Mystery #05 — The Mystery of the Missing Necklace tff-5 Read online

  "I'll have some chocolate, please," said Bets, and held out her money. The girl didn't take it. She looked steadily over Bets' head and said nothing.

  "SOME CHOCOLATE, PLEASE," said Bets loudly, thinking that perhaps the girl was deaf. The girl took absolutely no notice at all, and Bets was puzzled.

  Then she heard the others exploding behind her, and guessed in a flash the trick they had played. "Oh! This girl is a waxwork too! You beasts! I've been trying to buy chocolate from a waxwork figure."

  "Oh, Bets! Anyone can take you in, simply anyone!" said Pip, almost crying with laughter. To think you're one of the Find-Outers, too! Why, you can't even spot when somebody is a waxwork!"

  Bets hardly knew whether to cry or to laugh, but fortunately she decided to laugh. "Oh dear! I really did think she was a proper person. Look at that horrid redheaded boy over there laughing at me!"

  They examined all the wax figures closely. There were a good many of them. Among them was a policeman rather like Mr. Goon, but taller and not so fat.

  "I'd like to stand Old dear-Orf in here!" said Pip, with a giggle. "He looks just about as stolid and stupid sometimes. And I say—look at this postman. He's quite good, except for his idiotic grin."

  It was really very hot in the Waxwork Show and the children were glad to go out. The red-headed boy at the entrance put out his tongue at Bets again; and she tried not to look.

  "What a horrid boy!" she said. "I can't think how I thought he could be Fatty. Fatty wouldn't behave like that, even in disguise."

  "Let's go and have some tea," said Daisy. "Look, this place has got ices and home-make cakes."

  "Cakes and an iced lemonade for me," said Pip. "I'll have an ice later if I can manage it. I wish old Fatty could join us. Wonder if he's looking on at us, in his disguise. I’m sure he's the ticket-man at the Roundabout. That man's mop of curly black hair is too good to be true."

  They had a very nice tea, and ate twenty-four cakes between them. They finished up with ices, washed down by a rather sweet lemonade, and then felt able to go out into the sun once more.

  "Let's go and sit down by the river," said Bets. "It will be cooler there. There's always a breeze by the water!"

  They made their way out of the Fair. Bets suddenly caught sight of a lovely patch of gay colour, and she stopped. "Pip! Look at those air-balloons! I do love a balloon. Have you got enough money to buy me one?"

  "Don't be a baby," said Pip. "Fancy wanting a balloon like any three-year-old kid!"

  "Well, I do," said Bets obstinately. They all went over to where the old woman sat, holding her bunch of gay balloons. She was a shapeless old dame, with a red shawl over her shoulders and head, though the day was hot. Untidy hair hung in wisps over her brown, wrinkled face, but she had surprisingly bright eyes.

  "Balloon, young sir?" said she to Pip, in a cracked old voice.

  "No thanks,'' said Pip. But Bets pulled his arm.

  "Oh, do buy me one, Pip. Oh, I wish Fatty was here. He'd buy me one. They're so pretty!"

  "Well, but they're sixpence each!" said Pip, looking at the price label hanging from the string of balloons. "Sixpence! It's robbery. No, I can't lend you sixpence for that. Mother would think I was mad."

  "She can have one for half-price," croaked the old woman kindly. Bets looked at Pip.

  "Oh, all right," he said, and pulled out three pennies. "But mind you give me the money back when you get home, Bets."

  "Oh thank you, Pip," said Bets, and took the money. She looked at all the gay balloons, swaying gently in the breeze, and couldn't make up her mind which one to buy. The reds were so nice and bright, the greens were so pretty, the blues were like the sky, the yellows were like sunshine—oh, which should she have?

  "Well, come on after us when you've made up your mind," said Pip impatiently. "We're not going to stand here all evening waiting for you, Bets."

  The others went off to the river-bank. Bets stared at the lovely balloons.

  "Pretty, aren't they, young miss?" said the old woman. "You take your time in choosing. I don't mind!"

  Bets thought what a kind old woman she was. "It was so nice of you to let me have one at half-price," she said. "Really it was. Do you make a lot of money, selling balloons?"

  "Not much," said the old dame. "But enough for an old lady like me."

  Bets chose a blue balloon and the old woman held out her hand for the money. It was a very dirty hand, and it closed over the money quickly. Bets wondered why all the Fair people had such dirty hands and faces.

