THE EXTRAORDINARY TELEGRAM

Bets and Pip were waiting impatiently for Larry, Daisy and Fatty to come. Bets was on the window-seat of the play-room looking anxiously out of the window.

‘I wish they’d buck up,’ she said. ‘After all, they came home from boarding-school yesterday, and they’ve had plenty of time to come along. I do want to know if Fatty’s got any more disguises and things.’

‘I suppose you think there’ll be another first-class mystery for us to solve these hols,’ said Pip. ‘Golly, that was a wizard one we had in the Christmas hols, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Bets. ‘A bit too wizard. I wouldn’t really mind not having a mystery these hols.’

‘Bets! And I thought you were such a keen detective!’ said Pip. ‘Don’t you want to be a Find-Outer any more?’

‘Of course I do. Don’t be silly!’ said Bets.

‘I know you don’t think I’m much use, because I’m the youngest and only nine, and you’re all in your teens now - but I did help an awful lot last time, when we solved the mystery of the secret room.’

Pip was just about to say something squashing to his little sister when she gave a yell. ‘Here they are! At least - here are Larry and Daisy. Let’s go down and meet them.’

They tore downstairs and out into the drive. Bets flung herself on the boy and girl in delight, and Pip stood by and grinned.

‘Hallo, Larry! Hallo, Daisy! Seen Fatty at all?’

‘No,’ said Larry. ‘Isn’t he here? Blow! Let’s go to the gate and watch for him. Won’t it be fun to see old Buster again too, wagging his tail and trotting along on his short Scottie legs!’

The four children went to the front gate and looked out. There was no sign of Fatty and Buster. The baker’s cart drove by. Then came a woman on a bicycle. Then up the lane plodded a most familiar figure.

It was Mr. Goon the policeman, or old Clear-Orf as the children called him. He was going round on his beat, and was not at all pleased to see the four children at Pip’s gate, watching him. Mr. Goon did not like the children, and they certainly did not like him. There had been three mysteries to solve in their village of Peterswood in the last year, and each time the children had solved them before Mr. Goon.

‘Good morning,’ said Larry politely, as Mr. Goon came by, panting a little for he was plump. His frog-eyes glared at them.

‘So you’re back again, like bad pennies,’ he said. ‘Ho! Poking your noses into things again, I suppose!’

‘I expect so,’ said Pip cheerfully. Mr. Goon was just about to make another crushing remark when there came a wild ringing of bicycle bells and a boy came round the corner at top speed on a bicycle.

‘Telegraph-boy,’ said Pip. ‘Look out, Mr. Goon, look out!’

The telegraph-boy had swerved right over to the policeman, and it looked as if he was going straight into him. Mr. Goon gave a yelp and skipped like a lamb out of the way.

‘Now then, what you riding like that for? A public danger, that’s what you boys are!’ exploded Mr. Goon.

‘Sorry, sir, my bicycle sort of swerved over,’ said the boy. ‘Did I hurt you, sir? I’m downright sorry!’

Mr. Goon’s temper cooled down at the boy’s politeness. ‘What house are you wanting?’ he asked.

‘I’ve got a telegram for Master Philip Hilton,’ said the telegraph-boy, looking at the name and address on the orange envelope in his hand.

‘Oh! Here’s Pip!’ said Bets. ‘Oooh, Pip - a telegram for you!’

The boy propped his bicycle by the side of the pavement, its pedal catching the kerb. But he didn’t balance it very firmly and it fell over with a clatter, the handle-bar catching Mr. Goon on the shin.

He let out such a yell that all the children jumped. He hopped round, trying to hold his ankle and keep his balance too. Bets gave a sudden giggle.

‘Oh, sir, I’m sorry!’ cried the boy. ‘That dratted bike! It’s always falling over. Don’t you be angry with me, sir. Don’t you report me, will you? I’m that sorry!’

Mr. Goon’s red face was redder than ever. He glared at the telegraph-boy, and rubbed his ankle again. ‘You deliver your telegram and clear-orf,’ he said. ‘Wasting the time of the post-office, that’s what you’re doing!’

‘Yes, sir,’ said the boy meekly, and gave Pip the orange envelope. Pip tore it open, full of curiosity. He had never had a telegram sent to him before.

