Home from School

Pip set out his painting things, poked the playroom fire, and sat down to finish his Christmas cards.

“You do them nicely, Pip,” said Bets, looking over his shoulder. “I wish I could keep inside the lines like you do.”

“You’re only little yet,” said Pip, beginning to paint red berries on his card.

“Well, I’ve had another birthday, and I’m nine now,” said Bets. “I’m getting bigger. You’re still twelve, Pip, so I’m only three years behind you now.”

“When are the others coming?” asked Pip, looking at the clock. “I told them to come early. It’s fun to do our Christmas presents together.”

Bets went to the window of their big playroom. “Here come Larry and Daisy,” she said. “Oh, Pip, isn’t it fun to be altogether again?”

Bets didn’t go to boarding-school as the others did, and she often felt lonely in term-time, when her brother Pip was away, and their three friends, Larry and Daisy Daykin, and Fatty Trotteville.

But now it was Christmas holidays and they were all home. Bets felt very happy. She had her brother again, and Christmas was coming - and darling Buster, Fatty’s dog, would come to see her every single day.

Larry and Daisy came up the stairs to the playroom. “Hallo!” said Larry. “Finished your cards yet? I’ve still got three to do, and Daisy’s got a present to finish. We brought them along.”

“Good,” said Pip, putting his paintbrush into his mouth to give it a nice point. “There’s plenty of room at the table. Fatty’s not here yet.”

A loud barking outside sent Bets to the window again. “It’s Buster - and Fatty,” she said. “Oh, good! Fatty looks plumper than ever!”

In half a minute Fatty and Buster were in the playroom, Fatty looking very sleek and pleased with himself, and Buster bursting with excitement. He flew at everyone and licked them thoroughly.

“Hallo, Buster dear!” said Bets. “Oh, Fatty, Buster’s got thin and you’ve got fat.”

“Well, Fatty won’t be any thinner after Christmas,” said Larry, settling down at the table. “Brought some cards to finish, Fatty? I’ve just about worked down my list.”

Larry and Daisy were brother and sister. Fatty was an only child, always rather pleased with himself, and Buster was his faithful companion. The five and Buster were firm friends.

Fatty put down a fat book on the table, and a very fine Christmas card, which he had done himself. Bets pounced on it at once.

“Fatty! What a beauty! Surely you didn’t do this yourself? Gracious, it’s as good as any you can find in a shop.”

“Oh, well,” said Fatty, looking pleased, “I’m not bad at art, you know. I was top again this term, and the art master said -”

“Shut up,” said Pip, Larry and Daisy together. Fatty did so love to boast about his cleverness. They wouldn’t let him if they could help it.

“All right, all right,” said Fatty, looking injured. “Always biting my head off! I’ve a good mind not to tell you who the card is for?”

“For your flattering art master, I suppose,” said Pip, painting a holly leaf carefully.

Fatty kept silence. Bets looked at him. “Tell me who it’s for,” she said. “I want to know. I think it’s lovely.”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I meant this card and this book to go to a friend of ours from all of us!” said Fatty. “But seeing that only Bets admires the card, I’ll just send it from myself.”

The others looked up. “Who’s it for then?” asked Daisy. She picked it up. “It’s jolly good. Are these five children meant to be us? And is this Buster?”

“Yes,” said Fatty. “Can’t you guess who the card is for? It’s for Inspector Jenks.”

“Oh! What a good idea!” said Bets. “Is the book for him, too? What is it?”

She picked it up and opened it. It was a book about fishing.

“That’s a fine idea, Fatty,” said Larry. “The Inspector is mad on fishing. He’ll be thrilled with the book and the card. Do send them from all of us. They’re fine.”

“I meant to,” said Fatty. “We can share the price of the book between us, and we can each write our name on the card. See what I’ve put inside it.”

He flicked it open, and the children bent to see what he had printed there, in beautiful, neat letters:

“BEST CHRISTMAS WISHES FROM THE FIVE FIND-OUTERS - AND DOG.”

“That’s fine,” said Pip. “Golly, we’ve had some fun, haven’t we, being the Find-Outers? I hope we’ll have some more mysteries to solve.”

“We’ve solved the Mystery of the Burnt Cottage and the Mystery of the Disappearing Cat,” said Daisy. “I wonder what our next mystery will be. Do you think we shall have a mystery these hols?”

“Shouldn’t be surprised,” said Fatty. “Any one seen old Clear-Orf yet?”

Clear-Orf was the village policeman Mr. Goon, detested by the children. He in turn detested them, especially as twice they had managed to solve problems before he himself had.

No one had seen Mr. Goon. Nobody particularly wanted to. He was not an amiable person at all, with his fat red face and bulging frog-eyes.

“We’d better all sign this card,” said Fatty, producing a very fine fountain pen. Fatty always had the best of everything, and far too much pocket-money. However, he was always willing to share this, so nobody minded.

“Eldest first,” said Fatty, so Larry took the pen. He was thirteen. He signed his name neatly, “Laurence Daykin.”

“I’m next,” said Fatty. “I’m thirteen next week. You’re not thirteen until the New Year, Pip.”

