‘Yes, that’s a coward’s trick all right,’ said Mrs. Cockles’s cheerful voice. ‘You mark my words, Mrs. Moon, there’ll be more of those nonnimus letters, or whatever they calls them - those sort of letter-writers don’t just stop at the one person. No, they’ve got too much spite to use up on one person, they’ll write more and more. Why, you might get one next!’
‘Poor Gladys was right-down upset,’ said Mrs. Moon. ‘Cried and cried, she did. I made her show me the letter. All in capital letters it was, not proper writing. And I said to her, I said, “Now look here, my girl, you go straight off to your mistress and tell her about this. She’ll do her best for you, she will.” And I pushed her off to Mrs. Hilton.’
‘Did she give her her notice?’ asked Mrs. Cockles.
‘No,’ said Mrs. Moon. ‘She showed Mr. Hilton the letter, and he rang up Mr. Goon. That silly, fussing fellow! What do they want to bring him in for !’
‘Oh, he’s not so bad,’ said Mrs. Cockles’s cheerful voice. ‘Just hand me that broom, will you? Thanks. He’s all right if he’s treated rough. I don’t stand no nonsense from him, I don’t. I’ve cleaned for him now for years, and he’s never had a harsh word for me. But my, how he hates those children!’
‘Ah, that’s another thing,’ said Mrs. Moon. ‘When Mr. Hilton told him about this here letter, he was that pleased to think those kids knew nothing about it - and he made Master and Mistress promise they’d not let those five interfere. And they promised. I was there, holding up poor Gladys, and I heard every word. “Mrs. Hilton,” he said, “Mrs. Hilton, madam, this is not a case for children to hinterfere in and I must request you, in the name of the law, to keep this haffair to yourselves.” ’
‘Lawks!’ said Mrs. Cockles. ‘He can talk grand when he likes, can’t he? I reckon, Mrs. Moon, maybe there’s been more of these letters than we know. Well, well - so poor Gladys went home, all upset-like. And who’s going to come in her place, I wonder? Or will she be coming back?’
‘Well, it’s my belief she’d better keep away from this village now,’ said Mrs. Moon. ‘Tongues will wag, you know. I’ve got a niece who can come next week, so it won’t matter much if she keeps away.’
‘What about a cup of tea!’ said Mrs. Cockles. ‘I’m that thirsty with all this cleaning. These rugs look a fair treat now, Mrs. Moon.’
Bets fled as soon as she heard footsteps coming in at the scullery door. Her knitting almost tripped her up as she went. She ran up the stairs and into the playroom, panting. Pip was there, reading and waiting for her.
‘Pip! I’ve found out everything, simply everything!’ cried Bets. ‘And there is a mystery to solve - a kind we haven’t had before.’
Sounds of laughter floated up from the drive. It was the others coming. ‘Wait a bit,’ said Pip, excited. ‘Wait till the others come up. Then you can tell the whole lot. Golly, you must have done well, Bets!’
The others saw at once from Bets’ face that she had news for them. ‘Good old Bets!’ said Fatty. ‘Go on, Betsy. Spill the beans!’
Bets told them everything. ‘Somebody wrote a nonnimus letter to Gladys,’ she said. ‘What is a nonnimus letter, Fatty?’
Fatty grinned. ‘You mean an anonymous letter, Bets,’ he said. ‘A letter sent without the name of the sender at the bottom - usually a beastly cowardly sort of letter, saying things that the writer wouldn’t dare to say to any one’s face. So poor Gladys got an anonymous letter, did she?’
‘Yes,’ said Bets. ‘I don’t know what it said though. It upset her. Mrs. Moon got out of her what it was and made her go and see Mother and Daddy about it. And they rang up Mr. Goon.’
‘And he came popping along, his eyes bulging with delight because he’d got a mystery to solve that we didn’t know about!’ said Fatty. ‘So there’s an anonymous letter-writer somewhere here, is there? A nasty, cowardly letter-writer - well, here’s our mystery, Find-Outers! WHO is the writer of the “nonnimus” letters?’
