"He said he'd come back and let me out of that cupboard when the fun was over," said Fatty, beginning to grin. "Hell be surprised to find I'm gone, won't he?"
"He will," said Larry. "He won't know what's happened. Let's pretend to him that we don't know where you are, shall we? We'll go and ask him about you tomorrow—hell have twenty fits if he thinks you've vanished. He won't know what to think!"
"And he'll feel most uncomfortable because hell know he jolly well ought to have let me out," said Fatty. "Well, I'm going to bed, Larry. You'd better go and get some sleep too. Oh, I do feel so disappointed—after all our work and disguises and plans—for Goon to solve the Mystery and get all the credit!"
The boys parted and Larry ran swiftly home. He wondered what Goon was doing. He thought about the Castleton Mansion and wondered if the thieves were at work—if the house was being quietly surrounded—if Goon was doing some arresting. Well, maybe it would all be in the papers tomorrow.
Goon had certainly done some good work that night. He had surrounded the mansion with men whilst the thieves were actually inside. He had arrested all four of them—although one, alas, had got away in the struggle—and Goon was feeling very pleased with himself indeed. Not a doubt of that.
It wasn't until past midnight that Mr. Goon suddenly remembered that he had left Faitty locked up in the cupboard in the Waxworks Hall.
"Drat mat boy!" he thought. "I could go to bed now, and sleep easy, if it wasn't for getting him out of that cupboard. He's had a nice long time there to think over all his misdeeds, he has. Well, I'd better get along and let him out—and give him a few good words of advice too. He's missed all the fun this time—and I've solved this Mystery, not him! Ha!"
Mr. Goon cycled down to the Waxworks Hall and, leaving his bicycle outside, went into the Hall. He switched on his torch and walked to the cupboard. He rapped smartly on it.
"Hey, you!" he said. "Ready to be let out yet? We've done everything, and now that the fun's over, you can come along out!"
There was no answer. Mr. Goon rapped loudly again, thinking that Fatty had gone to sleep. But still there was no answer. A little cold feeling crept round Mr. Goon's heart. Surely that boy was all right?
Hurriedly Mr. Goon turned the key in the lock and opened the door. He shone his light into the cupboard. Napoleon looked back at him, standing there in his under-garment—but no Fatty! Mr. Goon's hands began to tremble. Where was that boy? He couldn't get out of a locked cupboard! Or could he? Mr. Goon remembered how Fatty had apparently passed mysteriously through a locked door in the last Mystery.
Mr. Goon poked Napoleon in the ribs to make sure he was wax, and not Fatty. Napoleon did not flinch. He looked straight at Mr. Goon. Yes, he was wax all right. Mr. Goon shut the door, puzzled and upset. Now where was that boy? Had somebody carried him off? He had seen him bound and gagged, so he couldn't have escaped by himself. Well, then, what had happened?
Mr. Goon went home slowly, pedalling with heavy feet. He ought to have let that boy free before he had gone after the gang. Suppose he didn't turn up in the morning? What explanation could he give to the Inspector? He was seeing him at ten o'clock.
Mr. Goon gave a heavy sigh. He had been looking forward to that interview—now he wasn't so sure. That fat boy was very friendly with the Inspector. If it came out that anything had happened to him, Inspector Jenks might ask some very very awkward questions. Drat the boy!
Fatty slept soundly that night, tired out with his adventures. Mr. Goon slept too, but not so soundly. He dreamt about his great success in arresting the gang—but every time he was about to receive words of praise from the Inspector, Fatty came into the dream, tied up, begging for help. It was most disturbing, because he woke Mr. Goon up each time, and then he found it hard to go to sleep again.
At nine o'clock the Five Find-Outers were all together in Pip's garden, going over and over the happenings of the night before. All of them were most indignant with Goon for leaving Fatty in the cupboard.
"We're going to make him think Fatty's been spirited away," said Larry, with a grin. "We'll wait about the village for him, and each time he passes any of us we'll ask him if he's heard anything of Fatty."
So, at half-past nine the children, with the exception of Fatty, of course, hung about near Goon's house, waiting for him to come out. Larry was at the corner, Pip was near the house, and Daisy and Bets were not far off.
Larry gave a whistle when he saw Goon coming out, wheeling his bicycle, ready to ride over to see the Inspector. He looked very smart indeed, for he had brushed his uniform, cleaned his belt and helmet and shoes, and polished his buttons till they shone. He was the very picture, he hoped, of a Smart Policeman Awaiting Promotion.
"I say, Mr. Goon!" called Pip, as the policeman prepared to mount his bicycle. "Do you know where our friend, Frederick, is?"
