The next afternoon Fatty did not dress up as the old man, but instead, put on his Balloon-woman's petticoats and shawls again. The others watched him, down in the shed at the bottom of Fatty's garden. Bets thought she could watch him for days on end, making himself up as different people. There was no doubt at all that Fatty had a perfect gift for dressing up and acting.
"I'll go and sit on the seat beside the old man," said Fatty. "He's sure to be there this afternoon, waiting for any possible messages—and you can snoop round and see if Goon is anywhere about. If he isn't, I'll take the chance of telling the old man not to appear for a few afternoons as the police are watching. That should make him scuttle away all right if he's in with the
"I’ll come and buy another balloon from you," said Bets eagerly. "That will make it all seem real."
"Oh, it'll be real enough," said Fatty. "All I hope is that Goon won't come and ask me for my licence again."
"He won't, if you are sitting in the middle of the village street, and he thinks you've got to hunt all through your petticoats for it, and make him look silly," said Larry. "He can't bear to be made to look silly. And anyway, he won't want to draw attention to himself if he's watching for any possible gang members. He won't think you're one."
"Quite right," said Fatty. "Well reasoned out, Larry. Now—am I ready?"
"You look simply marvellous," said Bets admiringly. "You really do. I can't think how you manage to make your face go so different, Fatty. It doesn't look a bit like you."
"Oh, I practise in front of a mirror," said Fatty. "And "I've got some marvellous books about it. And, of course, I've got the gift—you see..."
"Oh, shut up, Fatty," said Larry good humouredly. "We all know you're marvellous, without you telling us!"
The Balloon-woman suddenly screwed up her face, and her mouth went down at the corners in a most pathetic manner. She fished out a big red handkerchief, decidedly dirty, and began to weep most realistically.
"Don't be so unkind to me," she wept, and the others roared with laughter. Fatty peeped out at them from the corner of his hanky. "A pore old woman like me!" he wept. "Sleeping out under hedges at night..."
"With layers of petticoats to keep you warm!" chuckled Larry. Then he stopped and looked quickly out of the window of the shed.
"Quick! There's your mother, Fatty. What shall we do?"
There wasn't time to do anything. Mrs. Trotteville was even then looking in at the door. She had come to speak to the children, but when she saw the old Balloon-woman, she was very much astonished.
"What are you doing here?" she asked sharply. "I saw you going down the garden-path the other day."
Bets spoke up before Fatty could answer.
"She sells lovely balloons," she said. "I want to buy one, Mrs. Trotteville."
"There's absolutely no need to buy one in the garden-shed," said Mrs. Trotteville. "You can buy one in the street. I don't want pedlars or tramps in the garden. I am surprised that Buster did not bark."
Buster was there, of course, sitting at the Balloon-woman's feet. He looked as if she was his best friend—as indeed she was, if only Mrs. Trotteville had known it.
"Where's Frederick?" asked Mrs. Trotteville, looking all round for Fatty.
"Er—not far away," said Larry truthfully. "Er—shall I go and look for him, Mrs. Trotteville? "
"Oh no. I suppose you are all waiting for him," said Mrs. Trotteville, "Well, I'm afraid this woman and her balloons must go—and please do not come into the garden again!"
"No, Mum," said the Balloon-woman, and bobbed a funny little curtsey that nearly sent Bets into fits of laughter. They all went out of the shed and up the path to the front gate.
"That was a narrow squeak," said Larry, when they were safely out in the road.
"Narrow squeaks are exciting! " said Pip.
They made their way to the main street of the village. There, on the sunny bench, was the old man as usual, bent over his stick, looking half-asleep.
"I'll go and sit down by him," said Fatty, swinging his voluminous skirts out around him as he walked. "You walk behind me now, and keep a watch out for Goon. Bets can tell me if he's anywhere about when she comes to buy a balloon. You can all go and have lemonade in that shop, to begin with."
The Balloon-woman sat down on the bench with her bunch of gay balloons. The old man at the end of the seat took no notice of her at all. The balloons bobbed in the wind, and passers-by looked at them with pleasure. A mother stopped to buy one for her baby, and the four watching children giggled as they saw Fatty bend over the baby in the pram and tickle its cheek.
"How does he know how to do things like that?" chuckled Larry. "I'd never think of those things."
"But it's those little touches that make his disguises so real," said Daisy, in admiration. They went into the lemonade shop and sat down to have a drink. A man was sitting at a table nearby, lost in a big newspaper. Larry glanced at him, and then gave Pip a kick under the table. Pip looked up and Larry winked at him, and nodded his head slightly towards the man.
The others looked—and there was old Clear-Orf, in plain clothes, pretending to read a newspaper, and keeping an eye on the bench across the road, just as they too intended to do!
"Good morning, Mr. Goon," said Larry politely. "Having a day off?"