‘We shall never be able to find that out,’ said Daisy. ‘How on earth could we?’
‘We must make plans,’ said Fatty. ‘We must search for clues!’ Bets’ face lighted up at once. She loved hunting for clues. ‘We must make a list of suspects - people who could do it and would. We must...’
‘We haven’t got to work with Goon, have we?’ said Pip. ‘We don’t need to let him know we know, do we?’
‘Well - he already thinks we know most of this,’ said Fatty. ‘I don’t see why we shouldn’t tell him we know as much as he does, and not tell him how we’ve found out, and make him think we know a lot more than we do. That’ll make him sit up a bit!’
So, the next time that the Five Find-Outers met the policeman, they stopped to speak to him.
‘How are you getting on with this difficult case?’ asked Fatty gravely. It - er - it abounds with such strange clues, doesn’t it?’
Mr. Goon hadn’t discovered a single clue, and he was astonished and annoyed to hear that there were apparently things the children knew and he didn’t. He stared at them.
‘You tell me what clues you’ve found,’ he said at last. ‘We’ll swap clues. It beats me how you know about this affair. You wasn’t to know a thing, not a thing.’
‘We know much more than you think,’ said Fatty solemnly. ‘A very difficult and - er - enthralling case.’
‘You tell me your clues,’ said Mr. Goon again. ‘We’d better swap clues, like I said. Better help one another than hinder, I always say.’
‘Now, where did I put those clues?’ said Fatty, diving into his capacious pockets. He brought out a live white rat and stared at it. ‘Was this a clue or not!’ he asked the others. ‘I can’t remember.’
It was impossible not to giggle. Bets went off into a delighted explosion. Mr. Goon glared.
‘You clear-orf,’ he said majestically. ‘Making a joke of everything! Call yourself a detective! Gah!’
‘What a lovely word!’ said Bets, as they all walked off, giggling. ‘Gah! Gah, Pip! Gah, Fatty!’
THE FIND-OUTERS MAKE THEIR FIRST PLANS
Everyone went to tea at Fatty’s that day. Mrs. Trotteville was out, so the five children had tea in Fatty’s crowded little den. It was more crowded than ever now that Fatty had got various disguises and wigs. The children exclaimed in delight over a blue-and-white striped butcher-boy’s apron and a lift-boy’s suit complete with peaked cap.
‘But, Fatty, whenever could you disguise yourself as a lift-boy?’ asked Larry.
‘You never know,’ said Fatty. ‘You see, I can only get disguises that do for a boy. If I were a grown-up I could get dozens and dozens - a sailor’s suit, a postman’s, even a policeman’s. But I’m a bit limited, being a boy.’
Fatty also had a bookcase crammed full of detective stories. He read every one he could find.
‘I pick up quite a lot of hints that way,’ he said. ‘I think Sherlock Holmes was one of the best detectives. Golly, he had some fine mysteries to solve. I don’t believe even I could have solved all of them!’
‘You’re a conceited creature,’ said Larry, trying on the red wig. He looked very startling in it. ‘How do you put those freckles on that you had with this?’ he asked.
‘Grease-paint,’ said Fatty. ‘There are my grease-paints over there - what actors use for make-up, you know. One day I’m going to make myself up as a black boy and give you all a fright.’
‘Oh - do give old Clear-Orf a scare too!’ begged Bets. ‘Let me try on that wig, Larry; do let me.’
‘We really ought to be making our plans to tackle this mystery,’ said Fatty, taking a beautiful gold pencil out of his pocket. Pip stared.
‘I say! Is that gold?’
‘Yes,’ said Fatty airily. ‘I won it last term for the best essay. Didn’t I tell you? It was a marvellous essay, all about...’
‘All right, all right,’ said Larry and Pip together. ‘We’ll take your word for it, Fatty!’
‘I had a marvellous report again,’ said Fatty. ‘Did you, Pip?’
