole. No - that’s a pudding. Talking about me
working with him! What sauce! What cheek! What...”
“Number please?” said the voice of the exchange for the
third time, and Mr. Goon collected himself and gave the Chief Inspector’s
number.
“Letting your tongue go loose too,” he went on thinking.
“What does he mean? Let’s try it - abbledy, abbledy, abbledy...”
“What’s that you say?” asked a surprised voice the other
end, and Mr. Goon jumped. “Er - can I speak to Chief Inspector Jenks, please?”
he asked.
The conversation between the Inspector and Mr. Goon was
short, and much more satisfactory to Mr. Goon than he had dared to hope.
Apparently Inspector Jenks was annoyed with Fatty, and although a little
sarcastic about people who believed in false princesses and particularly in
State Umbrellas, he said far less than Mr. Goon had feared.
“All right, Goon,” he finished. “Now for pity’s sake put
your best foot forward, and get something sensible done. It’s in your district.
Go and interview the boys up in the camp, use your brains, and PRODUCE
RESULTS!”
“Yes, sir,” said Goon. “And about that boy Frederick
Trotteville, sir - he’s not to...”
But the Chief Inspector had rung off, and Goon stared at the
silent receiver crossly. He had meant to put in a few well-chosen remarks about
Fatty’s shocking deception, and now it was too late.
Fatty told the others the result of his telephone call to
the Chief Inspector, and of his interview with Goon. Bets was sorry for Goon.
She didn’t like him any more than the others did, but all the same she thought
he hadn’t had quite a fair deal this time - and it was really her fault because
she had passed herself off so gleefully as the Princess Bongawee!
“We really will try to help him this time,” she said. “We’ll
pass him on anything we find out.”
“He probably won’t believe a word,” said Fatty. “Still - we
could pass anything on through Ern. He might believe Ern.”
Ern was still there. He looked alarmed. “Here - don’t you go
telling me things to pass on to my uncle,” he protested. “I don’t want nothing
to do with him. He don’t like me, and I don’t like him.”
“Well, Ern, it would only be to help him,” said Bets,
earnestly. “I feel rather awful about everything really - especially about the
bit where I called him ‘frog-face’ in broken English!”
Fatty laughed. “Gosh - I’d forgotten about that. Fancy you
doing that, young Bets! He’ll be calling you a toad, if you call him a frog!”
“It was awfully rude of me,” said Bets. “I can’t think what
came over me. Ern - you will pass on anything we want you to, to your uncle,
won’t you?”
Ern couldn’t resist Bets. He had a tremendous admiration for
her. He rubbed his hand over his untidy hair, and stared helplessly at her.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll do what you say. But mind, I
don’t promise he’ll believe me. And I’m not going too near him, either. I’ll
tell him over a fence or something. You don’t know what a temper my uncle’s
got.”
“Oh yes, we do,” said Fatty, remembering some very nasty
spurts of temper that Mr. Goon had shown in the past. “We don’t really want to
help him, Ern, but we do want to make up for messing him about this time,
that’s all. We’ll make amends, if we can’t be friends.”
“I say! That last bit sounds like portry,” said Ern.
“We’ll make amends,
If we can’t be friends.”
See? It’s portry, isn’t it?”
“No - it just happened to rhyme, that’s all,” said Fatty.
“By the way, you used to write a lot of poetry - er, portry, I mean, Ern - do
you still write it?”
“Not so much,” said Ern, regretfully. “It don’t seem to
come, like. I keep on starting pomes, but that’s as far as I get. You know -
just the first line or two, that’s all. But I’ve got one here that’s three
lines almost.”
“Oh, Ern - read it!” said Daisy, delighted. Ern’s poems were
always so very dismal and gloomy, and he was so very serious over them.
Ern fumbled in his pocket and brought out a dirty little
notebook with a pencil hanging to it by a string. He licked his thumb and began
to turn the pages.
“Here we are,” he said, and cleared his throat solemnly. He
struck an attitude, and began to recite his “pome” haltingly.
“A pore old gardener said, ‘Ah me!
My days is almost done,
I’ve got rheumatics...’ ”
Ern stopped and looked at the others in despair. “I got
stuck there,” he said. “That’s what always happens to me. I just get stuck - in
the very middle of a good pome too. Took me two hours and twenty-one minutes to
get that far. I timed meself. And now I can’t finish it.”
“Yes - I can tell it would be a good pome,” said Fatty,
solemnly. “It goes like this, Ern.”
And Fatty also struck an attitude, legs apart, hands behind
his back, face turned upwards - and recited glibly, without stopping.
“A pore old gardener said, ‘Ah me!
My days is almost done,
I’ve got rheumatics in my knee,
And now it’s hard to run.
I’ve got a measle in my foot,
And chilblains on my nose,
And bless me if I haven’t got
Pneumonia in my toes.
All my hair has fallen out,
My teeth have fallen in,
I’m really getting rather stout,
Although I’m much too thin.
My nose is deaf, my ears are dumb,
My tongue is tied in knots,
And now my barrow and my spade
Have all come out in spots.
My watering-can is...’ ”
Larry shouted with laughter and Pip thumped Fatty on the
back, yelling. Bets collapsed with Daisy on the rug. “Don’t,” said Bets. “Stop,
Fatty! How do you do it! ”
Fatty stopped, out of breath. “Had enough?” he said. “I was
just coming to where the watering-can was feeling washed out, and the spade was
feeling on edge, and...”
“Don’t, Fatty!” begged Bets again, giggling helplessly. “Oh
dear - How do you do it?”
Only Ern was silent, without a smile or a laugh. He sat on
the edge of a chair, struck with absolute wonder. He gazed at Fatty, and
swallowed hard. He couldn’t make it out. How could Fatty stand there and recite
all that without thinking about it?
“Struck dumb, all of a sudden?” asked Fatty, amused.
“How do you like the way your ‘pome’ goes on, Ern? It’s a
pity you didn’t finish it, you know. You could have read it out to us then,
instead of my saying it to you.”
Ern was even more bewildered. He blinked at Fatty. “Do you
mean to say - if I had finished that pome that’s what it would have been like?”
he asked, in an awed voice.
“Well - it’s your pome, isn’t it?” said Fatty cheerfully. “I
mean - I only just went on with it. I think you work too hard at your pomes,
Ern. You just want to throw them off, so to speak. Like this -
“The little Princess Bongawee
Was very small and sweet,
A princess from her pretty head
Down to her tiny feet.
She had a servant, Ern by name,
A very stout young fella,
Who simply loved to shield her with
A dazzling...”
STATE UMBRELLA!” yelled everyone, except Ern. There were
more yells and laughs. Ern didn’t join in. He simply couldn’t understand how
Fatty could be so clever. Fatty gave him a thump.
“Ern! Wake up! You look daft, sitting there without a smile
on your face. What’s up?”
“You’re a genius, Fatty, that’s what’s up,” said Ern. “The
others don’t know it, because they don’t know how difficult it is to write
portry. But I do. And you stand there and - and...”
“Spout it out,” said Fatty. “It’s easy, that kind of stuff.
I’m not a genius, Ern. Anyone can do that kind of thing, if they think about
it.”
“But that’s just it,” said Era. “You don’t even think about
it. It’s like turning on a tap. Out it comes. Coo, lovaduck! If I could do
portry like that I’d think meself cleverer than the King of England.”
“Then you’d be wrong,” said Fatty. “Cheer up, Ern. One of
these days your portry will come gushing out and then you’ll be miserable
because you won’t be able to write it down fast enough.”
“I’d get a shock if it did,” said Ern, putting away his
dirty little notebook with a sigh. “I’m proud to know you, Fatty. If the others
don’t know a genius when they see one, I do. I’m not a very clever fellow, but
I know good brains when I come across them. I tell you, you’re a genius.”
This was a very remarkable speech indeed from Ern. The
others looked at him in surprise. Was there more in Ern than they suspected?
Bets slipped her hand through Fatty’s arm.
“You’re right, Ern,” she said. “I think Fatty’s a genius
too. But not only in poetry. In everything!”
Fatty looked pleased but extremely embarrassed. He squeezed
Bets’ hand. He coughed modestly, and then coughed again, trying to think of
something to say. But Larry spoke first, amused at Fatty’s modest coughs.
“It was a coff,
That carried him off,
It was a coffin
They carried him offin,”
he said in a solemn and lugubrious voice. Whereupon the
meeting dissolved in squeals of laughter and yells and thumps. Ern was
delighted. What a set of WONDERFUL friends he had!
Up at the Camp
That afternoon Fatty began to “investigate” in earnest. He
had studied the papers, but had learnt very little from them. Apparently the
little prince had joined in a camp sing-song the night he had disappeared, and
had then had some cocoa and gone off to his tent with the three other boys he
shared it with.
These three boys could give no help at all. They had been
tired and had fallen asleep immediately they had got into their sleeping-bags.
When they awoke, it was morning, and the Prince’s sleeping-bag was empty.
That was all they could say.
“There’s not very much to go on,” thought Fatty. “I suppose
someone has kidnapped the boy. I’ll have to question Ern and Sid and Perce,
though I don’t expect any of them know a thing - and I’ll have to snoop round
the camp a bit too, and keep my ears open.”
He cycled round to Pip’s that afternoon and found Larry and
Daisy there. “Has any one got a relation of some sort up at the
camping-ground?” asked Fatty. “I haven’t as many relations as you have. Larry -
can’t you produce a cousin or something who might be staying at the camp?”
“No,” said Larry. “What about you, Pip?”
“What schools are up there?” said Pip. “Where’s the paper? I
saw a list of them to-day.”
They scanned the list carefully. “Ah - there are boys from
Lillington-Peterhouse,” said Pip. “I know a cousin of mine goes there. He might
be at the camp.”
“What’s his name?” asked Fatty.
“Ronald Hilton,” said Pip. “He’s older than I am.”
“We could go and find the Lillington-Peterhouse lot,” said
Fatty, “and ask for Ronald. If he’s there you can have a pow-wow and the rest
of us will have a snoop round, and keep our ears open.”
“I don’t much want to have a pow-wow with Ronald,” said Pip.
“He’ll think it awful cheek. I tell you, he’s older than I am.”
“Do you realize this may be a Mystery?” said Fatty,
severely. “I know it doesn’t seem like one at all, and we’ve begun all wrong,
somehow - but it’s a possible mystery, so it’s your duty to do what you can,
Pip.”
“Right,” said Pip, meekly. “I’ll pow-wow, then. But if I get
a clip on the ear, come and rescue me. I hope if it’s a mystery it livens up a
bit. I can’t get up much interest in a little foreign prince being kidnapped.”
“Nor can I,” admitted Daisy. “But you never know. I bet we
don’t get much out of Ern, Sid, or Perce, Fatty. They wouldn’t notice anything
if it went on under their noses!”
“Got your bikes, Larry and Daisy?” asked Fatty. “Come on
then, let’s go. We won’t use the ferry, we’ll go round by the bridge, and up to
the camp that way. It’s not very far on bikes.”
They set off, with Buster as usual in Fatty’s basket. He sat
up there, perky and proud, looking down his nose at any other dog he met.
“If you get any fatter I shan’t be able to take you in my
basket much longer, Buster,” panted Fatty, as he toiled up a hill.
“Woof,” agreed Buster, politely. He turned round and tried
to lick Fatty’s nose, but Fatty dodged.
They got to the camp at last. It was in a very large field,
sloping down to the river on one side. Clumps of trees stood here and there.
Tents were everywhere, and smoke rose from where a meal was cooking. Boys
hurried about, yelling and laughing.
The Find-Outers put their bicycles against a hedge. Fatty
spoke to a boy coming along.
“I say! Where’s the Lillington-Peterhouse lot?”
The boy jerked his head towards the river. “Last tents down
there.”
The five children strolled down to the tents. Pip looked
nervous. He really didn’t like accosting a cousin two years older than himself,
and very much bigger. He hoped he wouldn’t see him.
But in a moment or two he got a thump on the back and a
cheerful-faced boy, three inches taller than Pip, shouted at him.
“Philip! What are you doing? Don’t say you’ve come to look
me up!”
Pip turned round. He grinned. “Hallo, Ronald!” he said.
“Yes, I did come to look you up. Awful cheek on my part. Hope you don’t mind.”
It was funny to hear Pip being called by his right name, Philip.
Pip introduced his cousin to the others. Ronald stared hard at Fatty.
“I say! Aren’t you the chap Philip is always gassing about -
the one that works with the police or something?”
Fatty looked modest. “Well, I do help the police sometimes,”
he admitted.
“Are you on a job now?” asked Ronald, eagerly. “Come and
tell us about it!”
“No - no, I can’t,” said Fatty. “We’ve just come up here to
see you - and out of interest because of the disappearance of that young
Prince.”
“Oh, that fellow!” said Ronald, leading them all into a very
spacious tent. “Don’t bother about him! Jolly good riddance, I say! He was the
most awful little beast imaginable!”
There was a long wooden table in the tent and on it were
spread plates of jam sandwiches, potted meat sandwiches, buns, and slices of
fruit cake. Jugs of lemonade stood at intervals down the length of the table.
“You do yourselves well! ” said Larry.
“Help yourselves,” invited Ronald. “I’m helping with the
catering this week - head cook and bottle-washer, you know. It’s a bit early
for tea, but everything’s ready and we might as well get what we want before
the hungry hordes rush in.”
They each got plates, and piled them with food. It really
was not more than an hour or so since they had finished their lunches, but that
made no difference. All of them could eat, hungrily, at any time of the day or
night, including Buster, who was now sniffing about under the table, snapping
up all kinds of tasty bits and pieces.
Ronald led them out into the field again, complete with plates
of food, and took them down to the river. “Come on - we’ll sit and eat in peace
here,” he said. “My word Trotteville, I’m pleased to meet you. Philip’s told me
no end of tales about you at one time and another - and I’ve told them to my
pals too.”
Fatty told him a few morc, and enjoyed himself very much.
Pip got bored. His cousin took no further notice of him, he was so wrapped up
in Fatty. Pip finished his tea and got up. He beckoned to Larry.
“Come on - let’s go for a wander round,” he said. “We might
pick up something.”
They strolled round the field. Nobody took much notice of
them. Larry stopped a boy going by. “Where’s the tent Prince Bongawah slept
in?” he asked.
“Over there, if it’s any interest to you!” said the boy
cheekily, and hurried off.
Pip and Larry walked over to the tent he had pointed out.
Outside sat three boys, munching sandwiches. They were all about Pip’s age.
“Good tent, yours,” said Larry to the boys. It certainly was
a very fine one indeed, much better than any other tent nearby.
“Supplied by his Royal Highness, Prince Bongawah-wah-wah,”
said one of the boys.
Pip laughed. “Why do you call him that?” he asked. “Didn’t
you like him?”
“No,” said the boys, all together. A red-haired one waved
his sandwich at Larry.
“He was a frightful, cocky little fellow,” he said. “And a
real mutt. He yelled at everything, like a kid of seven!”
“That’s why we called him Wah-wah,” said another boy. “He
was always wah-wahing about something.”
“Did he talk English?” asked Larry.
“Well, he was supposed to know hardly a word,” said
Red-Hair. “He just talked rubbish, usually - but he could speak our language
all right if he wanted to! Though goodness knows where he picked it up! Talk
about Cockney!”
“What school did he go to?” asked Larry.
“None. He had a tutor,” said Red-Hair. “He was a regular
little urchin, for all he was a prince! All his clothes of the Very Very Best,
even his pyjamas - but did he wash? Not he! And if you said you’d pop him into
the river he’d run a mile, wah-wahing!”
“Lots of foreigners are like that,” said the third boy,
munching away. “We’ve got two at our school. One never cleans his teeth and the
other howls if he gets a kick at football.”
“Do you think the Prince got kidnapped?” asked Pip, feeling
rather thrilled with all this first-hand information.
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” said Red-Hair. “If he is
kidnapped, I hope he stays kidnapped, that’s all. Have a look at his
sleeping-bag. Did you ever see one like it?”
Larry and Pip peeped inside the marvellous tent. Red-Hair
pointed to a sleeping-bag at one side. It certainly was most magnificent,
padded and quilted and marvellously embroidered.
“Try it,” said Red-Hair. “I tried it once. It’s like being
floated away on a magic carpet or something when you get inside - soft as
feathers!”
Pip wriggled inside. It certainly was an extraordinarily
luxurious bag, and Pip felt that if he closed his eyes he would be wafted away
into sleep at once. He wriggled down a little further and felt something hard
against his leg. He put his hand down to feel what it was.
It was a button! A very fine button too, blue, with a gold
edge. Pip sat up and looked at it. Red-Hair glanced at it.
“One of the buttons off his pyjamas,” he said. “You should
have seen them! Blue and gold with those buttons to match.”
“Do you think I might keep it as a souvenir?” said Pip. He
really wondered if by any chance it might turn out to be a Clue!
“Gosh - what do you want a souvenir for? Are you daft?” said
the second boy. “Keep it if you want to. I don’t reckon Wah-Wah will want it
again! If he loses a button he’ll be provided with a new set of pyjamas!”
“Did he leave his pyjamas behind?” asked Larry, thinking it
might be a good idea to look at them.
“No. He went off in them,” said Red-Hair. “That’s what makes
every one think he was kidnapped. He’d have dressed himself if he had run
away.”
Larry and Pip wandered out into the open air again. A loud
voice suddenly hailed them.
“Larry! Pip! What you doing up here?” And there was Ern’s
plump face grinning at them from over the nearby hedge. “Come on over! We’ve
got our tent here!”
A Little Investigation
“Hallo, Ern!” said Larry, surprised. He had forgotten that
Ern had been camping so near the big Camp Field. The faces of Sid and Perce now
appeared, Perce grinning, Sid very solemn as usual.
Larry and Pip said good-bye to Red-Hair and his friends and
squeezed through the hedge to Ern. Pip had put the pyjama button safely into
his pocket. He didn’t know whether it might be useful or not.
Ern proudly showed the two boys his tent. It was a very
small and humble affair, compared with the magnificent one they had just left -
but Ern, Sid, and Perce were intensely proud of it. They had never been camping
before, and were enjoying it immensely.
There were no sleeping-bags in the tent, merely old, worn
rugs spread over a ground-sheet. Three mugs, three broken knives, three spoons,
two forks (“Perce lost his when he was bathing,” was Ern’s mystifying
explanation), three mackintosh capes, three enamel plates, and a few other
things.
“Fine, isn’t it?” said Ern. “We get water from the tap over
in the Camp Field. They let us use it if we just go straight there and back.
But they won’t let the caravanners use it. So we get it for them, and in return
they sometimes cook us a meal.”
There were a good many caravans scattered about, and also
one or two more small tents. The caravan standing next to Ern’s tent was empty,
and a litter of papers was blowing about.
“The people there have gone,” said Ern. “There was a woman
and two kids - the kids were babies. Twins like Perce and Sid.”
“Ar,” said Sid, who was following them about, chewing. “Ar.”
“What’s he mean, arring like that?” asked Pip, annoyed.
“Can’t he ever talk properly?”
“Not while he has toffee in his mouth,” said Ern. “Ma don’t
allow him so much when he’s at home, of course, so he talks a bit more there.
But here, when he can eat toffee all day long, he never says much except ‘Ar.’
Do you, young Sid?”
“Ar,” said Sid, trying to swallow the rest of his toffee
quickly, and almost choking.
