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

  But Larry was out. "Try at the Hilton's," said Larry's mother. "Oh, I do hope the children haven't been misbehaving themselves, Mr. Goon."

  "Er no—for a wonder, no, Mam," said Mr. Goon, and went off majestically.

  He arrived at Pip's just as the children were escorting Fatty, still disguised as the old man, out of the front gate. Fatty stared at Goon, and Goon stared back disbelievingly. What! Hadn't he just locked that old man up? And here he was again, free, and walking about! Mr. Goon began to feel as if he was in a peculiarly unpleasant dream.

  "Er—good evening, Mr. Goon," said Larry. Mr. Goon took no notice of him.

  "Here, you!" he said, grabbing at Fatty's arm. "How did you get out? Haven't I just locked you up? What are things a-coming to, I'd like to know! Here I've just locked you up and I meet you walking into me, bold as brass!"

  Mr. Goon looked so amazed and disbelieving that Fatty badly wanted to laugh. He was at a loss to know what to say.

  "Wassat? " he said at last, putting his hand behind his ear.

  That was too much for Mr. Goon. He caught hold of Fatty's collar and marched him quickly up the lane.

  "You've been ‘wassating' me long enough!" said the annoyed Mr. Goon. "I don't know how you got out—but I do know you're going in again—and this time I'll lock the door on you meself! And there you'll stay 'till you see sense if it takes you a month!"

  Fatty didn't like this at all. He debated whether or not to let Mr. Goon into the secret of his disguise. But before he had made up his mind, he was at the police-station. Mr. Goon was unlocking a door, and Fatty was being pushed into the dark, narrow little room behind.

  And in it was the real old man! He stared at Fatty and Fatty stared at him. The old chap let out a howl. He was beginning to feel he must be mad. Why, here was himself staring at him! What was happening?

  Mr. Goon heard the howl and looked into the room—and then he saw the two old men! Exactly alike. As like as peas in a pod. Mr. Goon sat down heavily on a chair and mopped his forehead with a big handkerchief. He felt dazed. What with vanishing cigarettes, men that got locked up and then got out—and now two old men exactly alike—well, Mr. Goon began to feel that he must be lying asleep and dreaming in his own bed at home, and he fervently hoped that he would soon wake up.

  "Lemme get out of here!" said the real old man, and tried to push past Mr. Goon. But the policeman caught hold of him. He wasn't going to have any more disappearings. He was Going to Get to the Bottom of Things.

  Fatty saw that things had gone far enough, and he did not like the thought of his parents knowing that he was locked up at the police-station. So he spoke to Mr. Goon in his ordinary voice, and gave the poor man another terrible shock.

  "Mr. Goon! I'm not really an old man. I'm Frederick Trotteville."

  Mr. Goon's mouth fell open. He gulped once or twice, staring at Fatty as if he couldn't believe his eyes. Fatty twitched off his beard, and then Mr. Goon did indeed see that it was Fatty. He dragged him out of the dark little room, slammed and locked the door, and took Fatty into an office.

  "Now you just tell me the meaning of all this here!” he said.

  "Well," said Fatty, "it's a long story, but I'll tell you everything, Mr. Goon," and he launched into the tale of all that the Find-Outers had done, and how he had disguised himself as the old man, and sat there to trap a message from the gang.

  "What about that cigarette?" said Mr. Goon when he had got his breath back a bit. "What about that? That's a most important thing!"

  "Is it really?" said Fatty, in pretended surprise. "Well, we imdid the cigarette, of course, Mr. Goon, and inside we found nothing of importance at all, really—just a silly grocery list. We were terribly disappointed."

  Fatty did not mean to tell Mr. Goon what he and the others had discovered in the message—the few lines in secret ink. No, he would keep that to himself, and go to the meeting on Tuesday night, and see what he could find out. He wanted to solve the Mystery, he, Fatty, the Chief of the Find-Outers. He did not stop to think whether it was dangerous or not.

  Mr. Goon grabbed hold of the message. He spread it out. He frowned. He read it through two or three times. "Must be a code," he said. "I'll look up my code-book. You leave this to me."

  "Er—well—I'll be going now," said Fatty, after watching Mr. Goon frowning at the list of groceries for a few minutes.

