It wasn't a very big sneeze, because Mr. Goon had tried most valiantly to stop it, and it came out in quite a gentlemanly manner. But it was enough to startle all the men, and Fatty too, almost out of their skins!
The men sprang to their feet at once, and looked all round the hall. "What was that? There's somebody here! Somebody spying on us!"
Fatty was suddenly frightened. The men's eyes gleamed under their hats, and he could hear a savage tone in the voice of the man who spoke. The boy kept absolutely still. Silly, idiotic old Goon, to give the game away like that!
"There's somebody here! Who is it? Show yourself!" shouted one of the men. Neither Goon nor Fatty made any movement, and all the wax figures stared stolidly at the group of men.
"It's creepy in here, with all those figures looking at us," said the first man. "But one of them's real! No doubt about that! Come on—well soon find out. I've got a torch."
Fatty's heart beat fast. He hoped and hoped that the men would find Goon before they found him. But most unfortunately Fatty was in the front row, and Goon wasn't.
One of the men had a powerful torch. He walked over to Nelson and flashed it in his face. Nelson stared unblinkingly in front of him. "He's wax all right," said the man, and passed to the next figure, a tall soldier. He flashed the torch in his face.
The soldier didn't make a movement at all. It was obvious that he was wax, for there was a little crack down one cheek, where he had once struck his face, when being carried from one place to another.
One after another the wax figures had the torch flashed into their faces, and one after another they stared unblinkingly past the man's head. Fatty began to tremble a little. Would he be able to stare without bunking too? He hoped so.
His turn came. The torch was flashed suddenly in his face, and the boy could not help a sudden blink. His eyes did it automatically, although he did his best not to. He hoped the man hadn't noticed. But there was something about Fatty's bright, shining, living eyes that caught the man's attention at once, as well as the bunk. He grabbed at Fatty's arm, and felt it to be warm and soft.
"Here he is!" he said. "Here's the spy. Standing here staring at us, listening to everything!"
Poor Fatty was dragged down off his steps and pulled into the middle of the hall. He was frightened, but he meant to put a bold face on it.
"Who are you?" said the first man, and shone his torch into Fatty's face.
"Napoleon," said Fatty, trying to brave things out. "Just doing it for a joke!"
"He's only a boy," said one of the men, pulling off Napoleon's hat. "How old are you? "
"Fourteen," said Fatty.
The men stared at him. "What are we going to do with him?" said one. "Can't take him off in the car with us—too risky. And we can't waste time dumping him anywhere, because if we're not on time with this job, we’ll fail. What he wants is a jolly good questioning and a good thrashing, and he'll get it—but not now. It's time we went."
"We'll be back here again tonight with the stuff," said another man. "Well tie him up, gag him, put him into the cupboard over there, and lock him in. He can't give the game away then. Well deal with him when we come back. He can't know anything about the job tonight, except what he's just heard, so he won't have warned any one."
"Right," said the other men, and then began a bad time for poor Fatty. He was rolled up in a curtain, with his hands and feet tied, and a big handkerchief was bound across his mouth. Then he was popped into the cupboard with Napoleon, and the door was shut and locked on him.
His only comfort was that Mr. Goon was still there, posing stolidly, quite unsuspected. As soon as the men had got away, Goon would surely come to his rescue and untie him. Then he, Fatty would be in at the last, after all.
He could hear nothing in the cupboard. He did not hear the men go out of the hall and lock the door. He did not see Goon wait on his step for a few moments and then relax and give a deep sigh. Mr. Goon had had a most surprising and unpleasant time himself from the moment he had sneezed to the moment the men had at last gone.
When he had sneezed, he had felt certain that the men would search the figures and find him. He had no idea at all, of course, that Fatty had been one of the figures too. When the boy had been found and hauled off his stand, Mr. Goon's eyes had almost fallen out of his head.
What—somebody else in the hall—somebody who must have been there when Mr. Goon himself had come in and changed places with the wax policeman? Who was it!
Mr. Goon recognized Fatty's voice as soon as the boy had spoken. He went purple with rage. That interfering boy again! So he, like Goon himself, had read the secret message—and he hadn't told the police. The bad, wicked ... well, words failed Mr. Goon as he stood there thinking about Fatty.
The policeman shook when he thought that the men would probably find him next. When they did not think of looking any further, his heart beat a little less fast. Well, serve that boy right, if he got caught! He deserved to! Keeping information from the police! Mr. Goon's face went red again.
He had been so very pleased with himself at thinking of this idea—posing as the wax policeman, and listening in to the gang and their plans. Well, he knew a lot now, he did—and if only those men would go off to the job and leave him alone, he'd soon do a spot of telephoning, and arrange to catch them all neatly—red-handed, too! Mr. Goon glowed when he thought of it.