‘You know I didn’t,’ said Pip. ‘You heard my mother say so. Shut up, Fatty.’
‘Let’s talk about our new mystery,’ said Daisy, seeing that a quarrel was about to flare up. ‘Write down some notes, Fatty. Let’s get going.’
‘I was just about to,’ said Fatty, rather pompously. He printed in beautiful small letters a heading to the page in the lovely leather notebook he held. The others looked to see what he had printed:
MYSTERY NO. 4. BEGUN APRIL 5TH.
‘Ooh - that looks fine,’ said Bets.
‘CLUES’ was the next thing printed by Fatty, over the page.
‘But we haven’t got any,’ said Pip.
‘We soon shall have,’ said Fatty. He turned over the page. ‘SUSPECTS’ was what he printed there.
‘We don’t know any of those yet either,’ said Daisy. ‘And I’m sure I don’t know how we’re going to find any.’
‘Leave it to me,’ said Fatty. ‘We’ll soon have something to work on.’
‘Yes, but what?’ said Pip. ‘I mean, it’s no use looking for footprints or cigarette-ends or dropped hankies or anything like that. There’s just nothing at all we can find for clues.’
‘There’s one very important thing,’ said Fatty.
‘What’s that?’ said everyone.
‘That anonymous letter,’ said Fatty. ‘It’s most important we should get a glimpse of it. Most important!’
‘Who’s got it?’ asked Larry.
‘My mother might have it,’ said Pip.
‘More likely Gladys has got it,’ said Fatty.
‘That’s the first thing we must do. Go and see Gladys, and ask her if she knows or guesses who could have written her that letter. We must also find out what’s in it.’
‘Let’s go now,’ said Pip, who always liked to rush off as soon as anything had been decided.
‘Right. You take us,’ said Fatty. Pip looked rather blank.
‘But I don’t know where Gladys lives,’ he said.
‘Ha, I thought you didn’t,’ said Fatty. ‘Well, Pip, you must find out. That’s the first thing we’ve got to do - find out where Gladys lives.’
‘I could ask Mother,’ said Pip doubtfully.
‘Now don’t be such a prize idiot,’ said Fatty at once. ‘Use your brains! You know jolly well your parents don’t want us mixed up in this mystery, and we’ve got to keep it dark that we’re finding out things. Don’t on any account ask your mother anything - or Mrs. Moon either.’
‘Well, but how am I to find out then?’ said Pip, looking bewildered.
‘I know a way, I know a way!’ sang out Bets suddenly. ‘Gladys lent me a book once and I didn’t have time to give it her back before she left. l could go to Mrs. Moon and tell her, and ask her for Gladys’s address so that I could send the book on to her.’
‘Clever girl!’ said Fatty. ‘You’re coming on well, you are, Bets! Perhaps you’d better handle this, and not Pip.’
‘I’ve got an idea too now,’ said Pip, rather sulkily.
‘What?’ said Bets.
‘Well - if I got a bit of paper and stuck it in an envelope, and wrote Gladys’s name and our address on it and posted it - Mother would re-address it and I could hang about and see what it was, when she puts the letter on the hall-stand to be posted,’ said Pip.
‘Yes, that’s a very fine idea too,’ said Fatty. ‘Couldn’t have thought of a much better one myself. Go to the top of the class, Pip.’
Pip grinned. ‘Well - both Bets and I will carry out our ideas,’ he said, ‘and surely one of us will get Gladys’s address!’
‘Here’s a bit of paper and an envelope,’ said Fatty. ‘But disguise your writing, Pip.’
‘Why?’ said Pip, surprised.
‘Well - seeing that your mother gets a letter from you every single week when you’re away at boarding-school, it’s likely she might recognize your writing and wonder why on earth you were writing to Gladys when she was gone!’ said Fatty, in a very patient, but rather tired voice.
‘Fatty thinks of everything!’ said Daisy admiringly. Pip saw the point at once, but doubted very much if he could disguise his writing properly.