  Then she noticed something that made her stare. The old woman's hand was certainly extremely dirty—but the nails on it were remarkably clean! Much cleaner than Bets' own nails!

  "How queer!" thought Bets, still staring at the clean, well-kept nails. "Why should this old woman keep her nails so clean, and her hands so dirty?"

  Bets then looked hard at the old woman's dirty brown face, all wrinkled up. She looked into the surprisingly bright, twinkling eyes—and she saw that they were Fatty's eyes! Yes, there wasn't an atom of doubt about it—they were Fatty's own bright, intelligent eyes!"

  "Oh, Fatty!" whispered Bets. "Oh, it really is you, isn't it? Oh, do say it is?"

  The old woman looked round quickly to make sure no one was listening.

  "Yes. It's me all right," said Fatty, unwrinkling his face as if by magic, and straightening his bent back. "Jolly good disguise, isn't it? But HOW did you know it was me, Bets? You're too cute for anything!”

  "Sh! There's somebody coming," whispered Bets. I’ll go. Where will you meet us?"

  "Go home at six and I'll meet you somewhere," said Fatty hurriedly, and screwed his face up into all kinds of wrinkles again. Bets saw that he had cleverly painted the places where the wrinkles came, so that no one could possibly see that they were not always there. Fatty was simply marvellous!

  "Don't tell the others!" said Fatty. "Keep it dark for a bit." Then he raised his voice and, in a feeble croak, called "Balloons! Sixpence each! Fine strong balloons!"

  Bets went off, her eyes shining. She had found Fatty—and oh, wasn't he clever! He really, really was.

  The Old Balloon-Woman.

  Bets went to join the others, very pleased with herself. Her blue balloon floated behind her, tugging at its string.

  "Here she is at last!" said Pip. "We thought you were never coming, Bets. What's up with you? You look bursting with something."

  "Do I?" said Bets. "Fancy that! By the way, I've a message from Fatty. We're to go home at six and he will meet us somewhere."

  "Who gave you that message?" said Pip, at once.

  "That's my secret," said Bets annoyingly.

  "Did you speak to Fatty himself?" demanded Larry. "Is he the Hoopla-man?"

  "I shan't tell you," said Bets. "I'm going to keep my secret for a bit!"

  And she wouldn't say another word, which annoyed the others very much. Fancy young Bets knowing something they didn't know!

  At six o'clock they made their way back through the Fair, across the level-crossing, and up the lane from the river. Sitting on a bench, with her balloons, was the old Balloon-woman, waiting for them. She got up as they came.

  "Balloons!" said she. "Strong balloons!"

  "No thanks," said Pip, and walked on. The old woman walked with him. "Buy a balloon!" she said, "Just to help me, young sir!"

  "No thanks," said Pip again, and walked a little faster. But the old dame could walk surprisingly fast too. She kept up quite easily with Pip!

  "Do buy a balloon!” she said, her voice cracking queerly.

  How long she would have pestered Pip nobody knew—but Bets suddenly exploded into a series of helpless giggles that took the others by surprise. They stared at her.

  "What is the matter?" said Pip, exasperated.

  "Oh dear!" gasped Bets. "Oh dear—I'm sorry. But I can't help it. It's all so f-M-funny!"

  "What's funny?" shouted Pip. And then he stared—for the old Balloon-woman, pulling her skirts above her kne
es, and showing sand-shoes and bare legs, was doing a lively jig in front of him and round him, making peculiar noises all the time.

  "Don't, Fatty, don't! I shall die of laughter!" said Bets, holding her aching sides.

  The others stared as if their eyes were about to fall out. "What—it's Fatty!" said Pip. "Fatty! It isn't. I can't believe it!”

  But it was, of course. As soon as Fatty "unscrewed" his face, as Bets called it, and got rid of his lines and wrinkles, every one could see quite well it was Fatty.

  Larry and Daisy were speechless. So Fatty hadn't been the Hoopla-man, or the Roundabout-man either. He was the old Balloon-woman instead. Trust Fatty to think out a disguise that nobody would guess!

  Or had little Bets guessed it? The others looked at her smiling face. Larry dragged the Balloon-woman to a wayside seat, and they all sat down.

  "Is it really you, Fatty?" said Larry. The old woman nodded.

  "Of course! Golly, this disguise must be super if I could take you all in as well as that!”

  "Did Bets guess? " demanded Pip.

  "She did," said Fatty. "She suddenly guessed when she was buying her balloon, and you had all gone off without her."

  "But how did she guess?" said Pip, annoyed.

