Mystery of the Strange Bundle (11 page)

A voice came up the stairs. “What are you doing up there? Come down at once!”

“Sorry,” said Fatty, appearing at the top of the stairs. “The kitten’s run away.”

“It’s down here,” said Mr. Fellows. He still looked very angry. “You clear off now. Thanks for seeing to the kitten. I’ve ticked that interfering policeman off, and he’s gone. I’ve a good mind to report him.”

“I should, sir,” said Fatty earnestly.

“I think he must be mad,” said Mr. Fellows, lighting a cigarette and pacing nervously up and down. “Talking about dogs and pigs and aunties.”

Fatty wanted to laugh. He glanced round, and decided that there really wasn’t any more to get out of Mr. Fellows, or to hunt for in the house. He had done very nicely!

“Well, goodbye, sir - and I hope the kitten will be all right now,” said Fatty. “Sorry to intrude and all that. Fancy you not having a burglar in after all!”

“Well, I didn’t,” snapped Mr. Fellows. “Clear out now. I want some peace!”

Fatty cleared out, whistling softly. A most interesting interview - and how nice to find that all his ideas had been right. Those muddy slippers! My word, if Goon once got into the house and did a bit of snooping he would find a few things to interest him too!

Mr. Goon was lying in wait for Fatty. He emerged from behind a tree as Fatty turned down the road to go to Larry’s.

“Ho!” said Mr. Goon, his face purple. “Ho!” He seemed quite unable to say anything else for the moment.

“Ho to you,” said Fatty politely. “Many Hoes!”

Mr. Goon went a deeper purple. “So you’re his friend, are you?” he said, in a choking voice. “That’s a bit of news, that is!”

“I’m so glad,” said Fatty, politely, trying to edge past.

“Do you know what you are?” said Mr. Goon, losing the rest of his temper with a rush. “You’re a Pest! A Toad! But I’ve sent in my report, see - and you’ll be sorry!”

“I don’t see why,” said Fatty. “I do hope you’ve put in the kitten, the dog, and the pig - not forgetting Auntie.”

“There wasn’t any Auntie,” shouted Mr. Goon. “He just wanted his Auntie! Gah! What with you and Kenton and that fellow up yonder, my life’s not worth living.”

“No. It’s a poor sort of life,” agreed Fatty, suddenly seeing Larry and Daisy out of the corner of his eye in Larry’s front garden. He hoped and prayed they had got Buster with them, and would have the sense to let him out of the gate.

“I suppose you think I don’t know it was you muddling those night-watchmen last night?” began Goon again, going off on a new track, with a new grievance. “Your Uncle Horace! Pah!”

“My Uncle Horatious,” corrected Fatty. “Don’t muddle up my uncles, please.”

Mr. Goon advanced on him, ready to tear Fatty limb from limb. Never had he felt so angry in his life. Poor Mr. Goon - he was muddled and bewildered and so exasperated that he didn’t know which way to turn!

“Wuff! Wuff-Wuff!”

With a delighted volley of barks, Buster suddenly shot out of Larry’s front gate at sixty miles an hour. He was thrilled to see Fatty, and equally thrilled to see Mr. Goon, though for rather a different reason. He leapt up at Fatty, gave him a hurried lick, and then leapt at Mr. Goon.

The policeman was defeated. Fatty was bad enough - but Fatty plus Buster was too much. Mr. Goon gave the biggest snort of his life, flung himself on his bicycle and wobbled down the hill, one of bis feet slipping frantically on a pedal. Buster flew after him, leaping and pouncing in delight.

Fatty began to laugh. He staggered into Larry’s gate. Larry held him up, laughing too. The other three were there and they made their way to the out-house at the bottom of the garden. Fatty collapsed on the ground, quite weak with excitement and laughter.

They held a very interesting meeting. Every one hung on Fatty’s words as he described his peculiar interview with Mr. Fellows, Goon’s sudden appearance, and all that Fatty had discovered in his snooping upstairs.

“I say! Then all your reasoning was correct,” said Bets, in admiration. “Every single thing! He did rush out in pyjamas and dressing-gown and slippers - and he came back in them too - after sleeping in hiding somewhere.”

“Yes. But we still don’t know what he took with him when he went - or where he has hidden it,” said Fatty. “According to Erb he had nothing with him when he returned. He wouldn’t, anyway, I suppose - because it would be senseless to take back whatever it was that was so valuable. He might find the burglar waiting for him again!”

“Yes. He’s hidden it,” said Larry. “I wonder where. We can’t very well hunt in all the haystacks and ricks round about Peterswood - there are dozens of them!”