“He seems to want to say something,” said Pip, interestedly.
“Do you, Sid?”
“Ar,” said Sid, frantically, going purple in the face.
“Oh, it’s only to tell you about the twin-babies, I expect,”
said Ern. “He was cracked on them, was our Sid. He used to go over to that
caravan and pore over the pram hours on end. He’s dippy on babies.”
Pip and Larry looked at Sid with surprise. He didn’t seem at
all the kind of boy to be “dippy on babies.”
Sid pointed down to the ground, where there were four
different sets of pram-wheel marks.
“There you are, you see - I said he wanted to tell you about
them twins,” said Ern. “He used to stand by their pram and pick up all the
rattles and things they dropped. I bet he’s ready to howl now they’re gone.
He’s a funny one, Sid is.”
“Ar,” said Sid, in a strangled voice, and almost choked
again.
“You’re disgusting,” said Ern. “You and your toffee. You’ve
et a whole tin since yesterday. I’ll tell Ma on you. You go and spit it out.”
Sid wandered away, evidently giving up all hope of proper
conversation. Pip heaved a sigh of relief. Sid and his toffee gave him a
nightmare feeling.
“Sid was proper upset this morning, when the twins went,”
said Perce, entering amicably into the conversation. “He went over to joggle
the pram like he does when their mother wants them to go to sleep - but she
yelled at him and chased him away. That made the babies yell too, and there
wasn’t half a set-to.”
“What did she want to do that to our Sid for?” said Ern,
quite annoyed at any one yelling at his Sid. “He’s been good to those smelly
kids, he’s wheeled their big pram up and down the field for hours.”
Pip and Larry were getting tired of all this talk about Sid
and the babies. Who cared anyway?
“Ern - did you hear anything at all last night when Prince
Bongawah was supposed to be kidnapped?” asked Larry. “Did Sid or Perce?”
“No. We none of us heard anything,” said Ern, firmly. “We
all sleep like tops. Sid don’t even wake if there is a thunderstorm bang over
his head. The whole camp could have been kidnapped, and we wouldn’t have known
a thing. Good sleepers, the Goons are.”
Well, that was that. There didn’t seem to be anything at all
to be got from Ern. How maddening to know some one living just across the hedge
from the Prince, and to get nothing out of him at all!
“You did see the prince, though, didn’t you?” said Larry.
“Yes. I told you,” said Ern. “He was a funny little fellow
with a cocky little face. He made faces.”
“Made faces?” said Larry, in astonishment. “What do you
mean?”
“Well, whenever Sid or Perce or me peeped through the hedge,
he’d see us and make a face,” said Ern. “He may have been a Prince, but he
hadn’t been brought up proper. Brown as a gipsy, of course, proper foreign.”
“Browner than us?” asked Pip.
“’Bout the same,” said Ern.
“Why did you say that he and Bets were as like as peas in a
pod?” asked Pip, suddenly remembering this extraordinary remark of Ern’s.
Ern blushed. “Oh well, seemed as if brother and sister ought
to look alike,” he muttered, and busily kicked a stone along. “Coo, I wonder
what happened to his State Umbrella! You should have seen it, Pip. Somebody
came to visit him, and one of them put up this enormous umbrella - all blue and
gold it was - and carried it over him. He didn’t half scowl.”
“Didn’t he like it, then?” asked Pip.
“Well, every one laughed and yelled and shouted,” said Ern.
“It looked a bit queer, you know.”
“Hallo, there! ” suddenly came Fatty’s voice over the hedge.
“Why did you wander off like that? You left me to do all the talking, Pip.”
“That’s why I went,” said Pip. “You like talking, Fatty,
don’t you?”
“Can we come through the hedge?” called Daisy’s voice. “Is
there a place where we shan’t tear our clothes?”
Ern gallantly held aside some prickly branches for the girls
to squeeze through the hedge. Fatty followed. “Nice cousin of yours, that
fellow Ronald,” Fatty said to Pip. “We had quite a chat.”
“You must have done quite a lot of ‘questioning of
witnesses,’ then,” said Pip, slyly, remembering the books Fatty had been
studying a day or two before. “Did you get any interesting information about
this case?”
“Well, no,” said Fatty, who had actually spent the whole
time relating some of his own exploits to the open-mouthed Ronald. “No. I
didn’t gather much.”
“What about you, Pip?” asked Bets. “Have you been
questioning Ern, Sid and Perce?”
“Yes,” said Pip. “But Larry and I didn’t get much out of
them. They slept all night long and didn’t hear a thing. They haven’t the
faintest idea what happened to Prince Bongawah-wah-wah.”
“Ar,” said Sid, joining them suddenly. His jaws chewed
frantically. Pip looked at him in disgust.
“Go away,” he said. “And don’t come back till you can say
something else. I shall start ‘arring’ myself in a minute. ARRRRRRRR!”
He made such a fierce noise that Sid gave him an alarmed
glance and fled.
Pip took out the blue and gold button from his pocket and
showed it to the others.
“This is the solitary clue - if it can be called a clue -
that we’ve found,” he said. “I found it in the sleeping-bag belonging to the
Prince. It came off his blue and gold pyjamas.”
“Well, what use do you think that is?” asked Fatty. “Is it
going to help us to find out who kidnapped the Prince, or when or how - or
where he’s gone? Not much of a clue, Pip.”
“No,” said Pip, pocketing the button again. “I thought it
wasn’t. But you always tell us to examine everything and keep everything - just
in case. So I did. By the way, he didn’t dress - he disappeared in his
pyjamas.”
That made Fatty stare. “Are you sure, Pip? Who told you?”
“The boys who slept in his tent,” said Pip.
“Well, that’s funny,” said Fatty.
“Why?” asked Daisy. “There wouldn’t be any time, would
there, for him to dress? Besides, wouldn’t he disturb the other boys if he
did?”
“Not if he stole outside in the dark when they were asleep,”
said Fatty. “He could take his clothes with him and dress quickly. Any one
wandering about in pyjamas would be spotted.”
“But Fatty - surely there wouldn’t be time for any one to
dress if he was being kidnapped,” said Daisy again. “They’d just grab the
Prince out of his tent and make off with him, in his pyjamas.”
“Oh no, Daisy,” said Fatty. “You’re not being very clever.
Kidnappers would never creep through a crowded field, falling over tent-ropes
and pegs finding their way to one special tent, opening the flap, dragging out
one special boy in the darkness, who would surely yell the place down. After
all, he was called Bongawah-wah-wah because he howled so much.”
“Oh,” said Daisy. “Yes - that was very silly of me. Of
course kidnappers wouldn’t do it like that. What do you think they did?”
“I think somebody arranged for him to steal out after
lights-out,” said Fatty. “Perhaps they said they’d take him to that Fair in the
next town - it goes on till all hours! Something like that. You can’t tell. And
if he was going to be kidnapped, the kidnappers would find it easy - there he
would be, waiting at the gate for them, all ready dressed, thinking what a Lad
he was.”
“I see - and they’d just whisk him away in a car and that
would be that,” said Pip.
“Oh - now I see why you’re surprised he was in pyjamas,”
said Daisy. “If the kidnapping was planned in that way, he certainly wouldn’t be
in pyjamas!”
“Correct,” said Fatty, with a grin.
“Maybe he couldn’t spot his clothes in the darkness,”
suggested Ern, helpfully.
“This isn’t a mystery, it’s a silly sort of puzzle,” said
Bets. “Nobody heard anything, nobody saw anything. Nobody knows anything. I’m
beginning to feel it couldn’t have happened!”
Sid Finds His Voice
“Come on - it’s time we went,” said Fatty, getting bored.
“We’re absolutely at a dead end here. Wherever Prince Bongawah is, he’s
probably still in his blue and gold pyjamas. Good luck to him!”
They rode off, waving good-bye to Ern and Perce. Sid was
nowhere to be seen, for which every one was thankful.
“He chews his toffee like a cow chewing the cud,” said Pip.
“Have you noticed how spotty he is? I really do believe he lives on toffee and
nothing else.”
“I never want to see him again,” said Bets. “He makes me
feel sick.”
“Well, there’s no reason why we should ever see him again,”
said Fatty. “So long as Ern comes alone to see us. I don’t intend to visit dear
Sid and Perce.”
But he did see Sid again, and that very evening too! Fatty
was trying on one of his newest disguises down in his shed, when there came a
knock at the door.
Fatty looked through a hole, pierced in the door for spying,
to see who was outside. Gosh - it was Ern - with Sid! How aggravating, just as
he was going to practise this disguise.
Fatty turned quickly and looked at himself in the big mirror.
He grinned. He’d try the disguise out on Ern and see if it worked!
Fatty opened the door. Ern stood outside, ready with a
smile. Sid beside him. The smile faded as Ern saw, not Fatty, but a bent old
man with side-whiskers, a straggly beard, shaggy white eyebrows, and wispy
white hair on a bald pate. He was dressed in a loose, ill-fitting old coat,
with dragged-down pockets, and corduroy trousers wrinkled and worn.
“Oh - er - good evening,” said Ern, startled. “Is - er - is
Mr. Frederick Trotteville in?”
The old man put a trembling hand behind one ear and said,
“Speak up! Don’t mumble. What’s that you say?” His voice was as quavery as his
hand.
Ern shouted: “IS MR. FREDERICK IN?”
“Now don’t you shout,” said the old man, in a cross voice.
“I’m not deaf. Who’s Mr. Frederick?”
Ern stared. Then he remembered that Fatty was always called
Fatty. Perhaps this old man only knew him by that name.
“Fatty,” he said loudly. “FATTY.”
“You’re a very rude boy,” said the old man, his voice
quavering higher. “Calling me names.”
“I’m not,” said Ern, desperately. “Look here - where’s the
boy who lives here?”
“Gone,” said the old fellow, shaking his head, sadly. “Gone
to live in London.”
Ern began to think he must be in a dream. Fatty gone to
London! Why, he’d only seen him an hour or so ago. He glanced anxiously at the
shed. Had he come to the right place?
“Why has he gone?” he asked at last. “Did he leave a
message? And what are you doing here?”
“I’m his caretaker,” said the old fellow, and took out a big
red handkerchief. He proceeded to blow his nose with such a loud trumpeting
noise that Ern fell back, alarmed. Little did he know that Fatty was hiding his
gulps of laughter in that big red handkerchief!
Sid backed away too. He slid down the path but Ern caught
him by the arm.
“Oh no, you don’t, Sid! You’ve come here to say something
important, and say it you’re going to, if it takes us all night to find Fatty.
If you go back to the camp you’ll fill your mouth with toffee again, and we
shan’t none of as get a word out of you! You’re the only one of us with a Real
Clue, and Fatty’s going to know it!”
“I say! Has he really got a clue?” said the old man, in
Fatty’s crisp, clear voice. Ern jumped violently and looked all round. Where
was Fatty?
The old man dug him in the ribs and went off into a cackle
of laughter that changed suddenly into Fatty’s cheerful guffaw. Ern stared at
him open-mouthed. So did Sid.
“Lovaduck! It’s Fatty!” cried Ern, overjoyed and astounded.
“You took me in properly. Coo, you’re an old man to the life. How do you make
yourself bald?”
“Just a wig,” said Fatty, lifting it off his head and
appearing in his own thatch of hair. He grinned. “I was practising this
disguise when you came. It’s a new wig, and new eyebrows, side-whiskers and
beard to match. Good, aren’t they?”
“You’re a marvel, Fatty, honest you are,” said Ern,
wonderstruck. “But your voice - and your laugh! You can’t buy them! You ought
to be on the stage.”
“Can’t,” said Fatty. “I’m going to be a detective. It’s a help
to be a good actor, of course. Come in. What’s all this about Sid and a clue?”
“Well,” said Ern, solemnly, “it’s like this. Sid wanted to
tell us all something this afternoon and he couldn’t, because of his toffee.
Well, he worked and he worked at his toffee till it all went.”
“Tiring work,” said Fatty, sympathetically. “And then, I
suppose, he found his voice again. Can he really say something besides ‘ar’?”
“Well, not much,” said Ern, honestly. “But he did tell us
somethink very queer - very queer indeed, Fatty. So I’ve brought him down here
to tell you. It may be very very important. Go on, Sid - you tell him.”
Sid cleared his throat and opened his mouth. “Ar,” he began.
“Ar - you see, I heard them yelling. Ar, I did.”
“Who was yelling?” enquired Fatty.
“Ar, well,” said Sid, and cleared his throat again. “They
were yelling, see.”
“Yes. We know that,” said Fatty. “Ar.”
That put Sid off. He gazed beseechingly at Ern. Ern looked
back forbiddingly.
“See what happens to you when you get toffee-mad?” he said.
“You lose your voice and you lose your senses. Let this be a lesson to you,
young Sid.”
“Has he really come just to tell me somebody was yelling?”
asked Fatty. “Isn’t there anything else?”
“Oh, yes. But p’raps I’d better tell you,” said Ern, and
Sid’s face cleared at once.
“Ar,” he said.
“And don’t you interrupt,” said Ern, threateningly. Sid had
no intention of interrupting at all. He shook his head vigorously, not even
venturing another “ar.”
“Well, this is what Sid told us,” said Ern, beginning to enjoy
himself. “It’s queer, Fatty, honest it is. You’ll hardly believe it.”
“Oh, get on, Ern,” said Fatty. “This may be important. Begin
at the beginning, please.”
“I told you - at least I told Larry and Pip - that our Sid
here is mad on babies,” said Ern. “He’s always going about joggling their prams
and picking up their toys and saying ‘Goo’ to them. Well, next to our tent
there’s a caravan - you saw it. It’s empty now. The people went to-day.”
Fatty nodded. He was listening hard.
“The woman in the caravan had a couple of twin-babies,” said
Ern. “And being twins Sid got more interested in them than usual - him and
Perce being twins, you see. So he played with them a lot. Didn’t you, Sid?”
“Ar,” said Sid, nodding.
“Well, this morning Sid heard those babies yelling like
anything,” said Ern, warming up to his tale. “And he went over to joggle the
pram. The woman was in the caravan, packing up - and when she saw our Sid
there, she flew out at him and smacked him on the head. A fair clip it was! She
told him to clear off.”
“Why?” asked Fatty. “Sid was only doing what he’d been in
the habit of doing. Had the woman ever objected before?”
“No,” said Ern. “She let him wheel them up and sometimes
down, too. And a heavy job it was, because it’s a double pram, made to take
twins. Well, she smacked his head and Sid went off, upset like.”
“I don’t wonder,” said Fatty, wondering when the point of
all this long tale was coming. “What came next?”
“The woman dragged the pram round to the back of the
caravan,” said Ern, “where she could keep her eye on it. But those babies still
went on yelling, and our Sid here, he couldn’t bear it.”
“Ar,” said Sid, feelingly.
“So when the woman took some things and went off down to one
of the other caravans, Sid popped over to the pram to see what was the matter
with the babies,” said Ern. “They sounded as if they was sitting on a safety
pin or something. Anyway, Sid put his hand down under them and scrabbled about,
like - and he felt somebody else down in that big pram, Fatty!”
Fatty was really startled. He sat up straight. “Somebody
else!” he said, incredulously. “What do you mean?”
“Well - just that,” said Ern. “Sid felt somebody else - and
he pulled the clothes back just a little bit, and saw the back of a dark head,
and a bit of dark cheek. Then one of the babies grabbed at Sid, and rolled over
and hid whoever it was in the pram.”
Fatty was astounded. He sat silent for a minute. Then he
looked at Sid. “Who did you think it was in the pram?” he asked.
“The Prince,” said Sid, quite forgetting to say “ar” in his
excitement. “He was hiding there. He didn’t know I saw him. Ar.”
“Well!” said Fatty, taking all this in. “So that’s what
happened. He simply crept out of his tent in his pyjamas, and hid in the
caravan for the night - and in the early morning the woman packed him into the
bottom of that big pram, hidden under the babies! How uncomfortable! He must
have been all screwed up - and awfully hot.”
“Ar,” said Sid, nodding.
“Then the woman must have got some one to fetch all her
goods, and have wheeled the pram away herself, with the little Prince in it,”
said Fatty. “Nobody would guess. But why did it happen? What has she got to do
with it? Why did the Prince creep away to her? Gosh - it’s a mystery all
right!”
“I thought you’d be pleased, Fatty,” said Ern, happily.
“Good thing Sid got rid of his toffee, wasn’t it? That’s what he was trying to
tell us this afternoon. Almost choked himself trying to get the news out.”
“It’s a pity he didn’t tell somebody as soon as he knew
this,” said Fatty.
“He did try,” said Ern. “But I just thought he wanted to go
swimming or something when he kept pointing to the caravan. Sid’s never very
talkative even in the ordinary way. His tongue never grew properly, Ma says.”
“I’ll have to think what to do,” said Fatty. “Ern, you must
go and tell your uncle. I said we’d tell him everything we found out. You’d
better go and tell him straight away.”
“Lovaduck! I can’t do that!” said poor Ern. “Why, he’d give
me such a clip on the ear that I wouldn’t be able to hear for a month of
Sundays!”
Mr. Goon hears the News
All the same, Ern had to go. Fatty didn’t want to ring up
the Chief Inspector quite so soon after his ticking-off - and if Goon knew, he
could report the matter himself. So poor Ern was sent off to Goon’s with Sid
trailing behind. Neither of them felt very happy about it.
Mr. Goon was in his kitchen at the back of his house. He was
alone; and he was practising. Not disguises, like Fatty. He was trying to “let
his tongue go loose,” as Fatty had advised. Could he “talk foreign” by merely
letting his tongue go loose?
He stood there, trying to make his tongue work. “Abbledy,
abbledy, abbledy,” he gabbled, and then paused. For some reason “abbledy”
seemed the only thing he could think of. He tried to remember the string of
foreign-sounding words that Fatty had fired off the other afternoon, but he
couldn’t. Surely it must be easy to say a string of rubbish?
But it wasn’t. His tongue merely stopped when it was tired
of saying “abbledy,” and his brain could think of nothing else at all.
Mr. Goon tried reciting.
“The boy stood on the burning deck, abbledy, gabbledy,
abbledy. No, it’s no good.”
Meanwhile Ern and Sid had arrived. Ern didn’t like to knock
in case his uncle was having a nap, as he so often did. He turned the handle of
the front door. It wouldn’t open, so it must be locked from the inside.
“Come on round to the back, Sid,” said Ern. “He might be in
the garden.”
They tip-toed round to the back, and came to the kitchen
window. It was wide open. A noise came from inside the room. “He’s there,”
whispered Ern. “He’s talking. He must have a visitor.”
They listened. “Abbledy, abbledy, abbledy,” they heard.
“Abbledy, abbledy, ABBLEDY.”
Ern looked at Sid, startled. That was his uncle’s voice.
What was he gabbling about? Ern cautiously poked his head a bit farther forward
and peeped in at the corner of the window. Yes - his uncle was there, with his
back to him, standing on the rug, looking at himself in the mirror, gabbling
his curious rubbish on and on.
Ern didn’t like it at all. Had his Uncle got a stroke of the
sun? Was he out of his mind?
“Abbledy, abbledy,” came again and again. And then,
suddenly: “The boy stood on the burning deck.”
That decided Ern. He was not going to interfere in anything
like this, important clue or not. He stole down by the side of the house, and
made his way to the front gate. But alas, Mr. Goon had heard footsteps, and was
at the front door at once. He was just in time to see Ern and Sid opening the
gate.