  "Goodness knows!” said Fatty. "How did you guess, young Bets?"

  "Oh, Fatty—it was such a silly thing—I don't really like to tell you," said Bets. "I'm sure you'll think it was a silly way to guess."

  "Go on—tell me," said Fatty, with much interest.

  "Well, Fatty—you see, you had very dirty hands, like all the rest of the Fair people," said Bets. "But I couldn't help seeing that you had nice, clean nails—and it did seem to me a bit funny that somebody with dirty hands should bother to keep their nails so clean."

  "Well, I'm blessed!" said Fatty, looking down at his dirty hands, and examining the well-kept nails. "Who would have thought of any one noticing that? Very very careless of me not to get some dirt into my nails when I made my hands filthy. I never thought of it. Bets, you are very clever. Most intelligent."

  "Oh, Fatty—not really," said Bets, glowing all over her face at such generous praise.

  "Well, I must say I think it was jolly cute of young Bets to notice a thing like that," said Larry. "I really do. We all had a chance of noticing, because we all stood in front of you. But it was Bets who spotted it. Jolly good, Bets!"

  "She wins my second-best propelling-pencil," said Fatty. "I'll give it to you when I get home, Bets. In fact I'm not sure that I oughtn't to give you my best one. That was a really smart bit of work. Bright enough for a first-class detective!”

  Daisy praised Bets too, but Pip was rather sulky. He was afraid his little sister would get swollen-headed. "If you say much more, Bets will want to be head of the Find-Outers," he said.

  "Oh no, I shan't," said Bets happily. "I know it was only a bit of luck, really, Pip. You see, I actually put the pennies into Fatty's hands, and that's how I noticed the clean nails. Pip, I’ll lend you the propelling-pencil whenever you want it. See?"

  That was so like Bets. Not even a cross elder brother like Pip could sulk for long with Bets. He grinned at her.

  "Thanks, Bets. You're a good Find-Outer, and a good little sport too!"

  "I say—look out—here's Goon!” suddenly said Larry, in a low voice. "Better pretend we're not with Fatty, or Goon will wonder why we are hobnobbing with an old Fair woman!"

  So they all got up, and left Fatty behind on the seat, with his string of balloons bobbing over his head. Mr. Goon was on his bicycle as usual. He pretended not to notice the children at all. He always seemed busy and important these days!

  But he got off his bicycle when he saw the old woman. Fatty was drooping over, pretending to be asleep.

  "Here, you!" said Goon. "Move on! And where's your licence to sell balloons?"

  The others heard this, and looked alarmed. Did you have to have a licence to peddle balloons? They were sure Fatty hadn't got one.

  Fatty took no notice, but gave a gentle snore. Mr. Goon shook the shoulder of the Balloon-woman, and Fatty pretended to awake with a jerk.

  "Where's your licence?" said Goon. He was always rude and arrogant to people like the old Balloon-woman.

  "What did you say, sir?" said Fatty, in a whining voice. "Want to buy a balloon, sir? What colour do you fancy?"

  "I don't want a balloon," said Goon angrily. "I want to see your licence."

  "Oh, ah, my licence?" said Fatty, and began to pat all over his extremely voluminous skirts, as if to find where a licence would possibly be hidden. "Somewhere about, sir, somewhere about. If you can just wait a few minutes, kind sir, I'll find it in the pocket of one of my petticoats. An old woman like me, sir, she wants plenty of petticoats. Sleeping out under hedges is cold, sir, even on a summer night."

  "Gah!" said Goon rudely, mounted his bicycle and rode off, ringing his bell furiously at a small dog that dared to run across the road in front of him. Was he, the Great Goon, in charge of a First-Class Case, going to wait whilst an old pedlar-woman fished for ages in her petticoats for a licence he didn't really want to see? Gah!

  When Goon was safely out of sight the others went back to Fatty, amused and half-alarmed. "Oh, Fatty! How can you act like that with Goon? If only he'd known it was really you!"

  "I enjoyed that," said Fatty. "Good thing Goon didn't wait to see my licence though, because I haven't got one, of course. Come on—let's get back home. I'm dying to take off these hot clothes! I’ve got layers of petticoats on to make me fat and shapeless!”

  On the way up the village street they passed the bench where they had spoken to the old man on their way to the Fair that afternoon. Bets pointed him out to Fatty.

  "Fatty. Do you see that old fellow, sleeping on that bench over there? Well, we thought he was you! And we went and called him Fatty, and Pip gave him a poke in the ribs!”