He signed his name, “Frederick Algernon Trotteville.”

“I bet you never sign your full initials, Fatty,” said Pip, taking the pen next - “ ‘F.A.T.’ ”

“Well, I don’t,” said Fatty. “You wouldn’t either, if you had my initials and were fat. It would be just asking for trouble.”

Pip signed his name, “Philip Hilton.” Then Daisy signed hers, “Margaret Daykin.”

“Now you, little Bets,” said Fatty, handing her the pen. “Best writing, please.”

Sticking her tongue well out, Bets signed her full name in rather straggling writing, “Elizabeth Hilton,” but after it she wrote, “Bets.”

“Just in case he forgets that Elizabeth is me,” she explained.

“He wouldn’t,” said Fatty. “I bet he never forgets a thing. He’s very clever. You aren’t made an inspector of police unless you’ve got brains. We’re lucky to have him for our friend.”

They were - but the Inspector liked and admired the Five Find-Outers too. They had been of great help to him in two difficult cases.

“I hope we can be Find-Outers again,” said Bets.

“I think we ought to find a better name,” said Fatty, putting the cap back on his fountain-pen. “It’s a silly name, I think - the Find-Outers. Nobody would know that we were first-class detectives.”

“Well,we’re not,” said Larry. “We’re not really detectives at all, though we like to think we are. The name we have is just right - we’re only children who find out things.”

Fatty didn’t like that. “We’re more than that,” he said, settling down at the table. “Didn’t we beat old Goon twice? I don’t mind telling you I’m going to be a famous detective when I’m grown up, I think I’ve got just the mind for it.”

“The conceit to think so, you mean,” said Pip, grinning. “You don’t really know much about detectives and the way they work, Fatty.”

“Oh, don’t I!” said Fatty, beginning to wrap up the book on fishing together with the Christmas card. “That’s all you know, see? I’ve been studying hard. I’ve been reading spy books and detective books all the term.”

“Well, I bet you were bottom of the form then,” said Larry. “You can’t do that sort of thing and work, too.”

“I can,” said Fatty. “I was top of the form in everything. I always am. You won’t believe my maths marks - I only lost -”

“He’s off again,” said Pip to Larry. “He’s like a gramophone record, isn’t he?”

Fatty subsided and glared at Pip. “All right,” he said. “Say what you like - but I bet you don’t know how to do invisible writing, or get out of a locked room when the key isn’t your side!”

The others stared at him. “You don’t know how either,” said Pip disbelievingly.

“Well, I do then,” said Fatty. “Those are two of the things I’ve learnt already. And I could teach you a simple code, too, a secret code.”

This sounded exciting. Bets stared at Fatty with eyes wide.

“Teach us all those things,” she begged. “Oh, Fatty, I would so like to do invisible writing.”

“You have to learn the art of disguising yourself too.” said Fatty, enjoying the rapt attention of the others.

“What’s disguising?” asked Bets.

“Oh, dressing yourself up in such a way that people don’t know it’s you,” said Fatty. “Putting a wig on and perhaps a moustache or different eyebrows, wearing different clothes. For instance, I could disguise myself quite well as a butcher’s boy if I had a striped apron, and a knife or something hung down from my belt. If I wore an untidy black wig too, I bet none of you would know me.”

This was really too exciting for words. All the children loved dressing up and pretending. This business of “disguising” seemed a glorified dressing-up.

“Are you going to practise disguising yourself next term?” asked Bets.

“Well - no, not in term-time,” said Fatty, thinking that his form master would soon see through any disguise. “But I thought I might these hols.”

“Oh, Fatty! Can we too?” said Daisy. “Let’s all practise being proper detectives, in case another mystery crops up. We could do it much better then.”

“And if another mystery doesn’t crop up, we’ll have the fun of practising for it anyway,” said Bets.

“Right,” said Fatty, “but I think if I am going to teach you all these things I ought to be the head of the Find-Outers, not Larry. I know Larry’s the oldest - but I think I know more about these things now.”

There was silence. Larry didn’t want to give up being head, though in fairness he had to admit that Patty was really the cleverest at spotting things when they had a mystery to solve.

“Well, what about it?” said Fatty .“I shan’t give away my secrets if you don’t make me head.”

“Let him be head, Larry,” said Bets, who admired Fatty tremendously. “Head of the next mystery anyway, whatever it is. If he isn’t as clever as you at solving it, then we could make you head again.”

“All right,” said Larry. “I do think Fatty would make a good head, really. But if you get conceited about it, Fatty, we’ll sit on you hard.”

“You needn’t tell one that,” said Patty, with a grin.

“Right-o! I’ll be head. Thanks, Larry, that was sporting of you. Now I can teach you some of the things I know. After all, you simply never know when they might come in useful.”

“It might be very, very important to be able to write a letter in invisible ink,” said Bets. “Oh, Fatty, do teach us something now.”

But Bets’ mother just then put her head in at the playroom.

“I’ve got tea ready for you downstairs. Wash your hands and come along, will you? Don’t be too long, because the scones are nice and hot.”