“What you doing here this time of the evening?” he roared.
“What you doing going out before you’ve even come in? You been listening
outside the window?”
Ern was terrified. He stood trembling at the gate with Sid.
“Uncle - we only came to tell you something,” quavered Ern.
“A clue. Most important.”
“Aha!” said Goon. “So that’s it. Come along in then. Why
didn’t you say so before?”
He just stopped himself saying, “abbledy, abbledy.” He must
be careful. He’d gone and got that on his mind now!
Ern and Sid came in, treading like cats on hot bricks. Mr.
Goon took them into his sitting-room. He sat down in his big arm-chair, crossed
his legs, put his hands together and looked up at the two boys.
“So you’ve got a clue,” he said. “What is it?”
Sid couldn’t say a word, of course, not even “ar.” Ern was
almost as bad. However, it all came out with a rush at last.
“Uncle, Sid found the clue. You know that Prince Bonga-wah
that was kidnapped? Well, he wasn’t. He put himself in a pram with twin-babies
and he was wheeled away this morning.”
Mr. Goon listened to this with the utmost disbelief. Put
himself in s pram? With twins! And got himself wheeled away! What nonsense was
this?
Mr. Goon rose up, big and terrible. “And why did you come
and tell me this ridiculous nonsense?” he began “Why don’t you go and tell it
to that fat boy? Let him believe you! I won’t. Cock-and-bull story! Gah! How
DARE you come and tell me such a tale?”
“Fatty told us to,” blurted out poor Ern, almost crying with
fright. “We told him and he believed us. He said we were to tell you, Uncle,
really he did. To help you.”
Mr. Goon swelled up till Ern and Sid thought he must be
going to burst all the buttons off his already tight tunic. He towered above
them.
“You go and tell that toad of a boy that I’m not such a mutt
as he thinks I am,” he bellowed. “You tell him to take his tales of prams and
twin-babies to the Chief Inspector. Sending you here to fill me up with
nonsense like that! I’m ashamed of you, Ern. For two pins I’d give you a
hiding. How DARE you!”
Ern and Sid fled. They fled down the hall passage, through
the front door, and out of the gate without waiting for another word. Sid was
crying. Ern was white. Why had Fatty sent him on such an errand? He, Ern, had
known quite well that his uncle wouldn’t believe him. And he hadn’t.
“Come on back to the camp,” panted Ern. “We’d be safe there.
Run, Sid, run!”
Poor Ern didn’t even think of going back to Fatty’s to tell
him what had happened. He and Sid fled for their lives, looking over their
shoulders every now and again, fearful that Mr. Goon might be after them.
Perce was thankful he hadn’t gone with them when he heard
their tale. He was just as much scared of his uncle as the others. Ern had
often told him and Sid dreadful tales of the time when he had been to stay with
Mr. Goon - the slaps and canings and shoutings-at that he had had.
“Still, it was worth it,” Ern would end cheerfully. “I made
friends with those five kids - specially with Fatty. He’s a wonder, that boy!”
Meantime the “wonder-boy” was having a quiet little think to
himself about Sid’s surprising piece of news. It was all very very
extraordinary. Could Sid possibly be right? Could it really have been the young
Prince huddled down in that big double-pram? Of course, such a trick had been
played before, to get people away in secret.
“Just have to take out the two seats, put the person in the
well of the pram, and stick the babies on top of him,” thought Fatty. “Yes -
it’s easy enough. But why, why, why did the Prince creep through the hedge at
night and get himself parked in the pram the following day?”
It was a puzzle. Fatty thought he had better sleep on it,
and then discuss it with the others in the morning. He wondered what Mr. Goon
had thought of Em’s appearance and news. Was he acting on it? Had he telephoned
to the Chief Inspector?
Fatty half-expected Goon to telephone him for his opinions
on Ern’s news. But no - on second thoughts he wouldn’t, decided Fatty. He would
want to work out things on his own, so that he could say he had done everything
himself.
“Well, let him,” thought Fatty. “If he can unravel the
puzzle more quickly than I can, good luck to him! I’m in a real muddle. Why -
when - where - how - and particularly why seem quite unanswerable!”
Fatty telephoned Larry.
“Is that you, Larry? Meet in my shed tomorrow morning,
half-past nine, sharp. Most important and mysterious developments. Ern and Sid
have just been down with amazing news.”
“I say!” came Larry’s voice, tense with excitement. “What is
it? Tell me a bit, Fatty’”
“Can’t say it over the phone,” said Fatty. “Anyway, it’s
most important. Half-past nine sharp.”
He rang off, leaving Larry in a state of such terrific
excitement that he could hardly prevent himself from rushing down to Fatty’s at
once! Daisy and he spent the whole evening trying to think of what Fatty’s
mysterious news could be - without any success, of course.
Fatty telephoned Pip next. Mrs. Hilton answered the phone.
“Pip’s in his bath,” she said. “Can I take a message?”
Fatty hesitated. Mrs. Hilton was not at all encouraging
where Mysteries were concerned. In fact she had several times said that Pip and
Bets must keep out of them. Perhaps on the whole it would be best not to say
much. Still - he could ask for Bets.
So Bets came to the telephone, in her dressing-gown, having
a feeling that Fatty had some news.
“Hallo, Fatty,” came her voice. “Anything up?”
“Yes,” said Fatty, in a solemn voice. “Extraordinary news
has just come through - from Ern and Sid. Can’t tell you over the phone. Meet
here at half-past nine to-morrow morning, sharp.”
“Fatty!” squealed Bets, thrilled. “You must tell me
something about it. Quick! Nobody’s about, it’s quite safe.”
“I can’t possibly tell you over the phone,” said Fatty,
enjoying all this importance. “All I can say is that it’s very important, and
will need a lot of discussion and planning. The real mystery is About To Begin,
Bets!”
“Ooooh,” said Bets. “All right - half-past nine to-morrow.
I’ll go straightaway and tell Pip.”
“Now don’t you go shouting all this through the bathroom
door,” said Fatty, in alarm.
“No - I suppose I’d better not,” said Bets. “I’ll wait till
he comes out. But I’ll jolly well go and hurry him, though!”
Pip was so thrilled at this sudden and unexpected telephone
call that he, like Larry, almost felt inclined to dress and shoot off to Fatty.
But as his mother would certainly be most annoyed to find him dressing again
and going out after a hot bath, he reluctantly decided he must wait.
Fatty sat in his bedroom and thought. He thought hard,
turning over in his mind all the things he knew about the young Prince. He got
the encyclopaedia and looked up Tetarua. He found a stores catalogue of his
mother’s which, most fortunately, pictured not only a single pram, but a double
one as well, with measurements.
Fatty decided it would be the easiest thing in the world to
hide someone at the bottom of a double pram. “Probably the most uncomfortable
thing in the world too,” he thought. “I wonder what old Goon is making of all
this!”
Goon wasn’t making anything of it at all. He just simply
didn’t believe a word, so he had nothing to puzzle over. “Gah!” he said, and
dismissed the matter completely!
Talking and Planning
Before half-past nine had struck, the Five-Find-Outers (and
dog) were all gathered together in Fatty’s shed. Buster was very pleased to
welcome them. He pranced round in delight, and finally got on to Bets’ knee.
“Now Fatty - don’t keep us waiting - tell us exactly what’s
happened,” said Larry, firmly. “Don’t go all mysterious and solemn. Just tell
us!”
So Fatty told them. They listened in astonishment.
“Hidden in the pram!” said Larry. “Then the Prince must have
known that woman very well. She must have been camping nearby for a reason.”
“Do you think she could have been the Prince’s nurse, and
knew perhaps he wasn’t happy at camp, and arranged to smuggle him away?” said
Bets.
“Bright idea, Bets,” said Fatty, approvingly. “I thought of
that myself. But the twin-babies are rather a difficulty there. I don’t feel
the Prince would have a nurse with twin-babies, somehow.”
“She might have been an old nurse of his, and got married,
and had twins,” said Bets, using her imagination.
“It’s not much good having theories and ideas about all this
until we get a few more actual details,” said Fatty. “I mean - we must find out
who the woman is - if the caravan belongs to her - if she came there when the
Prince arrived - if those babies are really hers, or borrowed so that she could
take that big double-pram for hiding purposes - oh, there are a whole lot of
things to find out!”
“And are we to snoop round and find all these details?”
asked Daisy. “I rather like doing that.”
“There’s a great deal to find out,” said Fatty. “We’ll have
to get busy. Any one seen the papers this morning?”
“I just glanced at them,” said Larry, “but I was really too
excited to read anything. Why?”
“Only because there’s a bit more about the Prince and his
country in to-day,” said Fatty. He spread a newspaper on the floor and pointed
to a column.
Everyone read it.
“Well, as you will see,” said Fatty, “Tetarua isn’t a very
big country, but it’s quite important from the point of view of the British,
because there’s a fine airfield there we want to use. So we’ve been quite
friendly with them.”
“And they’ve sent their young prince here to be educated,”
said Larry. “But, according to the paper, there’s a row on in Tetarua between
the present king and his cousin, who says he ought to be king.”
“Yes. And the possibilities are that the cousin has sent
some one over here to capture Prince Bongawah, so that, if he doesn’t ever
appear again, he, the cousin, will be king,” said Fatty. “There are no brothers
or sisters apparently.”
“An old, old plot,” said Larry. “Do you suppose they will
demand a ransom for the Prince?”
“No,” said Fatty. “I think they want to put him out of the
way for good. Some of these Eastern States are half savage still, you know, in
their ideas, although they like to send their boys here to be educated.”
There was a silence after this. Nobody liked to think of the
young Prince being “put away for good.” Bets shivered.
Daisy rubbed her forehead, puzzled. “And yet - though that’s
what the papers say - we know differently,” she said. “We know he wasn’t
kidnapped in the way they think - just swept out of his tent and rushed off in
a car somewhere. We know that, of his own free will, apparently, he crept out
of his tent in his pyjamas, went through the hedge to that caravan, and allowed
himself to be hidden and wheeled away in that pram! That couldn’t be called
kidnapping.”
“No. It couldn’t,” said Fatty. “There’s something queer
about this. I believe Sid, you know. For one thing he would never, never have
the imagination to make up all that.”
“Did you ring up the Chief Inspector?” said Pip.“What did he
say?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I didn’t telephone him,” said
Fatty. “I don’t feel he’s very pleased with me at the moment - with any of us,
as a matter of fact - so I sent Ern and Sid round to Goon, to tell him. He
would naturally ring up the Chief Inspector himself, and get his own orders.”
“But wouldn’t the Inspector ring you, when he got Goon’s
message?” asked Pip.
“I rather thought he might,” said Fatty, who was feeling a
little hurt because there had been no word at all from the Inspector. “I expect
he’s still peeved with me. Well - I shan’t bother him till I’ve got something
first-rate to tell him. Let Goon get on with his own ideas about this - we’ll
get on with ours! At least I’ve passed on Sid’s information to him.”
There was another silence. “It’s rather a peculiar mystery,
really,” said Bets at last. “There doesn’t actually seem anywhere to begin.
What do we do first?”
“Well, as I see it, we had better follow up the definite
clues we have,” said Fatty. “We must first of all find out about that woman -
who she is. Get her address. Interview her. Try and frighten something out of
her. If she is hiding the Prince, we must find out where. And why.”
“Yes,” said Larry. “We must do all that. Hadn’t we better
begin before Goon gets going? He’ll probably be working along the same lines as
us.”
“Yes. I suppose he will,” said Fatty, getting up. “This part
is pretty obvious to any one - even to Mr. Goon! Well, let’s hope we don’t bump
into him to-day. He’ll be annoyed if we do!”
“Woof,” said Buster joyfully.
“He says he hopes we do bump into him,” said Bets, hugging
the little Scottie. “You love Mr. Goon’s ankles, don’t you, Buster? Nicest
ankles in the world, aren’t they? Biteable and snappable and nippable.”
Every one laughed. “You’re an idiot, Bets,” said Pip. “Are
we going up to the camp, Fatty? We shall have to find out who lets out those
caravans, and see if we can get the name and the address of the woman who was
in the one with the twin-babies.”
“Yes. That’s the first thing to do,” said Fatty. “Every one
got bikes?”
Every one had. Buster was put into Fatty’s basket, and off
they all went, ringing their bells loudly at every corner, just in case Mr.
Goon was coming round in the opposite direction!
Ern, Sid and Perce were most delighted to see them. Fatty
looked at Sid, but when he saw his jaws working rhythmically as usual, he
snorted.
“Not much good asking Sid anything,” he said. “We’ll only be
able to get ‘ar’ out of him. Sid, if you get many more spots, you’ll be clapped
into hospital and treated for measles!”
Sid looked alarmed. Ern spoke tn him sternly. “Go and spit
it out. You’re a disgrace to the Goon family.”
“Ar,” said Sid, looking really pathetic.
“He can’t spit it out,” said Perce. “It’s not the kind of
toffee for that. Try some, Ern, and see.”
“No thanks,” said Ern. “Well, count Sid out of this, Fatty.
He’s hopeless.”
“Yes - but he’s quite important,” said Fatty. “Well, he’ll
just have to nod or shake his head, that’s all, when I ask him questions. Sid,
come here. Stop chewing and listen. I’m going to ask you some questions. Nod
your head for yes, and shake it for no. Understand?”
“Ar,” said Sid, and nodded his head so violently that some
of the toffee went down the wrong way and he choked.
Ern thumped him on his back till his eyes almost fell out of
his head. At last Sid was ready again, and listening.
“Sid - do you know the woman’s name?” asked Fatty.
“Ar,” said Sid and shook his head.
“Did you ever see her speaking to the Prince?” asked Fatty.
“Ar,” said Sid and shook his head again.
“Don’t keep saying ‘ar’ like that,” said Fatty, aggravated.
“It’s positively maddening. Just shake or nod, that’s all. Did you see where
the woman went when she wheeled away the pram?”
Sid shook his head dumbly.
“Do you know ANYTHING about her except that she had twins
and lived in that caravan?” asked Fatty, despairing of ever getting anything
out of Sid at all. Sid’s head was well and truly shaken again.
“A man in a lorry came to get the things out of the
caravan,” volunteered Perce, unexpectedly.
“What was the name on the lorry?” asked Fatty at once.
“Wasn’t none,” said Perce.
“Well, a fat lot of help you and Sid are,” said Fatty in
disgust. “You don’t know a thing - not even the name of the woman!”
“Oogleby-oogleby,” said Sid, suddenly, looking excited.
Every one looked at him.
“Now what does that mean?” wondered Fatty. “Say it again,
Sid - if you can.”
“Oogleby-oogleby-oogleby!” said Sid, valiantly, going red in
the face.
“He’s talking foreign, isn’t he?” said Ern, with a laugh at
his own wit. “Here, Sid - write it down. And mind your spelling!”
Sid took Ern’s pencil and wrote painfully on a page of his
note-book. Every one crowded round to see what he had written.
“MARGE and BERT,” Sid had printed.
“Marge and Bert,” said Larry. “Does he mean margarine and
butter?”
Every one looked at Sid. He shook his head at once, and then
pretended to hold something in his arms and rock it.
“Now what’s he doing?” wondered Bets. “Rock-a-bye-baby -
Sid, you’re dippy!”
“Oh - I know - he’s pretending to be holding two babies - he
must have written the names of the twins!” cried Daisy. Sid nodded, pleased.
“Ar,” he said. “Oooogly-oogly.”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s going to help us to know the
name of those twin babies,” said Fatty, looking extremely doubtful, “but I
suppose it might. Thanks for your help, Sid - such as it is. Ern, see he
doesn’t eat any more toffee. Honestly, it’s disgraceful.”
“What are we going to do now?” asked Pip.
“We’re going to find out who lets these caravans and see if
they’ll tell us the name and address of the woman who took that one,” said
Fatty, waving towards the empty caravan nearby. “Come on. We’ll go now.”
“Can I come too?” asked Ern, eagerly. But Fatty said no,
he’d no bicycle. He didn’t want Ern, Sid and Perce trailing round them all
morning. It would look rather conspicuous to go about in such a large company.
“All right,” said Ern, mournfully. “Spitty.”
Bets looked at him delighted. “Oh, Ern! I’d forgotten you
used to say that, when you meant “It’s a pity.” Fatty - don’t you remember how
he used to run all his words together when we knew him before?”
“Yes,” said Fatty, getting on his bike. “Swunderful!
Smarvellous! Smazing!”
An Interesting Morning
And now began a morning of real investigation for the
Find-Outers. They rode off down to Marlow, where the agent lived who let the
caravans. Fatty had copied down the address from a big notice in the field.
“CARAVANS TO LET,” it said, “APPLY CARAVANS LTD. TIP HILL,
MARLOW.”
They found Tip Hill, which was a little road leading up a
hill. Half-way up, in a small field, stood a caravan, marked “CARAVANS LTD.
Apply here for caravans to be let.”
“Here we are,” said Fatty. “Who would like to do this part?”
“Oh you, Fatty,” said Bets. “You always do this sort of
thing so well. We’ll come and listen.”
“No, you won’t,” said Fatty. “I’m not going to have a lot of
giggling and nudging going on behind me. If I do this, I do it alone.”
“All right - do it alone,” said Pip.
Fatty went in through the little gate and up to the door of
the caravan. He knocked on it.
It opened, and a youth stood there, with a cigarette hanging
from the side of his mouth.
“Hallo!” he said. “What you want?”
“I’m anxious to find the person who rented one of the
caravans next to the School Camp Field,” said Fatty. “Could you tell me her
name and address, please? I’d be most obliged. She left before I could ask her
what I wanted to know.”
“My word - aren’t we la-di-da!” said the youth. “Think I’ve
got time to hunt up names and addresses of your caravan friends, Mister?”
Fatty glanced at the side of the caravan. He saw the name of
the owners there in small letters. “Reg and Bert Williams.” He guessed the
youth was just an employee.
“Oh well, if you haven’t time, I’ll go and ask Mr. Reginald
Williams,” said Fatty, at a venture. He turned away.
The youth almost fell down the caravan steps. “Ere, you! Why
didn’t you tell me you knew Mr. Reg?” he called. “I’ll get the address if you
wait half a tick.”
Fatty grinned. It was nice to bring that lazy little monkey
to heel! “Very well. But make haste,” said Fatty.
The youth made haste. Fatty thought that Mr. Reg, whoever he
was, must be a pretty terrifying person if he could shake up a fellow like this
merely at the mention of his name! The youth hunted through a large file and
produced a list of the caravans up on the hill by the School Camp Field.
“Now which caravan is it?” he asked. Fatty had noted the
name, of course.
“It was called ‘River-View,’ ” he said. “Quite a small one.”
The youth ran his finger down a list. “Ah - here we are -
Mrs. Storm, 24 Harris Road, Maidenbridge. That’s not far from here - ’bout two
miles.”
“Thanks,” said Fatty, and wrote it down.
“You going to see Mr. Reg?” asked the youth, anxiously, as
Fatty turned to go.
“No,” said Fatty, much to the youth’s relief. He went out to
where the others were waiting.
“Got it!” he said, and showed them the name and address.
“Mrs. Storm, 24 Harris Road, Maidenbridge. About two miles from here. Come on -
let’s get going.”
Feeling rather excited, the Five rode off to Maidenbridge.
