That afternoon things really began to happen. Fatty disguised himself once more as the old man (who was keeping remarkably out of the way), and went to the bench in the village street as usual. He limped most realistically this time, because his foot had swollen up from being run over by the tricycle. He had provided himself with plenty of newspapers to read, and he sat down as carefully as ever, letting out a little groan as he did so.
In the sweet-shop opposite sat Mr. Goon, clad as usual in flannel trousers and a cream shirt open at the neck. He looked extremely hot, and was beginning to long for some bad weather—frost and snow if possible! Mr. Goon had never felt so hot in his life as in this blazing summer.
Larry went into the shop and sat down to order lemonade. Mr. Goon was getting used to the fact that one or other of the Find-Outers always seemed to be there. He took no notice of Larry. He just propped his paper up in front of him, and kept a watchful eye on the old fellow nodding on the bench across the street.
It looked as if Fatty had gone sound asleep. Larry yawned and wished he could go to sleep too. Then he noticed something. A man was standing in the shady doorway of a nearby shop, and he seemed to be watching the old man. Was he thinking of giving him a message?
Mr. Goon also spotted the man, and sat up straight. The man looked up and down the street, and lighted a cigarette, puffing hard at it.
The village was empty and deserted on this hot afternoon. A car drove by and disappeared. A dog ambled round a corner, lay down, and fell asleep. Larry and Mr. Goon watched the silent man breathlessly.
The man sauntered across the road and stood for a few minutes looking in the window of a wireless shop. Then he strolled over to the bench and sat down near the old man.
Fatty was pretending to be asleep, but he spotted the man out of the corner of his eye, and something told him that the man was no chance companion. He was there for a purpose. Fatty jerked himself upright as if he had suddenly awakened, and sniffled loudly. He wiped his nose with his sleeve and then leaned over his stick again. Then he coughed his dreadful cough.
"Awful cough you've got!" said the man. Fatty took no notice, remembering that he was deaf. He coughed again.
"AWFUL COUGH YOU'VE GOT!" repeated me man. Fatty turned, put his hand behind his ear and croaked out a familiar word, "Wassat?"
The stranger laughed. He took out his cigarette case and offered the old man a cigarette. There was only one left in the case. As soon as Fatty had taken it, the man filled his case from a packet.
"Thank you, sir," croaked Fatty, and put the cigarette into his pocket. His heart beat fast. He felt sure that there must be some kind of message in the cigarette. What would it be? He did not dare to look closely at that man, but hoped that Larry was taking note of all his clothes and everything.
Larry was. And so was Mr. Goon! Both were mentally repeating the same things. "Grey flannel suit. Blue shirt. Black shoes. No tie. Grey felt hat. Moustache. Tall. Slim. Long nose. Small eyes."
The man got up to go. He disappeared quite quickly round the corner. Fatty thought that he, too, had better disappear quickly, before Mr. Goon could get hold of him and get the cigarette-message, whatever it was, away from him. So he, too, got up, and with most surprising agility in such an old man, he shot round another corner.
And then he saw something most aggravating! Coming ing towards him was the real old man, corduroy trousers, dirty muffler and all! He was out for a walk, though he did not mean to go and sit on the bench.
Fatty could not risk being seen by the old man, for he guessed he would be amazed and alarmed at the sight of his double. So he popped into the nearest gate and hid himself under a bush.
He was only just in time! Mr. Goon came round the corner with a rush—and almost bumped into the real old man! He clutched him tightly.
"Ha! Got you! Now you give me that cigarette right away!"
The old man looked most alarmed. He shrank away from the red-faced Mr. Goon, not in the least knowing who he was, for he did not recognize the policeman dressed in plain clothes.
"Where's that cigarette?" panted Mr. Goon.
"Wassat?" croaked the old man. Goon heard footsteps behind him and saw Larry. Larry was horrified to see what he thought was Fatty in the clutches of the policeman. He stayed nearby to see what was going to happen. The old man tried feebly to get away from Goon, but the policeman held on grimly.
"You let go," said the old fellow. "I'll get the police, see? Catching hold of me like this! I'll get the police!"
"It's the police that have got you," said Goon, shaking him. 'I’m GOON! GOON the POLICEMAN! And I want that CIGARETTE!"
This was too much for the poor old man. He almost fell down in fright. He hadn't the faintest idea what Goon wanted him for, nor did he know why Goon kept on shouting for a cigarette.
"Have my pipe," said the old fellow, trying to get it out of his pocket. "Have my pipe and let me go. I ain't done nothing."
Mr. Goon snorted, caught hold of the old fellow by the collar of his coat and marched him down the street. "You can come to the police-station with me," he said. "And I'll search you there and get that cigarette! See!"