He read it out loud. It was from Fatty.

‘SORRY NOT TO SEE YOU THESE HOLS. HAVE GOT A MYSTERY TO SOLVE IN TIPPYLOOLOO, AND AM LEAVING BY AEROPLANE TODAY. ALL THE BEST! FATTY.’

The children crowded round to see the telegram. They couldn’t believe their ears. What an extraordinary telegram! Mr. Goon could hardly believe his ears either.

‘You let me see that,’ he said, and took it out of Pip’s hand. He read it out loud to himself.

‘This is from that boy Frederick Trotteville, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Fatty, you call him, don’t you? What does it mean? Leaving by aeroplane for Tippy - Tippy - whatever it is. Never heard of the place in my life!’

‘It’s in South China,’ said the telegraph-boy unexpectedly. ‘I got an uncle out there, that’s how I know.’

‘But - but - why should Fatty go - why should he solve a mystery out there - why, why...’ began the four children, absolutely taken aback.

‘We shan’t see him these hols,’ suddenly wailed Bets, who was extremely fond of Fatty, and had looked forward very much to seeing him.

‘And a good thing too,’ said Mr. Goon, giving the telegram back to Pip. ‘That’s what I say. A jolly good thing too. He’s a tiresome nuisance that boy is, pretending to play at being a detective - and using disguises to deceive the Law - and poking his nose in where it’s not wanted. Perhaps we’ll have a little peace these holidays if that interfering boy has gone to Tippy - Tippy - whatever it is.’

‘Tippylooloo,’ said the telegraph-boy, who seemed as much interested as any one else. ‘I say, sir - is that telegram from that clever chap, Mr. Trotteville? I’ve heard about him.’

‘Mr. Trotteville!’ echoed Mr. Goon, indignantly. ‘Why, he’s no more than a kid. Mr. Trotteville! Mr. Interfering Fatty, that’s what I call him!’

Bets gave a sudden giggle again. Mr. Goon had gone purple. He always did when he was annoyed.

‘Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to make you all hot and bothered, sir,’ said the telegraph-boy, who seemed very good indeed at apologizing for everything. ‘But of course we’ve all heard of that boy, sir. Very very clever chap, he seems to be. Didn’t he get on to some big plot last hols, sir, before the police did?’

Mr. Goon was not at all pleased to hear that Fatty’s fame was apparently spread abroad like this. He did one of his snorts.

‘You got better things to do at the post-office than listen to fairy-tales like that!’ he said to the eager telegraph-boy. ‘That boy Fatty’s just an interfering little nuisance and always was, and he leads these kids here into trouble too. I reckon their parents’ll be pretty glad that boy’s gone to Tippy - Tippy - er...’

‘Tippylooloo,’ said the telegraph-boy obligingly. ‘Fancy him being asked out there to solve a mystery, sir. Coo, he must be clever!’

The four children were delighted to hear all this. They knew how the policeman must hate it.

‘You get along now,’ said Mr. Goon, feeling that the telegraph-boy was a real nuisance. ‘Clear-orf! You’ve wasted enough time.’

‘Yes, sir; certainly, sir,’ said the polite boy. ‘Fancy that fellow going off to Tippylooloo - by aeroplane too. Coo! I must write to my uncle out there and get him to tell me what Mr. Trotteville’s doing. Coo!’

‘Clear-orf!’ said Mr. Goon. The boy winked at the others and took hold of his bicycle handles. The children couldn’t help liking him. He had red hair, freckles all over his face, red eyebrows and a funny twisty mouth.

He got on his bicycle, did a dangerous swerve towards Mr. Goon, and was off down the road ringing the two bells he had as loudly as ever he could.

‘There’s a boy that’s civil and respectful to the Law,’ said Mr. Goon to the others. ‘And he’s an example to follow, see!’

But the other children were no longer paying attention to the fat policeman. Instead they were looking at the telegram again. How surprising it was! Fatty was surprising, of course - but to go off by plane to China!

‘Mother would never let me do a thing like that,’ said Pip. ‘After all, Fatty’s only thirteen. I can’t believe it!’

Bets burst into tears. ‘I did so want him to come back for the hols and find another mystery!’ she wailed. ‘I did, I did!’