Had Mrs. Storm got the Prince? Would she tell them anything at all?
They came into Maidenbridge, and asked for Harris Road. It turned
out to be a narrow, rather dirty little street, set with houses in a terrace.
They arrived at No. 24. It was even dirtier than the rest in
the street. Ragged curtains hung at the windows, and the front door badly
wanted a lick of paint.
“I’ll tackle this too,” said Fatty. “You ride to the end of
the street and wait for me. It looks funny for so many of us to be standing at
the front door.”
Obediently the others rode off. Fatty stood his bicycle at
the kerb and knocked. An untidy woman, her hair down her back, opened it. She
said nothing, but just looked at Fatty, waiting.
“Oh - er, excuse me,” said Fatty, raising his cap politely.
“Are you Mrs. Storm?”
“No. I’m not,” said the woman. “You’ve come to the wrong
house. She don’t live here.”
This was a bit of a shock.
“Has she left then?” asked Fatty.
“She never did live here, far as I know,” said the woman.
“I’ve bin here seventeen years, with my husband and my old Ma - I don’t know no
Mrs. Storm. Not even in this street, I don’t.”
“How strange,” said Fatty. He looked at the paper with the
name and address on. “Look - it says Mrs. Storm, 24 Harris Road, Maidenbridge.”
“Well, that’s this house all right - but there’s no Mrs.
Storm,” said the woman. “There’s no other Harris Road but this, either. Why
don’t you go to the post office? They’ll tell you where she lives.”
“Oh thanks, I will,” said Fatty, “Sorry to have troubled you
for nothing.” He raised his cap again and departed on his bike, puzzled. He
joined the others, told them of his failure, and then they all cycled to the
post office.
“I want to find some one’s address here, please,” said
Fatty, who was certainly in command that morning. “I’ve been given the wrong
address, I’m afraid. Could you tell me where a Mrs. Storm lives?”
The clerk got out a directory and pushed it across to Fatty.
“There you are,” he said. “You’ll find all the Storms there, hail, thunder and
snow!”
“Ha, ha, joke,” said Fatty, politely. He took the directory
and looked for STORM. Ah - here were three Storms in Maidenbridge.
“Lady Louisa Storm,” he read out to the others. “Old Manor
Gate. No - that can’t be her. She wouldn’t rent a caravan. Here’s another -
Miss Emily Storm.”
“She wouldn’t have twin-babies, she’s a Miss,” said Bets.
“We want a Mrs.”
“Mrs. Rene Storm,” read out Fatty. “Caldwell House. Well,
that seems to bc the only one that’s likely.”
They left the post office. Fatty turned to Daisy. “Now you
can do this bit, Daisy,” he said. “You must find out if Mrs. Rene Storm has
twin-children.”
“Oh, I can’t,” said Daisy, in a fright. “I simply can’t walk
up and say, ‘Have you got twin-babies?’ She would think I was mad.”
“So you would be if you did it like that,” said Fatty. “Now
- you’re a Find-Outer, and you haven’t had much practice lately. You think out
a good way of finding out what we want to know, and go and do it. We’ll sit in
some ice-cream shop and wait for you.”
Poor Daisy! She racked her brains frantically as they all
rode along to find Caldwell House. It was a little house, set in a pretty
garden. Round the corner was a dairy, and here Fatty and the others sat down to
have ice-creams and wait for Daisy.
“A nice big double ice-cream for you, Daisy, when you come
back with your news,” said Fatty. “In fact, a treble one if this Mrs. Storm is
the right one. Remember - we only want to know if she has twin-babies.”
Daisy rode off, She rode round a block of houses two or
three times, trying to think how she could find out what Fatty wanted to know.
And then an idea came to her. How simple after all!
She rode to Caldwell House, and put her bicycle by the
fence. She walked up to the front door and rang the bell. A little wizened maid
opened the door. She looked about ninety, Daisy thought!
“Please excuse me if I’ve come to the wrong house,” said
Daisy, with her nicest smile. “But I’m looking for a Mrs. Storm who has
twin-babies. Is this the right house?”
“Dear me, no,” said the little maid. “My Mrs. Storm is
eighty-three, and she’s a great-grandmother. She has never had twins, nor have
her children, nor yet her grandchildren. No twins in the family at all. I’m
sorry.”
“So am I,” said Daisy, not quite knowing what else to say.
“Er - well, thank you very much. I’m afraid it’s not the Mrs. Storm I’m looking
for.”
She escaped thankfully and rode quickly to the ice-cream
shop. The others were pleased to see her come in beaming.
“Is it the right woman?” said Fatty.
“No. I’m afraid not,” said Daisy. “I’m only beaming because
I managed it all right. This Mrs. Storm is eighty-three and a great-grandmother
- and there aren’t any twins in her family at all.”
“Gosh,” said Fatty, dolefully. “Now we’re at a dead-end,
then. That wretched caravan-woman gave a false name and address. We might have
guessed that! We can go hunting the country up and down all we like, but we’ll
never find a Mrs. Storm with twins!”
“Where’s my ice-cream?” said Daisy.
“Oh, sorry, Daisy!” said Fatty. “What am I thinking of!
Waitress - a double ice-cream, please - and another single one all round.”
As they ate their ice-creams they discussed what to do next.
“Could we possibly look about for twin-babies?” asked Bets.
“It’s possible,” said Fatty, “but I feel it would take
rather a time, digging out all the twin-babies there are in this district!”
“How would you set about it, Bets?” asked Pip, eyeing her
teasingly. “Put up a notice - Wanted, twin-babies. Apply Bets Hilton.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Bets. “Anyway, have you got a better
idea? What can we do next? We haven’t a single clue now.”
“Only my button,” said Pip, and pulled out his blue and gold
button. He put it down on the table. They all looked at it. It really was a
beautiful button.
“Beautiful, but completely useless as a clue,” said Fatty.
“Still, keep it if it pleases you, Pip. If you happen to see a pair of blue and
gold pyjamas on a washing-line with one button missing, you’ll be lucky!”
“Well - that’s an idea,” said Pip. “I shall look at all the
lines of washing I see. You just never know!” He put the button back into his
pocket.
“What about baby-shows?” said Daisy, suddenly. “We might see
twin-babies there, and find out where they live.”
“Baby-shows!” said Pip, in disgust. “Well, if any one’s
going to snoop round baby-shows it won’t be me. You and Bets can do that.”
Bets gave a little exclamation, and pointed dramatically to
a notice on the wall of the shop. They all looked, and jumped in surprise.
“BABY-SHOW” said the notice. “At Tiplington Fair, September
4th. Special prizes for TWINS.”
Off to Tiplington Fair
“Funny coincidence,” said Fatty, with a laugh. “Now, let’s
see - where’s Tiplington? Other side of Peterswood, isn’t it?”
“You don’t really think there’s anything in Bets’ idea, do
you?” said Pip, in surprise.
“Well - there’s just a chance, I suppose,” said Fatty. “Bets
has had good ideas before. Will you and Daisy go over, Bets?”
“Yes,” said Bets promptly and Daisy nodded. “Why can’t you
boys come too? After all, it’s a Fair. It should be quite fun. We could take
Ern too - he might recognize the twins if they did happen to be there!”
“Right. We will take Ern,” said Fatty. “But not Sid or
Perce.”
“I don’t mind Perce so much, but I can’t bear Sid,” said
Bets. “He’s so chewy.”
“I can think of a lot more things I don’t like about Sid,”
said Larry.
“So can we all. Let’s change the subject,” said Fatty,
feeling in his pocket for money. “Now - how many ice-creams did we have?”
“Oh, Fatty - don’t pay for all of them,” said Daisy. “Larry
and I have got plenty of pocket-money to-day.”
“My treat,” said Fatty. “I’m your chief, don’t forget, and I
expect to pay some of the - er - expenses we run up.”
“Thank you, Fatty,” said Bets. “You’re a very very nice
chief.”
“September 4th is to-morrow,” said Daisy. “I hope it’s fine.
Who’ll tell Ern?”
“Pip,” said Fatty, promptly. “He hasn’t done much in the way
of jobs to-day - you and Bets and I seem to have done most. Pip’s turn to do
something.”
“All right,” said Pip. “But if Sid comes ‘arring’ at me I
shall throw him into the river.”
“Do,” said Fatty. “It will probably make him swallow all his
toffee at one go and get rid of it!”
They decided to meet the next day at Larry’s, and all go
over to Tiplington together, on their bicycles. Ern was to join them at Larry’s
too, and Larry would borrow an old bicycle for him.
“Two o’clock,” said Fatty. “And tell Ern to wash his face
and brush his hair and clean his nails, and put on a clean shirt if he’s got
one. My orders.”
Ern took these orders in good part. Nothing that Fatty said
could ever annoy him. “He’s the cat’s whiskers,” he told Pip. “A genius, he is.
Right, I’ll be there, all spruced up, like. What are we going over to the Fair
for? Anything cooking?”
“Might be,” said Pip. “Don’t be late, Ern.”
“I won’t,” said Ern. “Slong!”
It took Pip a moment or two to realize what “Slong“ meant.
Of course - “So long!” Where did Ern learn to mix up his words like that? “Slong!”
What a word!
Ern set off joyfully to go to Larry’s the next day. He had
difficulty in stopping Sid and Perce from coming too. “Well, you can’t,” he
said. “Look at your hair - and your faces - and your nails - and your shirts!
Disgraceful! You can’t go out in company like that.”
“Well, it’s the first time you’ve brushed your hair or
cleaned your nails,” grumbled Perce.
Ern walked down to the river and took the little ferryboat
across. He then walked to Larry’s. On the way, to his horror, he met his uncle.
Mr. Goon advanced on him, even redder in the face than usual, with the heat.
“Ha! Young Ern again!” he began. “And where may you be off
to I’d like to know! You got any more fairy tales for me about princes in prams
with twin-babies?”
“No, Uncle. No,” said Ern. “I’m afraid I can’t wait. I
mustn’t be late.”
“Where you going?” asked Mr. Goon, and a heavy hand
descended on Ern’s shoulder.
“To Larry’s,” said Ern. Mr. Goon looked him over carefully.
“You’re all dressed up - hair brushed and all,” he said. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing, I tell you, Uncle,” said poor Ern. “We’re all
going over to Tiplington Fair, that’s all.”
“What - that potty little Fair?” said Mr. Goon in
astonishment. “What are you going there for? Has that fat boy got something up
his sleeve?”
“He might have,” said Ern, wriggling free with a sudden
movement. “He’s brainy, he is. He believes the things I tell him, see? Not like
you! We’re investigating hard, we are! And for all you know, we’re On to
Something!”
He ran down the road, leaving Mr. Goon breathing hard. Now,
did Ern mean what he said? Was there something going on at Tiplington that he,
Mr. Goon, ought to know about? Why was that fat toad of a boy taking all his
lot over there?
Mr. Goon went home, brooding over the matter. He suddenly
made up his mind. He would go to Tiplington too! He ought to keep an eye on
that boy’s doings, anyway. You never knew when he would smell out something.
Mr. Goon wheeled out his bicycle and mounted it with a sigh.
He didn’t like bicycling in hot weather. He was sure it wasn’t good for him.
But duty called, and off he went.
He started before the others, who had waited for Ern, and
had had an ice-cream each in the sweetshop in the village before they set off.
Buster was in Fatty’s bicycle basket as usual, his tongue hanging out
contentedly. He was at his very happiest when he was with all the Find-Outers
together.
Ern was happy too. He had forgotten about his uncle. He was
proud to be with the Find-Outers, and proud that they wanted him. He beamed all
over his plain, plump face.
“Slovely,” he kept saying. “Street.”
“What do you mean - Street?” asked Daisy, trying to work it
out.
“He means, It’s a treat,” said Bets laughing.
“SwatIsaid,” said Ern, puzzled.
“Swatesaid,” chorussed every one in delight.
They rode off down the lanes to Tiplington. After about a
mile they caught sight of a familiar figure in dark blue, labouring at the
pedals of his bicycle.
“It’s Goon!” said Pip, in surprise. “Surely he’s not going
to Tiplington too! Don’t say he’s visiting the Baby Show as well! Ern! Did you
tell him we were going to the Fair?”
Ern went red. “Well, yes, I did,” he said. “Didn’t I ought
to have? I didn’t think it mattered?”
“You certainly ought not to have,” said Fatty, annoyed. “Now
we shall have him shadowing us all the time. Still, he probably won’t want to
do the important thing - look at the twins in the Baby-show! You’ll have to
take Ern into the Baby-show with you, Bets and Daisy - in case you want him to
identify any twins.”
“Coo,” said Ern. “Let me off the Baby-show! I’m not Sid. I’d
run a mile from a Baby-show! ”
“Well, you won’t run a mile from this one,” said Daisy,
grimly. “If there are any likely twins, I shall fetch you in Ern. So don’t dare
to disappear.”
“Sawful,” said poor Ern. “Really, sawful this.”
“Sagonizing,” said Fatty. “Sunendurable.”
“You talking foreign again?” asked Ern, with interest.
“Not more than you are,” said Fatty. “Now - altogether -
pass Mr. Goon and ring your bells hard. Bark, Buster, Bark. And every one yell,
‘Good afternoon, how are you!’ ”
And so, to Mr. Goon’s alarm, annoyance and discomfort, six
children rode noisily past him with bells ringing, Buster barking madly, and
every one shouting loudly.
“GOOD AFTERNOON, HOW ARE YOU!”
Mr. Goon nearly went into the ditch. He scowled after the
backs of the six speeding cyclists. He was almost exhausted already. Still,
Tiplington wasn’t really very far away now. He pedalled on manfully. If there
was anything at Tiplington that he’d got to know about, he must certainly be
there. There was no knowing what that pest of a boy was up to.
The Fair was certainly not much of a show. It was in a small
field. In one big tent was a flower-show, a fruit-show, a jam-show, and a
baby-show. There were the usual sideshows - a small roundabout, swings, and a
hoopla stall. A fortune-teller sat in a very small tent, reading people’s hands
for them, telling them of great good fortune to come, voyages across the sea,
and all the usual fairy-tales.
Apparently the Fair was to last three days, but the local
flower, fruit- and baby-show only this one afternoon. “Lucky we saw the notice
yesterday,” said Bets, as they paid an entrance fee of sixpence at the gate.
Buster was let in for nothing, but Fatty put him on a lead.
“When does the Baby-show begin?” wondered Daisy. “Look -
there’s a notice on that tent. And here are some babies arriving too. Goodness,
they look hot, poor things!”
Prams of all types were wheeled in. The four boys wandered
off, but Daisy and Bets stood watching the babies being wheeled into the tent.
Daisy clutched Bets’ arm suddenly. “Look - a double-pram -
and another, Twins!” she said. “Where’s Ern? We shall never know if the babies
are the ones that were up in the caravan.”
Ern had completely disappeared. He had been having a lovely
time on the roundabout, riding on an elephant, when he had caught sight of his
uncle wheeling his bicycle in at the gate, red in the face, dripping with
perspiration, panting loudly. Ern didn’t like the look of him.
So, when the roundabout stopped, he slipped quietly off the
elephant and made his way to the tent of the fortuneteller. He hid behind it,
watching Mr. Goon’s movements. Ern was not going to have any more to do with
his uncle than he could help.
Daisy and Bets disappeared into the big tent, for the
Baby-show was about to begin. How annoying of Ern to vanish! Still, perhaps he
would come along soon.
“Four sets of twins!” said Bets. “Oh, I say - aren’t these
babies fat? I don’t think I like them quite so fat. And they look so hot and
miserable. I’m sure this tent is too hot for them.”
“Come and look at the twins,” said Daisy. “I say - we don’t
really need Ern, you know - because we know the twin’s names - Marge and Bert!”
“Oh yes,” said Bets, remembering. “We can just ask the
mothers their names. That’s easy.”
The first twins, one big and one small, and quite unalike,
were called Ron and Mike, their proud mother informed the two girls.
“No good,” whispered Bets. “They’re boys. We want a girl and
a boy.”
The next two were both girls - Edie and Glad, so their
mother said. The next pair were again boys, exactly alike, down to the same
spot on their chins. Alf and Reg.
“Here’s a girl and a boy,” said Bets. “What are their
names?”
“The girl’s Margery, and the boy’s Robert,” said the mother,
proudly. “Big for their age, aren’t they?”
Bets and Daisy thought they were far too big, far too fat
and far too hot. But their names were right - or almost right!
“Margery - and Robert!” said Bets to Daisy in a low voice.
“Marge - and Bert. Where’s Ern? We’ll have to ask him to come and look at
them.”
They made their way out of the tent in great excitement and
at last ran Ern to earth behind the fortune-teller’s tent, where he was still
in hiding. They pulled him over to the tent.
“You simply must tell us if we’ve found the right babies!”
said Bets - and got a sudden punch in the back from Daisy! She gave a squeal.
“Why did you...” she began.
And then she saw why! Mr. Goon was standing just at the
entrance to the tent. He was most interested in what Bets had just said to Ern!
Oho! So they had got Ern over for Something special, thought Mr. Goon.
Ern went into the tent, followed by Mr. Goon. “Oh blow,”
said Bets. “Ern, it’s the babies at the far end of the row. Just walk quietly
by them and tell us if they’re the ones we’re looking for. Nod your head if so.
Shake it, if not. And look out for Mr. Goon!”
Ern walked down the row of babies. Bets and Daisy watched
anxiously. Would he shake or nod his head. But, most annoyingly, Ern did
neither!
The Baby-show
Mr. Goon also walked down the row of babies. The little
things were terrified of his big, blue-clad figure and his brilliant red face.
They began to cry.
“Yow!” they wailed. “Wow-yow-ow!” Mr. Goon scowled at them.
He didn’t like babies. Also, he was worried. He was remembering Ern’s
extraordinary tale of the prince being smuggled away in a pram with
twin-babies. And lo and behold - here was a row of twin-babies! Did Fatty
really believe that tale then? Could there be something in it?
Mr. Goon decided to take quite a lot of notice of the twins.
He stood gazing at them. He prodded one or two. He watched Ern walk by them
all, looking carefully. He watched him go out of the back-flap of the tent, and
then he followed him.
The mothers were thankful to see him go. “What’s he want to
come in here for, frightening our babies?” said one mother. “He’s set them all
off crying with his scowls and his prods!”
Ern had found Bets and Daisy.
“Ern, why didn’t you either nod or shake your head?” asked
Bets, crossly. “You said you would. We must know if they are the twins or not.
Are they?”
“I don’t know,” said Ern, helplessly. “All those babies in
there look alike to me. I couldn’t tell t’other from which. Oh, Bets - I’m
sorry. They’re as like as peas.”
“How annoying,” said Daisy. “Especially as those two are
called Margery and Robert.”
“Of course, Bert might be short for Albert or Hubert, as
well as Robert,” said Bets. “We don’t know that Bert, the twin Sid knew, was
short for Robert.”
“I know!” said Daisy, suddenly. “Let’s look for the pram
that Margery and Robert came in. Ern could surely recognize that if it was the
one.”
“Oh yes,” said Ern, confidently. “It was - let me see - was
it dark blue, or dark green?”
The two girls stared at him, exasperated. “You’re perfectly
hopeless!” said Daisy. “What good are you to us, I’d like to know! You never
notice a thing!”
Ern looked very woe-begone indeed. Mr. Goon emerged from the
tent at that moment, and, to the girls’ great annoyance, Ern at once made off
at top speed! Now they would lose him all over again!