  "If you hadn't given me this here bit of paper, I'd have locked you up," said Mr. Goon. "Interfering with the Law. That's what you're always doing, you five kids. Ho, yes, I know you think you've got a fine friend in Inspector Jenks, but one of these days you'll find he's fed up with you, see? And I'll get my promotion and be a Big Noise, and then just you look out!"

  "Oh, I will look out," said Fatty earnestly. "Thanks for warning me, Mr. Goon. Er—what about that old fellow? Are you still going to keep him locked up?"

  "Yes, I am," said Mr. Goon. "And your own common sense will tell you why—that's always supposing you've got any, which I very much doubt—I don't want him warning the gang that I'm on their track. If he's here, under my nose, he can't do much warning."

  "I think you're quite right, Mr. Goon," said Fatty solemnly. "I couldn't agree with you more. I think—"

  "I'm tired of you," said Mr. Goon. "You clear-orf double-quick, before I change my mind about locking you up. I'm Right Down Tired of you. Messing about—interfering—dressing up—Gah!”

  Fatty scuttled off. He went home and quickly changed out of his old-man clothes, and then shot up to Pip's to tell every one what had happened.

  "I had to give him the cigarette message, worse luck," he said. "It was the only thing to keep him quiet. But I don't believe he'll make head or tail of it, and I bet he won't test it for a secret message as we did. You should have seen his face when he pushed me into the same room as the real old man, and saw two of us there! I thought he would go up in smoke!"

  The others roared. They were most relieved to see Fatty back safe and sound. Bets had been imagining him locked up in a dreary cell, with only bread and water.

  "He's keeping the old man under his eye for a few days," said Fatty, "in case he gets the wind up about all this, and warns the other members of the gang. I'm pleased he's doing that. I expect the Meeting will wonder why Number 3 doesn't turn up on Tuesday, whoever he is. Well, they'll have to wonder!"

  "I think it's awfully dangerous for you to go down to the Waxworks on Tuesday," said Daisy. "I do, really. I think you ought to go and tell the Inspector about it, Fatty."

  "Oh no," said Fatty. "I want us to solve this Mystery before we see the Inspector again. I shall be quite safe."

  "I don't see how you can say that," said Larry, who agreed with Daisy that it might be dangerous. "The men will surely not be fools enough to hold their Meeting without being certain there's no spy there."

  "They won't discover me," said Fatty. "I shall wear a disguise!"

  "I don't see how that will help you," said Larry. "Even if you are in disguise, you'll be a stranger to the men, and they'll want to know who you are."

  "I shan't be a stranger to them," said Fatty, exasperatingly. "Nor to you, either."

  The others stared at him. "What do you mean?" said Pip at last. "What are you getting at?"

  "I shall be somebody the gang have seen often enough before, if they have held their other meetings in the Waxworks Hall. They'll know me so well they won't even look at me!"

  "What do you mean?" said Daisy, getting annoyed. "Don't talk in these silly riddles."

  "Well," said Fatty, and he lowered his voice to a mysterious whisper, "well—I shall be disguised as one of the waxworks, silly I Napoleon, I think, because I'm pretty plump, and so was he!"

  There was a complete silence. All the Find-Outers stared at Fatty in the greatest admiration. What an idea! No member of the gang would suspect any of the waxwork figures! Bets could just imagine Fatty standing stiff and straight as the waxwork Napoleon, staring fixedly in front of him—seeing and hearing everythi
ng.

  "What a really marvellous idea!" said Larry, at last. "Oh, Fatty—I should never have thought of that if I’d thought for a month. You'll be right in the lions' den—and they won't even smell you!"

  "It is rather a good idea, isn't it?" said Fatty, swelling up a little. "That's one thing about me, you know—I've always got plenty of ideas. My form-master said only last term that my imagination was..."

  But the others didn't in the least want to hear what Fatty's form-master had said. They wanted to talk about Tuesday night and what Fatty was going to do.

  Tuesday night! Bets thrilled every time she thought of it. This Mystery was really getting too exciting for words. Oooh—Tuesday night!

  A Very Bold Idea.