“He’s very careful in all he says,” said Fatty. “There’s somethiag going on. I wonder what it is. Gosh, we must try and find out before we go back to school. An unfinished Mystery. How disgraceful!”

Every one agreed, but nobody could see for the life of them how they could get any further. Mr. Fellows was not likely to help them! He had something he badly wanted to hide, that was certain. Could they possibly go hunting in stacks and ricks? The farmers wouldn’t be at all pleased.

Fatty told the others about his escapade of the night before. They laughed delightedly.

“Oh, Fatty!” said Bets. “I never knew any one like you in my life. And I never shall. There’s just nothing you’re scared of doing.”

“I was a bit scared of old Goon just now,” said Fatty. “Honestly he looked like an angry bull. I don’t blame him. I must be pretty annoying to him. I was jolly glad when Buster came flying out!”

“Wuff,” said Buster, thumping his tail approvingly.

“Do you think Mr. Goon has got that sack of yours out of the river yet?” said Daisy. “Whatever will he say when he finds it is full of stones and bricks! He doesn’t know it was you who dumped it there, does he?”

“No. But he’ll guess it was when he finds what’s in the sack!” grinned Fatty. “You should have seen me heave it in! Old Goon nearly went in after it.”

“Do you think he’s gone to look for it now?” asked Bets. “He wouldn’t leave it too long, would he? Let’s go for a walk down to the river and see if he’s anywhere about. We can bike down.”

“Yes, do let’s,” said Daisy. “You’ve been having all the fun, Fatty - we want some now too. I’d just love to see Mr. Goon digging about with a boat-hook and bringing up a sack full of stones and bricks.”

“All right. We might as well,” said Fatty, getting up. “Walkie - walk, Buster. Come on!”

They got on their bicycles. Pip and Bets had theirs at Larry’s, as they had bicycled there that morning. They free-wheeled down the hill towards the river.

Mr. Goon was not there. Fatty spotted an old boatman friend of his, painting a boat outside bis shed. He put his bicycle by a tree and hailed him.

“Hallo, Spicer! Getting ready for spring weather? It’s been pretty cold lately, hasn’t it?”

“Ay, that it has,” agreed old Spicer, beaming at the five children. He knew them all. “Why aren’t you back at school yet?”

“Term hasn’t begun,” said Fatty. “Are you letting out any boats yet, Spicer? I suppose we couldn’t have one this morning?”

“No. I’ve only got the one ready that you see down there,” said Spicer, nodding his head towards a little, freshly painted boat bobbing by the bank.

“Well why can’t we have her?” demanded Larry, feeling that he would like a good row more than anything else.

“That bobby rang up and asked me to have one ready for him this morning,” said Spicer. “What’s his name now - Moon?”

“Goon, you mean,” said Fatty. He winked at the others. So Goon was going to come and jab about in the river for the sack that Fatty had thrown in. Good!

“Ay, Goon. Wants a boat-hook too,” said old Spicer, painting a bright red line with a steady brown hand. “Seems like my boat-hooks are popular this morning. He’s the second one wants a boat-hook.”

Fatty pricked up his ears. “Who’s the other fellow who wants a boat-hook?” he asked, wondering if it was Mr. Fellows. Maybe he wanted to fish out a sack himself!

“I never seen him afore,” said Spicer. “Big dark fellow - got a scar down his cheek, and something wrong with one eye. Not a nice piece of work at all, he wasn’t. He offered me ten bob for the loan of my longest boat-hook - said he wanted specimens of the weeds growing up and down the river for some botanist fellow.”

“I see,” said Fatty. The man wasn’t Fellows, that was certain. Could he be the would-be burglar, the intruder who had caused Fellows to fly out of his house with a bundle of some kind?

Down by the River

The others were all very interested in this piece of news, too. They nodded to Spicer and walked off till he was out of hearing.

“Queer,” said Fatty, in a low voice. “I don’t believe that yarn about jabbing for weeds at the bottom of the river. Let’s see if we can find the fellow.”

“Don’t let’s go too far away,” begged Bets. “I don’t want to miss Mr. Goon hunting for your sack, Fatty.”

“Well, you four go and watch Mr. Goon when he comes - and I’ll saunter up the tow-path as soon as I’ve asked Spicer where the other fellow went,” said Fatty. “Perhaps it would be as well if I wasn’t here when Goon finds that sack and opens it - he might throw the stones and the bricks at me!”

He went back to ask Spicer in which direction the man with the boat-hook had gone. “I’m interested in water-weeds myself,” said Fatty, quite truthfully. There were very few things that Fatty was not interested in!