Five hungry children and an equally hungry dog shot off downstairs, forgetting everything for the moment but hot scones, strawberry jam, and cake. But they wouldn’t forget for long - things sounded too exciting!

Fatty has some Ideas

Christmas came so quickly, and there was so much to do that Fatty had no time to teach the Find-Outers any of the things he had learnt. The postman came continually to the three homes, and cards soon stood everywhere. Parcels were hidden away, Mince-pies were made. Large turkeys hung in the larders.

“I do love Christmas,” said Bets a hundred times a day. “I wonder what I shall get on Christmas morning. I do hope I get a new doll. I’d like one that opens and shuts its eyes properly. I’ve only got one doll that does that, and her eyes always stick shut. Then I have to shake her hard, and I’m sure she thinks I’m cross with her.”

“Baby!” said Pip. “Fancy still wanting dolls! I bet you won’t get one.”

To Bets’ great disappointment there was no doll for her in her Christmas parcels. Everyone thought that as she was now nine, and liked to say she was getting big, she wouldn’t want a doll. So her mother had given her a work-basket and her father a difficult jigsaw which she knew Pip would like much better than she would!

She was rather sad - but Fatty put everything right by coming round on Christmas morning with a big box for Bets - and inside was the doll she had wanted! It opened and shut its eyes without any shaking at all, and had such a smiling face that Bets lost her heart to it at once. She flung herself on Fatty and hugged him like a small bear.

He was pleased. He liked Bets. Mrs. Hilton was surprised at the beautiful doll.

“That is very kind of you, Frederick,” she said. “You shouldn’t have spent so much money on Bets, though.”

“I shall have plenty for my birthday,” said Fatty politely, “and I’ve heaps for Christmas, Mrs. Hilton. I asked for money this Christmas instead of toys or books.”

“I should have thought you had plenty without asking for any more,” said Mrs. Hilton, who privately thought that Fatty always had far too much money to spend. “Why did you want so much money?”

“Well - to spend on something I didn’t think people would give me,” said Fatty, looking rather uncomfortable. “It’s a bit of a secret, really, Mrs. Hilton.”

“Oh,” said Bets’ mother. “Well, I hope it’s nothing that will get you into trouble. I don’t want Mr. Goon, the policeman, round here complaining about you children any more.”

“Oh no, Mrs. Hilton,” Fatty assured her. “Mr. Goon doesn’t come into this at all.”

As soon as her mother had gone Bets turned to Fatty with sparkling eyes. “What’s the secret? What are you going to buy?”

“Disguises!” said Fatty, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Wigs! Eyebrows! Teeth!”

“Oooh - teeth!” said Bets, in wonder. “But how can you wear false teeth without having your real teeth out, Fatty?”

“You wait and see,” said Fatty mysteriously.

“Do come after Christmas as soon as you can and teach us how to write invisibly and how to get out of locked rooms,” begged Bets. “I say - I wonder if old Clear-Orf knows those things?”

“Course not!” said Fatty scornfully. “And if Clear-Orf tried to disguise himself it wouldn’t be a bit of good. We’d always know his frog’s eyes and big fat nose.”

Bets giggled. She hugged her doll, and thought how clever and kind Fatty was. She said so.

“Oh, well,” said Fatty, swelling up a little, prepared to boast to his heart’s content, “I’m -”

But just then Pip came into the room and Fatty stopped. Pip didn’t take kindly to Fatty’s boasting. Fatty had a few words with Pip and then went.

“I’ll come along after Christmas and give you all some Find-Outers lessons,” he promised. “Give my love to Daisy and Larry if you see them today. I’ve got to go over to my grandmother’s for Christmas with my mother and father.”

Bets told Pip what Fatty had said about spending his money on disguises. “He said he would buy wigs - and eyebrows - and teeth!” said Bets. “Oh, Pip, do you think he will? What shop sells things like that? I’ve never seen any.”

“Oh, I suppose they are shops that actors go to,” said Pip. “They have to buy things like that. Well, we’ll see what Fatty gets. We ought to have some fun.”

When the excitement of Christmas was over, the Christmas trees taken down and re-planted in the garden, and the cards sent away to a children’s hospital, the children felt rather flat. Fatty apparently was staying at his grand-mother’s, for they saw nothing of him, and had a post-card saying, “Back soon. Fatty.”

“I wish he’d come back,” said Bets. “Suppose a mystery cropped up? We’d have to be Find-Outers again - and our chief wouldn’t be here.”

“Well, there isn’t any mystery,” said Pip.

“How do you know?” said Bets. “Old Clear-Orf might be trying to solve one we don’t know about.”

“Well, ask him then,” said Pip impatiently, for he was trying to read, and Bets kept interrupting him. He didn’t really mean Bets to go and ask the policeman, of course. But she couldn’t help thinking it was rather a good idea.

“Then we should know if there was going to be something for us to solve these hols,” thought the little girl. “I’m longing to hunt for clues again - and suspects - and track down things.”

So the next time she met the policeman she went up to him. “Mr. Goon, have you got a mystery to solve these holidays?” she asked.