‘Shut up, Bets, and don’t be a baby,’ said Pip. ‘We can solve mysteries without Fatty, can’t we?’

But privately each of them knew that without Fatty they couldn’t do much. Fatty was the real leader, the one who dared to do all kinds of things, the real brain of the Find-Outers.

‘Without Fatty we’re like rabbit-pie without any rabbit in it,’ said Daisy dolefully. That sounded funny, but nobody laughed. They all knew what Daisy meant. Things weren’t nearly so exciting and interesting without Fatty.

‘I just can’t get over it,’ said Larry, walking up the drive with the others. ‘Fatty off to South China! And what can be the mystery he’s solving there? I do think he might have found time to come and tell us.’

‘That telegraph-boy thought an awful lot of Fatty, didn’t he?’ said Bets. ‘Fancy! Fatty must be getting quite famous!’

‘Yes. Old Clear-Orf didn’t like him praising up Fatty, did he!’ chuckled Larry. ‘I liked that boy. He sort of reminded me of some one, but I can’t think who.’

‘I say - what’s going to happen to Buster?’ suddenly said Bets, stopping still in the drive. ‘Fatty wouldn’t be allowed to take his dog with him - and Buster would break his heart left alone. What do you suppose is happening to him? Couldn’t we have him?’

‘I bet Fatty would like us to have him,’ said Pip. ‘Let’s go up to Fatty’s house and ask his mother about Buster. Come on. We’ll go now.’

They all turned and went back down the drive. Bets felt a little comforted. It would be something to have Fatty’s dog, even if they couldn’t have Fatty. Dear old Buster! He was such a darling, and had shared all their adventures.

They came to Fatty’s house and went into the drive. Fatty’s mother was picking some daffodils for her vases, and she smiled at the children.

‘Back for the holidays!’ she said. ‘Well, I hope you’ll all have a nice time. You’re looking very solemn. Is anything the matter?’

‘Well - we just came to see if we could have Buster for the hols,’ said Larry. ‘Oh, there he is! Buster, Buster old fellow! Come here!’

FATTY REALLY IS SURPRISING!

Buster came tearing up to the children, barking madly, his tail wagging nineteen to the dozen. He flung himself on them and tried to lick and bark at the same time.

‘Good old Buster!’ said Pip. ‘I bet you’ll miss Fatty!’

‘It was a great surprise to hear that Fatty has gone to China,’ said Daisy to Mrs. Trotteville. Fatty’s mother looked surprised.

‘In an aeroplane too! ’ said Larry. ‘You’ll miss him, won’t you, Mrs. Trotteville?’

‘What exactly do you mean?’ asked Mrs. Trotteville, looking as if she thought the children had gone mad all of a sudden.

‘Gracious - Fatty can’t have told her!’ said Bets, in a loud whisper.

‘Told me what?’ said Mrs. Trotteville, getting impatient. ‘What’s the mystery? What’s Fatty been up to?’

‘But - but - don’t you know?’ stammered Larry. ‘He’s gone to Tippylooloo, and...’

‘Tippylooloo! What’s all this nonsense?’ said Mrs. Trotteville. She raised her voice. ‘Frederick! Come here a minute!’

The children turned breathlessly to the house - and out of the front door stepping lazily, came Fatty! Yes, it really was Fatty, as large as life, grinning all over his plump face. Bets gave a loud shriek and ran to him. She hugged him.

‘Oh, I thought you’d gone to Tippylootoo! Didn’t you go? Oh, Fatty, I’m so glad you’re here!’

The others stared. They were puzzled. ‘Did you send us that telegram?’ said Daisy suddenly. ‘Was it a joke on your part, Fatty?’

‘What telegram?’ asked Fatty innocently. ‘I was just about to come down and see you all.’

‘This telegram!’ said Pip, and pushed it into Fatty’s hand. He read it and looked astonished.

‘Somebody’s been playing a joke on you,’ he said. ‘Silly sort of joke. And anyway, fancy you all believing I was off to Tippylooloo! Gosh!’

‘You and your jokes! ’ said Mrs. Trotteville. ‘As if I should let Frederick go to China, or wherever that ridiculous Tippylooloo place is. Now, if you want to go and talk to Frederick, either go indoors or go for a walk.’