  Fatty stood and looked at the old chap. "You know, it would be quite easy to disguise myself like him," he said. "I've a good mind to try it. Honestly, I believe I could."

  "But you couldn't make your ears like his," said Bets. "He's got awful ears."

  "No, I couldn't. But I could pull my cap down lower man he does, and hide my ears a bit," said Fatty. "Yes, that would be a very good and easy disguise indeed. I'll try it one day. Did Pip really .poke him in the ribs?"

  "Yes. And the old fellow kept on saying, 'Wassat? Wassat?'" said Pip, with a giggle. "He's deaf, poor old thing."

  The old man suddenly opened his eyes and saw the children looking at him. He thought they must have spoken to him. He cupped one of his ears in his hand and croaked out his favourite word, "Wassat?"

  The old Balloon-woman winked at the children and sat down beside the old fellow. "Fine evening," she said, in the cracked voice the children were beginning to know well.

  "Wassat?" said the old man. Then be sniffed, and wiped his nose deftly with the back of his hand. Fatty did exactly the same, which made Bets giggle in delight.

  "FINE EVENING," said Fatty. "AND A FINE MORNING TOO!"

  "Don't know nothing about mornings," said the old man surprisingly. "Always sleep till midday, I do. Then I gets up, has my bit of dinner, and comes out into the sun. Mornings don't mean nothing to me."

  He sniffed again, and then took out his pipe to fill it. Fatty watched all he did. Yes, it would be a marvellous thing to do, to disguise himself as this old fellow. Pipe, sniffs, deafness, and all—Fatty could do it!"

  "Come on, Fatty!" said Pip, in a low voice. "We really will have to get back. It's getting late."

  Fatty got up and joined them. They soon parted and went their different way—Pip and Bets down their lane, and Larry and Daisy up theirs. Fatty went in at his back gate, and his mother caught sight of the old Balloon-woman, as she stood in the garden, cutting sweet-peas for the table.

  "A friend of Cook's, I suppose," she thought; "or is she trying to sell balloons here?"

  She waited for the Balloon-woman to come bac
k again, but she didn't. So, rather curious, Mrs. Trotteville went to the kitchen door and looked in. There was no Balloon-woman to be seen—only Cook, red in the face, cooking the dinner.

  "Where did that old Balloon-woman go?" said Mrs. Trotteville, in wonder. But Cook didn't know. She hadn't seen any old woman at all. And no wonder—for at that moment the old Balloon-woman was stripping off layers of petticoats down in the shed at the bottom of the garden—to come forth as a very hot and rather untidy Fatty.

  "What a peculiar thing for a Balloon-woman to vanish into thin air!" thought Mrs. Trotteville. And so it was.

  A Visit to Inspector Jenks.

  Fatty had much enjoyed his fun as the old Balloon-woman, and so had the others. He gave Bets the silver propelling-pencil and she was really delighted.

  "I've never had such a lovely pencil," she said. "It writes in red and blue, as well as in ordinary lead. Thank you awfully, Fatty."

  "The holidays are going too fast," said Pip, rather gloomily. "And we still haven't got a mystery to solve, though we know that Goon has."

  "Yes, I know," said Fatty, looking worried. "I can't bear to think of Goon getting busy on his mystery, and we haven't the least idea what it is. Though it may be all those burglaries that are cropping up all over the place, you know—I expect most of the police are keeping their eyes skinned for the gang that is operating such big thefts."

  "Can't we keep our eyes skinned too?" said Bets eagerly. "We might see the gang somewhere."

  "Idiot! Do you suppose they go about in a crowd together, all looking like burglars?" said Pip scornfully. "They're too jolly clever. They have their own meeting-places their own way of passing on messages, their own ways of disposing of the jewels they steal—haven't they, Fatty? And they are not ways we would be likely to find out, even if we did keep our eyes skinned!"

  "Oh," said Bets, disappointed. "Well—can't we ask Inspector Jenks if there really is a mystery here, and ask him to let us help?"

  "Yes—why can't we?" said Daisy. "I'm sure he'd tell us. We've helped him such a lot before."

  Inspector Jenks was their very good friend. He was what Bets called "a very high-up policeman," and he belonged to the next big town. In the four mysteries the children had solved before, Inspector Jenks had come in at the end, and been very pleased indeed at all the children had found out. Mr. Goon, however, had not been so pleased, because it was most annoying to him to have those "interfering children messing about with the Law"—especially when they had actually found out things he hadn't.