“Ern! Come back and look at the prams!” shouted Bets. Mr.
Goon pricked up his ears again. Prams! Prams! There was something up this
afternoon. Those kids were investigating something, drat them!
Bets and Daisy gave Ern up. They wandered over to where the
prams were neatly set out in a row, empty of their babies. There were two
enormous double-prams, one fairly big one, altered to take two children, and
any amount of ordinary single prams.
“Perhaps we’d better wait about here for Ern,” said Bets,
bored. “He’ll come back sooner or later, I suppose. I wonder what the three
boys are doing. Oh, do look at Mr. Goon. He’s interested in prams too!”
Mr. Goon was now examining the prams. Could he find anything
in them that would help him? He didn’t think so. He considered each pram
carefully, much to the amazement of a mother coming out to get something for
her baby.
“Thinking of buying a pram?” she asked him.
Mr. Goon didn’t deign to reply. He wandered off in search of
Ern.
Soon the mothers began to bring out their babies to their
prams. They all had been judged, and “Margery and Robert” had a big rosette
each, with First Prize, Twins, on it.
“Oh!” said Bets, starting forward. “Did they get first
prize! How lovely! Let me carry one for you. I like babies.”
“Well, perhaps you’d just bring me my pram,” panted the
mother, loaded down with her two heavy children. “It’s over there.”
“Which one?” asked Bets.
“That one,” said the mother, nodding at a rather shabby
small pram. It was a single pram! Bets had been sure she would have had a
double one - what a disappointment. Margery and Robert couldn’t be the twins
they were looking for, after all! Ern and Sid had been quite certain that the
pram belonging to the twins in the caravan was a double one.
She brought the little single pram over. “There now, Madge,”
said the mother, settling the little girl at one end, and then putting the boy
at the other. “Now now, Robbie - don’t you start yelling. Haven’t you got first
prize? Laugh, then, laugh!”
Daisy looked at Bets. Madge and Robbie - not Marge and Bert!
That settled it. They were not the twins and this was not the mother. All this
way over to the Fair for nothing!
“Come along, Bets - let’s have a bit of fun now,” said
Daisy. “We’ve done our investigation - and like all our investigations so far,
it’s just come to nothing. I don’t believe we’ll ever find anything out in this
mystery!”
They went off to the swing-boats. Then they had a try at the
hoopla and Bets got a ring round a little red vase, much to her delight.
Then up came Fatty. “Bets! Daisy! Any good? Were they the
twins? What did Ern say?”
“Oh Fatty - such a disappointment! There were twins there
whose names were Margery and Robert and we felt sure they were the ones!” said
Daisy. “But they weren’t. They were called Madge and Robbie! Ern wasn’t a bit
of good. He had a look at all the twins, but he said they were as like as peas,
and he wouldn’t know if they were the caravan twins or not!”
“And anyway they have a single pram not a double one,” said
Bets. “We’ve come all this way for nothing.”
“Oh no, you haven’t,” said Fatty, pulling her over to the
roundabout. “Come on - choose your animal and I’ll pay the roundabout boy twice
as much as usual to go on twice as long. You can have the longest ride you’ve
ever had in your life!”
Bets chose a lion and the roundabout boy set the roundabout
going at top speed, so that Bets and the others yelled in glee! He let them
have such a long ride that every one stared in surprise.
“That was fun,” said Bets, getting off her lion and feeling
rather wobbly about the legs. “Goodness, I still feel as if I’m going round and
round.”
Fatty suddenly saw Mr. Goon in the distance. He grinned. He
went over to the roundabout boy, and had a long talk with him. The boy laughed
and nodded. Fatty slid some money into his hand and walked away.
“What have you been up to, Fatty?” said Daisy. “You’ve got a
wicked look on your face.”
“I’ve just been arranging for Mr. Goon to have a nice long
ride,” said Fatty. “Giving him a real treat, I am! Just you watch!”
Mr. Goon had given up searching for the elusive Ern. In any
case he would never find him because Ern was lying hidden under a caravan
belonging to one of the Fair people at the end of the field. So now Mr. Goon
was wandering over to where he saw Fatty, Bets, and Daisy. They were joined by
Larry and Pip, who had been unlucky at hoopla, and had no money left.
“Watch,” said Fatty, under his breath. They all watched,
though not quite certain what they were supposed to watch. The roundabout boy
and another one got up on the roundabout as Mr. Goon drew near. They began to
shout at one another.
Every one turned to see what was happening. “You give it to
me, I say!” yelled one boy. “Or I’ll box your ears!”
“Shan’t!” shouted the other boy, and lunged out at the first
boy. Down he went on the phtform of the roundabout, and rolled about, yelling
loudly.
“Don’t worry, Bets. It’s all pretence,” said Fatty,
grinning. “Now watch what happens!”
Mr. Goon heard all the rumpus, of course. He pulled down his
tunic, put his helmet quite straight, and walked ponderously over to the
roundabout.
“Hey, you boys! What’s the matter there! Behave yourselves!”
“Help, help! He’s on top of me!” yelled one of the boys.
“Help! Fetch the police!”
Mr. Goon mounted the platform of the roundabout, watched by
scores of people, looking very impressive indeed. “Now what’s all this?” he
began, and then he suddenly clutched at a nearby tiger.
The roundabout boy had slid off the platform and had started
the roundabout! Round it went and round, the music sounding very loud indeed in
Mr. Goon’s startled ears. He nearly fell over. He clasped his arms round the
neck of the tiger and yelled ferociously.
“Stop this thing! Stop it, I say!”
But nobody heard him through the din of the strident music!
The roundabout went faster and faster, it simply WHIZZED round, till Mr. Goon’s
figure could no longer be clearly seen. Fatty began to laugh. The others rolled
about, squealing with joy. Everyone yelled. Mr. Goon was not popular in
Tiplington!
The roundabout slowed down at last. Mr. Goon still clutched
the neck of the tiger. He dared not leave go. Poor Mr. Goon - the world still
went round for him, and the tiger seemed his only friend!
Pip’s Discovery
“I have a sort of feeling we’d better go,” said Fatty.
“Where’s Ern? Oh, there he is. Good thing he saw a bit of the fun!”
Ern came over to them, grinning. “I say - look at Uncle on
the roundabout. He’s still got hold of the tiger. Was it an accident, Fatty?”
“Not quite,” said Fatty, with a rich chuckle. “Do come on,
everyone. Mr. Goon won’t be fit to follow us on his bike for quite a while.
He’ll probably want to go round in circles for ages.”
He winked at the roundabout boy, who winked back. Mr. Goon
straightened up, unwrapped one arm cautiously from the tiger, and took a step
away from it. But the world immediately seemed to swim around him again, and he
embraced the tiger more lovingly than ever.
“If I look any more I shall die of laughing,” said Larry.
“I’ve already got a frightful stitch in my side. I have never laughed so much
in my life. Dear old Goon - I feel quite fond of him for making me laugh so
much. How he will ever get off that roundabout I don’t know!”
Fatty had to shove everyone along. They all so badly wanted
to see Mr. Goon get off the roundabout and walk unsteadily over the field. The
roundabout boy was now shouting at him. “Sorry, sir! Quite an accident. Shan’t
charge you a penny, sir! Free ride for the police force!”
Mr. Goon decided not to deal with that roundabout boy just
yet. His words seemed to swim round in his head. He didn’t want to argue with
any one just then. He held the tiger still more tightly, and shut his eyes to
see if the world would steady itself again.
The Find-Outers and Ern found their bicycles and mounted
them. “Come down this path,” said Ern. “It’s a shorter way to the road. I saw
it when I was hiding under the caravan.”
So they took Ern’s path, that led across the field, past the
caravans, and out into a lane that went straight to the road.
And it was when they were cycling slowly past the caravans
that Pip suddenly saw something that made him almost wobble off his bicycle!
Clothes lines stretched here and there, hung with the
washing belonging to the Fair people. Pip glanced at it idly as he went by. He
saw a blouse there, a blue blouse made of rather common material - but it
wasn’t the blouse that gave him such a surprise - it was the buttons on it!
“Gosh!” said Pip. “Surely they’re the same as the button
I’ve got in my pocket - the button that came off Prince Bongawah’s pyjamas!”
He took the button out of his pocket and went over to the
clothes line. He compared it with the buttons on the blouse. They were exactly
the same - blue and gold, very fine indeed.
Pip glanced at the nearby caravan. It was bright green with
yellow wheels. He would remember that all right, He rode fast after Fatty,
almost upsetting the others on the narrow path as he passed them.
“Stop it, Pip!” cried Bets, angrily, as he almost brushed
her pedal. “What’s the hurry?”
Pip caught Fatty up at last. “Fatty! Quick. Stop a minute,
I’ve got something important to say!”
Fatty stopped in surprise. He got off his bicycle and waited
by the little gate that led into the lane. “Wheel your bike out under those
trees, so that we can’t be seen talking,” panted Pip.
Everyone was soon standing under the trees, surprised and
puzzled. “What is it, Pip?” said Fatty. “What’s up all of a sudden?”
“You know this button that came off Prince Bongawah’s
pyjamas?” said Pip, producing it. “Well, Fatty, when we passed those clothes
lines I saw a blouse hanging on one - and it had buttons exactly like these all
down the front! And you must admit they’re very fine and very unusual buttons!”
“Gosh!” said Fatty, startled by this remarkable statement of
Pip’s.
He took a quick look at the button and then walked back the
way he had come, wheeling his bicycle. “I must check up,” he said, in a low
voice as he went. “Wait for me. I’ll pretend to be looking for something I’ve
dropped in the grass.”
He went along with bent head until he came to the clothes
line. He spotted the blouse at once. He went right up to it, still pretending
to look for something on the ground - and then took a good look at the blouse
which was now almost touching his nose.
He came back quickly. “Pip’s right,” he said, his voice
sounding excited. “This is very important. We thought we’d wasted the
afternoon, coming after twin-babies - and so we had from that point of view -
but we’re onto something much better!”
“What?” asked Bets, thrilled.
“Well, obviously those buttons are off the Prince’s
pyjamas,” said Fatty. “And quite obviously also, the pyjamas have been
destroyed in case they might be recognized. But whoever destroyed them couldn’t
bear to part with the lovely buttons - and put them on that blouse, thinking
they would never be noticed!”
“They wouldn’t have been if Pip hadn’t found that button,
and noticed the washing!” said Bets. “Oh, Pip you are clever!”
“Let’s think,” said Fatty. “Let’s think quickly. What does
it mean? It means that the Prince is probably somewhere here - hiding - or
being hidden. Probably in that caravan near the washing-line. We’ll have to try
and find out.”
“We can’t very well stop now,” said Pip. “Mother said Bets
and I were to be back by six - and we shan’t be if we don’t hurry.”
“I’ll stop behind,” said Fatty, making up his mind quickly.
“No, I won’t. I’ll go back, change into some disguise and come back here. I’ll
get into talk with the Fair people and see if I can pick up something. Yes,
that’s the best thing to do. One of us must certainly make enquiries quickly.”
“Let me stop too,” said Ern.
“Certainly not,” said Fatty. “You go back with the others,
Ern. Go on. Do as you’re told. I’m chief here. Let’s ride back quickly, because
it will take me a little time to put on a disguise.”
“What will you be, Fatty?” asked Bets, excited, as they all
cycled quickly down the lane, Ern looking a little sulky.
“A pedlar,” said Fatty. “Selling something. I can easily get
into talk with the Fair people then. They’ll think I’m one of them. I simply
must find out if there has been a new boy added to their company just lately!”
“Good gracious! From being quite unsolvable this mystery has
jumped almost to an end!” said Bets.
“Don’t you believe it,” said Fatty, grimly. “There’s more in
this than meets the eye. It’s not as straightforward as it looks. There’s
something queer about it!”
This all sounded extremely exciting. The six of them rode
along in silence, each thinking the same tumultuous thoughts. What would Fatty
find out? Would he discover the Prince that evening? What was the “something
queer” he meant?
They got home in good time. Fatty went straight down to his
shed. He knew exactly what disguise he would wear. It was one he had worn
before, and he felt it was just right.
It was an ordinary schoolboy who went into the little shed -
but an ordinary schoolboy didn’t come out! No, a pedlar crept out, a
dirty-looking creature, with long earrings in his ears, a cloth cap pulled down
over his face, a brilliant red scarf round his neck, and protruding teeth.
Fatty was In Disguise!
Dirty flannel trousers clothed his legs and old gym shoes
were on his feet. He wore a red belt and a dirty yellow jersey. On his back was
a pack. It held bottles of all kinds marked “Cold Cures,” “Cures for Warts,”
“Lotion for Chilblains,” and all kinds of weird concoctions that Fatty had
invented himself for his pedlar’s pack!
He grinned as he crept up the path. His protruding teeth
showed, ugly and white. He had fixed a fine false set over his own, made of
plastic. Fatty was Going Investigating - and nobody in the world would have
guessed he was anything but a dirty little travelling tinker or pedlar!
He cycled off, back to Tiplington. That was clever of Pip,
to spot those buttons. Very clever. It put the Mystery back on the map, so to
speak. Fatty thought rapidly over his plan.
“I’ll go to the Fair field. I’ll sit down and get into talk
with the roundabout boy or some one. I’ll find out who lives in that green and
yellow caravan, and pretend I know the people there - and perhaps get the
roundabout boy to take me over and introduce me. Then I’ll see who’s in the
caravan and have as good a snoop round as I can. Well - I hope the plan will
work!”
He was soon back at the Fair. There were more people now,
because it was evening. The roundabout was swinging round bravely. The
swing-boats were flying high. There was a babble of talk and laughter
everywhere.
“Now then,” thought Fatty, carefully hiding his bicycle in
the middle of a thick bush. “Now then! Once more into the breach, dear friend -
and see what’s what!”
He sauntered on to the field. No one asked him for entrance
money because he looked exactly like one of the Fair folk themselves. Fatty
looked round. The roundabout boy was there at his place. Should he have a word
with him? No, he was too busy. What about the hoopla boy?
No, he was busy too. Fatty strolled along, keeping his eyes
open.
He came to the swing-boats. The man looking after them was
standing holding his arm as if in pain. Fatty walked up. “What’s up, mate? Hurt
yourself?”
“One of these swing-boats came back and knocked my elbow,”
said the man. “Look after them for me for a few minutes, will you, while I go
and get something for it?”
“Right,” said Fatty, and looked after the swing-boats
faithfully, till the man came back, his arm neatly bandaged.
“Thanks,” he said. “You with us, or have you just come
along?”
“Just come along,” said Fatty. “Heard that maybe some one I
knew was here. Thought I’d give them a call-in.”
“Name of what?” said the man.
“I disremember the name for the moment,” said Fatty, taking
off his cap and scratching his head hard. He screwed up his face. “Let me see,
now - Barlow, Harlow, no, that wasn’t it.”
“What line were they in?” said the man.
“Ah wait - something’s coming back to me!” said Fatty. “They
had a green caravan with yellow wheels. Any one here in a caravan like that,
mate?”
“Oh yes - the Tallerys,” said the man, taking some money for
a ride in his swings. “Those who you mean? They’ve got that green and yellow
caravan over there!”
“That’s right - the Tallerys!” exclaimed Fatty. “How did I
come to forget the name! Are they all still there, mate?”
“Well, there’s old Mum, and there’s Missus Tallery, and
there’s a nephew, Rollo,” said the man. “That’s all. Old Man Tallery’s not
there. He’s on a Job.”
“Ah,” said Fatty, as if he quite well knew what the Job was.
“Well, I feel queer at going along to them if Old Man Tallery’s not there. The
others might not remember me.”
“I’ll take you along, chum,” said the obliging swing-boat
man. “See, what’s your name?”
“Smith,” said Fatty, quickly, remembering that most gypsies
were called Smith. “Just Jack Smith.”
“You wait till this lot’s finished their swings and I’ll
take you over,” said the man. “Maybe they aren’t there, though. I did see Old
Mum and Missus Tallery going off this afternoon.”
“Well, I’d be glad if you’d take me across,” said Fatty.
“You can tell them I knew Old Man Tallery!”
Rollo talks a Lot
The swing-boat man took Fatty across to the yellow and green
caravan. An old woman was outside, sitting in a sagging wicker chair that
creaked under her great weight.
She was calling loudly to some one, “Rollo! Drat the boy,
where is he? I’ll give him such a hiding when I get hold of him!”
“Hallo, Old Mum,” said the swing-boat man, coming up. “That
scamp of a Rollo gone again? I’ll give him a clip on the ear if I see him, and
send him over to you. He’s the laziest young’un I ever did see in my life.”
“He is that,” grumbled Old Mum. “His aunt’s gone down to the
town, and he was told to set to and clean the windows of the caravan. They’re
that dirty I can’t see to knit inside!”
She peered at Fatty. “Who’s this? I don’t know him. Do you
want Old Man Tallery? He’s not here. Won’t be back for a few days.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Fatty. “I wanted to see him.”
“Friend of his,” the swing-boat man explained to Old Mum.
“Name of Jack Smith.” He turned to Fatty. “You sit and talk to the old lady a
bit. She’ll love that! What have you got in your pack? Anything to interest
her? I’m going back to my swings.”
Fatty opened his pack and displayed his bottles and tins.
Old Mum took one look at them and laughed a wheezy laugh.
“Ho ho! That’s your line, is it? Coloured water and coloured
powders! My Dad was in the same line and very paying it was too. Shut your pack
up, lad, I’ve no use for them things. I’m too old and too spry to be caught by
such tricks!”
“I wasn’t going to sell you any, Old Mum, or try to,” said
Fatty, in a voice very like Ern’s. “When did you say Mrs. Tallery would be
back?”
“Oh, I never know how long she’ll be,” said Old Mum,
crossly. “Here, there, and everywhere she is. Here to-day, gone to-morrow -
leaves me alone for days on end, she do. Off she went a few days ago, never
said where - and back she comes without a word.”
Fatty pricked up his ears. Could Mrs. Tallery be the woman
in the caravan - the woman with the babies?
“Let me see now,” said Fatty, “how many children has she
got?”
“She and Old Man Tallery never did have children,” said Old
Mum. “Nary a one. That’s why they took on Rollo, though gracious knows why they
wanted to pick on him, the little pest. But his Ma’s got eleven kids besides
him, so she was glad to get rid of him.”
“Oh, of course,” said Fatty, quite as if he knew all about
it! He was about to ask a few more questions when the swing-boat man came up
again, leading a brown-faced gipsy boy by the ear.
“Here’s Rollo, Old Mum,” he said. “Shall I set him to work
cleaning the windows, or shall I put him across my knee and give him a hiding
first?”
“No!” yelled Rollo, squirming about. “I’ll do the windows,
you big beast!”
The swing-boat man shook him like a rat, laughed, and went
off again. Fatty looked at the angry boy. He wasn’t very big, about Pip’s size,
and the scowl on his face made him very ugly and unpleasant. Old Mum began to
scold him soundly, the words pouring out of her mouth in an endless stream. The
boy made a rude face at her.
He then went to get a pail of water and a cloth, presumably
to clean the very dirty windows. Old Mum heaved herself up to go into the
caravan.
“I’m chilly,” she said. “Just keep an eye on that boy, will
you? Give me a call if he stops his work!”