The policeman frowned. He wondered if Bets and the others were on the track of something he didn’t know about - else why should Bets want to know if he was solving one?

“Are you interfering in anything again?” he asked sternly. “If you are, you stop it. See? I won’t have you children messing about in jobs that properly belong to me. Interfering with the Law!”

“We’re not interfering or messing about,” said Bets, rather alarmed.

“Well, you clear orf,” said Mr. Goon. “You’ve put a spoke in my wheel before now, and I’m not having it again!”

“What wheel?” said Bets, puzzled. Mr. Goon did one of his snorts and walked off. He couldn’t bear any children, but he particularly detested the Five Find-Outers and Dog. Bets stared after him.

“Well, I didn’t get much out of him,” she thought. “What did he mean about wheels?”

It was lovely when Fatty came back again. He brought Buster with him, of course, and the little Scottie went mad with joy when he saw all his friends.

“He didn’t have too good a time at my grandmother’s.” said Fatty. “There was an enormous ginger cat there that would keep chasing him, and my grandmother insisted on his having a bath every single day. He was awfully miserable really. He would have chased the cat, of course; but he was too much of a gentleman to go after a cat belonging to his hostess.”

“Have you bought any disguises yet?” asked Bets excitedly.

“Just waiting for my birthday,” said Fatty. “It’s tomorrow, as you know. Then, when I’ve got enough money, I’m going up to London to do a spot of shopping.”

“By yourself?” said Larry.

“You bet,” said Fatty. “What grown-up would let me spend my money on disguises? Although we’ve solved two frightfully difficult mysteries, no grown-up would think it was necessary to buy wigs and eyebrows - now would they? Even though at any moment we might have to solve a third mystery.”

Put like that, it seemed a really urgent matter to buy disguises of all sorts. Fatty was so very serious about it. Bets felt that the third mystery might be just round the corner.

“Fatty, can we try out the disguises when you buy them?” she said.

“Of course,” said Fatty. “We’ll have to practise wearing them. It will be fun.”

“Have you brought the invisible ink with you this afternoon?” asked Pip. “That’s what I want to see!”

“Can you see invisible ink?” asked Bets. “I shouldn’t have thought you could.”

The others laughed. “Silly! The ink isn’t invisible - it’s only the writing you do with it that is.”

“I’ve got a bottle,” said Fatty. “It’s very expensive.”

He took a bottle from his pocket. It was quite small, and contained a colourless liquid which, to Bets, looked like water.

Fatty took out his note-book and a pen with a clean new nib. He put the bottle on the table, and undid the screw-top.

“Now I’ll write a secret letter,” he said, “and my writing will be invisible.”

Bets leaned over him to see. She lost her balance and jerked hard against the table. The bottle of invisible ink was jolted over, rolled to the edge of the table, and neatly emptied its contents on the floor in a small round puddle, near Buster.

“Woof!” said Buster in surprise, and began to lick it up. But the taste was horrid. He stopped and looked up at the alarmed children, his pink tongue hanging out.

“Oh, Buster! Buster, you’ve drunk invisible ink!” cried Bets, almost in tears. “Fatty, will he become invisible?”

“No, idiot,” said Fatty. “Well, that’s the end of the ink. What a clumsy you are Bets!”

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry,” said poor Bets. “I just sort of slipped. Oh, Fatty, now we can’t write in invisible writing.”

Daisy mopped up the rest of the ink. All the children were disappointed. Buster still hung out his tongue, and had such a disgusted look on his face that Larry fetched him some water to take the nasty taste out of his mouth.

“Well, I know one or two more ways of writing invisibly,” said Fatty, much to Bets’ relief. “Any one got an orange? Now, watch out for a little magic!”

Two Thrilling Lessons

There was a dish of oranges in the room. Bets fetched them. She watched with great interest as Fatty made a hole in one, and squeezed the yellow juice into a cup.

“There!” he said, “orange or lemon juice makes quite good invisible ink, you know.”

The others didn’t know. They thought Fatty was very clever immediately to think of some more invisible ink when Bets had upset his bottle.

He took a clean sheet of paper, dipped his pen in the orange juice, and wrote what looked like a letter. He said out loud what he was writing, and it made the children giggle:

“DEAR CLEAR-ORF, - I suppose you think you will solve the next mystery first. Well, you won’t. Your brains want oiling a bit. They creak too much. Hugs and kisses from

“THE FIVE FIND-OUTERS AND DOG.”

The children giggled, especially at the last bit. “You are an idiot, Fatty,” said Pip. “It’s a good thing old Clear-Orf won’t get the letter.”

“Oh, we’ll send it all right,” said Fatty, “but as it’s written in invisible ink he won’t be able to read it, poor mutt!”

There was nothing to be seen on the sheet of notepaper. The orange-juice ink was certainly invisible!

“But, Fatty, how can any one read invisible writing?” said Daisy.

“Easy,” said Fatty. “I’ll show you how to read this kind. Got an electric iron anywhere?”

“Yes,” said Pip. “But I don’t expect Mother would let us have it. She seems to think that anything she lends us is bound to get broken. Anyway, whatever do yo want an iron for?”

