Mystery of the Strange Bundle (12 page)

Ah! What was this? His boat-hook really had got hold of something this time - something fairly solid too - and fairly heavy. This must be the old man’s sack! Mr. Goon puffed and panted, heaved and hauled, trying to get up the sack.

It came up with a rush and Mr. Goon nearly fell overboard. The four watching children gasped, and winked at one another. Mr. Goon had got the sack, hurrah! Now what would happen?

They walked right on the jetty to see. Some way off the man with the boat-hook stood, also watching, his attention suddenly caught by Mr. Goon’s antics. A little way behind him stood Fatty, ready to dart into Spicer’s shed if Goon’s anger was too great!

Mr. Goon was so excited that he didn’t even notice all these spectators. He heaved the bundle into the boat. Larry looked at it intently. It didn’t look to him like a sack. It looked more like a laundry bag or something like that. Was it Fatty’s sack that Goon had got - or was it something else?

Goon looked at the dripping bundle. He saw that it was a bag, not a sack, but he didn’t worry about that. He had only seen the bundle on Fatty’s back by moonlight. Bag or sack, he was absolutely certain that this was what the old man had thrown into the river last night!

He undid the string that tied the neck. He opened it wide. He put in his hand, wondered what he was going to find - the result of several burglaries he had no doubt!

Ah, a big stone. That would be to weight it down - and another stone - and another. Goon fished them out rapidly and tossed them into the water. Splash!

The watching children now felt sure that this was Fatty’s sack - look at all the stones! But now Goon was rummaging deep in the bundle. His face took on a puzzled look. He couldn’t feel anything except soft, dripping clothes - or what felt like clothes.

He drew one out. Hc shook it - and amazement spread over his face. It was a small red coat! He put it into the bottom of the boat and delved into the bundle again.

A pair of blue trousers - long ones, but far too small for a normal boy! Goon began to snort. He pulled out various things one by one - a red belt - a blue tie - a blue cap with a red button on top - a pair of socks - and, finally, a pair of small red shoes with laces.

Goon couldn’t make them out. Why should an old man in the night carry these things about in a sack? It didn’t make sense. Why had the old fellow been so determined that he, Goon, shouldn’t see into the sack, or take it?

Goon looked at the array of small garments, and his face grew purple once more. That boy! That toad of a boy! He must have been the old man! He had spoofed Goon with a sack of dolls’ clothes! Yes, that’s what they were, dolls’ clothes! That girl, Daisy, must have been in the trick too - she must have lent them to him - stuffed them into the sack ready to trick Goon into thinking the old man had stolen something, and to make Goon follow him!

“Gah,” said Goon, in angry disgust. “Didn’t he run like a hare when he’d dumped these into the water? I thought that was queer at the time. That boy was the fellow who talked to the watchmen, and he was the old man too. He’s too bad to be true, that fat boy. I’ll not keep my hands off him this time - I’ll get him, and I’ll stuff these things down his horrible neck, so I will. If I lose me job I’ll do it!”

Goon shoved the things back into the bag again. He was boiling with rage, and his hands shook. He’d report that Toad to the Chief. He’d make the Chief do something about him. He’d go round and complain to Mr. and Mrs. Trotteville. The things he’d tell them about that fat boy of theirs!”

He took up the oars and rowed away from the jetty, muttering to himself. The four children, seeing him look so fierce, decided to go back and warn Fatty. They set off on the towing-path at top speed.

They came up to Fatty, who was grinning. He had been too far away to see what had been taken out of the bundle. All he had seen were the three stones being tossed into the water. He had thought, of course, that they were some of the stones he had put into his own sack.

“Fatty! Goon’s got some other sack, not yours!” said Daisy, in an urgent voice. “It was full of clothes - dolls’ clothes, they looked like. I’m sure he thinks you put them there to spoof him. You’d better go quick before he comes! He’s SIMPLY FURIOUS!”

A Wonderful Scrimmage - and a Discovery

Fatty listened. He was suddenly very interested. Clothes! That was a funny thing for any one to dump into the river in a sack. Goon had got the wrong sack - he would, of course.

“I’ll pop into old Spicer’s shed, I think,” said Fatty. “I’d like to see what Goon does when he lands. He won’t spot me in the shed.”

He disappeared into the big, dark shed and sat down on an upturned boat. The four children turned to watch Goon rowing nearer and nearer. The scarred-faced man also watched, looking very interested in the rowing policeman. He had given back his boat-hook and now had only his pail of water-weed.

