"I don't think we've got time to ..." began Larry. But Mr. Goon pooh-poohed him.
"It's my orders," he said pompously. "You may be witnesses. You come alonga me."
So the children went with Mr. Goon, Buster struggling wildly against the lead to get at the policeman's ankles. They turned one or two comers and came to a dirty little pair of cottages at one end of a lane. Mr. Goon went to the first one and knocked.
There was no answer at all. He knocked again. The children felt uncomfortable and wished they were at home. No answer. Then Mr. Goon pushed hard at the door and it opened into a room that was plainly half sitting-room and half bedroom. It was very dirty and smelt horrid.
In the far corner was a small bed, piled high with dirty bedclothes. In it, apparently asleep, his grey hairs showing above the blanket, was the old man. His clothes were on a chair beside him—old coat, corduroy trousers, shirt, muffler, hat, and shoes.
"Hey, you!" said Mr. Goon, marching in. "No good pretending to be asleep, see? I saw you a few minutes ago in the village street, on the bench."
The old man awoke with a jump. He seemed to be extremely surprised to see Mr. Goon in his room. He sat up and stared at him. "Wassat?" he said. It really did seem to be about the only thing he could say.
"It's no good pretending to be in bed and asleep," roared Mr. Goon. "You were on the bench in the middle of the street just now. I saw you!"
"I ain't been out of this room today!" said the old man, in a cracked voice. "I always sleeps till dinner, I do."
"You don't," shouted Mr. Goon. "You didn't today. And I want to know what that fellow said to you when he came and sat beside you on the bench. Now you tell me, or it'll be the worse for you!"
Bets felt sorry for the old man. She hated it when Mr. Goon shouted so. The old fellow looked more and more puzzled.
"Wassat?" he said, going back to the word he loved.
"See these children here?" said Mr. Goon, beside himself with annoyance at the old man's stupidity. "Well, they saw you there too. Speak up now, you kids. You saw him, didn't you? "
"Well," said Larry, hesitating. "well ..." He really didn't know what to say. He knew quite well it hadn't been the old man on the bench—and yet how could he say so without giving Fatty away?
Pip saw his difficulty and rushed in with a few clever words. "You see, Mr. Goon, it's difficult to say, isn't it, because an old man in bed and an old man dressed don't look a bit the same."
"Well, look at his clothes then," said Mr. Goon, pointing to the clothes. "Aren't those the very clothes he was dressed in?"
"They might not be," said Pip. "Sorry, Mr. Goon, but we can't help you in the matter."
Larry thought it was about time to go, for Mr. Goon's face was turning a familiar purple. So he and the others hurriedly went back up the lane and made their way to Fatty's, longing to tell him all that had happened.
They found Fatty in the wood-shed at the bottom of his garden, trying to make himself a bit respectable. All his old-man clothes were in a sack, ready for use again. He was just smoothing down his hair when the others poured in.
"I say!" began Fatty, his eyes bright. "That was a bit queer, wasn't it? I mean—that man being so surprised to see me—and sitting down and saying things to me. I almost forgot I was deaf and shouldn't hear them!"
"What did he say?" asked Pip, and Fatty told him. The others listened breathlessly.
"And then up comes Goon, spots this fellow, and makes an awful to-do about adjusting his bike-chain, in order to have a good squint at the chap," said Larry.
“Looks suspicious to me. I mean—it looks as if Goon knew the fellow and wanted to know what he was up to."
"Is it a clue?" asked Bets eagerly.
"You and your clues!" said Pip scornfully. "Don't be silly, Bets."
"I don't think she is silly," said Fatty thoughtfully. "I think it is a clue—a clue to something that's going on—maybe even something to do with the Mystery. You know what the Inspector said—that it is thought that Peterswood may be the meeting-place of the thief-gang—the place where messages are passed on, perhaps, from one member to another."
"And perhaps the old man is the fellow who takes the messages and passes them on!" cried Daisy. "Oh, Fatty! Is he the chief burglar, do you think? "
"Course not," said Fatty. "Can you imagine a poor feeble old thing like that doing anything violent? No, he's just a convenient message-bearer, I should think. Nobody would ever suspect him, sitting out there in the sun, half-asleep. It would be easy enough for any one to go and whisper anything to him."