Fatty helped the old woman into the caravan. She seemed
surprised at his help, “Well, ’tisn’t often my son, Old Man Tallery has friends
like you!” she said. “First time I’ve known one of them help me up the steps!”
She disappeared into the smelly, dirty caravan. The boy
sulkily sloshed water over the windows, and made them so wet and smeary that
Fatty thought they were worse than ever!
He sat and waited till the boy had finished. Rollo emptied
the water, threw the cloth under the caravan and made a face at Fatty.
“Here,” said Fatty, taking some money out of his pocket.
“I’m hungry. Go and buy something with this, bring it back, and we’ll share it.
Skip along!”
“Right,” said the boy, looking less sulky. He took the money
and went. Soon he was back with two meat-pies, gingerbeer, and four enormous
jam-tarts. He sat down by Fatty.
“You a friend of Old Mum’s?” he said. “Cross-patch she is. I
like my aunt better. No nonsense about her.”
“You’ve got plenty of brothers and sisters, haven’t you?”
said Fatty, eating the pie. He didn’t like it at all, It was dry and musty.
“Yes. Eleven,” said Rollo. “The youngest is twins. Always
yelling they are.”
“Twins?” said Fatty at once. “How old are they?”
“Don’t know,” said Rollo. “Just babies. They came to stay with
my aunt when my Mum was ill.”
“What, here?” said Fatty, munching away. “I shouldn’t have
thought there was room for all of you in the caravan.”
“They was only here a day,” said Rollo. “Then my aunt got a
caravan up on the School Camp Field and had them there.”
Fatty went on munching solidly, but his eyes suddenly
gleamed in his dirty face. Aha! He was on the track now all right! So the aunt
was the woman in the caravan - and Rollo’s twin brother and sister were the
twins in the pram!
“Let me see - Marge and Bert are the twins, aren’t they?”
said Fatty. Rollo nodded.
“That’s right. You know the family all right, don’t you!
There’s Alf, George, Reenie, Pam, Doris, Millie, Reg, Bob, Doreen - and Marge
and Bert.”
“And you’re the one they chucked out, are you?” said Fatty,
gazing at the jam-tarts and wondering if he dared to tackle one.
“Ere! Oo said I was chucked out!” said Rollo indignantly.
“What do you suppose Old Man Tallery picked me out of the lot for? I’ll tell
you. Because I can act, and because I’ve got brains, and because I’m jolly
useful to him!”
“I bet you’re nothing but a nuisance to him, a dirty little
rascal like you!” said Fatty, trying to rouse Rollo into telling him a lot more
things. Rollo rose to the bait at once. He scowled.
“I’m going to tell you something, Mister,” he said to Fatty.
“I can act anything, I can. I can be a boy leading a blind fellow - that’s one
way Old Man Tallery and me get money - and I can be a nice kid going shopping
with my aunt, and slipping things up my sleeve when Aunt’s talking to the
shop-girl - and I can even be a Prince!”
Fatty jumped. A prince! Now what did he mean by that? Fatty
turned and stared at the gipsy boy, who looked back impudently at him.
“Ah, that made you stare!” said Rollo, triumphantly. “I bet
you don’t believe it, Mister.”
“No, I don’t,” said Fatty, hoping to lead the boy on and on.
His mind was in a whirl. A prince? What did it all mean?
“I thought you wouldn’t believe me!” said Rollo. “Well -
I’ve said too much. I’d better not say any more.”
“That’s because you’ve got nothing to say,” said Fatty,
promptly. “You’re making up a lot of tales and you know it. Prince my foot!
Dirty little rascal like you a prince! What do you take me for?”
The boy glared at him. Then he looked all round as if afraid
that someone might overhear. “Look here,” he said, “do you remember the fuss in
the papers about that Prince being kidnapped. Prince Bonga-Bonga or something.
Well, I was him!”
“Go and tell that fairytale to the twins!” said Fatty, scornfully,
but inwardly very excited. “There’s a real Prince Bongawah, who belongs to a
real kingdom called Tetarua - I’ve seen photographs of him.”
“Well, I tell you, I was him!” persisted the boy, angry that
Fatty wouldn’t believe him.
“Really? Well maybe you’ll tell me how you were kidnapped
then, and how you got away, and were taken here,” said Fatty, sarcastically.
“Easy,” said the boy. “I wasn’t kidnapped. I just had to
stay a few days at the camp, see, and pretend to be the Prince and just talk
gibberish - and then on a certain night I had to creep through the hedge, find
my aunt’s caravan and hide there. You’ll never guess how I got away though!”
Fatty thought he could make a very good guess indeed, but he
pretended to be quite bewildered.
“My word - this is a tale and a half!” he said. “Do you
really mean to say you did all that? Well then - how did you get away?”
“My aunt took the bottom boards out of the twins’
double-pram, and I curled myself up in the space there,” said Rollo, grinning.
“And she sat the twins down on top of me. They didn’t half yell!”
“And then she wheeled you back here,” said Fatty, as if
overcome with admiration. “Well, you are a one, Rollo! I didn’t believe a word
at first, but I do now. You’re a marvel!”
Rollo blossomed out at once at this unexpected praise. He
leaned over to Fatty and whispered. “I could tell you something else if I
wanted to!” he said. “I could tell you where the real Prince is! The coppers
would give a lot to know what I know, I can tell you! Not half they wouldn’t!”
Fatty Rides Home
Fatty was so astonished that he couldn’t say a word! He
gazed speechlessly at Rollo and Rollo grinned delightedly.
“You’re a friend of my uncle’s Old Man Tallery, so it won’t
matter telling you all this,” he said, suddenly struck by the fact that he had
been telling a lot of secrets! “But don’t you let on to him that I told you.”
“No, I won’t,” said Fatty. “He’s not here, anyway. Where is
he?”
“Well, he thinks I don’t know, but I do,” said Rollo. “He’s
down in Raylingham Marshes. I heard him and Bent Joe talking when they didn’t
know I was near.”
“Is that where the Prince is - the real Prince?” asked
Fatty.
Rollo grew suddenly cautious. “Here - I’m telling you too
much. What’s come over me! You just forget what I said about the Prince, see? I
don’t know where he is.”
“You said you did just now,” said Fatty.
“Well, maybe I do and maybe I don’t,” said Rollo. “Anyway
I’m not telling you.”
“Right,” said Fatty. “Why should I want to know anyway? But
what beats me is why you had to dress up as the Prince and then run away and
make people think you were kidnapped. It doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Well, it ought to,” said Rollo, rudely. “But maybe your
brains want a bit of polishing-up.”
“Go on!” said Fatty. “You and your cheek! I don’t say I’m as
bright as you are, by a long chalk. I could think a hundred years and not see
why all this was done!”
“Well, you look here,” said Rollo, really enjoying himself.
“There’s a Prince that some one wants to get rid of, see - so that he shan’t
have the throne. Got that?”
“Yes,” said Fatty, humbly.
“But it would be jolly difficult to kidnap him and get him
out of the country before his disappearance was discovered, wouldn’t it?” said
Rollo. “So all that happened was that when he was sent down to the School Camps
by car, the chauffeur stopped at an arranged place, the Prince was whisked away
in another car - and I popped into the first car, all dressed up posh like the
Prince!”
Fatty suddenly saw light. So that was the how and the why
and the where! Someone wanted the Prince out of the way, but didn’t want the
kidnapping to be discovered till he had had time to get the boy away somewhere
- and with the chauffeur in the plot, it was easy! Exchange boys on the journey
down - let the second boy stay a few days in the camp, and behave as if he were
the real Prince - and then creep away to his convenient aunt, and disappear
with the twins in the double-pram! No one would ever think the woman had
anything to do with the second “kidnapping,” which, to all intents and
purposes, was the first and only kidnapping. Nobody guessed about the genuine
kidnapping.
“What a plan!” said Fatty, in a tone of deepest admiration.
“Old Man Tallery is a whole lot cleverer than I thought he was. My word, next
time I meet him I’ll ask him to let me come in on his next job. There must be a
lot of money in these things.”
“There is,” said Rollo, boasting hard now. “I reckon he’ll
clear a good thousand pounds. I’m going to have fifty for myself, for my part
in playing the Prince.”
“My word - you’ll be rich!” said Fatty. “How did you like
being a Prince? Didn’t you ever forget your part?”
“No. It was easy,” said Rollo. “My face was as dark as the
Prince’s, and we was both little fellows, and I didn’t have to speak any
English - only nonsense. But when one of the Big Fellows - the ones who
arranged all this, you know - came down to see how I was getting on, and
insisted on having the State Umbrella up, I didn’t like that. I felt a fool.
All the boys yelled at me.”
“Did you enjoy being a Prince?” Fatty asked him.
“Not so bad,” said Rollo. “I slept in pyjamas for the first
time in my life - lovely silk they were, all blue and gold, with buttons to
match. My aunt was told to burn the pyjamas as soon as I got here, and she did,
in case any one saw them. But she kept the buttons and sewed them on a blouse.
She didn’t like throwing those away, they were too good.”
Fatty couldn’t help thinking what a good thing it was that
Rollo’s aunt had been thrifty over the buttons! If she hadn’t sewn them on her
blouse, if she hadn’t washed it and hung it on the line, Pip would never have
spotted the buttons, and he, Fatty would never have got on to the well-hidden
trail!
“I suppose Old Man Tallery helped to arrange everything,”
said Fatty. “He’s cute, isn’t he, your uncle?”
“No flies on him,” said Rollo, proudly. “He’s a card, he is.
I quite enjoyed being a Prince, but when they wanted me to go swimming, I
didn’t half kick up a fuss. Thc way they talked about me not wanting to wash,
too. Wash, wash, wash, clean your teeth! Many a time I wanted to talk back at
those kids up at camp. I did say a few things in English - but I was a bit
afraid of giving myself away if I lost my temper.”
“Of course,” said Fatty. “Well, you seem to have done very
well. I don’t believe any one suspected you weren’t the real Prince. Are you
like him to look at?”
“Near enough,” said Rollo. “He wasn’t anything special to
look at and neither am I. I was a bit scared of some one who knew the Prince
coming down to see me, but nobody did.”
“And you say you know where they took the Prince?” said
Fatty. “Haven’t they got him away from there yet?”
Rollo became secretive again. “I’m not telling that,” he
said. “I don’t want to be skinned alive by my uncle, see? He doesn’t even know
I heard where he’s gone to.”
Fatty decided that he couldn’t find out anything else from
Rollo. He knew the whole plot now - very simple, very slickly carried out - the
real kidnapping cleverly masked by the false one, so that the police were
completely bamboozled, not looking for the Prince until some days after he had
really been kidnapped!
Had the real Prince been spirited away yet? Would he ever be
heard of again? There really was no time to be lost, if he was still being kept
in hiding. Anything might happen to him at any time.
Raylingham Marshes. If Rollo’s uncle, Old Man Tallery was
there, possibly the whole gang were there, the Prince too. Where were Raylingham
Marshes? Fatty decided to look them up immediately he got home.
He got up to go. It was getting dark and only the Fair
people were now left on the field. He had missed dinner - thank goodness his
people were out, and wouldn’t know he wasn’t there. “Well, so long!” he said to
Rollo. “I must be going.”
“Aren’t you going to wait and see my aunt?” said Rollo, who
had taken quite a fancy to Fatty. “What did you say your name was?”
“Jack Smith,” said Fatty. “No, I can’t wait. Give her all
the best from me, and say I’ll look in another time. She may not remember me,
of course.”
“She jolly well won’t!” thought Fatty to himself, as he went
to find his bicycle and ride home. “Blow! I haven’t got a lamp. I forgot I
might be home after dark. Hope I don’t get caught by Old Goon!”
Fatty rode off quickly. His mind was working at top speed.
What a plot! No wonder it had seemed such a peculiar mystery - there had been
two kidnappings, but only one, the false one, was made known!
Raylingham Marshes. Was there a house in the marshes? Was
the Prince hidden there? Had Rollo got the name right, or was he doing a little
make-up on his own? He was talkative and boastful and conceited - some of what
he said might quite well not be true. Fatty rode along so lost in thought that
he was in Peterswood before he realized it.
He rode cautiously down the road. As he had no lights he was
extra careful - but suddenly a dark figure stepped out from behind a tree, and
said sharply.
“Here you! Stop! What you doing, riding without a light?
Don’t you know it’s against the law?”
“Goon!” thought Fatty. “Just my luck!” He got off his
bicycle, debating what to say and do.
Goon flashed his lantern at him, and saw what appeared to be
a dirty tramp with a pack. Goon was suspicious at once.
“This your bike?” he asked sharply.
“Might be!” said the pedlar, insolently.
“Now you come alonga me,” began Goon, “and give a proper
account of yourself. Riding withouta...”
“Here hold my bike for a minute while I do up my shoe,” said
the pedlar, and shoved the bicycle at Goon. He had to catch it to save it from
falling on top of him - and while he stood there holding it, Fatty was off like
a streak of lightning!
“Oho! So that’s the way of things, is it?” said Goon. “He’s
stolen this bike, that’s what he’s done.”
Goon mounted the bicycle and rode after the running figure.
But it darted off down a path where cyclists were not allowed to ride, and Goon
was beaten! He had no wish to ride a bicycle without lights down a path where
cycling was forbidden! Ten to one, if he did, that fat boy would appear from
somewhere and see him! Goon got off and wheeled it carefully back to his house.
The bicycle seemed somehow vaguely familiar to him. He took it into his hall
and had a good look at it. Then he got out his note-book and wrote down a full
description.
“Full-size. Make - Atlas. Colour black with red line. Basket
in front. No front lamp. In good condition.”
Then he wrote a full description of the man he had seen with
it.
“Tramp. Cloth cap pulled down over face. Red scarf. Dirty
jersey. Dirty flannel trousers. Ear-rings. Rude and insolent. I had to force
him to give up bicycle, which I guessed was stolen. After a terrific struggle I
got it, and the man ran off, scared.”
Just as he finished writing all this, the telephone bell
rang and made him jump. He took up the receiver.
“Police here,” he said.
“Oh, Mr. Goon, is that you?” came Fatty’s voice at the other
end. “So sorry to bother you - but I have to report to you that my bike’s been
stolen. It’s gone. Not in the shed. Vanished. I’m afraid you’ll never find it
or the thief, but I thought I’d better report it.”
“Details of your bike, please,” said Goon, in a most
official voice.
“Right,” said Fatty. “Full-size, of course. It’s an Atlas, a
rather nice one in good condition. It’s black with a red line, and there’s a
basket in front. And...”
Goon cleared his throat and spoke pompously. “I have it
here, Master Frederick. I stopped a tramp with it fifteen minutes ago. Very
nasty fellow he was too. Most insolent. Didn’t want to give up the bike at all
when I challenged him.”
“How did you get it, then?” asked Fatty in an awed voice.
“Well, I struggled with him,” said Goon, letting his
imagination go. “It was a bit of a rough-house, you know - but I got it from
him. He was so scared that he ran for his life. I brought the bike here. You
can come round for it, if you like.”
“My word - you’ve done some pretty quick work, Mr. Goon!”
said Fatty, admiringly. Mr. Goon stood up very straight. Aha! - it wasn’t often
that fat boy said things like that to him.
“I don’t let the grass grow under my feet,” said Mr.
Goon,with dignity. “Well - you’ll be along in a minute or two, Master
Frederick, I suppose?”
“Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be there!” said Fatty,
cheerfully, and rang off with a click.
Mr. Goon has a Bad Time
Fatty arrived in ten minutes, looking spruce and clean. He
had just had time to get out of his disguise and clean himself up. He had given
himself one minute to laugh very loudly indeed at Goon’s story of the tramp and
the fight he had had.
Goon opened the door. He was still pompous. “There’s your
bike,” he said, waving to where it stood in the hall. “Can’t beat the police,
you know, Master Frederick.”
“Well, I must say it was pretty smart work, Mr. Goon,” said
Fatty, so admiringly that Mr. Goon told the story of the tramp all over again,
adding a few more trimmings.
“Mr. Goon, I’m much obliged to you,” said Fatty, earnestly.
“And, in return, I must pass on a bit of news. We’ve discovered a bit more
about the kidnapping - I know Ern told you about the Prince hiding in a pram
under the babies, didn’t he? Well, we’ve found out now that that wasn’t the
real prince. It was a gipsy boy. The real Prince is, we think, somewhere in
Raylingham Marshes.”
Mr. Goon’s face slowly grew thunderous as Fatty reeled all
this off. “Now look here,” he said, “why don’t you think up some better tale?
How many more princes are you going to tell me about?”
“I’m not fooling you, Mr. Goon,” said Fatty. “I said I’d
help you this time, and I’m trying to. But you make it very difficult.”
“So do you,” said Mr. Goon. “What with your dressing up as
foreigners, and talking foreign, and then telling Ern to tell me about Princes
in prams with babies, and now you say he was a gipsy, and you want me to go
gallivanting off to Raylingham Marshes after another prince. Not me!”
“I don’t want you to do any gallivanting at all,” said
Fatty. “All you’ve got to do is to ring up the Chief Inspector and tell him
everything. He’ll tell you what to do.”
“Look here,” said Mr. Goon, beginning to turn his usual purple,
“didn’t I ring up and tell the Chief all about Princess Bongawee, the Prince’s
sister - and it was all a makeup on your part to make me look small? Oh, you
needn’t shake your head, I know it was! Then you wanted me to tell him another
idiotic story - and now this. Well, I shan’t!”
“You’d better,” said Fatty. “Or shall I? If I do, I’ll get
all the credit again, you know.”
“Don’t you do any telephoning either,” snapped Mr. Goon.
“Can’t you keep out of this? I’m in charge of this case, I tell you. Interfering
with the Law! That’s what you do all the time. You’re a toad of a boy, a...”
“Shush-shush, Mr. Goon,” said Fatty, beginning to wheel his
bicycle out of the hall. “Naughty-naughty! Mustn’t lose temper.”
He wheeled his bicycle to the front gate and mounted it.
Then he called back. “Oh, I say - I forgot to ask you something, Mr. Goon. Did
that tramp you fought with do up his shoe after all?”
And, without waiting for an answer, Fatty rode chuckling
down the road. Mr. Goon stared after him in the darkness. He was puzzled. How
did that boy know that the tramp had said he wanted to do up his shoe?
Certainly Mr. Goon had mentioned no such thing. Then how did Fatty know it?
Light suddenly dawned on Mr. Goon. He staggered into his
sitting-room and sat down heavily in his chair. He put his head in his hands
and groaned. The tramp had been Fatty! He had taken his bike away - and patted
himself on the back when Fatty had reported it gone - and given it back to him
without so much as mentioning the missing front lamp!
Why, oh why had he made up such a wonderful story? How Fatty
must have laughed up his sleeve! Mr. Goon spent quite half an hour thinking of
all the horrid things he would like to do to Fatty - but alas, he knew he would
never, never get the chance to do them. Fatty could look after himself too
well!
The telephone bell rang and Mr. Goon jumped. He took up the
receiver fiercely. If it was That Boy again he’d tell him what he thought of
him!
But it wasn’t. It was a message from the Chief Inspector,
delivered shortly by another constable.
“That P.C. Goon? Message from the Chief. A report has come
through from one of our men to say it is now thought that the boy at the camp
was not the real Prince - but some one masquerading as him. Photographs shown
to boys on the field have not been recognized as the boy who was with them as
the Prince. The Chief says, have you had any inkling of this - if so, please
send in your report.”