Mr. Goon grunted bad-temperedly. Those children again! They seemed to turn up everywhere.
"You having a lemonade too?" said Pip. "Have one with us, Mr. Goon. Do."
Mr. Goon grunted again, and returned to his newspaper. He was in plain clothes and looked rather strange. The children couldn't remember ever having seen him in anything but his rather tight-fitting uniform before. He wore flannel trousers, a cream shirt open at the neck, and a belt that he had pulled too tight. Bets thought he didn't look like Mr. Goon at all.
She finished her lemonade. "I'm going to buy a balloon," she said. "The one I bought at the Fair has gone pop. Order me an ice, Pip, and I'll be back to have it soon. We are all going to have ices, aren't we?"
"Where's that fat boy?" asked Mr. Goon, as Bets got up.
"Fat boy? What fat boy?" said Larry at once, pretending to be puzzled.
Mr. Goon gave a snort. "That boy Frederick. Fatty, you call him. You know quite well who I mean. Don't act so daft."
"Oh, Fatty! He's not far off," said Larry. "Do you want to see him? I'll tell him, if you like."
"I don't want to see him," said Mr. Goon. "But I know he's always up to something. What's he up to now?"
"Is he up to something now?" said Larry, a surprised look on his face. "How mean of him not to tell us!"
Bets giggled and went out. She crossed the road to where the old Balloon-woman sat, her skirts almost filling half of the bench.
"May I have a blue balloon, please?" she said. She bent over the bunch of balloons and whispered to Fatty. "Mr. Goon is in the lemonade shop—in plain clothes. He looks so funny. I think he's watching the old man. You'll have to watch till you see Mr. Goon go off, and then give your message."
"Have this balloon, little Miss!" said the Balloon-woman, winking at Bets to show that her message had been heard. "This is a fine strong one. Last you for weeks!"
Bets paid for it, and went back to the shop. Larry had just ordered ices. He raised his eyebrows at Bets to ask her if she had delivered the message all right. She nodded. They began to eat their ices slowly, wondering if the policeman meant to stay in the shop all the afternoon.
They had almost finished their ices when the telephone went at the back of the shop. The shop-woman answered it. "For you, please, Mr. Goon," she said.
Mr. Goon got up, went to the dark corner at the back of the shop, and listened to what lie telephone had to say. Larry took a look at him. Goon could not possibly see across the street to the bench from where he stood. Now would be Fatty's chance to give his message to the old man!
"It's hot in here," said Larry, suddenly standing up.
"I'm going out for a breath of air. You come when you've finished your ices."
He went out of the shop and shot across to the bench. He sat down beside the Balloon-woman. "Goon's telephoning," he said. "Now's your chance. He can't see across the street from where the telephone is."
"Right," said Fatty. He moved nearer to the old man and nudged him. The old fellow looked round at once. Fatty slipped a note to him and then moved back to his end of the bench.
The old man deftly pocketed the note and sat for a few minutes more. Then, with a grant, he got up and shuffled off round the corner. Larry followed him, at a sign from Fatty. As soon as he was safely round the corner the old fellow opened the slip of paper and looked at it. Then he took a match, lighted the paper, and let it drop to the ground, where it burnt away.
He did not go back to his bench. Instead, he shuffled off in the direction of his home. Larry went back to the bench and stood beside the old Balloon-woman, pretending to choose a balloon.
"Did he read the note?" said Fatty, in a low voice.
"Yes. And he's gone off home now, I think," said Larry. "What did you put in the note?"
"I just put that he'd better not come to this seat for three afternoons as the police were watching it," said Fatty. "He'll think it was from a member of the gang, I expect. He will think they'd asked me to pass the message to him, as they wouldn't want to be seen doing it themselves, if the seat was watched. Well, let's hope we've got him out of the way for a few days!"
"I'll have this balloon," said Larry, as some people passed. "How much?"
Taking the balloon with him, he went back to the door of the shop. Mr. Goon was still telephoning. Good! The others got up and went out. They all sauntered down the road, thinking how cross Mr. Goon would be when he stopped telephoning and found that the old man was gone.
The Balloon-woman went too. It had been decided that she should go to Pip's garden, in case Mrs. Trotteville, Fatty's mother, should spot her again, going down her garden-path, and make trouble. Pip's mother was out for the day, so it would be safe for Fatty to go there and change back to himself.
Soon all the Find-Outers, and Buster, were in Pip's summer-house. Fatty changed as quickly as he could.
"I shan't use this disguise more than I can help," he said, pushing all the petticoats and skirts into the sack he kept them in. "It's too hot. I shall get as thin as a rake if I keep getting so melting-hot!"
"Oh, don't do that!" said Bets, in alarm. "You wouldn't be Fatty any more, if you were thin. And I do like you just exactly as you are!"