‘All I’m a-doing of at the moment is having a nice bike-ride,’ answered Fatty cheerfully. ‘What are you a-doing of, Mr. Goon? Having a ginger-beer? I see there’s a card in the window. I think I’ll have something to drink myself. It’s a jolly hot day.’
And, to the other children’s delight, and Mr. Goon’s annoyance, Fatty strolled up the little front path and entered the door. Inside was a small table at which people could sit down to have their lemonade. Fatty sat down.
‘You clear-orf out of here,’ ordered Mr. Goon. ‘I’m here on business, see? And I’m not having busy-bodies like you interfering. I know what you’ve come here for - snooping around - trying to find clues, and making nuisances of yourselves.’
‘Oh, that reminds me,’ said Fatty, beginning to feel in his pockets with a serious look, ‘didn’t we say we’d swap clues, Mr. Goon? Now where did I put that...’
‘If you bring out that there white rat again I’ll skin you alive!’ boomed Mr. Goon, whose fingers were itching to box Fatty’s ears.
‘That white rat wasn’t a clue after all,’ said Fatty gravely. ‘I made a mistake. That must have been a clue in another case I’m working on. Wait a bit - ah, this may be a clue!’
He fished a clothes-peg out of his pocket and looked at it solemnly. Mr. Goon, quite beside himself with rage, snatched at it, threw it down on the floor, and jumped on it! Then, looking as if he was going to burst, he took his bicycle by the handle-bars, and turned to Gladys and the other woman.
‘Now don’t you forget what I’ve said. And you let me hear as soon as anything else happens. Don’t talk to nobody at all about this here case - them’s my strict orders!’
He rode off, trying to look dignified, but unfortunately Buster flew after him, jumping up at his pedalling feet, so that poor Mr. Goon wobbled dreadfully. As soon as he had gone the children crowded up to Fatty, laughing.
‘Oh, Fatty! How can you! One of these days old Clear-Orf will kill you!’
Gladys and her aunt had been listening and watching in surprise. Bets ran to Gladys and took her hand.
‘Gladys! I was sorry you left! Do come back soon! Look, I’ve brought you something!’
The sharp-nosed aunt made an impatient noise. ‘I’ll never get to the shops this morning!’ she said. ‘I’m going right away now, Gladys. See and get the dinner on in good time - and mind you heed what the policeman said.’
Much to the children’s relief, she put on an old hat and scarf, and disappeared down the lane, walking quickly. They were glad to see her go, for she looked rather bad-tempered. They crowded round Gladys, who smiled and seemed very pleased to see them.
‘Gladys! We know something made you unhappy,’ said little Bets, and pressed a bag of sweets in the girl’s hand. ‘We’ve come to say we’re sorry and we’ve brought a few little things for you. And please, please come back!’
Gladys seemed rather overcome. She took them all into the little front-room and poured out some glasses of ginger-beer for them.
‘It’s right down kind of you,’ she said, in a tearful voice. ‘Things aren’t too easy - and my aunt isn’t too pleased to have me back. But I couldn’t go on living in Peterswood when I knew that - that - that...’
‘That what? ’ asked Fatty gently.
‘I’m not supposed to talk about it,’ said Gladys.
‘Well - we’re only children. It can’t matter talking to us,’ said Bets. ‘We all like you, Gladys. You tell us. Why, you never know, we might be able to help you!’
‘There’s nobody can help me,’ said Gladys, and a tear ran down her cheek. She began to undo the little things the children had brought her - sweets, chocolate, a little brooch with G on, and two small hankies. She seemed very touched.
‘It’s kind of you,’ she said. ‘Goodness knows I want a bit of kindness now.’
‘Why?’ asked Daisy. ‘What’s happened? You tell us, Gladys. It will do you good to tell some one.’
‘Well - it’s like this,’ said Gladys. ‘There’s something wrong I once did that I’m ashamed of now, see? And I had to go into a Home to teach me right. It was a nice Home, and I liked it and I said I’d never do wrong again. Well, I left there and I got a job - with your mother, Master Pip, and wasn’t I happy working away there, and everybody treating me nice, and me forgetting all about
the bad days!’
‘Yes?’ said Fatty, as Gladys paused. ‘Go on, Gladys. Don’t stop.
‘Then - then...’ began Gladys again, and burst into tears. ‘Somebody sent me a letter, and said, “We know you’re a wrong-un, and you didn’t ought to be in a good place with decent people. Clear out or we’ll tell on you!” ’
‘What a shame!’ said Fatty. ‘Who sent the letter?’
‘I don’t know that,’ said Gladys. ‘It was all in printed letters. Well, I was that upset I broke down in front of Mrs. Moon, and she took the letter from me and read it, and said I should ought to go to your mother, Master Pip, and tell her - but I didn’t want to because I knew I’d lose my place. But she said, yes go, Mrs. Hilton would pot things right for me. So I went, but I was that upset I couldn’t speak a word.’
‘Poor old Gladys!’ said Daisy. ‘But I’m sure Pip’s mother was kind to you.’