Goon, still purple in the face, drew in to the bank. He threw the mooring-rope over a post and clambered out, the boat rocking dangerously under his weight. He picked up the bag into which he had stuffed the wet clothes.

He looked at the four children nearby, scowling.

“Where’s that fat friend of yours? I want him. I’ve got a few things to say to him!”

“What fat friend?” asked Larry innocently. Goon’s scowl became even more ferocious.

“You know who I mean - that Toad of a boy!” spluttered the angry policeman.

The old boatman heard him. He was still painting his boat, and looked amused at Mr. Goon.

“He’s in there,” he said, pointing to the shed. “What you going to do to him, Mr. Goon?”

“In there?” said Mr. Goon, delighted. Aha! Now he’d show that boy something!

He strode into the dark shed, determined to do or die this time. He’d stuff these things down that fat boy’s neck till he yelled. He’d smother him with them! That would teach him to play tricks on him again!

Fatty was taken by surprise when Goon walked in. Larry shouted a warning just too late. Goon was on Fatty before he knew it.

And then Mr. Goon had the time of his life! He caught hold of the seated Fatty, held him in an iron grip, and began to stuff the wet, dripping garments down his neck, wrenching open his collar, tearing his shirt, but not caring in the least.

Fatty could do nothing. He was half choked, to begin with, by having things forced down the front of his neck, and Mr. Goon was extremely solid and strong. He struggled and heaved, and finally fell off the boat he was sitting on, landing on the earth-floor of the shed. Mr. Goon fell on top of him.

All the breath was squeezed out of poor Fatty. He could hardly even gasp with the policeman’s enormous form on top of him. And still Goon went on relentlessly pushing everything down Fatty’s neck! Trousers, coat, socks, cap, shoes, one by one down they went. Goon was absolutely determined to punish Fatty this time!

Larry ran at Goon and so did Pip. They tried to pull the furious policeman away, and Daisy and Bets rained blows on his back which he hardly felt. Old Spicer heard the noise and came in, astonished. He stopped, gaping, when he saw the scrimmage.

The man with the water-weed came too. He watched with great interest, very great interest indeed.

At last everything was down poor Fatty’s neck. He felt,wet and uncomfortable, breathless and bruised. Mr. Goon stood up, panting, feeling uncommonly satisfied with himself.

“You got what’s been coming to you for a very long time,” he panted. “Now just you stop poking your nose into things, Mister Nosey-Parker! Stuffing that sack with rubbishy dolls’ clothes, and stuffing me up too, making me think you were a bad old man with stolen goods. Ho! Now you’ve been stuffed up good and proper!”

“Mr. Goon!” said old Spicer in a shocked voice. “You’re a policeman! You can’t do things like this - to a boy too!”

“Gah!” said Mr. Goon, rudely. “You go and boil your head, Spicer. That boy won’t complain of what I’ve done, I know that! And for why - because he’s been plaguing me night and day, and Interfering with the Law. If he complains of me, I’ll complain of him - but he won’t! He’s got a guilty conscience, he has, He’s a Bad Lot, and one of these days he’ll come to No Good.”

“Mr. Goon,” said Fatty, sitting up and trying to look as dignified as he could, with dripping garments down his neck and hanging out of his collar. “Mr. Goon. I give you my word of honour I didn’t spoof you with these things. I’ve never seen them before in my life. You owe me an apology.”

“I owe you a lot of things,” said Mr. Goon, “yes, a whole lot. But not an apology. You put those things into that sack to spoof me, made me waste half a morning for nothing, and you got what you deserved - you got them in the neck! And what’s more you can keep them! Or give them back to that girl to dress up her dolls!”

And, with a perfectly marvellous snort, Mr. Goon marched out of the shed. He bumped into the man with the water-weed.

“Excuse me,” began the man, “I’d just like to know where…”

Mr. Goon snorted at him rudely and walked past, shoving him out of the way. He was feeling fine. Oh, Mr. Goon was on top of the world at that moment. He could have put the Chief Inspector in his place, too, with a few well-chosen words - if only he had been there. But he wasn’t - which was perhaps just as well for the triumphant Goon.

“Oh, Fatty, Fatty, are you hurt?” said Bets, in tears. She was very scared. “Oh, Fatty, are you all right?” She began to sob.

