“He won’t,” said Fatty. “He doesn’t know whether you really fell for his disguise or not. If he thinks you did he’ll be very bucked to think he took you in. If he thinks you saw through his disguise and were pulling his leg when you phoned, he’ll feel a bit of an idiot. He won’t say a word either way. He’ll only snort.”
“He won’t be very fond of us now,” said Pip.
“He never was,” said Fatty. “All the same, I was surprised to see him there this morning. I spotted him at once out in that boat.”
“You would!” said Larry, half-annoyed, and half-admiring.
“When I saw him I knew he’d had the same idea as we had about Frinton Lea,” said Fatty. “And what’s more he’ll probably go and snoop outside Rods now, wherever that is.”
“Do you think it’s much good snooping round either Frinton Lea or Rods, wherever that is?” asked Larry.
“No, I don’t think I do,” said Fatty, considering the point. “It’s only just that we can’t afford to leave any clue unexplored. If we do, it’s bound to be the only one that might lead us to the solution! Anyway, I had a bit of luck this afternoon, just before you came to talk to me, Larry and Daisy.”
“What?” asked Larry. “You’re a lucky beggar, Fatty—you always have any bit of luck that’s going.”
“I was sitting fishing, when that artist woman came by,” said Fatty. “I expect you saw her. My hat blew off at that very moment and she picked it up for me. I began to talk to her—and it turned out that she lived at Frinton Lea!”
“Golly!” said Larry. “So you asked a few leading questions, I suppose?”
Fatty grinned. “I did! And I found out that the only man staying at Frinton Lea has been very ill and is only just allowed to get up. So we can rule him out as the thief, who must be an agile fellow, to say the least of it!”
“Oh—well, that’s good,” said Daisy. “Your day hasn’t been wasted, Fatty. You didn’t see the thief, but you did find out he wasn’t at Frinton Lea.”
“Your day wasn’t wasted either,” said Fatty, beginning to laugh again. “I hope I don’t think of you telephoning old Goon when I’m having dinner with my parents tonight. I shall choke if I do.”
“What about tea?” said Bets. “I’m getting hungry.”
“You’ve just had two ice-creams and a lemonade!” said Pip.
“Well, they don’t make any difference,” said Bets. “You don’t eat those, you just swallow them. Anyway, we’d better go home quickly, or we shall be too late for tea.”
“I’ll treat you all,” said Fatty generously. “I’ve got enough money on me.” He pulled out a handful of change and examined it. “Yes, come on. We’ll go to Oliver’s and have meringues and chocolate slices—in celebration of finding the thief-who-wasn’t.”
Everyone laughed. Bets took Fatty’s arm. Dear, generous Fatty—he always seemed to have plenty of money, but he always shared it round. Bets squeezed his arm affectionately.
“The mystery’s getting on, isn’t it?” she said. “We’ve ruled out Frinton Lea. Now we’ve got to find out what Number 1, Rods is, and rule that out too.”
“Well, we shan’t be much further on with the mystery, silly, if we keep examining our clues and finding they’re no good,” said Pip, exasperated with his small sister. “Anyway, Number 1, Rods sounds more like a note made by someone going fishing than anything else.”
“It’s an idea,” said Fatty, taking them all into Oliver’s. They sat down and ordered lemonade, egg-sandwiches, meringues, chocolate eclairs and chocolate slices. Bets’ mouth began to water.
“I never know whether to eat as quickly as possible so as to enjoy everything before I stop feeling hungry, or to eat slowly and taste every single bit,” said Bets, eyeing the pile of delicious-looking cake.
“Idiot,” said Pip scornfully. “You stop feeling hungry as soon as you’ve eaten a certain amount, whether you’ve eaten it quickly or not.”
“You eat how you like, Bets,” said Fatty, who always stuck up for Bets when her brother ticked her off. They all began on their tea, having a friendly argument as to whether the meringues were better than the eclairs. The dish was soon empty, and Fatty, after examining his money again, called for a fresh supply.
“About this Rods place,” said Fatty. “It’s either the name of a house, shortened—or else it’s the name of a family, either complete or shortened. I’ve never heard of anyone called Rods though.”
“How could we find out?” wondered Larry. “We could look in the telephone book for names beginning with Rod or Rods.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” said Daisy, taking her second eclair. “And we’ve got a street directory at home, with everyone’s house in it, and the name or number.”
“You’re talking good sense,” said Fatty, sounding pleased. “Anyone got an idea for finding a person with enormous feet? Apart from examining the feet of everyone we meet, I mean. I’ve rather ruled that out—it would be frightful to look at nothing but feet, feet, feet all day long wherever we go.”
Bets giggled. “And even if we find someone with colossal feet we can’t very well stop them and say, ‘Excuse me, may I see the pattern of the rubber heels you’re wearing?’ ”
“No, we can’t,” said Pip. “But I say—I tell you what we could do—I’ve just thought of it. It’s a brain-wave!”
“What?” asked everyone together.
Pip dropped his voice. One or two people in the shop seemed rather too interested in what they were all saying, he thought.
“Why can’t we go to the cobbler’s—there is only one in Peterswood now the other fellow’s gone—and ask if he ever has any size twelve boots in for repair, and if so, whose are they?”
There was a little silence after this remarkable suggestion. Then Fatty solemnly reached out and shook hands with Pip.
“First-class!” he said. “Brilliant! Talk about a brain-wave! Go up top, Pip. That really may lead us somewhere!”
Fatty, the Cobbler—and Goon
The next day they set to work to follow out the suggestions made at the tea-shop. Daisy and Larry said they would look up the streets directory and read down every single street to see if there was a house name beginning with Rod or Rods.
Pip and Bets were to look in the telephone directory for names. Fatty was to go to the cobbler’s. Nobody particularly wanted to do that, because they couldn’t think how to go about it without making the cobbler think they were either mad or silly.
“I’ll manage it,” said Fatty. “I’ll think of a way. And for goodness sake don’t get taken in again by any disguise of Goon’s—he’s been studying hard, I can see, on his refresher course, and goodness knows what he’ll produce next.”
“I shall just look at his feet,” said Bets, “and if they’re enormous I’ll know they belong to Goon!”
Fatty considered carefully how to approach the cobbler. He was known to be a hot-tempered man who would stand no nonsense at all. He would have to go to him with a sensible idea of some sort. But what?
Fatty remembered an old second-hand shop he had once seen in Sheepridge. He tried to remember if they sold boots. Yes, he had an idea they did. In that case it would be a good idea to catch the bus to Sheepridge, look in the second-hand shop and buy the biggest pair there—they would presumably want mending, and he could take them to the cobbler. Fatty felt certain that with that opening he could soon find out if the cobbler had any customers with really enormous feet.
“Then I’ll get their names, and see if any of them might be the thief,” he thought. So off he went to catch the bus to Sheepridge. He found the secondhand shop, and, feeling as if he wanted to hold his nose because of the musty, dusty smell, he went inside.
There was a special box for boots and shoes. Fatty turned them all over, and at the bottom he found what he wanted—a pair of elevens, down at heel and with a slit in one side.
He bought them for a shilling and went off with them, pleased. He caught the bus back to Peterswood and went home. He debated whether or not to disguise himself, and then decided that he would, just for practice.
He went down to his shed and looked round at his things. An old tramp? He was rather good at that. Yes—that wouldn’t be a bad idea at all—he could wear the frightful old boots too! They would make him limp but what did that matter? It would look all the more natural.
Fatty began to work deftly and quickly. He hoped his mother wouldn’t come and look for him. She would be scared to see a dirty old tramp in the shed. After about half an hour the door opened, and the tramp came out and peered round cautiously.