“Wait and see,” said Fatty. “Haven’t you got an ordinary flat-iron, Pip, if we can’t borrow the electric one? There must be one in the kitchen.”

There was. The cook said Pip might have it. “If you break that, I’d be surprised!” she said, and Pip sped upstairs carrying the heavy old iron.

“Heat it on the fire,” said Fatty. So it was put on the fire, and well heated. When Fatty judged that it was warm enough, he took it off the fire, being careful to hold it with an iron-holder.

“Now watch,” he said, and in excitement they all watched. Fatty ran the iron lightly over the sheet on which he had written his invisible letter.

“There it is! It’s all coming up in faint brown letters!” cried Bets, thrilled. “Look! ‘My dear Clear-Orf -’ ”

“ ‘I suppose you will think...’ ” read Pip, in delight.

“Yes, it’s visible now. Golly, that’s clever, Fatty. I would never have thought that ordinary orange juice could be used as invisible ink!”

“It’s better to know that than to know about the proper invisible ink,” said Larry. “That’s expensive, but you only want an orange for this. It’s marvellous, Fatty. Let’s all write letters.”

So they all took sheets of notepaper and wrote letters in orange-juice ink. They wrote rather cheeky letters to people they didn’t like, and squealed with joy when the iron made the writing visible and they each read what the others had written.

“Did you really mean to send old Clear-Orf a letter in invisible ink?” asked Daisy, remembering what Fatty had said. “But what’s the point if he can’t read it?”

“Just the fun of the thing,” said Fatty. “He’ll be so wild to get a letter with no writing on it, and he won’t know how to read it. We shan’t tell him either!”

Fatty wrote out his first letter to Clear-Orf again, sealed up the apparently blank sheet of paper in an envelope and printed Clear-Orf’s name on it.

“It’s rather a silly thing to do, I suppose, but it’ll puzzle old Clear-Orf,” said Fatty, blotting the envelope. “Well, now I’ve taught you to write in invisible ink. Simple, isn’t it?”

“Awfully,” agreed Pip. “But I don’t quite see what use it will be to us, Fatty.”

“You never know,” said Fatty. “One of us might be captured in one mystery we solve, and we might want to get a message to the others. If we wrote it in invisible ink our enemies wouldn’t be able to read the message.”

Bets thought this sounded rather thrilling, though she didn’t very much want to be captured. Then a thought struck her.

“We’ll all have to carry an orange about with us, if ever we have enemies,” she said. “Won’t we? We’d better not take very juicy ones, or they’ll get squashed.”

“And we’d have to take a pen,” said Pip. “Well, I shan’t bother till we have enemies.”

“I shall,” said Fatty seriously. “You never know when you might need to write an invisible message. I take tons of things about with me in my pockets, just in case I might need them.”

This was quite true. The others were often amazed at the things Fatty carried about with him. As a rule he had practically anything needed in an emergency from a lemonade-bottle opener to a pocket-knife that contained twelve different kinds of tools.

“My mother goes through my pockets each night and won’t let me keep half what I want to,” said Pip.

“My mother never does things like that,” said Fatty. “She never bothers about my pockets.”

The others thought that it wasn’t only Fatty’s pockets his mother didn’t bother about - it was Fatty himself! He seemed to come and go as he pleased, missed his meals if he didn’t want them, went to bed what time he liked, and did more or less as he wanted to.

“Fatty, you said you’d show us how to get out of a locked room if the key wasn’t on your side,” said Bets, suddenly remembering. “There’s time to do that, too. Will you?”

“All right,” said Fatty. “Take me up to one of your box-rooms, where I shall be out of the way. Lock me up, and leave me there. Come down here, and I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

“Fibber,” said Larry and Pip together. It really did sound quite impossible.

“Well, try me and see,” said Fatty. “I don’t usually say I can do things if I can’t, do I?”

In excitement the children took Fatty upstairs to a big boxroom, with bare boards inside it, and on the landing as well. They put him inside, then turned the key in the lock. Larry tried the door. Yes, it was well and truly locked.

“You’re locked in, Fatty,” said Pip. “We’re going down now. If you can get out of here, you’re clever! You can’t get out of the window. There’s a sheer drop to the ground.”

“I’m not going to try the window,” said Fatty. “I shall walk out of the door.”

The others went down, feeling rather disbelieving. Fatty surely couldn’t be as clever as all that! Why, it would be like magic if he could go through a locked door!

Only Bets really believed he could. She sat with her eyes on the playroom door, waiting for him to come. Pip got out the ludo board.

“Let’s have a game,” he said. “Old Fatty won’t be down for ages, I expect. We shall hear him yelling to be let out in about ten minutes’ time!”

They set the counters in their places. They found the die, and put it in the thrower. Daisy threw first - but before she could move her counter, the door opened and in walked Fatty, grinning all over his plump face.

“Golly! How did you do it?” asked Larry, in the greatest surprise.

“I knew you would!” squealed Bets.

“How did you do it?” asked Pip and Daisy, burning with curiosity. “Go on - tell us.”

