Mystery #05 — The Mystery of the Missing Necklace tff-5 Page 12

  And behind him went Fatty, annoyed and angry. Was Goon going to get in first again! Goon heard some one behind him and turned. He scowled.

  That fat boy again! Was he after Number Three too. "Gah!" said Goon to himself. "The interfering Toad!"

  A Nice Long Ride.

  And now, of course, Mr. Goon spoilt simply everything! Number Three couldn't possibly help guessing that he was being shadowed by the fat, panting policeman! For one thing, Goon didn't keep a fair distance away, but pedalled closely to Number Three's bicycle—so close to it that if Number Three had to brake suddenly, his "shadow" would almost certainly bump into him!

  Fatty cycled on, some way behind the other two, thinking hard. It was too bad of Old Clear-Orf to butt in like this, just as the Find-Outers had really got going again. For one moment Fatty knew what Mr. Goon felt like, when others interfered! He, Fatty, had often interfered with the policeman's working out of a mystery—and now here was Goon doing the same thing. And he'd done it the evening before, too, in the Waxworks Hall. It was most exasperating.

  Number Three, giving occasional scowling glances behind him, saw that Goon was hot on his trail. He didn't really need to look round him to see the policeman, because he could hear him well enough too—Goon's puffs and pants were terrific.

  A little grin curled the corners of Number Three's lips. Goon wanted a bicycle ride, did he? All right then, he could have it, with pleasure. Number Three would take him for a long, long ride through the countryside, on this hot, sultry afternoon!

  Fatty soon began to have an inkling of the way in which Number Three's mind was working, for the man suddenly seemed to have a tremendous desire to cycle up all the steep hills it was possible to find.

  He was a strong, muscular fellow, and he sailed up the hills easily enough—but poor Goon found it terribly hard work, and Fatty wasn't very happy either. He began to puff too, and to wish that he had given Larry or Pip the job of shadowing this extremely active fellow.

  "The wretched man knows that Goon is following him because he suspects him of knowing where the pearls are, and he going to lead him a fine old dance, up hill and down dale!" thought Fatty, his legs going round and round furiously, and the perspiration dripping into his eyes. "He's either going to tire old Goon out, and make him give up—or else he's going to give him the slip somehow."

  Still the three went on and on, and Fatty's clothes stuck to him horribly, he was so hot. Number Three didn't seem to tire in the least, and had a most uncanny knowledge of all the nasty little hills in the district. Poor Mr. Goon went from red to scarlet, and from scarlet to purple. He was in his hot uniform, and even Fatty felt a bit sorry for him.

  "Hell have a fit if he goes up any more hills at top speed," thought Fatty, wiping his forehead. "So shall I! Golly, I'm absolutely melting. I shall have lost pounds and pounds in weight soon. Phew!”

  Mr. Goon was absolutely determined that he wasn't going to be shaken off by Number Three. He knew that Fatty was behind him, and that if he, Mr. Goon, failed in the chase, Fatty would go triumphantly on. So Mr. Goon gritted his big teeth and kept on and on and on.

  A big hill loomed up in front. Mr. Goon groaned from the bottom of his heart. Number Three sailed up as usual. Mr. Goon followed valiantly. Fatty, feeling that this was absolutely the last straw, went up it too.

  And then he felt a peculiar bumping from his back tyre. He looked down in alarm. Blow, blow, blow! He'd got a puncture!

  Poor Fatty. He got off and looked at his tyre. It was absolutely flat. No good pumping it up, because it would be flat again almost at once—and, in any case, if he stopped to pump it up he would lose Number Three and Mr. Goon.

  If he had been Bets he would have burst into howls. If he had been Daisy he would have sat on the bank and shed a few quiet tears. If he had been Larry he would have shaken his fist at the tyre and kicked it. If he had been Pip he would probably have yelled at it and then jumped on it in fury. But being Fatty, he did none of these things at all.

  He took a quick look up the hill and caught sight of a triumphant Mr. Goon looking back at him with a grin on his face. Then he and Number Three disappeared over the top of the hill. Fatty waved to Goon.

  "I wish you a nice long ride!" he said pleasantly, and mopped his forehead. Then he waited for a car to come along over the top of the hill.

  It wasn't long before he heard one. It was a lorry, driven by a young man with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Fatty hailed him.