"But he's deaf," objected Daisy.
"So he is. Well then, maybe they slip him messages," said Fatty. "Golly—I feel we're on to something!"
"Let's think," said Larry. "We shall get somewhere, I feel, if we think!"
They all thought. Bets was so excited that not a single sensible thought came into her head. It was Fatty as usual who came out with everything clear and simple.
"I've got it!" he said. "Probably Peterswood is the headquarters of the gang, for some reason or other, and when one member wants to get into touch with another, they don't communicate with each other directly, which would be dangerous, but send messages by that old fellow. And, Find-Outers, if I go and sit on that bench day in and day out, I've no doubt some of the members of the gang will come along, sit by me, and deliver messages in some way, and..."
"And you'll learn who they are, and we can tell the Inspector, and hell have them arrested!" cried Bets, in great excitement.
"Well, something like that," said Fatty. "The thing is—the old man always sits there in the afternoon, and that's really when I ought to sit there, because it's then that any messages will come. But how can I sit there, if he's there?"
"That's why that man was so surprised this morning," said Daisy. "He knew the old man never was there in the mornings—and yet it seemed as if he was, this morning I He never guessed it was you. Your disguise must have been perfect."
"It must have been," said Fatty modestly. "The thing is—can we possibly stop the old fellow from going there in the afternoons? If we could, I could sit on that bench, and you could all sit in the sweet-shop and watch."
"We can't drink lemonade for hours," said Bets.
"You could take it in turn," said Fatty. "The thing is, we must take notice of what the messengers are like, so that we should recognize them again. I shan't dare to look at them too closely, in case they suspect something. So you would have to notice very carefully indeed. I shall take whatever messages they pass on to me, and leave it to you to see exactly what the men are. I know how we could do it too! We could go round a corner and toot a hooter! Then Goon would think to himself, 'Ha, hooter on a bike! Maybe the man I want!' and go scooting round the corner."
"Yes, that's quite well worked out," said Fatty. "The thing is—Goon .probably hasn't noticed the hooter on the man's bike."
"Well, tell him then," said Larry. "Hell be awfully bucked at that. Let's go and tell him now."
"Come on then. Well go and look for him," said Fatty. But just then Larry looked at his watch and gave an exclamation. "Golly! We'll be frightfully late for lunch I Well have to tell Goon this afternoon."
"I will," said Fatty. "See you later!"
That afternoon Mr. Goon, enjoying a brief afternoon dinner nap, was surprised to see Fatty coming in at the door, and even more surprised when the boy presented his bit of information about the hooter on the bicycle.
"I don't know if it will be of any use to you, Mr. Goon," he said, earnestly. "But we thought you ought to know. After all, it's a clue, isn't it?"
"Ho! A clue to what?" demanded Mr. Goon. "You aren't interfering again, are you? And anyway, I noticed that there hooter myself. And if I hear it tooting, I'll soon be after the cyclist."
"What do you want him for?" asked Fatty innocently.
Mr. Goon stared at him suspiciously. "Never you mind. And look here, how is it you know all about this here hooter, when you wasn't with the others? You tell me that."
"Oh, they told me," said Fatty. "I'm afraid you're angry with me for trying to give you a clue, Mr. Goon.
I'm sorry. I didn't know you had already noticed the hooter. I won't trouble you with any of our information again."
"Now look here, there's no harm in ..." began Mr. Goon, afraid that perhaps Fatty might withhold further information that might really be of use. But Fatty was gone. He visited a shop on the way home and bought a very nice little rubber hooter. Mr. Goon was going to hear it quite a lot! In fact, he heard it a few minutes later, just outside his window, as he was finishing his nap. He shot upright at once, and raced to the door.
But there was no cyclist to be seen. He went back slowly—and the hooter sounded again. Drat it! Where was it? He looked up and down the road once more but there really was no sign of a bicycle. There was only a boy a good way down, sauntering along. But he hadn't a bicycle.
He had a hooter, though, under his coat, and his name was Fatty!