"Why should I?" scowled Mr. Goon, but his heart sank. So that boy had vanished!
"Well, we just wondered," said Pip. "I suppose you haven't seen him at all? "
Mr. Goon couldn't say that. He mounted his bicycle and rode off, his face red. He hoped that boy Fatty wasn't going to cause a lot of trouble, just as he, Goon, had got things going so very nicely.
He passed Daisy and Bets. Daisy called out. "Oh, Mr. Goon! Have you seen Fatty? Do tell us if you have!"
"I don't know where he is," said Mr. Goon desperately, and cycled on. But at the corner, there was Larry!
"Mr. Goon! Mr. Goon! Have you seen Fatty? Do you know where he is? Do you think he's disappeared? Mr. Goon, do tell us where he is. Have you locked him up?"
"Course not!" spluttered Mr. Goon. "He'll turn up. He'll turn up like a bad penny, you may be sure!"
He rode on, feeling most uncomfortable. Where could the boy be? Had that thief who escaped gone back to the Hall, and taken Fatty? No, that couldn't be, surely. But WHERE WAS that boy?
The Inspector was waiting for Mr. Goon in his office. On his desk were various reports of the happenings of the night before, sent in, not only by Mr. Goon, but by two other policemen who had helped in the arrests, and by plain-clothes detectives who had also been on the case.
He also had reports on what the three prisoners had said when questioned. Some smart work had been done, there was no doubt about that—but something was worrying the Inspector.
Mr. Goon saw it as soon as he got into the office. He had hoped and expected to find his superior officer full of smiles and praise. But no—the Inspector looked rather solemn, and a bit worried. Why?
"Well, Goon," said the Inspector, "some good work appears to have been done on this case. But it's a pity about the pearls, isn't it? "
Mr. Goon gaped. "The pearls, sir? What about them? We've got them, sir—took them off one of the gang."
"Ah, but you see—they are not the stolen pearls," said the Inspector gently. "No, Goon—they are just a cheap necklace the man was going to give his girl! The real pearls have vanished!"
The Mystery is not yet Ended.
Mr. Goon's mouth opened and shut like a goldfish. He simply couldn't believe his ears.
"But, sir—we got the thieves red-handed. And the one that escaped was only the one on guard in the garden, sir. He hadn't anything to do with the thieving. It was the three upstairs who did that—and we've got them."
"Yes, you've got them, and that was a very good bit of work, as I said," said the Inspector. "But I'm afraid, Goon, that one of the upstairs thieves, when he knew the game was up, simply threw the pearls out of the window to the man below. He must have pocketed them, and then, when he was arrested, struggled so violently that he managed to escape—with the pearls. Pity, isn't it?"
Mr. Goon was most dismayed. True, they had got three of the gang—but the pearls were gone. He had waited to catch the men red-handed—and actually let them take the pearls, because he felt so certain he could get them back, when the men were arrested—and now, after all, the robbery had been successful. One of the gang had got them, and would no doubt get rid of them in double quick time.
"It's—it's most unfortunate, sir," said poor Mr. Goon.
"Well—let's hear your tale," said the Inspector. "You only had time to send in a very short report—what's all this about posing as a waxwork?"
Mr. Goon was proud of this bit, and he related it all in full to the interested Inspector. But when he came to the part where he had sneezed, and the men had caught Fatty, instead of himself, Inspector Jenks sat up straight.
"Do you mean to tell me that Frederick Trotteville was there?" he said. "Posing too? What as?"
"Napoleon, sir," said Goon. "Interfering as usual. That boy can't keep his nose out of things, he can't. Well sir, when the men had gone to do the robbery, I crept out after them, and I went to the telephone box and..."
"Wait a bit, wait a bit," said the Inspector. "What happened to Frederick?"
"Him? Oh well—nothing much," said Goon, trying to gloss over this bit as quickly as possible. "They just tied him up a bit, sir, and chucked him into a cupboard. They didn't hurt him. Of course, if they'd started any rough stuff with him, I'd have gone for them, sir."
"Of course," said the Inspector gravely. "Well I suppose you went and untied him and let him out of the cupboard before you rushed off to telephone."
Mr. Goon went rather red. "Well, sir—to tell you the truth, sir, I didn't think I had the time—and also, sir, it was a dangerous business last night, and I didn't think that boy ought to be mixed up in it. He's a terror for getting into the middle of things, sir, that boy is, and ..."