‘Oh yes - and shocked at the cruel letter,’ said Gladys, wiping her eyes. ‘And she said I could have two or three days off and go to my aunt to pull myself together, like - and she’d make inquiries and find out who wrote that letter - and stop them talking about me, so’s I could have a chance. But my aunt wasn’t too pleased to see me!’
‘Why didn’t you go to your father and mother, Gladys?’ asked little Bets, who thought that surely they would have been the best friends for any girl of theirs who was unhappy.
‘I couldn’t,’ said Gladys, and looked so sad that the children felt quite scared.
‘Why - are they - are they - dead?’ asked Bets.
‘No. They’re - they’re in prison!’ said poor Gladys and wept again. ‘You see - they’ve always been dishonest folk - stealing and that - and they taught me to steal too. And the police got them, and when they found I was going into shops with my mother and taking things I didn’t ought, they took me away and put me into a Home. I didn’t know it was so wrong, you see - but now I do!’
The children were horrified that any one should have such bad parents. They stared at Gladys and tears ran down Bets’ cheeks. She took Gladys’s hand.
‘You’re good now, Gladys, aren’t you?’ said the little girl. ‘You don’t look bad. You’re good now.’
‘Yes - I’ve not done nothing wrong ever since,’ said poor Gladys. ‘Nor I never would now. They were so kind to me at the Home - you can’t think! And I promised the Matron there I’d always do my best wherever I was, and I was so glad when they sent me to your mother’s, Miss Bets. But there - they say your sins will always find you out! I guess I’ll never be able to keep a good job for long. Somebody will always put it round that I was a thief once, and that my parents are still in prison.’
‘Gladys - the person who wrote that letter and threatens to tell about you, is far, far wickeder than you’ve ever been!’ said Fatty earnestly. ‘It’s a shame!’
‘There was another girl in the home with me,’ said Gladys. ‘She’s with old Miss Garnett at Lacky Cottage in Peterswood. Well, she’s had one of them letters too - without any name at the bottom. But she doesn’t mind as much as I do. She didn’t give way like I did. But she met me and told me, that’s how I know. She didn’t tell nobody but me. And she don’t know either who wrote the letters.’
‘Did you tell Mr. Goon that?’ asked Fatty.
‘Oh yes,’ said Gladys. ‘And he went to see Molly straightaway. He says he’ll soon get to the bottom of it, and find out the mischief-maker. But it seems to me that the mischief is done now. I’ll never be able to face people in Peterswood again. I’ll always be afraid they know about me.’
‘Gladys, where is that letter?’ said Fatty. ‘Will you show it to me? It might be a most important clue.’
Gladys rummaged in her bag. Then she looked up. ‘No good me looking for it!’ she said. ‘I’ve given it to Mr. Goon, of course! He came to fetch it this morning. He’s got Molly’s letter too. He reckons he’ll be able to tell quite a lot from the writing and all!’
‘Blow!’ said Fatty, in deep disappointment. ‘There’s our one and only clue gone!’
THE FIRST REAL CLUE
The children sat and talked to Gladys for a little while longer. They were so disappointed about the letter being given to Mr. Goon that she felt quite sorry for them.
‘I’ll get it back from him, and Molly’s letter too,’ she promised. ‘And I’ll show you them both. I’ll be going down to see Molly this evening, when it’s dark and no one will see me - and I’ll pop into Mr. Goon’s, say I want to borrow the letters, and I’ll lend them to you for a little while.’
‘Oh thanks!’ said Fatty, cheering up. ‘That’ll be splendid. Well, now we’d better be going. We’ve got our lunch with us and it’s getting a bit late-ish. You haven’t put that dinner on yet, Gladys, either!’
‘Oh lawks, nor I have!’ said Gladys, and began to look very flustered. ‘I’ve been that upset I can’t think of a thing!’
‘You’ll be passing my door on your way to Molly’s tonight,’ said Fatty. ‘Could you pop the letters in at my letter-box, and call for them on your way back?’
‘Yes, I’ll do that,’ said Gladys. ‘Thank you for all your kindness. You’ve made me feel better already.’
The children went off. ‘A nice girl, but not very bright,’ said Fatty, as they cycled away. ‘What a mean trick to play on her - trying to make her lose her job and get all upset like that! I wonder who in the world it is? I bet it’s someone who knows the Home Gladys went to, and has heard about her there. My goodness, I’m hungry!’
‘We’ve had quite an exciting morning,’ said Larry. ‘It’s a pity we couldn’t see that letter though.’
‘Never mind - we’ll see it this evening - if old Clear-Orf will let Gladys have it!’ said Fatty. ‘Which I very much doubt. He’ll suspect she’s going to show it to us!’
‘We’ll all come round to you after tea,’ said Larry. ‘And we’ll wait for the letters to come. I think you’d better wait about by the front gate, Fatty - just in case somebody else takes them out of the letter-box instead of you.’
So, when it was dark, Fatty skulked about by the front gate, scaring his mother considerably when she came home from an outing.
‘Good gracious, Fatty! Must you hide in the shadows there?’ she said. ‘You gave me an awful fright. Go in at once.’