“It’s easy,” said Fatty, smoothing back his tidy hair. “Too easy for words.”

“Don’t keep on saying that! Tell us how you did it!” said Larry. “It’s extraordinary.”

“Well, come up and I’ll show you,” said Fatty. “As a matter of fact, it’s a thing all detectives ought to jolly well know. Elementary.”

“What’s elementary?” asked Bets, climbing the stairs behind Fatty.

“What I’ve just said - too easy for words,” said Fatty. “Well, here we are. Now, Larry, you lock us all four into the room - Buster too, if you like, or he’ll scratch the door down - and then you can all watch what I do. I tell you, it’s elementary!”

The three who were locked in with Fatty watched in excitement. They saw the door shut. They heard Larry turn the key in the lock. They each tried the door. Yes, it was locked all right.

“Now watch,” said Fatty. He took a folded newspaper from his pocket and unfolded it. He flattened the big, wide double-sheet. Then, to the children’s surprise, he slid the newspaper under the bottom of the door until only a small piece was left his side.

“What have you done that for? That won’t open the door!” said Bets. Fatty didn’t answer.

He took a piece of wire from his pocket and inserted it into the keyhole. The key was in the other side, where Larry had left it. Fatty jiggled about with the piece of wire, and then suddenly gave a slight push.

There was a thud on the other side of the door. “I’ve pushed the key out,” said Fatty. “Did you hear it fall? Well, the rest is easy! It’s fallen on to the newspaper outside - and all I have to do is to pull the paper carefully back - oh, very carefully, - and the key will come with it!”

Holding their breath, the children watched the newspaper being pulled under the door. There was a fair space between door and boards, and the key slid easily under the bottom of the door, appearing inside the room!

Fatty took it, slid it into the lock, turned it - and opened the door!

“There you are!” he said. “Very simple. Too easy for words! How to get out of a locked room in one minute!”

“Fatty! It’s marvellous! I’d never, never have thought of that!” cried Daisy. “Did you make up the trick yourself?”

Much as Fatty liked the others to think he was marvellous, he was too honest not to admit it wasn’t really his brain-wave. “Well, I read it in one of my spy books,” he said, “and I tried it out when I got locked in for a punishment one afternoon last term. It gave the master a turn, I can tell you, seeing me walk past him after he’d locked me up.”

“It’s wonderful,” said Bets. “So easy, too. There’s only one thing, Fatty, though - it wouldn’t work if you were locked up in a room that had a carpet going under the door, because there wouldn’t be room to pull in the key.”

“You’re right, Bets. That’s a good point,” said Fatty. “That’s why I wanted to be locked into a boxroom, and not in the playroom downstairs.”

The others were so thrilled with this new trick that they wanted to try it themselves.

“All right,” said Fatty. “It will be good practice. You simply never know when you might be locked up somewhere. Each of you do it in turn.”

So, much to Mrs. Hilton’s surprise, the five children and Buster spent the whole afternoon apparently doing nothing but walk in and out of the cold boxroom, to the accompaniment of squeals and giggles.

“Jolly good, Find-Outers,” said Fatty, when even Bets could escape from the locked room quite easily. “Jolly good. Now tomorrow I’ll go up to London and get some disguises. Look out for some fun the day after!”

A Very Queer Boy

Next day was Fatty’s birthday. He was always sorry it came so near Christmas, because it meant that many people gave him a Christmas and birthday present in one.

“It’s bad luck, Fatty,” said Daisy. “But never mind, we won’t do that. We’ll give you proper birthday presents as well as Christmas presents.”

So, early after breakfast, Pip, Bets, Daisy, and Larry walked up to Fatty’s house to give him the presents they had got for him.

“We’d better go early, because Fatty said he was going up to London to buy those disguises,” said Daisy.

“Yes, by himself,” said Bets. “He’s awfully grown-up, isn’t he?”

“I bet he won’t be allowed to go up by himself,” said Pip.

Fatty and Buster were delighted to see them. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” said Fatty, “because I wanted to ask you if you’d mind looking after Buster for me whilst I go to London. I’m catching the eleven forty-three.”

“Are you really?” said Pip. “All alone?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, Mother is coming with me,” said Fatty. “She’s got it into her head that as I don’t want a party I’d better have some sort of treat. So we’re going to some show or other. But I shall slip off and buy the things I want all right!”

“I’m sorry you won’t be with us on your birthday, Fatty,” said Bets. “But I hope you’ll have a lovely time. Will you come and see us tomorrow and show us all you’ve got?”

“I may not be able to come down tomorrow,” said Fatty. “I may have two or three friends here - people you don’t know. But I’ll come as soon as I can.”

He was very pleased with his presents, especially with Bets’ gift. She had actually managed to knit him a brown and red tie, and Fatty at once put it on. Bets felt proud to think he was going up to London wearing her tie.

“Freddie! Are you ready?” called his mother. “We mustn’t miss the train!”

“Coming, Mother!” sang out Fatty. He took down his money-box and hurriedly emptied all his money into his pockets. The others gaped to see so much - there seemed to be sheaves of ten-shilling and pound notes.