  That week-end dragged along very slowly indeed. Tuesday was such a long time in coming! The only thing that enlivened it at all was that on the two or three occasions when the children met Mr. Goon, Fatty had his hooter tucked under his coat, and sounded it as soon as they passed the policeman. This made him jump, and he looked round in hope of seeing the cyclist who had once stopped and spoken to the old man. But he never did, of course. He hailed the children suspiciously the third time it happened.

  "Did you hear that hooter?" he asked. They all nodded vigorously.

  "Did you see a bike going by then?" said the policeman.

  "A bike? All by itself with a hooter?" asked Pip, and the others grinned.

  "Gab.!" said Mr. Goon, enranged as usual. "You clear-orf! I wouldn't put it past you to carry one of them hooters about, just to annoy me, like!”

  "He's getting quite bright, isn't he?" said Larry, as they walked off. "I shouldn't be surprised if he does get promotion one of these days. He's really trying to use those brains of his a bit. We'd better not hoot any more when we pass him. He's quite likely to go and complain about us if we do—and ever since he went up to my house and asked for me the other day, Mother's been warning me not to get into trouble."

  Fatty was preparing himself very earnestly for Tuesday night. He knew how important it was, and he also knew that, unless all his details were absolutely perfect, he might be in considerable danger.

  He and the others spent a long time in the Waxworks, much to the surprise of the red-headed boy, for it was very hot in there, and not many people visited the little hall these blazing days.

  But Fatty had to study the figure of Napoleon very carefully indeed. He meant to get into the hall somehow on Tuesday evening, and dress himself up in Napoleon's clothes. Would they fit him? He asked Daisy what she thought.

  "Yes, I should think they'd fit you very well," she said, considering first Napoleon and then Fatty. "You had better take a few safety-pins in case something doesn't quite meet. The hat will be fine—just your size, I should think. What about hair, Fatty?"

  "I can manage that all right," said Fatty. "I rather think my own will do, if I smarm it down a bit, and pull a few pieces out in front, like old Napoleon has got. An er—I don't know what you think—but—er—I'm not really unlike Napoleon in features, am I?"

  The others stared at him. "Well," said Pip honestly, "I can't see any likeness at all. Not the slightest."

  "Except that you're both fat," said Daisy.

  "Do you want to look like Napoleon?" said Bets in surprise. "I don't think he looks very nice, really. And I don't like those men that go about thinking they want to conquer the whole world. Napoleon must have been very brainy, of course, and you're brainy, Fatty. But, except that you're fat and brainy, I don't see that you're very like Napoleon."

  Fatty gave it up. He stared once more at the figure of Napoleon, in its grand uniform, cocked hat, medals, epaulettes, and stars. It was a fine uniform and Fatty was longing to get into it. Well, he hadn't got long to wait now.

  He tried to memorize exactly at what angle Napoleon wore his hat, exactly how he held his hands, exactly how he stared so blankly in front of him. Napoleon fortunately stood in the very front row of figures, so Fatty, as Napoleon, would be able to hear and see everything very well indeed. A little shiver went down his back when he thought of standing there, perfectly still, listening to the plans of the gang, and memorizing their appearance.

  It was a very bold idea indeed. Not one of the other Find-Outers would have dared to do it. But Fatty, of course, would dare anything. Bets thought that he wouldn't even turn a hair if he met a roaring lion, the kind she met in her bad dreams, and which scared her terribly. Fatty would (probably speak to it kindly and pat it, and the lion would lie down and roll over for Fatty to tickle it on its tummy—like Buster did!

  The red-headed boy, curious at their sudden intense interest in Napoleon, came over and joined them.

  "What's exciting about Wm?" he said. "Who is he? Oh—Napoleon. What was he? Some sort of soldier? "

  "Don't you know?” said Bets, in astonishment. "Didn't you learn history at school?"

  "I've never been to school," said the red-headed boy. "I belong to the Fair, and us kids hardly ever go to school unless we have to. We move about from place to place, you see, and before we're popped into some school, we've moved on again. I can read, but I can't write."

  "Why are you in the Waxwork Show?" asked Fatty. "Does this hall belong to the Fair people?"