They went indoors. They still felt very puzzled. Buster danced round, barking in delight. He was overjoyed because the whole company of Find-Outers was together again.

‘Who delivered this telegram?’ asked Fatty.

‘The telegraph-boy,’ said Pip. ‘A red-haired chap with freckles and a cheeky kind of voice. He let his bike-handle catch old Clear-Orf on the shin! You should have seen him dance round!’

‘Hm,’ said Fatty. ‘There’s something queer about that telegraph-boy, I think! Delivering a telegram I didn’t send! Let’s go out and look for him and ask him a few questions!’

They went out, and walked down the lane together, Buster at their heels. ‘You go that way, Larry and Daisy, and you go the opposite way, Pip and Bets,’ said Fatty. ‘I’ll take this third way. We’ll scour the village properly for that boy, and meet at the corner by the church in half an hour’s time.’

‘I want to go with you, Fatty,’ said Bets.

‘No, you go with Pip,’ said Fatty, unexpectedly hard-hearted. He usually let Bets have her own way in everything. Bets said nothing but walked off with Pip, feeling rather hurt.

Larry and Daisy saw no telegraph-boy at all, and were waiting by the church corner in twenty-five minutes’ time. Then Pip and Bets came up. They hadn’t seen him either. They looked up and down for Fatty and Buster.

Round the corner came a bicycle, and on it was - the red-headed telegraph-boy, whistling loudly. Larry gave a yell.

‘Oy! Come over here a minute!’

The telegraph-boy wobbled over, and balanced himself by the kerb. His red hair fell in a big lock over his forehead, and his uniform cap was well on one side.

‘What’s up, mate?’ he said.

‘It’s about that telegram,’ said Larry. ‘It’s all nonsense! Our friend Frederick Trotteville hasn’t gone to China - he’s here!’

‘Where?’ said the boy, looking all round.

‘I mean he’s in the village somewhere,’ said Larry. ‘He’ll be along in a minute.’

‘Coo!’ said the boy. ‘I wouldn’t half like to see him! He’s a wonder, he is! I wonder the police don’t take him on, and get him to help them with their problems.’

‘Well, we all helped to solve the mysteries you know,’ said Pip, beginning to feel that it was time he and the others got a bit of praise too.

‘No, did you really?’ said the boy. ‘I thought it was Mr. Trotteville that was the brains of the party. Coo, I’d like to meet him! Do you think he’d give me his autograph?’

The children stared at him, thinking that Fatty must indeed be famous if telegraph-boys wanted his autograph.

‘That was a dud telegram you brought,’ said Larry. ‘A fake, a joke. Did you fake it?’

‘Me fake it! Coo, I’d lose my job!’ said the telegraph-boy. ‘Look here, when’s this famous friend of yours coming? I want to meet him, but I can’t wait here all day. I’ve got to get back to the P.O.’

‘Well, the post-office can wait a minute or two, I should think, said Pip, who felt that none of them had got very much information out of the telegraph- boy, and was hoping that perhaps Fatty might.

A small dog rounded the corner, and Bets gave a yell. ‘Buster! Come on, Buster! Where’s Fatty? Tell him to hurry.’

Everyone thought that Fatty would come round the corner too, but he didn’t. Buster trotted on towards them alone. He didn’t growl at the telegraph-boy. He gave him a lick and then sat down beside him on the kerb, turning adoring eyes up to him.

Bets was most astonished. She had never seen Buster adoring any one but Fatty in that way. She stared at the little black dog, surprised. What should make him like the telegraph-boy so much?

Then she gave a loud squeal and pounced on the telegraph-boy so suddenly that he jumped.

‘Fatty!’ she said. ‘Oh, Fatty! What idiots we are! FATTY!’

Pip’s mouth fell open. Daisy stared as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. Larry exploded and banged the telegraph-boy on the back.

‘You wretch! You absolute wretch! You took us all in properly - and you took old Clear-Orf in too. Fatty, you’re a marvel. How do you do it?’

Fatty grinned at them all. He removed his red eyebrows with a pull. He rubbed off his freckles with a wetted hanky. He shifted his red wig a little so that the others could see his sleek black hair beneath.