“My aunts and uncles were only too glad to give me money instead of having the bother of buying me presents,” said Fatty, with a grin. “Don’t tell Mother I’ve got so much on me. She’d have a blue fit.”

“Would she really?” said Bets, wishing she could see Mrs. Trotteville in a blue fit. “Oh, Fatty - don’t get your money stolen, will you?”

“No detective would be such an idiot as that,” said Fatty scornfully. “Don’t you worry - the only person to take money out of my pocket is myself! Now, Buster, do be a good dog today. Come home tonight by yourself.”

“Woof!” said Buster politely. He always seemed to understand what was said to him.

“Have you left that invisibly written letter at Mr. Goon’s house yet?” asked Bets, with a giggle.

“No. I thought I’d send one of my friends down tomorrow with it,” said Fatty, grinning. “I didn’t want old Goon to see me. All right, all right, Mother. I’m just coming. I don’t mind if I do have to run all the way! Good-bye, Buster. Hold him, Bets, or he’ll tear after me all down the road to the station.”

Bets held Buster, who wriggled and struggled wildly, barking desperately. He couldn’t bear Fatty to go anywhere without him. Fatty disappeared after his mother, trotting down the drive like a fast pony.

“I hope Fatty will be able to get the things he wants,” said Pip. “It would be such fun to wear disguises.”

They went home with Buster, who at first looked very aggrieved and kept his tail down. But on being presented with a perfect giant of a bone by Bets he decided to get his wag back. After all, when Fatty went away he always came back again. It was just a question of waiting for him. Buster was prepared to wait, if he could while away the time with such a marvellous bone.

“It’s a pity old Fatty won’t be down for a day or two,” said Larry. “I hope his friends don’t stay long. He didn’t tell us who they were.”

“Some of his school friends, I expect,” said Pip. “Well, he’ll be down in two or three days’ time, and then we’ll have gorgeous fun looking at his disguises.”

Buster went home by himself that night, trotting down the drive like a good little dog. He took the remains of the bone with him. He wasn’t going to leave it for Pip’s kitchen cat to finish!

Next day Larry and Daisy came down to play with Pip and Bets. Their playroom was so big and cheerful that it made a nice meeting-place. Bets sat on the window-seat, reading.

She heard the click of the gate down the drive and waited to see who was coming. Perhaps it was Fatty after all. But it wasn’t. It was a queer-looking boy with a limp, a pale, sallow face, and curly hair that stuck out from under a rather foreign-looking cap.

He carried a note in his hand. Bets supposed it must be for her mother. She wondered who the boy was.

She heard the front door open below. Then evidently the maid showed the boy into the sitting-room, where Mrs. Hilton was. Bets waited for him to come out into the drive again.

“There’s a funny-looking boy come with a note,” she said to the others. “He must be seeing Mother. Do watch him come out again.”

They went to the window to watch. But suddenly the playroom door was opened, and in came Mrs. Hilton, followed by the boy, who appeared to be very shy.

He hung back, and twisted his cap round and round in his hands and hung his head. His hair was as curly as Bets’ was, but his face was very pale. He had jutting-out teeth like a rabbit, and they stuck out over his lower lip.

“Children, this is a friend of Frederick’s,” said Mrs. Hilton. “He brought me a note from Mrs. Trotteville, and I thought you might like to ask him in for a few minutes. He would like to see your things, I’m sure. He’s French, and doesn’t seem to understand much English. But still, as Pip was top of his form in French last term, I expect he can talk to him all right.”

The boy hung back. Pip went forward and held out his hand. The boy took it and gave it a limp shake.

“Comment allez-vous?” he said.

“That means, ‘How do you do,’ Bets,” explained Larry.

“Très bien, merci,” said Pip, feeling that he must say something to justify his mother’s pride in his French. But it was one thing to write French sentences in school, when you could look up every single word, and quite another to say something ordinary. For the life of him Pip couldn’t think of a single thing to say in French.

Bets was sorry for the boy. She went forward and took his hand. “Don’t be shy,” she said. “Why didn’t Fatty come with you?”

“Je ne comprends pas,” said the boy, in a rather silly, high voice.

“That means he doesn’t understand,” said Pip to Bets. “Let me try now!” He cleared his throat, thought hard, and addressed the boy.

“Où est Fatty - er, Frederick, I mean.”

“Je ne comprends pas,” said the boy again, and twisted his cap round and round furiously.

“Golly! he doesn’t even understand his own language,” said Pip, in disgust. “I wonder what his name is. I’ll ask him. I know the French sentence for ‘What is your name?’ ”

He turned to the boy again. “Comment appellez-vous?” he said.

“Ah!” said the boy, evidently understanding this. He smiled, and the children saw his enormous, jutting-out teeth, which gave him a very queer look. “My name it ees - Napoleon Bonaparte.”

There was a silence after this extraordinary statement. The children didn’t know what to think. Was the boy called after Napoleon Bonaparte, the famous Frenchman - or was he pulling their legs?

The boy walked across the room, limping badly. Bets wondered what he had done to his leg.

