Fatty took a hasty look round while they waited. He was sure the thief was the same as the one who had been to Norton House the day before. For one thing—that deep, hollow cough—and for another, the heavy-footed clumsiness sounded as if they belonged to the same burglar.
Fatty ran upstairs. The first thing he saw in one of the bedrooms was a print on the wall, just by the door—a large glove-print! He flicked open his note-book and compared it with the measurements detailed there. Yes—pretty well exactly the same.
Now what about any foot-prints in the garden? The ground was so dry now that unless the thief obligingly walked on a flower-bed, he probably wouldn’t leave any prints.
Fatty was just going out to see, when he caught sight of Mr. Goon coming up the front drive, and went to the door. What a shock it would be for Mr. Goon to see him! Fatty really enjoyed opening the door.
He was surprised when Mr. Goon dashed off so soon. Surely he couldn’t be idiotic enough really to think that Fatty had hoaxed him? Well, well—if so, then he, Fatty, might as well get on with his job of snooping round. Mr. Goon wouldn’t have let him do that if he had taken charge of the case, that was certain.
So Fatty made hay while the sun shone and slipped out into the garden, leaving Larry and Daisy to try and explain Mr. Goon’s sudden departure to Mrs. Williams and Miss Lucy. They were most indignant.
Fatty went out through the kitchen door. He had decided that the thief had come in that way, as the front door had been shut. He went down the path that led from the kitchen. He saw a bed of flowers and walked over to it. The bed was underneath the sitting-room window, and it was in that room that Mrs. Williams had been asleep.
Fatty gave an exclamation. On the bed were a couple of very large foot-prints. The same ones as yesterday—he was sure of it! He flicked open his book again.
The bed was drier than the one he had examined the day before for prints, and the rubber heel did not show this time—but the large prints were there, plain to see.
“The thief came and looked in at the window,” thought Fatty. “And he saw Mrs. Williams fast asleep. Hallo—here are some more prints—on this bed. Why did he walk here?”
There didn’t seem any reason why the thief had walked on the second bed—but it was clear that the prints matched the others. In fact, everything matched—the glove-prints, the foot-prints, the hollow cough. Would there also be any mark like that big, roundish one that Fatty had seen at Norton House?
He hunted about for one; and he found it! It was very faint, certainly, and the criss-cross marks could hardly be seen. The roundish print was by the kitchen door, on the dusty path there. Something had been stood there—what was it?
“Any scraps of paper this time?” wondered Fatty, rather struck by the way that everything seemed to be repeated in this second case of robbery. He hunted everywhere—but there were no scraps of paper this time.
He went indoors, and met Miss Lucy coming out to find him. “Mr. Goon has just telephoned,” she said. “I can’t make him out. He wanted to know if there had been a red robbery here! Well, why didn’t he stay and ask us about it when he came? He must be mad.”
Fatty grinned. Goon had evidently thought the whole thing over and decided that he had better find out for certain what the truth was—and to his disgust he had found that the robbery was real—it wasn’t a trick of Fatty’s after all!
“He’s a bit of a turnip-head,” said Fatty cheerfully. “Never mind. You tell him I’m on the job when he comes—he needn’t worry about it at all. I’ve got it well in hand.”
Miss Lucy looked doubtfully at Fatty. She was getting a little bewildered, what with thieves, and policemen who arrived and departed all in the same minute, and boys who seemed to be acting like policemen ought to, but didn’t.
Fatty pointed to the groceries on the table. “Who took these in?” he asked. “Have you a cook?”
“Yes. But she’s off for the day,” said Miss Lucy. “I left the back door open for the grocer’s girl to leave the groceries in the kitchen—she often does that for us. The baker’s been too, I see—and the postman, because there’s a parcel by the door. Mrs. Williams has been in all the afternoon, but she likes a nap, so the tradesmen never ring when Cook is out. They just leave everything, as you see.”
“Yes, I see,” said Fatty thoughtfully. He gazed at the groceries, the bread and the parcel. Three people had come to the house in a short time. Had one of them noticed the thief hanging about anywhere? He must find out.
Mr. Goon arrived again, a little shame-faced. Miss Lucy let him in, looking rather severe. She thought a policeman who behaved like Goon was ridiculous.
“Er—sorry I didn’t come in before,” said Mr. Goon. “Hope I’ve not kept you waiting too long—er—urgent business, you know. By the way—that boy—has he gone? The fat boy.”
“If you mean young Master Trotteville, he is still here, examining everything,” said Miss Lucy coldly. “He told me to tell you not to bother about the job. He’s got it well in hand. I am sure he will recover the jewellery Mrs. Williams has had stolen.”
Goon turned a curious purple colour, and Miss Lucy felt rather alarmed. She felt that she didn’t want this peculiar policeman in the house at all. She tried to shut the front door—but Goon put his enormous foot in the crack at once.
Miss Lucy gave a faint shriek, and Mr. Goon took his foot out again, trying to think of something reassuring to say to this aggravating, bird-like creature.
Miss Lucy promptly shut the door and even put up the chain. Goon stared at the door, and went purple again. He walked ponderously round to the back door, where he found Fatty examining the path for foot-prints.
“Gah!” said Mr. Goon, in a tone of deep disgust. “Can’t get rid of you! First you’re at the front door, now you’re at the back door. You be off. This here case has got nothing to do with you. Nothing.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Goon,” said Fatty in the mild, courteous voice that made Goon see red. “I was called in to help. I’ve found out a lot already.”
Larry and Daisy heard Goon’s infuriated voice and came out through the kitchen to listen. They stood at the back door, grinning.
“You here too?” said Goon, in even greater disgust. “Can’t you keep your noses out of anything? Now, you clear-orf, all of you, and let me get on with my work here. And just you call off that dog!”
Buster had now joined the trio, and was capering delightedly round Mr. Goon’s feet.
“He’s missed his ankle-hunting,” Fatty explained. “Don’t grudge him a little fun, Mr. Goon. And don’t you kick him. If you do I won’t call him off.”
Mr. Goon gave it up. He pushed past Larry and Daisy, went into the kitchen, still pursued by a delighted Buster, and through the door into the hall. By a clever bit of work he managed to shut the door of the kitchen on Buster, who scraped at it, barking wildly.
“Well, he’s gone to do a spot of interviewing,” said Fatty, sitting down on the kitchen door-step. “He won’t find the two ladies very pleased with him, I fear. He’s rather started off on the wrong foot with them.”
“Fatty, have you found out anything interesting?” asked Larry eagerly. “I saw you with your measuring tape, out of the window. What have you discovered?”
“I’ve discovered exactly the same as I discovered yesterday,” said Fatty. “Except that I haven’t found any bits of paper with names and numbers on. Look at those prints over there.”
Larry and Daisy examined them with interest. “I know only one person in this village with feet big enough to fit those prints,” said Daisy. Fatty looked up at once.
“Who? Perhaps you’ve hit on the very person! There can’t be many people with such enormous feet.”
“Well—it’s Goon—old Clear-Orf!” said Daisy with a giggle. The others roared.
“You’re right. His feet would certainly fit those prints!” said Fatty. “Unfortunately he’s about the only large-footed person who’s absolutely ruled out.”
“We’ll certainly have to go about with our eyes on people’s feet,” said Larry. “It’s the one thing the thief can’t hide! He can stick his great hands in his pockets and stop his hollow cough—but he can’t hide his great feet!”
“No—you’re right,” said Fatty. “Well, let’s not stop any more. Goon’s had about enough of us for one afternoon, I should think.”