‘Sorry, Mother,’ said Fatty, and went meekly in at the front door with his mother - and straight out of the garden door, back to the front gate at once! Just in time too, for a shadowy figure leaned over the gate and said breathlessly: ‘Is that Master Frederick? Here’s the letters. Mr. Goon was out, so I went in and waited. He didn’t come, so I took them, and here they are.’
Gladys pushed a packet into Fatty’s hands and hurried off. Fatty gave a low whistle. Gladys hadn’t waited for permission to take the letters! She had reckoned they were hers and Molly’s and had just taken them. What would Mr. Goon say to that? He wouldn’t be at all pleased with Gladys - especially when he knew she had handed them to him, Fatty! Fatty knew perfectly well that Mr. Goon would get it all out of poor Gladys.
He slipped indoors and told the others what had happened. ‘I think I’d better try and put the letters back without old Clear-Orf knowing they’ve gone,’ he said. ‘If I don’t, Gladys will get into trouble. But first of all, we’ll examine them!’
‘I suppose it’s all right to?’ said Larry doubtfully.
‘Well - I don’t see that it matters, seeing that Gladys has given us her permission,’ said Fatty. He looked at the little package.
‘Golly!’ he said. ‘There are more than two letters here! Look - here’s a post-card - an anonymous one to Mr. Lucas, Gardener, Acacia Lodge, Peterswood - and do you know what it says?’
‘What?’ cried everyone.
‘Why, it says: “WHO LOST HIS JOB THROUGH SELLING HIS MASTER’S FRUIT?” ’ said Fatty, in disgust. ‘Gracious! Fancy sending a card with that on - to poor old Lucas too, who must be over seventy!’
‘So other people have had these beastly things as well as Gladys and Molly!’ said Larry. ‘Let’s squint at the writing, Fatty.’
‘It’s all the same,’ said Fatty. ‘All done in capital letters, look - and all to people in Peterswood. There are five of them - four letters and a card. How disgusting!’
Larry was examining the envelopes. They were all the same, square and white, and the paper used was cheap. ‘Look,’ said Larry, ‘they’ve all been sent froin Sheepsale - that little market-town we’ve sometimes been to. Does that mean it’s somebody who lives there?’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Fatty. ‘No, I reckon it’s somebody who lives in Peterswood all right, because only a Peterswood person would know the people written to. What exactly does the post-mark say?’
‘It says, “Sheepsale, 11.45 a.m. April 3rd,” ’ said Daisy.
‘That was Monday,’ said Fatty. ‘What do the other post-marks say?’
‘They’re all different dates,’ said Daisy. ‘All of them except Gladys’s one are posted in March - but all from Sheepsale.’
Fatty made a note of the dates and then took a small pocket calendar out. He looked up the dates and whistled.
‘Here’s a funny thing,’ he said. ‘They’re all a Monday! See - that one’s a Monday - and so is that - and that - and that. Whoever posted them must have written them on the Sunday, and posted them on Monday. Now - if the person lives in Peterswood, how can he get to Sheepsale to post them in time for the morning post on a Monday? There’s no railway to Sheepsale. Only a bus that doesn’t go very often.’
‘It’s market-day on Mondays at Sheepsale,’ said Pip, remembering. ‘There’s an early bus that goes then, to catch the market. Wait a bit - we can look it up. Where’s a bus time-table?’
As usual, Fatty had one in his pocket. He looked up the Sheepsale bus.
‘Yes - here we are,’ he said. ‘There’s a bus that goes to Sheepsale from Peterswood each Monday - at a quarter-past ten - reaching there at one minute past eleven. There you are - I bet our letter-writing friend leaves Peterswood with a nasty letter in his pocket, catches the bus, gets out at Sheepsale, posts the letter - and then gets on with whatever business he has to do there!’
It all sounded extremely likely, but somehow Larry thought it was too likely. ‘Couldn’t the person go on a bike?’ he said.
‘Well - he could - but think of that awful hill up to Sheepsale,’ said Fatty. ‘Nobody in their senses would bike there when a bus goes.’
‘No - I suppose not,’ said Larry. ‘Well - I don’t see that all this gets us much farther, Fatty. All we’ve found out is that more people than Gladys and Molly have had these letters - and that they all come from Sheepsale and are posted at or before 11.45 - and that possibly the letter-writer may catch the 10.15 bus from Peterswood.’
‘All we’ve found out!’ said Fatty. ‘Gosh, I think we’ve discovered an enormous lot. Don’t you realize that we’re really on the track now - the track of this beastly letter-writer. Why, if we want to, we can go and see him - or her - on Monday morning!’
The others stared at Fatty, puzzled.
‘We’ve only got to catch that 10.15 bus!’ said Fatty. ‘See? The letter-writer is sure to be on it. Can’t we discover who it is just by looking at their faces? I bet I can!’
‘Oh, Fatty!’ said Bets, full of admiration. ‘Of course - we’ll catch that bus. But, oh dear, I should never be able to tell the right person, never. Will you really be able to spot who it is?’
‘Well, I’ll have a jolly good try,’ said Fatty, ‘And now I’d better take these letters back, I think. But first of all I want to make a tracing of some of these sentences - especially words like “PETERSWOOD” that occur in each address - in case I come across somebody who prints their words in just that way.’