Mr. Goon gaped. He didn’t know what to say. Why - it seemed
as if the message Ern had delivered to him from Fatty might have been correct
after all, then - not a fairy-tale. That story about the Prince getting away in
the pram - and now Fatty’s tale about it being a gipsy boy after all! Was it
all true?
“P.C. Goon? Are you still there?” said the voice at the
other end, impatiently. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes - oh yes,” panted Goon, feeling suddenly as if hc had
been running a long way. “Thanks. Interesting report. I’ll - er - think about
it - and send in mine shortly.”
“Right. Good night,” said the voice, and the telephone
clicked off.
For the second time that night Goon sank down into his chair
and put his head in his hands, groaning. Why hadn’t he told the Chief all that
Ern had told him? Now some one else had got the information, and got in before
him. Goon began seriously to wonder if he owned as good brains as he thought
himself to have.
“First I ring up and tell the Chief about that dressing-up
and Princess Bongawee, which was nonsense,” he thought, “And then I don’t tell
him about the Prince going off in the pram with those babies. That’s why those
kids were over at the Fair, no doubt about that - trying to trace the babies
and their mother.”
He sat and brooded for some time. Then he thought of the
last thing Fatty had said to him - that he thought the real Prince was in
Raylingham Marshes.
Was that true? Did he really think so? Dare he ring up and
tell the Chief that - or would it turn out that there wasn’t such a place or
something?
Mr. Goon began to get into a state. He paced up and down. He
clutched his head. He groaned. He’d lose his job over this if he didn’t do
something special now!
He got down a police map of the district. He looked up
Raylingham Marshes. Yes - there was such a place. But was it just marshes and
nothing else? Suppose there wasn’t even a house there?
“There’s only one thing to do,” said Mr. Goon, making up his
mind. “I must go and see this place. Let’s see - what’s the time? There seems
to be a station within a mile or two of the place. Is there a train I can
catch?”
He looked up the time-table. There was a train, the very
last train - in three-quarters of an hour. Mr. Goon began to do things in a
great hurry.
He took off his uniform and put on ordinary clothes.
It wouldn’t do to go snooping round a hide-out in police
uniform. He dragged on a pair of enormous, grey flannel trousers, added a grey
jersey with a bright yellow border at neck and bottom and a cap. He put on a
tweed coat, rather baggy, and then looked at himself in the glass.
“Nobody would guess I was a police officer!” he thought.
“Talk about disguises! Well, I can do a bit of that too. I’m just a hiker now,
that’s all. I’ll put a few things in a kit-bag to make meself seem real.”
He caught the train by the skin of his teeth. It arrived on
time at the station near to Raylingham Marshes - Raylingham Station - a sleepy
little place with one man who was porter, ticket-clerk and everything.
He seemed surprised to see Mr. Goon on the last train. “Did
you want to get out here, mate?” he asked.
“I did,” said Mr. Goon. “Er - I’m a hiker, you see. I’m - er
- seeing the countryside.”
“Well, don’t you go hiking over them marshes in the dark,”
said the porter, puzzled.
“Are there any houses in the marshes?” asked Goon.
“Not many,” said the porter. “Two, that’s all. One’s a farm,
on high ground, and the other’s a big house. Belongs to foreigners, so people
says.”
“Aha!” thought Goon. “That’s the house I want. I’ll get
there somehow, and snoop round. I might find the Prince. I might even rescue
him.”
Wonderful pictures of himself carrying the Prince on his
back across dangerous marshes came into Mr. Goon’s mind. Even more wonderful
pictures came after that - photographs of himself and the Prince in the papers.
Headlines - “Brave Constable Rescues Kidnapped Prince.”
Mr. Goon left the dimly-lighted station and stepped out into
the darkness. There was a lane outside the exit. He would follow that - very
very cautiously. It must lead somewhere!
The porter watched him go. “Funny chap,” he said to himself.
“Mad as a hatter! Hiking over the marshes in the middle of the night. The
police ought to be told about him - ought to keep an eye on him, they ought!
But nobody kept an eye on the brave and valiant Mr. Goon. He
was quite, quite alone.
Disappearance of Mr. Goon
Fatty had done nothing that night except to look up the map
to find Raylingham Marshes, if there was such a place. There was, as Goon had
already found. Fatty examined the map closely.
“I believe I could get into the marshes from this bit of
high ground here,” he thought. “There’s a path or something marked there. Two
buildings marked as well - one at one end of the marsh, one in the middle.
There’s a station too. Well, I certainly shan’t go by train - much too conspicuous.”
He decided to go to bed and sleep on the whole idea. He
would tell the others about it in the morning. He was much too tired to do any
more “gallivanting” about that night - and anyway he wasn’t going to lose
himself in unknown marshes in pitch darkness!
The telephone rang while he was eating his breakfast next
morning. The house parlourmaid answered it and came into the room.
“Master Frederick, it’s for you, sir,” she said. “Chief
Inspector Jenks on the telephone.”
Fatty jumped. His father looked at him at once. “You haven’t
been getting into any trouble, Frederick, I hope,” he said.
“I don’t think so, sir,” said Fatty and disappeared
hurriedly into the hall, wondering what in the world the Chief wanted at this
time of the morning.
“Frederick? Is that you?” came the Chief’s crisp voice.
“Listen - Goon’s disappeared. Do you know anything about it?”
“Gosh!” said Fatty, startled. “No, I don’t sir. I saw him
late last night - he - er - found my bicycle for me after I had - er - reported
it gone. He certainly didn’t make me think he was going to disappear.”
“Well, he has,” said the Chief Inspector, sounding annoyed.
“He didn’t answer his telephone this morning, and when I sent a man over, he
reported that Goon was Gone - not in his uniform either.”
“Don’t say he’s disappeared in his pyjamas too - like the
Prince!” said Fatty, still more startled.
“I don’t know,” said the Chief. “Nobody would kidnap Goon, I
should imagine - not out of his own house. It’s most extraordinary. You are
sure you don’t know anything about it, Frederick? You usually seem to know a
good deal more than most people.”
“No, sir. Honestly I didn’t know he had gone - or was
meaning to go anywhere,” said Fatty, very puzzled. “I can’t make it out.”
“Well, I can’t stop for more now,” said the Chief. “Ring me
up if you have any ideas. Goodbye.”
And before Fatty could ask him or tell him anything more,
the telephone went dead. Fatty stared down at it. He was most surprised at this
news.
“Goon disappeared! He must have gone after I left him. It
was dark then, and he was in his uniform. He must have undressed. Gosh, don’t
say he’s gone in his pyjamas too - this is all very peculiar!” Fatty quite
forgot that he hadn’t finished his breakfast, and went out to get his bicycle
to ride round to Larry’s.
Larry was surprised to see him so early. “No time to talk
much now,” said Fatty. “Come round to Pip’s, you and Daisy. There’s a lot of
news.”
There certainly was! The others drank in all Fatty had to
say about the boy in the caravan the night before, and what he had told Fatty.
“So you see Sid was quite right when he told us about the
boy who was hiding in the pram,” said Fatty. “And now we know why he hid - and
why he pretended to be the Prince, and everything.”
“But we don’t know where he’s been hidden - the real Prince,
I mean,” said Pip.
“Well, I may even know that,” said Fatty, and he told them
what the boy had said. “He said his uncle, Old Man Tallery, was in Raylingham
Marshes,” he went on, “and as he was mixed up in the kidnapping, and produced
his nephew, Rollo, to impersonate the real Prince, it’s very likely that the
Prince is there too. There’s probably a good hide-out there, in those marshes.”
“You did awfully well last night,” said Pip. “What time did
you get back?”
“Latish, in the dark,” said Fatty. “And I hadn’t a lamp on
my bike - and what do you think! I was caught by Goon!”
“Gracious!” said Bets, alarmed. “Did he go round and
complain to your people?”
“Of course not. He didn’t know it was me. You forget I was
disguised as a tramp,” grinned Fatty, and then told them how Goon had taken his
bicycle, and how he, Fatty, had got it back again. The others roared with
laughter.
“No one will ever get the better of you, Fatty,” said Daisy,
with the utmost conviction. “Any more news? What a lot you’ve got.”
“Yes. I’ve kept the spiciest bit till the last,” said Fatty.
“Goon has disappeared! Nowhere to be found this morning, so the Chief Inspector
says - and he’s left his uniform behind. Where, oh where can he be?”
Nobody knew. They were all astounded at this last bit of
news. “Another spot of kidnapping, do you think?” asked Larry.
“I don’t know what to think,” said Fatty. “He certainly
didn’t appear to have any plans for going anywhere last night when I went to
fetch my bike.”
“Of course, if you’d mentioned Raylingham Marshes to him, I
would have thought he might be there,” said Bets. “Just to get in before you,
Fatty. But he wouldn’t know, of course.”
Fatty sat up straight. “Bets, you’re a marvel!” he said.
“Hit the nail on the head as usual. I did tell him the place, of course - but
what with one thing and another I’d forgotten I’d mentioned it to him. That’s
where he is!”
“Do you think so, really?” asked Bets, her face glowing at
Fatty’s praise.
“Of course,” said Fatty. “But goodness knows what has
happened to him. Got a time-table, Pip? He wouldn’t bike all that way, and the
buses wouldn’t be going at that time of night. But there might be a train.”
There was, of course. “That’s what he did!” said Fatty,
jubilantly. “As soon as I’d gone he must have got out of his uniform and put on
his ordinary clothes - rushed out and caught that train - and gone hunting for
the Prince in Raylingham Marshes!”
“Without saying a word to any one! ” said Pip. “What a man!”
“What are we going to do about it?” asked Daisy. “Anything?”
Fatty considered. “I don’t think I’ll tell this idea to the
Chief. He wouldn’t want to send a posse of men searching marshes for Goon
unless he was dead certain he was there. We’ll go ourselves!”
“What! All of us?” cried Bets, joyfully.
“All of us,” said Fatty.
“And Ern too?” asked Bets, pointing down the drive. Everyone
looked and groaned, Ern was coming up the drive - by himself, fortunately.
“Well, I suppose Ern may as well come too,” said Fatty. “The
more the merrier. We’ll be a company of kids out walking - looking for uncommon
marsh flowers and marsh birds.”
“I’ll look for the Marsh Goonflower,” said Bets with a
giggle. “And you can look for the Clear-Orf Bird, Pip.”
“Hallo, hallo, hallo!” said Ern, appearing round the hedge.
“How’s things? Any news?”
“Yes, a lot,” said Bets. “But we can’t stop to tell you now,
Ern.”
“Spitty,” said Ern, looking disappointed. “What’s the
hurry?”
“You can come with us if you like and we’ll tell you on the
way,” said Fatty. “I hope you haven’t got Sid and Perce parked outside the
front gate, Ern, because we are not going to take them too.”
“I’m alone,” said Ern. “Perce has gone to buy some more rope
for the tent - it flopped down on us last night. And Sid’s gone to buy nougat.”
“Nougat!” said every one, astonished. “But why not toffee?”
“Sid seems to have gone off toffee all of a sudden, like,”
said Ern. “Funny. He’s never done that before.”
“Well, nougat is almost worse - so gooey,” said Bets.
“Spitty!”
“Now don’t you catch Ern’s disease,” said Pip. Ern looked
startled.
“What disease?” he asked. “I haven’t got no spots, nor
anything.”
“We haven’t any time to waste,” said Fatty. “We’ll go and
buy sandwiches and buns and drinks down in the village. There won’t be time to
prepare food ourselves. We’ll take the bus to the east side of the marshes and
then walk.”
They left their bicycles at Pip’s and went to buy their
food. Soon they were on the bus to Raylingham. Fatty forbade them to talk about
anything to do with the Mystery. “Some one might be on the bus that knows
something about it,” he said. “We don’t want to give any information away.”
They got out of the bus at the edge of the marshes. They had
talked so loudly about flowers and birds all the way that the conductor felt
sure they wanted to search the marshes for them.
“You’ll be all right so long as you keep to the paths,” he
told them. “See that one there? That leads right to the centre of the marsh.
You’ll notice other paths going off here and there, but be careful not to
choose too narrow a one.”
Off they all went. Was Goon somewhere there? Surely he
hadn’t fallen into the marsh in the middle of the night, and sunk down and
down?
“Till his head’s just above the surface of the marsh!” said
Bets, with a shiver. “Only his helmet showing.”
“He’s not wearing his helmet,” said Fatty. “Cheer up. It
would take a long, long time for an enormous weight like Goon to sink down and
down and down! This is not a terribly marshy marsh - not in the middle of
summer at any rate!”
But when Pip slipped off the path once he soon found himself
up to the knees in muddy water! He didn’t like it at all, and got hastily back
on to the path.
“I shan’t go looking for Goonflowers just here!” he said. “I
don’t feel they’d grow very well!”
Things Begin to Happen
The marsh was a queer place. It was intensely green - and it
was also full of the most irritating flies. Ern nearly went mad with them, and
the others nearly went mad with Ern’s continually slapping and grumbling!
“Look - there’s a house or something over there,” said
Fatty, suddenly. “On that high ground, see - where there are trees.”
“How nice to see trees again,” said Daisy. “I was almost
beginning to forget what they looked like. Ern, stop slapping about. You keep
making me jump, and it’s too hot for that.”
“Let’s take this little path,” said Fatty, stopping where a
narrow path curved off the main one they were following. “It seems to go round
the back of that copse of trees - it looks almost a wood, really - and we could
reconnoitre without being seen.”
“What’s reconnoitre,” said Bets at once.
“Spy round - have a snoop,” said Fatty. “If Raylingham
Marshcs is a hide-out for Old Man Tallery and the Prince and his kidnappers, we
don’t want to be caught.”
But they were caught! They stole down the narrow little path
that skirted the copse, looking carefully down at their feet to make sure they
were going to tread safely, when two men rose up from beside a turn in the
path. They had been lying behind great tufts of rushes, and couldn’t possibly
be seen.
The children stopped, alarmed and shocked at such a sudden,
silent appearance. The men looked quite ordinary country men, though both had
very dark eyes, and rather a queer accent when they spoke.
“Hallo,” said Fatty, recovering. “You startled us!”
“Why do you come through this dangerous marsh?” asked one
man. “It is not fit for children.”
“Oh, we’re on a walk,” said Fatty. “A nature walk. We’re not
trespassing, you know - this marsh is common ground.”
“But you are trespassing,” said the other man, and his dark
eyes snapped at Fatty. “This land belongs to that farm over there. See it?”
“Yes,” said Fatty. “Well, we’re doing no harm. Now we’ve
come so far, we’ll go right on to the other side.”
“Not this way,” said the first man, and he planted himself
in Fatty’s way. “You can go back to the main path. I’ve told you you are
trespassing.”
“What’s up that we can’t go this way?” said Fatty,
impatiently. “Any one would think you had something to hide!”
“I say - look!” said Larry, suddenly, and he pointed up into
the sky. “What’s that? A helicopter, surely! Gosh, it’s not coming down into
the marsh, is it? It will sink!”
One man said something savage to the other in a foreign
language. Both glanced up at the hovering helicopter. Then the first one pushed
Fatty firmly back.
“I’m having no nonsense,” he said. “You’ll do as you’re
told, all you kids. Go back to the main path, and, if you’re wise, keep away
from this marsh, see?”
Fatty stumbled and almost fell into the water on one side of
the path. Ern, angry that any one should have dared to touch his beloved Fatty,
gave the man a violent push too. He lost his balance and went headlong into the
marsh!
“Shut up, Ern,” said Fatty, angrily. “What’s the sense of
doing that? We shall only get into trouble! Turn back, all of you, and go to
the main path!”
The man who had fallen into the marsh was extremely angry.
He clambered out, calling orders to the other man, still in a foreign language.
“You can come along with us,” said the second man to Fatty,
grimly. “You hear? Walk in front of us on this narrow path. We’ll show you that
we mean what we say when we tell you you are trespassing!”
The helicopter was still hovering over their heads. The men
seemed suddenly in a great hurry. They made the children squeeze by them on the
narrow path till all of them were in front. Then they made them march ahead
quickly.
Nobody said anything. Fatty was thinking hard. That
helicopter was about to land. Where? There must be some small landing-place
cleared for it somewhere near. Who was it going to take away? The Prince? Then
he hadn’t yet been spirited away. Those men had been on the watch for any one
coming through the marsh that day - something was going on, that was clear.
In silence the two men hurried the children along. Bets was
frightened and kept close to Fatty. Ern was scared too, and forgot all about
slapping at the flies. And all the time the helicopter hovered about overhead,
evidently waiting for some signal to land.
Round a corner they came into a big farmyard. Pigs were in a
sty, and hens wandered about. It looked very homely and countrified all of a
sudden. Ducks quacked in a pond, and a horse lifted its head from a trough
where it had been drinking, and stared at the little company.
A very big farm-house lay back from the yard. Its tall
chimneys showed that it was old - probably built in Elizabethan times. There
was a small door in the wall of the farm-house not far from them. The men
hurried the children over to it, opened it, and shoved them all in, giving them
a push if they thought any one was not quick enough.
Down a long passage - up some narrow, curving stairs, along
another passage, with wooden boards that were very old and uneven. The passage
was dark, and Bets didn’t like it at all. She slipped her hand into Fatty’s and
he squeezed it hard.
They came to a door. The man in front opened it. “In here,”
he said, and in they all went. Fatty put his foot in the doorway just as the
man was about to shut them in.
“What are you doing this for?” he asked. “You know you’ll
get into trouble, don’t you? We’re only kids out on a walk. What’s the
mystery?”
“You’ll be kept here for a day or two,” said the man. “There
are reasons. You came at an unfortunate time for yourselves. Be sensible and
nothing will happen to you.”
He kicked Fatty’s foot away suddenly and slammed the door.
The six children heard the key turning in the lock. Then they heard the
footsteps of the two men as they hurried away down the passage.
Fatty looked desperately round the room. It was small and
dark, lined with oak panels. There was one small window, with leaded panes. He
ran to it and peered out. A sheer drop to the ground! Nobody could climb out
there with safety.
“Fatty! What’s all this about?” said Ern, in a frightened
voice. “Sawful!”
“Shall I tell you what I think?” said Fatty, in a low voice.
“I think the Prince Bongawah was taken here and hidden, when he was kidnapped
from his car. And I think he’s been kept prisoner here till arrangements could
be made to spirit him away somehow - and that’s what that helicopter is
arriving for! It will land somewhere here, the Prince will be hurried aboard -
and nobody will ever hear of him again!”
Bets shivered. “I don’t like you saying that,” she said.
“Fatty, what are we going to do? Do you think they’ll hurt us?”
“No,” said Fatty. “I think we’re a nuisance, but I think
they really do believe we’re only six kids out hiking. They’ve no idea we’re
hunting for old Goon, or that we know anything is going on here.”
“But what are we going to do?” said Bets, again. “I don’t
like this place. I want to get out.”
“I can hear the helicopter again,” said Pip. “It sounds
nearer. It must be coming down.”
“Do you suppose Mr. Goon is a prisoner too?” said Larry. “We
haven’t seen or heard a sign of him. Perhaps he didn’t come to Raylingham
Marshes after all.”
“Perhaps he didn’t,” said Fatty. He went over to the door
and tried it. It was locked. He looked at the door. It was old but very stout
and strong. Nobody could possibly break it down!