  "Hie! Stop a minute, there's a good-chap."

  The lorry stopped. Fatty took a half-crown out of his pocket. "Would you mind stopping at the next garage and asking them to send out a taxi for me?" he said. "I've got a puncture, and I'm miles from anywhere, and don't want to have to walk home."

  "Bad luck, mate," said the driver. "Where do you live?"

  "Peterswood," said Fatty. "I don't know how far I've ridden this afternoon, but I imagine it must be about twenty miles away!"

  "Oh, not so far as that, mate!" said the driver. "I'm going near Peterswood. Chuck your bike in the back of the lorry, climb up here beside me—and put your money away! I can give a chap a lift without being paid for it!"

  "Oh, thanks awfully," said Fatty, and put away his half-crown. He lifted his bicycle into the lorry, and then climbed up beside the driver. He was very hot and tired, and terribly thirsty, but he chatted away in a friendly manner, glad to have this unexpected lift back.

  "Here you are," said the driver, when they had rattled through the countryside for about twenty minutes. "Peterswood is not above a mile from here. You can walk that."

  "Very many thanks," said Fatty, and jumped down. He took his bicycle and waved to the departing lorry. Then he walked smartly off in the direction of Peters-wood. He went home and put away his punctured bike. His father's bike was in the shed, so Fatty borrowed that, and off he went, quite cheerful, on his way to the Fair to see what the others were doing.

  They were wondering what had happened to Fatty. They hadn't liked to leave the Fair, so they had had tea there, and were now conversing with the red-headed boy at the Waxworks, hearing for the twentieth time, the extraordinary tale of Napoleon's escapade in the night.

  "Oh, Fatty!" cried Bets, when she saw him. "You've come back at last! Whatever happened? And how frightfully hot you look!"

  Buster welcomed Fatty uproariously. He had been left behind with Larry, in case Fatty had to do some quick shadowing. Fatty looked at him.

  "I feel as if my tongue's hanging out like Buster's, I'm so hot and thirsty," he said. "I must have an iced gingerbeer. Come and sit with me whilst I have it, and I'll tell you what's happened!"

  "Did Number Three lead you to the missing pearls?" asked Bets excitedly, as Fatty went to the gingerbeer stall. He shook his head.

  "Come on over to the grass here," he said, and led the way. He flung himself down and drank his gingerbeer in long, thirsty gulps. "Golly! This is the very best drink I've ever had in my life!"

  Soon he was telling the others about the wild-goose chase that Number Three had led both him and Mr. Goon. They listened eagerly. How annoying of Goon to butt in like that! They laughed when they thought of the poor, hot, fat policeman pedalling valiantly up hill and down after Number Three.

  "What a shame you had a puncture," said Bets. "Still, Fatty, I'm sure Number Three would never lead you or Goon to where the pearls were, once he knew he was being followed! He might not have known that you were shadowing him—but he simply couldn't help knowing that Goon was!"

  Fatty finished his iced gingerbeer and ordered another. He said he had never been so thirsty in his life. "When I think of poor, hot Goon, pedalling away still for dear life, and feeling as thirsty as I am—well, all I can say is that I'm jolly glad I got a puncture!" said Fatty, drinking again. "I should think Goon will end up somewhere in Scotland, by the time he's finished this bike-ride!"

  "All the same," said Larry, "it's a bit sickening that we aren't any nearer solving the myste
ry of where those pearls are hidden. Instead of the man leading us to them—he seems bent on going as far from them as he can!"

  "I wonder if that old fellow did give him a message," said Pip, frowning. "You're sure you didn't see any sign of a message at all? Let's think now. All that old Johnny did was to mess about in the dust, drawing patterns with his stick. Nothing else."

  Fatty was drinking his gingerbeer as Pip said this. He suddenly choked and spluttered, and Bets banged him on the back. "Whatever's the matter?" she said.

  Fatty coughed, and then turned a pair of bright eyes on the Find-Outers. "Pip's hit it!" he said. "What a lot of blind donkeys we are! Of course—we saw that old chap giving the message to Number Three under our very noses—and we weren't smart enough to spot it!"

  "What do you mean?" said every one, in surprise.

  "Well—he must have been writing some kind of message with his stick, in the dust, of course, for Number Three to read!" said Fatty. "And to think it was there for us to read, too, if only we'd gone over and used our eyes. We're bad Find-Outers. Very bad indeed."