‘Fatty! It’s the most wonderful disguise!’ said Pip enviously. ‘But how do you manage to twist up your mouth to make it different and screw up your eyes to make them smaller and all that kind of thing?’

‘Oh, that’s just good acting,’ said Fatty, swelling a little with pride. ‘I’ve told you before, haven’t I, that I always take the chief part in our school plays, and this last term I...’

But the children didn’t want to hear about Fatty’s wonderful doings at school. They had heard about those too often. Larry interrupted him.

‘Golly! Now I know why the telegraph-boy praised you up so! Idiot! Calling yourself Mr. Trotteville and waiting for your own autograph! Honestly, Fatty, you’re the limit!’

They all went to Pip’s house and were soon settled in the playroom, examining Fatty’s cap and wig and everything.

‘It’s a new disguise I got,’ explained Fatty. ‘I wanted to try it out, of course. Fine wig, isn’t it? It cost an awful lot of money. I daren’t tell Mother. I could hardly wait to play that joke on you. I’m getting awfully good at disguises and acting.’

‘You are, Fatty,’ said Bets generously. ‘I would never have known it was you if I hadn’t noticed Buster sitting down looking up at you with that sort of adoring look he keeps for you, Fatty.’

‘So that’s how you guessed, you clever girl!’ said Fatty. ‘I call that pretty good, Bets. Honestly, I sometimes think you notice even more than the others!’

Bets glowed, but Pip did not look too pleased. He always thought of Bets as his baby sister, and thought she ought to be kept under, and not made conceited about herself.

‘She’ll get swelled head,’ he growled. ‘Any of us could have spotted Buster’s goofy look at you.’

‘Ah, but you didn’t,’ said Fatty. ‘I say - isn’t it great that old Clear-Orf thinks I’ve gone to Tippylooloo! That was a bit of luck, his happening to be with you when I cycled up this morning. Didn’t he jump when I let my bike fall on his shin!’

They all stared at Fatty in admiration. The things he did! The things he thought of! Bets giggled.

‘Won’t he be surprised when you turn up!’ she said. ‘He’ll think you’ve come back from Tippylooloo already!’

‘What a name!’ said Daisy. ‘How in the world did you think of it?’

‘Oh, things like that are easy,’ said Fatty, modestly. ‘Poor old Clear-Orf! He just swallowed that telegram whole!’

‘Are you going to use that disguise when we solve our next mystery?’ asked Bets, eagerly.

‘What’s our next mystery?’ said Pip. ‘We haven’t got one! It would be too much to expect one these hols.’

‘Well, you never know,’ said Fatty. ‘You simply never know! I bet a mystery will turn up again - and I jolly well hope we’ll be on to it before old Clear-Orf is. Do you remember how I locked him up in the coal-hole in our last mystery?’

Everyone laughed. They remembered how poor old Mr. Goon had staggered up out of the coal-hole, black with coal-dust, his helmet lost, and with a most terrible sneezing cold.

‘And we sent him some carbolic soap and found his helmet for him,’ remembered Daisy. ‘And he wasn’t a bit grateful, and never even thanked us. And Pip’s mother said it was rather an insult to send him soap and was cross with us.’

‘I’d like another mystery to solve,’ said Pip. ‘We’ll all keep our ears and eyes open. The hols have begun well, with you in your new disguise, Fatty - taking old Goon in as well as us!’

‘I must go,’ said Fatty, getting up. ‘I’ve got to slip back and change out of this telegraph-boy’s suit. I’ll just put on my wig and eyebrows again in case I meet Clear-Orf. Well - so long!’

OH, FOR A MYSTERY!

A whole week went by. The weather was rather dull and rainy, and the children got tired of it. It wasn’t much fun going for walks and getting soaked. On the other hand they couldn’t stay indoors all day.

The five of them and Buster met at Pip’s each day, because Pip had a fine big playroom. They made rather a noise sometimes, and then Mrs. Hilton would come in, looking cross.

‘There’s no need to behave as if you were a hurricane and an earthquake rolled into one!’ she said, one day. Then she looked in surprise at Pip. ‘Pip, what on earth are you doing?’

‘Nothing, Mother,’ said Pip, unwinding himself hurriedly from some weird purple garment. ‘Just being a Roman emperor, that’s all, and telling my slaves what I think of them.’