“I’m fine, Bets,” Fatty assured her, getting up and feeling himself all over. “I just feel like a rubber ball with a few dents in me. My word, Goon’s a weight. Don’t cry, Bets, please don’t. It was a wonderful fight.”

“It wasn’t, it wasn’t,” sobbed Bets. “I hated it. I hate Mr. Goon. I shall tell the Chief Inspector.”

“No. Goon only got back at me for all the maddening things I’ve done to him,” said Fatty, relieved to find that he had no bones broken. “He’ll feel better now. You were wonderful to come to my rescue, Bets. Now please don’t cry any more. That upsets me much more than Goon’s attack!” He put his arm round Bets.

“Cry-baby,” interposed Pip, in his nice, brotherly way. “Shut up, Bets. Don’t make a fool of yourself.”

“Let her alone, Pip,” said Fatty. “She’s really scared - and I don’t wonder. Goon looked a pretty nasty bit of work when he flung himself at me. But what a peculiar thing to do - to stuff these things down my neck! Ugh! They’re frightfully wet and smelly.”

“Let’s get back home and fish them out,” said Larry, seeing two or three interested children coming up on their way home from morning school. “Come on, Fatty. We’d get our bikes.”

Spicer grinned goodbye and patted the red-eyed Bets as she passed. The water-weed man stood silently watching. The school children nudged one another and grinned. Fatty really looked very peculiar just then.

They got on their bicycles. Fatty had recovered now. He felt a new respect for Goon. Fancy him thinking of such a thing - and doing it too! Fatty shivered as he felt some cold, wet drops running down his chest.

They rode to Fatty’s house and went to his shed. They locked the door. Fatty looked round. “I say - where’s old Buster? He never came to my rescue!”

“He went off with old Spicer’s terrier,” said Larry, suddenly remembering. “Spicer said his dog would show Buster how to catch rabbits in the fields behind the boathouse, and off they went. I never thought another thing about him! Things got so exciting that I forgot about old Buster.”

“Well, I do think he might have come to my help,” said Fatty, half-vexed. “He’d have enjoyed it too - free bites at any portion of Mr. Goon that he fancied!”

“He’ll come home when he’s found out that, as usual, rabbits aren’t really catchable,” said Daisy. “Oh, Fatty, you are wet. You’d better strip off your coat and shirt and vest and put on dry ones.”

“Larry, you go indoors and get me some,” said Fatty. “Mother’s out, so she won’t want to know what you’re doing, carrying my underwear about!”

Larry disappeared. Fatty took off his coat, pulled off his shirt, and stripped off his vest. It was then easy to get rid of the damp, smelly things that Goon had put down his neck. Fatty looked at them in distaste.

“Nasty wet things! Who could have been such an idiot as to dump dolls’ clothes into a sack, weight them with stones, and sink them in the river. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I’ll take them to the dustbin,” said Daisy, gathering them up. “That’s the best place for them.”

She lumped them together, trousers, coat, tie shoes, socks, belt, shirt, everything - and went out to the dustbin. They heard her put on the lid and then back she came again.

Larry came in too with some clean, dry clothes. Fatty was about to put them on when he wriggled.

“I’ve still got something down me somewhere,” he said. “I can feel a nasty, cold, wet patch on my tummy. Perhaps it’s a wet sock. Wait a minute - I really must get it.”

He wriggled his hand down and caught hold of something. “Got it,” he said. “I thought I felt one last thing. It’s a red sock.”

He flung it down on the floor of the shed and then began to dress himself rapidly in dry clothes. Bets bent down to pick up the little red woollen thing. It was limp and shapeless.

“It’s not a sock,” she said. “It’s a glove - a little red glove.”

Fatty swung his head round quickly and incredulously. Bets had got the little glove and was pulling the fingers straight. Fatty snatched it from her.

“A little red glove. Another one!” he said, jubilantly. “The pair to the one I’ve got in my pocket! Where is it? Look! Exactly the same!”

He pulled the first little red glove out of his trousers pocket, and put it beside the one that Mr. Goon had stuffed down his back. They were an exact match!

Every one stared at the two gloves. How very, very extraordinary!

“But - what does it mean?” asked Daisy, at last. “You found that first glove in Mr. Fellows’ house.”

“And Goon stuffed the second one down my neck! He’s given us the biggest clue yet!” said Fatty. “Oh, dear, dear old Goon - you’ve nearly solved the mystery for us by stuffing things down my neck!”

That Night