  The others looked excited. Pip slapped Fatty on the shoulder. "Well, come on, let's go and see if the message is still there, idiot! It might be!"

  "It might. But it's not very likely now," said Fatty, getting up. "Still, we'll certainly go and see. Oh—to think we never thought of this before. Where are my brains? They must have melted in this heat!"

  The Find-Outers, with Buster in Fatty's basket, set off back to the village street. They came to the bench. It was empty—but obviously people had been sitting there, for there were paper bags strewn about. The children looked eagerly at the dust in front of the seat. Would there still be a message they could read?

  Hunt-The-Necklace.

  There were certainly some marks in the dust, but not many, for somebody's feet had evidently scuffled about just there. Fatty sat himself down in exactly the same place in which the old man had been. He stared hard at the dust.

  So did the others. "That looks like a letter W," said Fatty, at last, pointing. "Then there's a letter half rubbed out. And then that looks like an X. Then all the rest of the letters have been brushed out where people have walked on them. Blow!"

  "W—something—X," said Larry, who was good at crosswords, with their missing letters. "W—A—X it might be that."

  And then exactly the same thought struck all the Find-Outers at the same moment.

  "WAXworks! That's what the word was!"

  They stared at one another in the greatest excitement. Waxworks! Were the pearls hidden somewhere in the Waxworks Hall? It was a very likely place, a place that all the gang knew well. And Number Three had kept looking in at the door that afternoon.

  "He kept peeping in—but he couldn't go and get the pearls, because there were too many people there!" said Fatty. "Golly, we've got the idea now! Now we've only got to go there and hunt, and we'll find the pearls somewhere—in the cupboard, perhaps, or under a floorboard."

  "Let's go and look for them straightaway," said Larry, getting up. "Come on."

  "We can't very well, under the nose of that red-haired boy," said Fatty. "Still, we'll go down to the Hall anyway." They set off and soon came to the Fair again.

  "There's the red-headed boy over there—he's gone to his tea or something," said Bets, pointing. "Has he left the Hall empty for once?"

  They hurried to see. There was a badly written notice stuck on the locked door. "Gone for tea. Back soon."

  "Aha!" said Fatty, his eyes gleaming. "This couldn't be better for us. We'll get in at that window, Larry. It's sure to be open still."

  It was still unfastened, and the children climbed in excitedly, almost tumbling on to the floor in their eagerness to go hunting for the pearls.

  "Behind the curtains, in the cupboards, up the chimney, every place you can think of!" said Fatty, in a thrilled voice. "Go to it, Find-Outers. Solve the mystery if you can!"

  Then such a hunt began. Every cupboard, every shelf, every nook and cranny in that Hall were searched by the bright-eyed Find-Outers. Buster, eager to help, though without the faintest idea of what they were looking for, scrabbled about too, having a vague hope that it might be rabbits.

  Fatty even examined the floor-boards, but none of them was loose. At last, when it seemed as if every single place had been searched, the five children sat down to rest and discuss the matter.

  "I suppose it is here, that necklace!" said Daisy. "I'm beginning to think it isn't."

  "I feel as if I'm playing Hunt-the-Thimble," said Bets. "Where is the thimble? It must be in some jolly good place, that necklace!”

  Fatty stared at Bets. "Bets," he said, "supposing we went out of the room, and you had to hide a pearl necklace somewhere here, what difficult place would you think of?"

  Bets looked round the Hall and considered. "Well, Fatty," she said, "I've always noticed that when people play Hunt-the-Thimble, the most difficult hiding-places to find are the easiest ones really."

  "What do you mean? " demanded Pip.

  "Well," said Bets, "I remember looking everywhere for the thimble once—and nobody found it—and yet where do you think it was? On Mother's finger!"

  Fatty was listening hard to Bets. "Go on, Bets," he said. "Suppose you had to hide that pearl necklace here, in this Hall—where would you hide it? It would have to be a good place, easy to get at—and yet one where ordinary people would never dream of looking for a valuable necklace."

  Bets considered again. Then she gave a little smile. "Well, I know where I'd put it!" she said. "Of course I'd know! And it would be under the noses of every one, and yet nobody would notice it!"

  "Where? " cried every one.