“Do your trick of getting out through a locked door, Fatty,”
said Daisy, suddenly. “There’s a good space under the door - I believe you
could manage it beautifully.”
“That’s just what I was thinking,” said Fatty. “The only
thing is I need a newspaper - or some big sheet of paper - and I haven’t
brought a newspaper with me to-day. Very careless of me!”
“I’ve got a comic,” said Ern, unexpectedly. “Would that do?
What you going to do, Fatty?”
“Get through this locked door,” said Fatty, much to Ern’s
amazement. Ern fished in his pocket and brought out a crumpled and messy comic,
which he handed to Fatty.
“Good work,” said Fatty, pleased. He took the comic and
opened out the middle double sheet. He slid it carefully under the door,
leaving only a small corner his side. Ern watched, puzzled. How was that going
to open a locked door?
Fatty took a small leather case from his pocket and opened
it. In it were a number of curious small tools, and a little roll of wire.
Fatty took out the wire and straightened it.
He inserted it into the keyhole and began delicately to work
at the key. He prodded and pushed and jiggled it - until, suddenly, he gave a
sharp push and the key slid out of the keyhole on the other side of the door,
and fell with a thud down to the floor.
Ern stared open-mouthed. He couldn’t for the life of him
make out what Fatty was doing. But the others knew. They had seen Fatty doing
his locked-door trick before!
“Hope it’s fallen on to the paper,” said Fatty, and bent
down to draw the sheet of paper back under the bottom of the door. Carefully he
pulled it, very carefully. More and more of the comic appeared, and oh joy, at
last the key appeared too under the door, on the second half of the
double-sheet! There it was, on their side of the door. Fatty had managed to get
it!
Ern gasped. His eyes almost fell out of his head. “Coo - you
are a one!” he said to Fatty. “You’re a genius, that’s what you are.”
“Be quiet, Ern,” said Fatty. He slid the key into the lock
on his side of the door and turned it. The door unlocked. Now they could all go
free!
Fatty does some Good Work
“Listen,” said Fatty, in a low voice. “I don’t think we’d
all better go out. There’s such a crowd of us, we’d be sure to be spotted. What
I propose to do is this - get out by myself and have a really good look round.
If there’s a telephone, I shall immediately use that to get on to the Chief
Inspector, and warn him to send men here at once.”
“Ooooh, yes!” said Bets, delighted at the idea of rescue.
“Then I shall snoop round to see if I can find the Prince -
though I’m afraid I shan’t be in time to stop the helicopter from going off
with him, if they mean to take off again at once,” said Fatty.
“What about Goon?” asked Larry. “Shall you look for him?”
“Well, I’ll certainly keep a look out for him,” said Fatty.
“But at the moment the most important thing is to get in touch with the Chief,
and also see if I can hold up the Prince’s flight. Now all you have to do is to
keep quiet and wait. I’ll have to lock you in again, I’m afraid, in case some
one comes along and finds the door unlocked. But you know how to get out if you
want to, Larry, don’t you - so you’ll be all right.”
“Suppose some one comes and sees you’re not with us?” said
Bets, in sudden alarm.
“I don’t expect they’ll notice,” said Fatty. “They haven’t
counted us, I’m sure! Well - slong!”
“So long!” whispered the others. “Good luck!”
Fatty disappeared down the passage, after carefully locking
the door behind him and leaving the key in the lock. He was very cautious. By
great good chance they had come at a most important moment, and Fatty did not
mean to throw his chance away!
The telephone! That was the most essential thing for him to
find. Where would it be? Downstairs, of course. In the hall, probably, which
would make it very awkward indeed to talk into. He would certainly be heard.
A thought struck Fatty. Sometimes people had a telephone in
their bedroom. His mother had, for instance, so that if she happened to have a
cold, she could still telephone her orders to the shops, or talk to her
friends.
There might be one in a bedroom. Fatty decided to look. It
would make things so much easier if there were.
He peeped into first one room and then another. Two of them
were most luxuriously furnished, considering this was a farm-house. Fatty stood
at the door of one, his sharp eyes looking all round.
Then his face brightened. A telephone in pale green stood
beside the big green-covered bed at one side of the room! Gosh! Could he
possibly get to it and telephone unheard? He tiptoed across the room, first
shutting the door quietly behind him. He took up the whole telephone, and crept
under the bed with it, hoping that his voice would be muffled there.
He lifted the receiver and put it to his ear, his heart
beating fast. Would the exchange answer?
With great relief he heard a voice speaking. “Number
please.”
Fatty gave the number in a low voice. “It’s the police
number,” he said, urgently. “Get me on quickly, will you?”
In under half a minute another voice spoke. “Police station
here.”
“This is Frederick Trotteville speaking,” said Fatty,
keeping his voice low. “I want the Chief Inspector at once.”
There was a pause. Then came the Chief Inspector’s voice and
Fatty’s heart lifted in joy.
“Frederick? What is it?”
“Listen,” said Fatty. “I’m at the farm-house in the middle
of Raylingham Marshes. I’m pretty certain the kidnapped Prince is here too.
There’s a helicopter hovering about, and I think maybe we’ve come at an
important moment - when the Prince is to be spirited away. We’re prisoners,
sir, but I managed to get at a telephone. We’re all here, Ern too. Can you send
men along?”
There was an astounded silence. Fatty could picture the
Chief’s astonished face. Then his crisp voice came over the wires.
“Yes. I’ll send. Hang on till we come - and see if you can
stop the Prince from being taken off! If any one can, you can, Frederick! Good
work!”
The telephone went dead. Fatty replaced his receiver with a
sigh of thankfulness. Help would come sooner or later. Now he was free to do a
bit of prowling round and see what he could find. If only he could find out
where the Prince was!
Fatty crawled out cautiously from beneath the bed and
replaced the telephone on its little table. He tiptoed to the door. All was
quiet. He opened it silently and peered out into the passage. No one was in
sight.
“Better look for a locked door,” thought Fatty. “That’s the
only bright idea I’ve got at the moment. Let’s think now - the farm-house had
two wings to it - and I’m in the middle. We must have been locked up in one
wing. Maybe the Prince is in the other.”
He leaned carefully out of a window to have a look at where
the other wing of the house stood out. He at once noticed a barred window. Ah -
surely that would be the room!
He drew in his head, and made his way down the passage. Was
there any way of reaching the other wing except by the stairs and the hall?
There might be.
Fatty came to the head of the stairs. Down below he could
hear the murmur of voices coming from some room - and then his eye caught sight
of something through the landing window.
It was the helicopter! With its rotors whirring it was
slowly descending! Fatty watched it disappear behind a big barn-like building.
There must be a landing-place there. He frowned. There was no time to lose now.
The Prince might be hurried off immediately!
He went to the back of the landing and found a tiny, narrow
passage there. Perhaps it ran to the other wing! He followed it carefully and
quietly, and as he had thought, it did run to the other wing of the house.
“Now to find the locked room with barred windows!” thought
Fatty, jubilantly, and then shrank back in fright as he heard the sound of a
door being shut and locked, and a man’s voice saying something loudly.
Fatty crouched behind a curtain covering a window, hardly
daring to breathe. Footsteps passed by him, and went on to the big landing
where the stairs were. When all sounds had gone, Fatty came out again. He
tiptoed quickly along the passage, passed two open doors - and then came to a
shut one!
It was locked! But fortunately the key had been left in the
lock. Fatty turned it, opened the door and looked in.
A dark-faced boy with a sulky, scowling expression looked
up. He was about Pip’s size, and in build and colouring was very like Rollo,
the gipsy boy.
“Are you Prince Bongawah?” whispered Fatty. The boy nodded,
staring in astonishment at this big boy in the doorway.
“Come on, then - I’ve come to save you,” whispered Fatty.
“Buck up.”
The boy ran to the door and began to jabber in a foreign
language.
“Shut up!” said Fatty, urgently. “Do you want to bring every
one up here! Come with me and don’t make a sound!”
The boy followed him, suddenly silent. Fatty locked the door
behind him. Then, very cautiously indeed, his heart thumping hard against his
ribs, he led the boy down the narrow passage, across the landing where the
stairs were, and along the passage that led to the other wing.
He unlocked the door where the others were and pushed the
boy inside. Every one stared in astonishment at Fatty’s grinning face and this
newcomer, so dark and foreign-looking.
“I’ve found the Prince,” said Fatty jubilantly. “And I
thought the safest place to hide him would be here. He can get into that
cupboard. Nobody would dream of looking for him in a room where we are supposed
to be prisoners!”
“Oh, Fatty - you’re full of good ideas!” said Bets. “Poor
Prince! He must wonder what’s happening.”
The Prince spoke in beautiful English, and made them all a
little bow.
“I have been a prisoner for many days,” he said. “I have
been unhappy and afraid. You are my friends?”
“Oh yes,” said Bets, warmly. “Of course we are. You’ll be
safe now Fatty has got you!”
“I found a telephone and got a message through to the
Chief,” said Fatty, unable to stop grinning. “Golly - what a surprise for this
lot when they find the police coming through the marsh and surrounding the
farm-house!”
“Honestly, you’re a genius, Fatty,” said the admiring Ern.
“I think you ought to be made a Chief Inspector at once, straight I do!”
“Did you find Mr. Goon?” asked Daisy.
Fatty shook his head. “No - didn’t see or hear a sign of
him. I’m beginning to wonder if he came here after all.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we thought he did!” said Bets, “or
we shouldn’t have come ourselves! And then we’d have missed all this!”
“Did you see the helicopter come down?” asked Daisy. “We
suddenly saw it landing behind that big barn.”
“Yes, so did...” began Fatty, and then stopped speaking and
listened. The others listened too.
They could hear shouts - and banging doors and running feet!
What was up?
“They’ve discovered that the Prince isn’t in his room!” said
Fatty, beaming. “What a shock for them! Now there’ll be a rumpus! Helicopter
all ready to take him off - and no Prince to be found! Get into that cupboard,
Prince, and keep quiet. Don’t make a sound.”
The Prince disappeared into the cupboard in double quick
time. Bets shut the door on him. In silence they listened to the excitement
going on elsewhere.
Then footsteps came hurrying down their passage, sounding
loudly on the wooden boards. Their door was suddenly flung open.
A swarthy-faced man looked in, his eyes blazing.
“He might be here!” he shouted. “These kids may have got him
with them, somehow. Search the room!”
A Very Exciting Finish
That was a real shock to every one! Bets went pale. Only
Fatty didn’t turn a hair.
“What’s up?” he said. “Who do you think we’ve got here? You
shut six of us up, goodness knows why, and there are six still here!”
The man shouted something at Fatty in such a savage voice
that Fatty decided not to say anything more. Three other men crowded into the
room and began to look everywhere. In less than a minute the cupboard was
opened - and the Prince was discovered!
The swarthy-faced man pounced on him and shook him like a
rat! He screamed something at him in a foreign language and the boy cowered in
fright. He was dragged out into the passage. Fatty followed, protesting.
“I say, look here! I say, you know...”
The dark-faced man turned on him, his hand lifted - but
before he could strike Fatty, a loud voice shouted down the passage.
“The police! The POLICE are coming! Tom’s just seen them
coming over the marsh. Some one’s split on us!”
Then there was such a babel of noise and excitement that it
was impossible for anyone to be heard. Fatty took the opportunity of pulling
the Prince back into the room, pushing all the other children in too, slipping
the key from the outside of the door to the inside - and locking them all in!
As he turned the key, he grinned round at the six frightened
faces. “Cheer up! No one can get at us! We’re locked in again - but the key’s
our side all right!”
Bets was crying. “Oh, Fatty - I didn’t like that man. Are we
safe now? Can they break the door down?”
“They won’t bother to try,” said Fatty. “They’ll be too
anxious to save their own skins! We can just sit here and listen to the fun -
and come out when everything is quiet!”
“There goes the helicopter again!” said Pip, suddenly, and
sure enough it was rising quickly over the barn. Evidently it had been warned
to go.
“But it didn’t take me with it,” said the Prince, exultantly,
and went off into a stream of what sounded like gibberish to the children.
Not much of the excitement could bc seen from the window.
Two policemen suddenly appeared and made a rush for the house. One man suddenly
ran helter-skelter across the farm-yard and disappeared, followed immediately
by a burly policeman. Yells and shouts and thumps and crashes could be heard
every now and again.
“I’m rather sorry to be out of the fun,” said Fatty,
regretfully.
“Well, I’m not,” said Ern, who was looking extremely scared.
“Fun! Not my idea of fun. Sterrible!”
After about half an hour, silence reigned. Had all the men
been rounded up? Fatty and the others listened. Then they heard a most
stentorian voice.
“FREDERICK! WHERE ARE YOU? FREDERICK!”
“The Chief Inspectors” said Fatty, thankfully, and ran to
unlock the door and open it. He too yelled at the top of his voice.
“HERE, SIR! WE’RE ALL SAFE AND SOUND!”
He turned back to the others. “Come on,” he said. “It must
be safe now. Come on, Ern. Your legs too wobbly to walk?”
“Bit,” said poor Ern, staggering after the others.
The Inspector met them all at the top of the stairs. He ran
a swift eye over the lot. “All of you here?” he said. “Who’s this?” He pointed
to the Prince.
“Prince Bongawah, sir,” said Fatty. “I got him all right.
Did you catch everyone, sir?”
“I think so,” said the Chief. He pulled the Prince to him.
“You all right?” he said. “They didn’t do anything to you, did they?”
“No, sir,” said the Prince. “It was my uncle who kidnapped
me. I was...”
“We’ll her your story later, son,” said the Chief. “Well,
Frederick, that was a spot of good work on your part. Though how in the world
you managed to smell out this place - and get here on your own - and find the
Prince - and telephone me in the middle of everything, I don’t know! And taking
the whole of the Find-Outers with you too - except Buster. Where is he?”
“Had to leave him behind sir,” said Fatty, regretfully. “I
was afraid he’d fall into the marsh and drown. Pity he’s out of the fun,
though. He does love a scrap.”
“We’ve got some police cars on the edge of the marsh,” said
the Chief. “At present two of them are taking some of the men to the police
station - but they’ll be back soon, and then I’ll take you home.”
“Let’s have a wander round the place then, sir,” said Fatty.
“It seems queer to have a farm in the middle of a marsh.”
They all went thankfully into the open air. A frightened
woman peeped from a doorway at them.
“Who’s she?” asked Fatty, surprised.
“A servant,” said the Chief. “We left her for the present,
as some one’s got to feed the hens and the pigs and ducks.”
They wandered round the farm-yard and then round to the back
of the big barn, behind which the helicopter had landed. A big flat space had
been cleared there for the landing.
They looked at the cleared space and then walked round it to
a group of sheds nearby. They talked cheerfully as they went, all of them
feeling very happy to think that everything was over.
A sudden noise made them stop. “What was that?” said Larry.
“It sounded as if it came from that shed. Is there some animal locked in there?
A bull perhaps?”
The noise came again - a loud banging noise, then a series
of thuds. The door of the shed shook.
“Better look out,” said the Chief. “Sounds rather like a
bull in a temper.”
Snorts and groans and yells came next. “It isn’t a bull,”
said Fatty. “Sounds like a mixture of a man and a bull! I’ll look and see -
through a window, not through a door!”
The window of the shed was very high up. Fatty ran a ladder
up against the wall of the shed, went up it and peered through the window. He
came down again, grinning.
“Friend of yours, sir,” he said, cheerfully, and unbolted
the door from the outside. It burst open and out came a big, dirty, perspiring,
maddened creature, his fists up, and hair standing on end.
“Goon!” said the Chief, almost falling backwards in his
amazement. “GOON! What on earth - is it really you? GOON!”
Yes - it was Mr. Goon, and a sorry sight he looked. He was
filthy dirty, very angry, and looked as if he had been sitting down in all the
messes he could. Straw was caught in his up-standing hair, and he panted like a
dog. He stared in astonisbment at the little company before him, and quietened
down at once when he saw the Chief Inspector.
“Morning, sir,” said poor Goon, trying to flatten down his
hair.
“Where did you disappear to, without leaving any message as
to your whereabouts?” asked the Chief. “We’ve been hunting for you everywhere.”
“I - er - got a hunch that something might be going on
here,” said Goon, still sounding out of breath. “Caught the last train, sir -
and somehow I got lost in these here marshes. I found myself sinking down, and
I yelled for all I was worth.”
“Oh, Mr. Goon! How dreadful for you!” said kindhearted Bets.
“Did someone rescue you?”
“Rescue me!” snorted Goon, sounding rather like a bull
again. “Yes, they pulled me out all right - and pushed me into that cow-shed
and bolted me in! What for? They should all be arrested, sir! Mishandling the
police! Punching me in the back!”
“Don’t worry - we have arrested them all,” said the Chief.
“You missed that bit of fun.”
“Coo, Uncle - you don’t half look funny,” said Ern,
suddenly, and went off into a loud guffaw. His uncle appeared to see him for
the first time.
“ERN! You here too! What you doing here, mixed up in all
this?” shouted Goon. “I’ll teach you to laugh at me!”
“Behave yourself, Ern,” said Fatty, severely. He felt sorry
for poor Goon. What a hash he had made of everything - and yet he, Fatty, had
given all the information he could!
“It was jolly brainy of Mr. Goon to come here, sir, wasn’t
it?” he said innocently to the Chief. “I mean - he got here even before we did.
It was just bad luck he fell in the marsh. He might have cleared the whole job
up himself if he hadn’t done that.”
Mr. Goon looked gratified. He also felt suddenly very kindly
towards Fatty. He wasn’t such a toad of a boy, after all!
The Chief looked at Fatty. “Brains are good, courage is
excellent, resourcefulness is rare,” he said, “but generosity crowns
everything, Frederick. One of these days I’ll be proud of you!”
Fatty actually blushed. Mr. Goon had heard all this, but
hadn’t understood what the Chief meant at all. He came towards them, brushing
down his clothes.
“So it’s all over, is it?” he said. “What happened, sir?”
“You’d better go and wash,” said the Chief Inspector,
looking at him. “You’ve no idea what you look like, Goon. And if you’ve been
shut up all night, you’ll be hungry and thirsty. Ask the woman at the
farm-house for something to eat and drink.”
“I could certainly do with something,” said Mr. Goon.
“You’ll call me when you want me, sir?”
“I will,” said the Inspector. “We’re just waiting for the
police cars to come back.”
“Slong, Uncle,” called Ern, but his uncle did not deign to
reply. He disappeared in the direction of the farm-house, an ungainly,
peculiar-looking figure, but not at all downcast. Hadn’t he got there before
that boy, anyhow? And hadn’t that boy admitted it? Things weren’t so bad after
all!
“It was a queer sort of mystery this time,” said Bets,
hanging on to the Chief’s arm. “At first there didn’t seem to be any clues or
anything - nothing we could get hold of - and then it suddenly boiled up, and
exploded all over us!”
Everyone laughed. “Bets quite enjoyed this mystery,” said
Fatty. “Didn’t you, Bets? I did too.”
“So did I,” said Ern, thoroughly agreeing. “Not half! Spitty
young Sid and Perce weren’t in at the finish.”
“Yes. SPITTY!” agreed every one, chuckling, and the Chief
Inspector smiled.
“Well, let me see - when do you have your next holidays?” he
said. “At Christmas time? Right. Here’s to the next mystery then - and may it
all end as well as this!”
THE END