  "Oh no—they've only hired it," said the boy. "The Waxworks belong to my uncle. He's the fellow that runs the Hoopla. I used to help him with that, but now I have to do the Waxworks, and it's jolly dull."

  Fatty wondered if any of the Fair people were in the gang of thieves. It seemed very likely. Well, he would know on Tuesday night.

  The children went and studied other figures carefully too, so that the red-headed boy wouldn't get suspicious about their sudden interest in Napoleon. They had a good look at the wax figure of the policeman as well. He really did look a bit like Mr. Goon! There he stood, on the second step, not far from Napoleon, his helmet on perfectly straight, the strap round the chin, and the belt a little tight.

  The red-headed boy disappeared out-of-doors for a minute. Fatty at once went back to Napoleon and studied the clothes well, to make sure that he could take them off the wax figure fairly easily.

  "Hope they're not stuck on in any way," he said to the others anxiously. Daisy pulled at them.

  "Oh no," she said. "They are put on just like ours—and look, the trousers are held by braces. You'll be all right, Fatty. But you'll have to be here long before nine, or you'll never have time to undress yourself and Napoleon and then dress yourself up again."

  "I wish you wouldn't, really, Fatty," said Bets, looking up at him with scared eyes. "I shall hate to think of you standing so near the gang—whatever would they do to you if they discovered you? "

  "They won't," said Fatty. "I shan't give myself away, you may be sure of that. I've already been practising standing still for ages, in my bedroom, in exactly that position. Buster simply can't understand it. He does all he can to make me move!"

  The others laughed. They could quite well picture Fatty standing solemnly in his room, perfectly still, with a most astonished Buster trying in vain to get a movement or a sound out of him!

  "Come on—let's go now," said Fatty. "It's most frightfully hot in here. Hallo—there's Goon—and in uniform again! He looks better in uniform than in plain clothes, I must say. Not that he's much to look at in either!"

  Mr. Goon was standing just outside the Waxworks Hall, apparently about to go in. He scowled when he saw the children. Funny how those kids always seemed to turn up everywhere!

  "What are you doing here?" he asked, in a suspicious voice.

  "Passing the time away, Mr. Goon, just passing the time," said Fatty airily. "What are you doing here? Is your holiday over? You must miss your little trips to the sweet-shop."

  Buster was on the lead, or he would certainly have darted at his enemy. But Fatty, seeing the black look on Mr. Goon's face, hastily dragged him away.

  "Wonder what he's done with that grocery list!" said Daisy, with a giggle. "Put it with his Clues, I expe
ct. Well, we know more about that than he does!"

  Bets wanted to go down by the river, so the others went, too, meaning to walk home by the river-path. Bets stared hard at every one in boats, and Pip noticed her.

  "Why ever are you glaring at every one who's in a boat? "he asked.

  "I'm not glaring," said Bets. "I'm just looking to see if I can spot anyone with odd eyes, that's all. I did see the odd-eyed man in a boat, you know, when that punt knocked against me—and I might quite well see him again."

  "What would you do if you did?" demanded Pip. "Jump in and arrest him? "

  "It's quite a good idea of Bets," said Fatty, always quick to defend the little girl. "After all, if the man was here, he might be again. And if we saw him on the river we could get the name of the boat, and, if it was privately owned, we could find out the name of the owner."

  "The only thing is—people go by so quickly that it's difficult to see if their eyes are odd or not," said Bets.

  "I say, Fatty, how are you going to get your face all pink like Napoleon's?" asked Larry looking at Fatty's very brown face.

  "Easy," said Fatty. "I shall put a little layer of pink wax all over my face and let it set. I know how to do it. It's in a book I've got."

  Fatty had the most extraordinary collection of books. He seemed to be able to find out from them anything he wanted.

  "You'll have to do that before you set out, won't you?" said Daisy. Fatty nodded.

  "Yes. Larry will have to go with me if the night isn't dark enough to hide me, and warn me if any one is coming who might be likely to spot me. But now that there's no moon, I ought not to be noticed much in the twilight."

  "I do want Tuesday to come!" said Bets. "I really can hardly wait! I wish I was going to see you all dressed up as Napoleon, Fatty. You'll look simply grand. Oh, Tuesday, hurry up and come!"