"Goon," said the Inspector, and the policeman stopped abruptly and looked at his superior. He was looking very grave. "Goon. Do you mean to say you left the boy tied up in a locked cupboard? I can hardly believe it of you. What time did you let him out?"
Mr. Goon swallowed nervously. "I went back, sir, about midnight—and I unlocked the cupboard door, sir—and—and the cupboard was empty."
"Good heavens!" said the Inspector, startled. "Do you know what had happened to Frederick? "
"No, sir," said Mr. Goon. The Inspector reached out for one of his five telephones.
"I must ring his home to see if he is all right," he said.
Mr. Goon looked more downcast than ever. "He's—well, he seems to have vanished, sir," he said. The Inspector put down the telephone, and stared at Mr. Goon.
"Vanished! What do you mean? This is very serious indeed."
"Well, Sir—all I know is that the other kids—the ones he's always with—they keep on asking me if I know where their friend is," said Mr. Goon desperately. "And if they don't know—well, he might be anywhere!"
"I must look into the matter at once," said the Inspector. "I'll get into touch with his parents. Now finish your story quickly, so that I can get on to this matter of Frederick Trotteville at once."
So poor Mr. Goon had to cut short his wonderful story, and blurt out quickly the rest of the night's happenings. He felt very down in the mouth as he cycled back home. The pearls had gone after all! What a blow! And now this wretched boy had disappeared, and there would be no end of a fuss about him. Privately Mr. Goon thought it would be a very good thing if Fatty disappeared for good. Oh, why hadn't he let him out of that cupboard last night? He had known that he ought to—but it had seemed such a very good way of paying out that interfering boy!
Where could Fatty be? Mr. Goon pondered the matter deeply as he turned into the village street. Had the escaped thief gone back to the Hall, and taken Fatty prisoner, meaning to hold him up for ransom, or something? Mr. Goon went cold at the thought. If such a thing happened, he would be held up to scorn by every one for not having freed Fatty when he could.
He was so deep in thought that he did not see a small dog run at his bicycle. He wobbled, and fell off, landing with a bump on the road. The dog flew round him in delight, barking lustily.
"Clear-orf!" shouted Mr. Goon angrily, and suddenly recognized Buster. "Will you clear-orf!"
He looked round to see who was in charge of Buster—and his mouth fell wide open. He was so astonished mat he couldn't get up, but went on sitting down in the road, with Buster making little darts at him.
Fatty was standing there, grinning down at him. Fatty! Mr. Goon stared at him. Here he'd been reporting to the Inspector that Fatty had vanished—and the Inspector had gone all hot and bothered about it—and now here was that same boy, grinning down at him, large as life and twice as natural.
"Where've you been?" said Mr. Goon at last, feebly pushing Buster away.
"Home," said Fatty. "Why?"
"Home?" said Mr. Goon. "You've been at home? Why, the others kept asking me where you were, see? And I reported your disappearance to the Inspector. He's going to start searching for you."
"But Mr. Goon—why?" asked Fatty innocently. "I'm here. And I got home all right last night, too. All the same, it was jolly mean of you to leave me in that cupboard. I shan't forget that in a hurry."
Mr. Goon got up. "How did you get out of that there cupboard?" he asked. "All tied up you were, too. Do you mean to say you untied yourself, and unlocked that cupboard and got out all by yourself?"
"You never know, do you?" said Fatty. "Well so long, Mr. Goon—and do telephone the Inspector to tell him not to start searching for me. I'll be at home if he wants me!"
He went off with! Buster, and poor Mr. Goon was left to cycle home, his head spinning. "That boy! First he's locked up, then he disappears, then he comes back again—and nobody knows how or when or why." Mr. Goon couldn't make head or tail of it.
He didn't enjoy ringing up the Inspector and reporting that he had just met Fatty.
"But where had he been?" said the Inspector, puzzled. "Where was he last night?"
"Er—at home, sir," said poor Mr. Goon. "It was the other children put me off, sir—asking me if I knew where he was, and all that, sir."
The Inspector put down his receiver with an impatient click. Really, Goon was too idiotic at times! The Inspector sat looking at his telephone, thinking deeply. He had had reports from all kinds of people about this Case—but not from one person, who appeared to know quite a lot about it—and that was Master Frederick Trotteville! .The Inspector made another telephone call. Fatty answered it.
"I want you to cycle over here this morning and answer a few questions, Frederick," said the Inspector. "Come straight along now."
So, with Buster in his basket, Fatty rode off to the next town, wondering a little fearfully what the inspector wanted to know. Would he think he had been mixing himself up in this Mystery a bit too much? He had warned the Find-Outers not to get mixed up, because it might be dangerous.