But the men hadn't gone yet. They were tying up that fat boy—hadn't even given him a clip over the ear, as Mr. Goon would himself have very much liked to do. The policeman watched with pleased eyes the efficient way in which the men rolled Fatty up in the curtain, his hands and legs well and truly bound, and a handkerchief over his mouth. Ha! That was the way to treat people like Fatty!
Mr. Goon watched the men pop Fatty into the cupboard and turn the key on him. Good! Now that boy was properly out of the way. If only the men would go, Mr. Goon could step down and get busy. He smiled as he thought of how busy he would get. Inspector Jenks would be surprised at his news. Yes, and pleased, too.
The door closed and the men were gone. Mr. Goon heard the sound of a car starting up. He thought it would be safe to step down into the hall, and he stood there, looking round, feeling extremely pleased with himself.
Fatty was struggling hard in the cupboard. He had read books that told him the best way to wriggle free of bonds, but, except that he had managed to get his mouth away from the handkerchief, he wasn't having much luck with his hands and feet! He did all the things the books had advised him to, but it was no good. He couldn't get his hands free.
In his struggles, he fell against Napoleon, and that gentleman over-balanced, and struck his head against the back of the cupboard. He then rolled on to Fatty, who yelled.
Mr. Goon, about to open the door to go out, heard the yell. He paused. He didn't mean to set Fatty free. Not he! That boy had got what he deserved, at last, and he, Mr. Goon, wasn't going to rob him of it. No—let him stay in the cupboard and think about things. Maybe he'd think it was best not to interfere with the Law again.
But when Napoleon fell with such a crash, Mr. Goon felt a stirring of his conscience. Suppose that boy was being suffocated? Suppose that handkerchief stopped his breathing? Suppose he'd wriggled about, and fallen and hurt himself? He was a friend of the Inspector's, wasn't he, though goodness knew why the Inspector should bother himself with a boy like that. Still. ...
Mr. Goon thought he might spare half a minute to investigate. But he wasn't going to unlock that cupboard. No, not he! He wasn't going to have that there boy rushing out on him, all untied, and playing some more of his tricks. No, Fatty was safer locked up in a cupboard.
So Mr. Goon went cautiously to the cupboard and knocked smartly on the door. Fatty's struggles ceased at once.
"Who's that?"
"Mr. Goon," said the policeman.
"Thank goodness!" said Fatty fervently. "Unlock the door and untie me, Mr. Goon. We've work to do! Have those men gone?"
Mr. Goon snorted. Did this fat boy really think he was going to let him help him! After he had deliberately not told him about that secret message, too!
"You're all right in there," said Mr. Goon, "you don't want to come messing about with thieves and robbers, you don't!"
Fatty couldn't believe his ears. Did Mr. Goon really mean he was going to leave him there, in the cupboard, when all the fun was going on? He wriggled about in agony at the thought, and spoke beseechingly.
"Mr. Goon! Be a sport! Unlock the door and let me out!"
"Why should I?" demanded Mr. Goon. "Did you tell me about that secret message? No, you didn't. And I know your parents wouldn't want you mixed up in this business tonight, see? They'll thank me for leaving you here. I'll come and get you later, when we've done all the arresting and everything."
Fatty was desperate. To think of Goon doing it all, whilst he was shut up in this smelly cupboard!
"Mr. Goon! Don't be mean. It was your sneeze gave the show away—and instead of catching you, they caught me. It's not fair."
Mr. Goon laughed. It was rather a nasty laugh. Fatty's heart sank when he heard it. He knew then that the policeman meant to leave him where he was. He could make all kinds of excuses for it—that he hadn't time to free Fatty—that he meant to come back almost at once—anything would do. Blow Mr. Goon!
"Well—see you later," said Mr. Goon, and he walked over to the door. Fatty groaned. Now he would have to stay in the cupboard till the fun was over. It was too bad. After all his fine plans, too! What would Inspector Jenks say? He would be very pleased with Goon, who certainly had used his brains in this Mystery, and worked hard on it.
Poor Fatty I He lay in the cupboard in great discomfort, with rope biting into his wrists and ankles. It was all Goon's fault. What did he want to go and sneeze like that for, and give the game away? He had come out of it very well himself—but he had messed everything up for poor old Fatty.
Suddenly Fatty heard a slight sound and he pricked his ears up. It sounded like the window opening. Was there somebody coming in? Was one of the gang coming back?
Then Fatty heard a low voice—a voice he knew very well indeed.
"Fatty! Are you here anywhere? Fatty!"
It was Larry! Fatty's heart beat for joy and he struggled to a sitting position in the cupboard. "Larry! I'm locked up in the cupboard where we put Napoleon! Let me out I Quick, let me out!”