‘Here - give it to me. I’ll do it,’ said Fatty, who was apparently able to disguise his writing as easily as he could disguise his appearance and his voice. He took the envelope, and, to the children’s enormous admiration, wrote Gladys’s name and Pip’s address in a small, extremely grown-up handwriting, quite unlike his own.
‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Elementary, my dear Pip!’
‘Marvellous, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!’ said Pip. ‘Honestly, Fatty, you’re a wonder. How many different writings can you do?’
‘Any amount,’ said Fatty. ‘Want to see the writing of a poor old charwoman? Here it is!’
He wrote a few words in a scrawling, untidy writing. ‘Oh, it’s just like Mrs. Cockles’s writing!’ cried Bets in delight. ‘Sometimes she puts out a notice for the milkman - “TWO PINTS” or something like that - and her writing is just like that!’
‘Now write like old Clear-Orf,’ said Larry. ‘Go on! What does he write like?’
‘Well, I’ve seen his writing, so I know what it’s like,’ said Fatty, ‘but if I hadn’t seen it I’d know too - he’d be bound to write like this....’
He wrote a sentence or two in a large, flourishing hand with loops and tails to the letters - an untidy, would-be impressive hand - yes, just like Mr. Goon’s writing.
‘Fatty, you’re always doing something surprising,’ said Bets, with a sigh. ‘There’s nothing you can’t do. I wish I was like you.’
‘You be like yourself. You couldn’t be nicer,’ said Fatty, giving the little girl a squeeze. Bets was pleased. She liked and admired Fatty very much indeed.
‘You know, once last term I thought I’d try out a new handwriting on my form-master,’ said Fatty. ‘So I made up a marvellous handwriting, very small and neat and pointed, with most of the letters leaning backwards - and old Tubbs wouldn’t pass it - said I’d got some one to do that prep for me, and made me do it all again.’
‘Poor Fatty,’ said Bets.
‘Well, the next time I gave my prep in, it was written in old Tubbs’ own handwriting,’ said Fatty, with a grin. ‘Golly, it gave him a start to see a prep all done in his own writing!’
‘What did he say? ’ asked Pip.
‘He said, “And who’s done this prep for you this time, Trotteville?” And I said, “My goodness, sir, it looks as if you have!” ’ said Fatty. The others roared with laughter. Whether Fatty’s school tales were true or not, they were always funny.
Pip slipped the blank piece of paper into the envelope that Fatty had addressed and stuck it down. He took the stamp that Fatty offered him and put it on.
‘There!’ he said. ‘I’ll post it on my way home tonight. It’ll catch the half-past six post and it will be there tomorrow morning. Then if I don’t manage to spot the re-addressed letter my name isn’t Pip.’
‘Well, it isn’t,’ said Bets. ‘It’s Philip.’
‘Very funny!’ said Pip. ‘I don’t think!’
‘Now don’t squabble, you two,’ said Fatty. ‘Well, we’ve done all we can for the moment. Let’s have a game. I’ll teach you Woo-hoo-colly-wobbles.’
‘Gracious! Whatever’s that?’ said Bets.
It was a game involving much woo-hoo-ing and groaning and rolling over and over. Soon all the children were reduced to tears of mirth. Mrs. Trotteville sent up to say that if anybody was ill they were to go down and tell her, but if they were just playing, would they please go out into the garden, down to the very bottom.
‘Oooh. I didn’t know your mother was back,’ said Pip, who had really let himself go. ‘We’d better stop. What an awful game this is, Fatty.’
‘I say - it’s almost half-past six!’ said Larry. ‘If you’re going to post that letter, you’d better go, young Pip. Brush yourself down, for goodness sake. You look awful.’
‘Gah!’ said Pip, remembering Mr. Goon’s last exclamation. He brushed himself down, and re-tied his tie. ‘Come on, Bets,’ he said. ‘Well, so long, you others - we’ll tell you Gladys’s address tomorrow, and then we’ll go and see her and examine our first clue - the “nonnimus” letter!’