  "I'll tell you," said Bets. "See Queen Elizabeth over there, in her grand clothes and jewels, standing looking so proud and haughty? Well, I'd put the pearl necklace round her neck with all the other necklaces, of course—and nobody would ever guess that among the false Woolworth ones there was a REAL one!"

  Fatty leapt to his feet. "Bets, you're right. I'd got that idea half in my own mind, and now you've said all that, I'm sure you're right! I bet the necklace is there! Clever old Bets!"

  They all ran to the stately wax figure of Queen Elizabeth whose neck was hung with brilliant necklaces of all kinds. Among them was a double necklace of beautifully graded pearls, with a diamond clasp—at least, the children felt sure it was a diamond one. Fatty lifted the necklace carefully off the figure's neck, undoing the clasp first.

  The pearls shone softly. It was clear even to the children's eyes that they were not cheap ones, bought at a store. They were lovely, really lovely.

  "These must be the missing pearls!" said Fatty, exultantly. "They really must! Golly, we've found them. We've solved that mystery! What will the Inspector say? Let's go and ring him up."

  They climbed out of the window and hurried to their bicycles. Fatty had the wonderful necklace safely in his pocket. He couldn't believe that they really had found it—and in such an easy place too!

  "But a jolly clever one," said Fatty. "To think it was under the eyes of scores of people today—and nobody guessed! It was safer on Queen Elizabeth's neck than anywhere else!"

  "Look out—there's Goon!" said Larry.

  "And Inspector Jenks with him!” cried Bets in delight. "Shall we tell him?"

  "Leave it to me," ordered Fatty. "Good evening, Inspector. Come to hunt for the necklace too?"

  "Frederick," said the Inspector. "I believe you were bicycling after the member of the gang called Number Three this afternoon, weren't you?"

  "Yes, sir," said Fatty. "With Mr. Goon, as well, sir."

  "Well, unfortunately he gave Mr. Goon the slip," said the Inspector. "Mr. Goon rang me up, and I came over because it is imperative that we keep an eye on Number Three, if we can, owing to his knowledge of where the pearls are hidden. Did you by any chance see the man, after you had got your puncture?"

  "No, sir," said Fatty. "Haven't set eyes on him."

 
; The Inspector gave an annoyed exclamation. "We must get Number Three. We've found out that he is the ring-leader, and the man we want most of all! And now if he get those pearls, wherever they are, and clears off, sooner or later these burglaries will start all over again. He will find it quite easy to start a new gang."

  Mr. Goon looked very down in the mouth. He also looked hot and tired.

  "He's a clever fellow, sir," he said to the Inspector. "Very clever. I don't know how he managed to give me the slip, sir."

  "Never mind, Mr. Goon," said Fatty comfortingly. "I can tell the Inspector where the pearls are, and how you can catch Number Three if you want to."

  Mr. Goon stared disbelievingly at Fatty. "Gah!" he said. "You make me tired. Talking a lot of tommy-rot! I don't believe a word of it!"

  "What do you mean, Frederick?" said the Inspector, startled.

  Fatty drew the pearl necklace out of his pocket. Mr. Goon gasped and his eyes bulged more than ever. The Inspector stared in amazement too. He took the pearls from Fatty. All the children crowded round in excitement.

  "Frederick! These are the missing pearls! A double row of the very finest graded pearls there are," said the Inspector. "My dear boy—where did you get them!"

  "Oh—we played a little game of Hunt-the-Thimble with Bets—and she told us where they were," said Fatty, and Mr. Goon gave a disbelieving snort. "They were round Queen Elizabeth's neck, in the Waxworks Hall, Inspector—a very clever place—and Bets thought of it!"

  "Certainly a very clever place," said the Inspector, "and a very clever thought of yours, little Bets, if I may say so!" he said, turning to the delighted little girl. "They must have been shining there under the noses of hundreds of people today—and nobody so much as guessed! But now, Frederick—how do you propose that we lay hands on Number Three?”

  "Well, sir—he knows that the pearls were hidden in the Waxworks Hall," said Fatty, "and maybe knows too that they were on Queen Elizabeth's neck—so he's bound to go back for them, sir, when every one has gone, and the Hall is dark and empty. Oh, sir—could I come and hide in the Hall tonight when you do your spot of arresting!"