Larry watched them go, feeling rather scared, for he still thought it was Fatty that Mr. Goon had got. He had the fright of his life when he suddenly saw another old man peering out from under a bush at him!
"Larry! Have they gone?" said this old man, in Fatty's voice. Larry almost jumped out of his skin.
"Fatty! I thought it was you that Goon was taking away! Golly, I'm glad it wasn't."
Fatty came out from under the bush. "The real old man happened to come walking up here just as I was hurrying to get away from Goon!" said Fatty, with a grin. "So I hopped in at this gate and hid, and Goon grabbed the old fellow and ordered him to give up the cigarette he hadn't got. Phew! That was a jolly narrow shave!"
"Fatty! Is there a message in that cigarette?" said Larry eagerly. "Can we find out? I saw that fellow give you one. I watched him for a long time. So did Goon."
"Let's go to Pip's," said Fatty. "We're safer there than anywhere, because his garden is so big. Don't walk with me. Go in front, and when you come to a corner, whistle if you want to warn me."
Larry walked on in front. He did not whistle at any corners, because there seemed to be nobody about in Peterswood at all that hot September afternoon. In ten minutes Fatty was safely in Pip's summer-house. He did not strip off his old clothes, because he had no others to change into. He waited there whilst Larry went off to collect the others, and he hoped that no grown-ups would think of poking their noses into the summer-house that afternoon. They would not be pleased to find a dirty old tramp there!
Fatty longed to examine the cigarette and see what was inside it. But he waited patiently till the others came tearing up the path, pouring into the little summer-house with excited faces.
"Fatty! Larry's told us all about it! What's the message? Is there one in the cigarette? Have you looked?"
"Of course not. I waited for you all," said Fatty. He took the cigarette from his pocket. It was rather a stout, fat one. It had tobacco at each end—but when Fatty had scraped out as much tobacco as he could, he found that the middle of the cigarette was not made of tobacco at all—but was stuffed with a tight roll of paper!
"Oh!" said Bets, almost too excited to breathe. "A secret message! Oh, Fatty!"
Fatty unrolled the paper. He flattened it with his hand. The five of them leaned over it, their breaths hot against one another's cheeks. Buster tried in vain to see what all the excitement was about, but for once in a way nobody took the slightest notice of him!
The message proved to be very puzzling and disappointing. All it said was:
"One tin black boot-polish. One pound rice. One pound tea. Two pounds syrup. One bag flour."
"Why! It's only a grocery list!" said Daisy. "Just like Mother often gives me and Larry when we go shopping for her. Whatever does it mean, Fatty?"
"I don't know," said Fatty. "It must mean something. I hope it's not in a secret code."
"What's a secret code?" asked Bets.
"Oh, a way of writing messages so that only the persons receiving them know what they mean," said Fatty. "But somehow I don't think this is a code. After all, that old man had got to read it and understand it, and I'm quite sure he hasn't brains enough to understand a code."
"Then could there be another message, but written in secret ink?" said Pip suddenly. "You know how you taught us to write secret messages, in between the lines of an ordinary letter, don't you, Fatty? Well, could there be a message written between these lines, in secret ink?"
"Yes, there could," said Fatty. "And that's what I think we shall find I Good for you, Pip. Can you go and get a warm iron? If we run it over the paper, the secret message will show up."
Pip ran off. Gladys was actually ironing in the kitchen, and though she was very surprised to think that Pip should want to borrow the warm iron to take into the garden for a minute, she let him. He came tearing up to the summer-house with it in his hand.
"I've got it!" he said. "Here you are. Put the paper out flat on the wooden table. That's right. Now I'll run the iron over it."
He ran the warm iron over the spread-out bit of paper. Then he lifted it off and looked at the message. "There's another one coming up, look—between the lines of the other!" squealed Daisy, in excitement. "Iron it again, Pip, quick! Oh, this is too thrilling for words!" Pip ironed the paper again—and this time another message showed up very clearly indeed. The words came up, looking a queer grey-brown colour, and began to fade almost as soon as the children had made them out.
"Tell Number 3. Waxworks, Tuesday, nine pm.—Number 5."
"Golly!" said Pip. "Look at that! Tell Number 3—that must be one of the gang. And Number 5 must be another."
"Waxworks, Tuesday, nine p.m." said Fatty, and his eyes gleamed. "So that's one of their meeting-places. Down in the Waxworks Hall, where all those figures are. Now we know something!"
"We really do," said Bets. "What are they meeting about, Fatty?"
"I don't know—but I shall find out," said Fatty. "Because—I shall be there on Tuesday night!"