“It didn’t seem to have given you a very hard blow then,” said Fatty. “Well, I’m not heeding that warning, Mr. Goon—so you can sleep in peace tonight! There will be no robbery at the Trottevilles, I can tell you that!”
Mostly About Goon
The five children, with Buster, went on their way, Fatty thinking deeply. The others respected his thoughts and said nothing. They came to the corner where they had to part with Larry and Daisy.
“Any orders, Fatty?” said Larry respectfully.
“Er—what? Oh, orders. No, none,” said Fatty, coming out of his trance. “Sorry to be so goofy all of a sudden. But it’s queer, isn’t it—that warning, I mean. Why did the thief send it? He must be jolly sure of himself—though, of course, he might have sent it to Goon after he’d done the job. I just don’t understand it.”
“When did Goon get it?” said Daisy. “I didn’t hear him say. Did you ask him?”
“No. I was so surprised to find that the third scrap of paper was the same as the first two, which meant they really did have something to do with the thief, that I didn’t ask any of the questions I should,” said Fatty vexed. “That means I’ll have to go back and get a little more information. Goon will be pleased!”
“Is the mystery on again?” asked Bets.
“Very much on, Bets,” said Fatty. “Oh very much! Blow Bigfeet! I shall dream about him tonight. It really is a puzzle how that fellow can get about without being noticed—I mean, there’s all of us on the watch, and Goon, and the baker, and the grocer’s girl, and goodness knows how many other people too, looking for a large-footed man—and yet the fellow has the nerve to walk up the road to my house, go in at one of the front gates, walk up to the scullery door, and all the way down to the shed, and then out again with his stolen goods—and not a single soul sees him.”
“He must be invisible!” said Bets quite convinced.
“The Case of the Invisible Thief—or the Mystery of Bigfeet the Robber!” said Fatty. “It’s a funny case this—lots of clues all leading nowhere.”
They said good-bye and parted. Fatty went back to Mr. Goon’s house. He must find out where that paper had been put when it was delivered, and what time it was sent.
He came to Mr. Goon’s house. Goon was back again, and was spending an interesting ten minutes trying on a supply of new moustaches that had arrived by post that day.
He was sitting in front of the mirror, twirling a particularly fine moustache when he heard the knock at the front door. He peered out of the window. Ah—that fat boy. Goon grinned to himself.
He crammed a hat down on his head, frowned, twisted his new moustaches up, and leaned out of the window.
“What do you want?” he asked in a deep, rather sinister voice. Fatty looked up and was extremely startled to see the scowling, moustached face above him. In a trice he recognized Goon—there was no mistaking those frog-like eyes. However, if Goon wanted to think he could make himself unrecognizable by adding a moustache and a scowl, Fatty was quite willing to let him.
“Er—good evening,” said Fatty politely. “Could I speak to Mr. Goon? Or is he busy?”
“He’s busy,” said the face, in a hollow voice and the moustache twitched up and down.
“Oh, what a pity. It’s rather important,” said Fatty.
“I’ll see if he’ll see you,” said the face, and disappeared. Fatty chuckled. The door opened half a minute later, and Mr. Goon appeared, minus scowl and moustache. Actually he felt quite amiable for once. His disguise had deceived that fat boy—ha, Fatty wasn’t as clever as he thought he was!
“Good evening, Mr. Goon,” said Fatty. “Did your friend tell you I wanted to see you?”
“He did,” said Goon. “What do you want?”
“I forgot to ask you how you got that third note and when,” said Fatty. “It might be important.”
“I don’t know how or when it came,” said Mr. Goon annoyingly.
“Well—when did you find it?” asked Fatty.
“I was going through some papers in the office,” said Goon, “and I was lost in them—very important papers they were, see. Well, the milkman and the baker came and left the bread and the milk as usual—and when I came into the kitchen to get myself a cup of tea, I picked up the bottle of milk—and there was the note on top of it!”
“Thank you,” said Fatty. “So you don’t really know what time it came except that it must have come after the milkman and baker. Did you hear them come?”
As Mr. Goon had been fast asleep all the afternoon he had heard no one at all, but he wasn’t going to tell Fatty that.
“I expect I heard them come,” he said. “But when I read through official papers—very important ones too—I get lost in them. I daresay the tradesmen came about the usual time—three o’clock or so.”
“Thanks,” said Fatty. “That’s all I wanted to know. You came along to my house then, to give us the warning? Our cook told me you came.”
“Yes. I came along at once,” said Goon. “As was my bounden duty. Pity you won’t take no notice of that warning. Still, I’ll be along tonight all right.”
“As is your bounden duty!” said Fatty. “Well, I’ll be off. I’m sorry to have disturbed that friend of yours, Mr. Goon.”
“Oh, he won’t mind,” said Goon, most gratified to find that Fatty apparently hadn’t recognized who the “friend” was.
“Good-looking fellow, isn’t he?” said Fatty, innocently. Goon agreed instantly.
“Yes, quite. Fine moustaches,” he said.
“Very very fine,” said Fatty. “Actually they are what made him good-looking. Without those, he’d have been very plain indeed, in fact, quite ugly. Don’t you agree?”
And before poor Goon could find his tongue Fatty had gone. That boy! Slippery as an eel in all he said and did. Now, exactly what did he mean by those last remarks?
Fatty walked home, deep in thought again. He had his supper by himself because his parents were out, and didn’t even notice what a delicious meal the cook had prepared for him, much to her disappointment. He was thinking so very hard.
He went up to his own room after his meal and tried to read a very thrilling mystery story; but his own mystery was much more interesting to him, and after a bit he pushed the book aside and fell into thought again.
“What I can’t understand is that all the different clues we have ought to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle and make a definite picture of the thief,” said Fatty to himself. “And they don’t. They just don’t. And yet if I could find out how to fit them together I could solve the mystery at once—who the thief is—how he gets about unseen—why he doesn’t care whether his prints are all over the place or not—how he gets away with his goods without fear of being detected with them—and above all why he sent that warning. That’s so boastful, somehow—he must be very very certain of himself and his powers.”
He fell asleep immediately he got into bed, and then woke up worrying again. Half asleep and half awake he lay there with his mind milling round and round all the clues and details. Things got mixed up in his half-sleeping mind—the milkman’s cart and the warning note on the milk-bottle—the baker’s basket and pairs of large boots—hollow coughs and large moustaches—there was no end to the pictures that came and went in his mind.
Then Buster began to bark! Fatty awoke properly and sat up. “Gosh! Did that warning mean the thief was coming to the house?” thought Fatty, dragging on his dressing-gown. He had imagined that it meant the robbery in the shed. He shot downstairs and opened the front door to let Buster out. The dog had run straight to the door and scraped at it.
“Well, if the thief’s outside, you’ll give him a shock, Buster,” said Fatty. Buster shot out and disappeared into the front garden. There came an agonized yell.
“Get out! Clear-orf! Clear-orf, I say!”
Fatty collapsed into laughter. It was poor old Goon out there, solemnly “doing his bounden duty” in the middle of the night. He had come to see that the Trotteville’s house was not already burgled.
“Buster! Come here!” yelled Fatty, and the yell woke his parents, the cook and house-parlourmaid at once. Everyone crowded on to the landing.
“Frederick! What is all this disturbance?” called his father, coming downstairs. Buster was now in Fatty’s arms, struggling to go again. Oh, the joy of being let out in the middle of the night and finding Goon’s ankles at his mercy! What a wonderful surprise it had been to Buster.