“He went up yonder,” said the old boatman, pointing up the tow-path. “He can’t have got very far.”

Fatty went up the path, leaving the others sitting on a seat just inside Spicer’s shed. From there they could easily see when Mr. Goon came down to the boat. They waited expectantly, hoping for some fun.

Fatty wandered up the tow-path, keeping his eyes open for the man that Spicer had described. He soon saw him, coming back down the path. Hc had a pail with him, out of which water-weed was hanging. Fatty wondered for a moment if the man really was getting weed for a botanist.

Fatty stopped as the man came up to him. “Got any snails in your weed?” he asked, politely. “I want some for my garden pond.”

“Get some yourself then,” said the man, in a surly tone. He turned his back on Fatty, and looked down into the water.

“Can I help you?” asked Fatty. “I know a bit about water-weeds.”

The man turned round, scowling. “I don’t like boys who hang round,” he said. “You’re not wanted, see? Buzz off!”

Fatty didn’t buzz off. He merely sauntered on till he came to a clump of thick bushes. He disappeared round them, forced his way into the centre, and parted a few branches to look through. The bushes were of evergreen box, and Fatty was very well hidden.

He saw the man look back as if to see if Fatty was still anywhere near. But there was no boy to be seen, of course. The man went slowly on his way, looking into the water as he went. He came to a stop at last, and into the water went his boat-hook. He jabbed and poked at something and finally lifted it out. Fatty grinned. An old boot! Well, if he was collecting those, there were plenty in the river!

But the old boot went back with a splash and the man went on again, taking a look round every now and again as if to see if Fatty was still about.

He jabbed again, and brought up something that disgusted him. He threw it back quickly. Another jab and up came a mass of weeds. He put some into his pail.

“That’s just for show, Mr. Scarred-Cheek,” murmured Fatty, peering through the bush. “In case any one is watching you. Are you thinking that Mr. Fellows has thrown the Treasure, whatever it is, into the river? Or are you just a junk-hunter, wanting to make a few shillings on anything you find? No - I think not. Junk-hunters don’t pay ten shillings for the loan of a boat-book!”

The man went slowly on down the tow-path. Fatty grew bored. What were the others doing? Had Mr. Goon arrived yet?

Mr. Goon had! To the delight of the four watching children, and of Buster, who had not been allowed to go with Fatty, Mr. Goon had arrived full speed on his bicycle! He had jammed on his brakes, thrown his bicycle against a tree, and yelled to Spicer.

“Got that boat ready? And I want the boat-hook too. I’m pressed for time.”

“The boat’s ready yonder, and the hook’s alongside, sir,” shouted back Spicer. Goon grunted and went to the gay little boat. He got in and took the oars. The boat-hook lay beside him. Off he went, and soon began to pant with the effort of his rowing.

“Come on,” said Larry, jumping up. “Let’s go and watch. I’d better carry Buster though, or he might try and leap into his enemy’s boat!”

“Let’s not go too near till Mr. Goon gets Fatty’s sack of stones and bricks,” said Bets. “Let’s just saunter up and down, and wait till we see him pull up the sack.”

“Right,” said Larry. So the four of them, with a struggling Buster in Larry’s arms, sauntered up and down in the January sunshine. Mr. Goon soon spotted them and exclaimed angrily under his breath:

“Those kids again! Good thing for that fat boy he’s not with them. I don’t know what I might do to him with a boat-hook ready to hand!”

He rowed to the jetty. He had decided that it would be much easier to drag up the sack from a boat rather than from the jetty. Mr. Goon feared that he might overbalance if he had to bend down and jab about from the high little jetty!

He stopped rowing when he came to the wooden jetty and drew in his oars. He took up the boat-hook and peered down solemnly into the water. His own red face peered back at him. Mr. Goon looked deeper down and tried to see the bulk of a sack somewhere. But the water was very deep just there and try as he would he could not see the bottom.

He looked up at the jetty. Now where had that old fellow been standing when he dropped the sack into the water. Yes - just about there! Mr. Goon began to prod and jab where he thought the sack might be.

He got hold of nothing but water-weeds. He pulled up hundreds of green, slimy strands and exclaimed in annoyance. Weeds, weeds, weeds - where was that sack? He’d find out what that old man had got in his sack if it took him all morning to do it!

Mr. Goon got very hot jabbing here and there. He suddenly sensed somebody looking at him, and glanced up. He frowned. Those kids! Now they had come to watch him! Like mosquitoes they were, always buzzing round him. Pity he couldn’t slap them all away!