Mr. Goon said something under his breath that sounded like “Gah!” Nobody took any notice. Fatty went on.
“We had a few clues to work on—very large footprints that were always remarkably well-displayed—and very large glove-prints, also well-displayed so that nobody could possibly miss them. We also had two scraps of paper with 2, Frinton on one and 1, Rods on the other. We had also a curious roundish mark on the ground, and that was about all.”
“Now—the thing was—nobody ever saw this thief coming or going, apparently, and yet he must have been about for everyone to see—and he apparently had the biggest feet in Peterswood, with the exception of Mr. Goon here and Colonel Cross.”
Poor Mr. Goon tried to hide his feet under his chair, but couldn’t quite manage it.
“Well, we examined every single clue,” said Fatty.
“We followed up the hints on the scraps of paper and went to Frinton Lea. We went to houses and families whose names began with Rod. We visited the cobbler for information about big shoes and he told us about Colonel Cross. Both Mr. Goon and I went to see the colonel—not together, of course—I was doing a spot of weeding, I think, Mr. Goon, when you arrived, wasn’t I?”
Goon glared but said nothing.
“Well, it was Colonel Cross who put us on the track of where the thief might have got his big boots,” went on Fatty. “He gives his old ones to jumble sales! And we learnt that he had given a pair to Miss Kay last year for the jumble sale. We guessed that if we could find out who bought them, we’d know the thief!”
Goon made a curious noise and turned it into a throat-clearing.
“We had a shock then, though,” said Fatty. “The boots hadn’t been sold to anyone, they had been stolen! By the thief, of course, for future use! But that brought us to a dead-end. No boots, no thief. We gave up!”
“And then Pip played a trick and showed you how the thief did it!” called out Bets, unable to contain herself. Fatty smiled at her.
“Yes. Pip’s trick made me realize that the thief was playing us a trick too—the same as Pip’s trick! He was wearing very large boots over his small shoes in order to make enormous prints that would make us think he was a big fellow—and the same with his gloves.”
“Ha!” said the Inspector. “Smart work, Frederick. Very smart!”
“So then I had to change my ideas and begin thinking of a small fellow instead of a very big one!” said Fatty. “One who came unquestioned to our houses, whom nobody would suspect or bother about.”
Mr. Goon leaned forward, breathing heavily. The others fixed their eyes on Fatty in excitement. Now he was going to tell them the name of the thief!
But he didn’t. He paused, as if he were listening for something. They all listened too. They heard the click of a gate and footsteps coming along the path that led along the study-wall to the kitchen.
“If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll introduce you to the thief himself,” said Fatty, and he got up. He went to the door that led from the study into the garden and opened it as a small figure came by.
“Good afternoon,” he said. “Will you come in here for a minute? You’re wanted.”
And in came a small, strutting figure with his basket on his arm—little Twit the baker!
Well Done, Fatty!
“Twit!” said Mr. Goon, and half-rose from his chair in amazement. The Inspector looked on, unmoving. All the children gaped, except Fatty, of course. Buster flew out at Twit barking.
“Down, Buster. Back under my chair,” ordered Fatty, and Buster subsided.
Twit looked round in surprise and alarm. “Here! What’s all this?” he said. “I got my work to do.”
“Sit down,” said the Inspector. “We want you here for a few minutes.”
“What for?” blustered Twit. “Here, Mr. Goon, what’s all this about?”
But Goon didn’t know. He sat stolidly and said nothing. He wasn’t going to get himself into any trouble by appearing to be friendly with Twit!
“Twit,” said Fatty, “I’ve got you in here for reasons of my own. Put your basket down—that’s right. Take off the cloth.”
Twit sullenly took off the cloth. Loaves of bread were piled in the basket. Another cloth lay beneath them.
“Take out the loaves and put them on the table,” said Fatty. “And the cloth under them too.”
“Now what’s all this?” said Twit, again, looking scared. “I got my work to do, I tell you. I’m not messing about with my loaves.”
“Do as you’re told, Twit,” said the Inspector.
Twit immediately took out his loaves and laid them on the table. Then he took out the cloth beneath them. Fatty looked into the bottom of the basket. He silently took out four things that lay closely packed there—two large boots and two large gloves!
He set them on the table. Twit collapsed on a chair and began to tremble.
“This is how he managed to go about, carrying the boots and gloves, ready for any chance he might have for a little robbery!” said Fatty. “He never knew what afternoon he might find an easy chance—perhaps nobody in the house except a sleepy maid or mistress—which, as we know, he did find.”
Fatty picked up one of the boots and turned it over. He showed the Inspector the rubber heel. “I expect, sir, you took a drawing of the foot-print on the beds at Norton House,” he said, “or Tonks did—and so you will see that the rubber heels on these boots and in your drawing are the same. That’s proof that the thief wore these boots that Twit has in his basket.”
Fatty turned to the trembling Twit. “Will you give me your note-book—the one you put down any orders or telephone calls in?” he said. Twit scowled, but put his hand into his pocket and brought out a little pad of cheap paper.
Fatty took it. Then he spoke to Goon. “Have you got those two scraps of paper on you, Mr. Goon?”
Mr. Goon had. He produced them. Fatty compared them, and the warning note too, with the paper on the pad. The paper was exactly the same, cheap, thin and with a fluffy surface.
“Those two scraps of paper you found at Norton House, sir, were bits that Twit had made notes on to remind him of the amount of bread to leave—two loaves for Frinton Lea, and one loaf for Rodways. He apparently makes notes of his orders, and slips them into his basket to remind him. The wind must have blown them out in the garden at Norton House.”
“Gah!” breathed Goon, again, staring at the pad of paper and the notes. “I never thought of that—orders for loaves!”
“Nor did I,” confessed Fatty. “Not until I began to piece all the clues together properly and found that they added up to the same person—Twit here!”
“Wait a minute,” said Larry. “How do you explain the thing that puzzled us so tremendously in the Norton House robbery—how did the thief—Twit, that is—come downstairs without being seen by Jinny.”
“That was easy,” said Fatty. “He simply squeezed himself out of that little window in the box-room, and slid down the pipe to the ground. He’s small enough to do that without much difficulty.”
“Yes—but wait, Fatty—that window was shut when I and Tonks went round the house,” said the Inspector. “He couldn’t have escaped through there, and shut it and fastened it from the outside—balanced on the pipe!”
“He didn’t shut it then,” said Fatty with a grin. “He simply shinned down the pipe, ran to where he had thrown the stolen goods, stuffed them in his basket under the cloth, slipped off the big boots that he had put on over his own small ones—and then went as bold as brass to the back-door—appearing there as Twit the baker!”
“And when he went upstairs to look for the thief with Jinny, he carefully shut and fastened the little window he had escaped from!” said Larry suddenly seeing it all. “Gosh, that was smart. He was the thief—and he came indoors after the robbery and pretended to hunt all round for the robber—and we all thought he was so brave!”
“Gah!” said Goon, looking balefully at Twit. “Think yourself clever, don’t you? Stuffing everybody up with lies—making yourself out a hero, too—looking for a thief who was standing in your own shoes!”
“He certainly pulled wool over everyone’s eyes,” said Fatty. “It was a pretty little trick, and needed quite a lot of boldness and quick thinking. It’s a pity he doesn’t put his brains to better use.”
“Fatty—what about that funny, roundish mark—the one with criss-cross lines?” asked Bets. “Was that a clue too?”
“Yes,” said Fatty, with a grin. “Come out for a minute and I’ll show you what made that mark. I could have kicked myself for not thinking of it before!”