“Is your leg bad?” she asked sympathetically. To her horror the boy fished out a very dirty handkerchief and burst into floods of tears. He muttered strings and strings of French-sounding words into his handkerchief, whilst the others stared at him in discomfort, not in the least knowing what to do.

Mrs. Hilton put her head into the room again to see how the children were getting on with their new friend. She was simply horrified to see him apparently in floods of tears.

“What’s the matter?” she said. “What have you been doing to the boy?”

“Nothing,” said the children indignantly. “I only just asked him about his bad leg,” added Bets.

The boy gave a loud howl, limped across the room to the door, pushed by the distressed Mrs. Hilton, and disappeared down the stairs. “Ah, ma jambe, ma jambe!” he wailed as he went.

“What’s jambe?” asked Bets, bewildered.

“Leg. He’s yelling out, ‘Oh, my leg, my leg!’ ” said Pip. “He’s mad, I think.”

“I must ring up Mrs. Trotteville and ask her about the boy,” said Mrs. Hilton. “Poor child - he doesn’t seem at all well. I wish I hadn’t brought him up to you now. He did seem very tongue-tied and shy, I must say.”

The front door crashed shut. The children crowded to the window and watched the extraordinary French boy go limping down the drive. He still had his handkerchief in his hand, which every now and again he dabbed at his eyes.

“Well, if that’s one of Fatty’s friends I’m glad he didn’t ask us to play with him,” said Larry in disgust.

“I’ll just leave the boy time to get back to Mrs. Trotteville’s,” said Mrs. Hilton, “and then I really must telephone her to ask if he’s arrived all right and to apologize for your upsetting him so.”

The children stared at her indignantly.

“Upsetting him!” said Pip. “We didn’t do anything of the sort, He’s potty.”

“Don’t use that silly word about people,” said Mrs. Hilton.

“Well, dippy then,” said Pip, and got a glare from his mother. She was very particular about the way Pip and Bets spoke and acted.

“I’m sorry to think that you couldn’t put a little foreign boy like that at his ease,” she said, and spent a few more minutes saying the same kind of thing. Then she went to the telephone to ring up Mrs. Trotteville.

But she apparently got on to Fatty, who politely informed Mrs. Hilton that his mother was out and could he take any message for her?

“Well, no, not exactly,” said Mrs. Hilton. “It’s only that I’m rather worried about a friend of yours, Frederick, who called here with a note just now. I took him up to be with the others for a few minutes, and when I went in later something had happened to make him very upset. He fled from the house, weeping bitterly. I just wondered if he had come back all right.”

“Yes, he’s back,” said Fatty cheerfully. “He came and told me how nice the others had been to him, and what fun he had had. He said could he come to tea with them this afternoon, he would so enjoy it.”

Mrs. Hilton was extremely surprised to hear all this. She didn’t say anything for a moment, then she turned to the listening children.

“Er - the boy seems to have got back all right, and to have recovered,” she said. “He wants to come to tea with you this afternoon.”

There was an astonished and horrified silence. Nobody wanted the boy.

“Mother, we can’t have him!” said Pip, in an agonized whisper. “He’s awful; he really is. Do say we’re all going up to Larry’s to tea. Larry, can we come? We simply can’t have that awful boy here again.”

Larry nodded. Mercifully Mrs. Hilton seemed to agree with them, and she turned to the telephone again.

“Oh, Frederick, are you there? Will you tell your friend that Pip and Bets are going out to tea with Larry and Daisy this afternoon, so they won’t be able to have your little French friend. I’m so sorry.”

“Good for you, Mother!” said Pip, when she put the telephone down. “Golly, wouldn’t it have been simply awful to have that boy stuck here for hours. I bet old Fatty wanted us to have him to tea just to get rid of him. I bet the boy didn’t really ask to come. He was scared stiff of us all.”

“Well, you’d better come up to us this afternoon,” said Daisy, “seeing that we’ve told Fatty that. Come up as soon after dinner as you can - about half-past two, if you like.”

“Right,” said Pip. “We’ll be along. Golly, how can Fatty put up with friends like that?”

Clever Fatty

About half-past two that afternoon Pip and Bets set off to go to Larry’s. They had to go through the village, and to their horror they saw the French boy limping along the street.

“Look! there’s that awful boy again,” said Pip. “We’ll just grin at him and go on. Don’t let’s stop, for goodness’ sake, Bets. He might start jabbering at us again, or howling into his hanky.”

The boy went in at a gate. It was Mr. Goon - the policeman’s - gate. He had a note in his hand.

“Look! I bet Fatty has got his Frenchy friend to deliver that invisible letter!” said Pip. “Let’s just wait and see what happens. He’s knocked at the door, so old Clear-Orf may open it.”

The two waited near the gate, half-hidden by a bush. They saw the door open, and Mr. Goon’s red face appeared.

“I have zumsing for you,” said the boy in a foreign accent. “Mistaire Goon, is it not?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Goon, looking in surprise at the boy. He never remembered having seen him before. The boy presented him with a letter, bowed deeply and courteously, and waited.

“What are you waiting for?” said Mr. Goon.