‘Where did you get that purple thing,’ asked his mother. ‘Oh, Pip - surely you haven’t taken Mrs. Moon’s bed-spread to act about in?’

‘Well, she’s out,’ said Pip. ‘I didn’t tlunk it would matter, Mother.’

Mrs. Moon was the cook-housekeeper, and had been with the Hiltons only a few months. The last cook was in hospital ill. Mrs. Moon was a really wonderful cook, but she had a very bad temper. Mrs. Hilton was tired of hearing her grumble about the children.

‘You just put that bed-spread back at once!’ she said. ‘Mrs. Moon will be most annoyed if she thinks you’ve been into her bedroom and taken her bed-covering. That was wrong of you, Pip. And will you all please remember to wipe your feet when you come in at the garden-door this wet weather? Mrs. Moon says she is always washing your muddy foot-marks away.’

‘She’s a spiteful old tell-tale,’ said Pip sulkily.

‘I won’t have you talking like that, Pip,’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘She’s a very good cook and does her work extremely well. It’s no wonder she complains when you make her so much extra cleaning - and, by the way, she says things sometimes disappear from the larder and she feels sure it’s you children taking them. I hope that’s not so.’

Pip looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, Mother,’ he began, ‘it’s only that we’re most awfully hungry sometimes, and you see...’

‘No, I don’t see at all,’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘Mrs. Moon is in charge of the larder, and you are not to take things without either my permission or hers. Now take back that bed-spread, for goodness sake, and spread it out neatly. Daisy, go with Pip and see that he puts it back properly.’

Daisy went off meekly with Pip. Mrs. Hilton could be very strict, and all five children were in awe of her, and of Mr. Hilton too. They would not stand any nonsense at all, either from their own children or from other people’s! Yet they all liked Mrs. Hilton very much, and Pip and Bets thought the world of her.

Daisy and Pip returned to the playroom. Mrs. Hilton had gone. Pip looked at the others and grinned.

‘We put it back,’ he said. ‘We pulled it this way and that, we patted it down, we draped it just right, we...’

‘Oh, shut up!’ said Larry. ‘I don’t like Mrs. Moon. She may be a good cook - and must say she makes marvellous cakes - but she’s a tell-tale.’

‘I bet poor old Gladys is scared of her,’ said Daisy. Gladys was the housemaid, a timid, quiet little thing, ready with shy smiles, and very willing to do anything for the children.

‘I like Mrs. Cockles the best,’ said Bets. ‘She’s got a lovely name, I think. She’s the char-woman. She comes to help Mrs. Moon and Gladys twice a week. She tells me all kinds of things.’

‘Good old Cockles!’ said Pip. ‘She always hands us out some of Mrs. Moon’s jam-tarts on baking day, if we slip down to the kitchen.’

Larry yawned and looked out of the window. ‘This disgusting weather! ’ he said. ‘Raining again! It’s jolly boring. I wish to goodness we’d got something to do - a mystery to solve, for instance.’

‘There doesn’t seem to be a single thing,’ said Daisy. ‘No robberies - not even a bicycle stolen, in the village. Nothing.’

‘I bet old Clear-Orf will be pleased if we don’t get a mystery this time,’ said Fatty.

‘Has he seen you yet?’ asked Bets. Fatty shook his head.

‘No. I expect he still thinks I’m away at Tippylooloo,’ he said, with a grin. ‘He’ll be surprised when I turn up.’

‘Let’s go out, even if it is raining,’ said Pip. ‘Let’s go and snoop about. Don’t you remember how last hols I snooped round an empty house and found that secret room at the top of it? Well, let’s go and snoop again. We might hit on something!’

So they all put on macks and sou’-westers and went for a snoop. ‘We might find some clues,’ said Bets hopefully.

‘Clues to what!’ said Pip scornfully. ‘You have to have a mystery before you can find clues, silly!’

They snooped round a few empty houses, but there didn’t seem anything extraordinary about them at all. They peered into an empty shed, and were scared almost out of their wits when a tall tramp rose up from the dark corners and yelled at them.

They tramped over a deserted allotment and examined a tumble-down cottage at one end very thoroughly. But there was absolutely nothing queer or strange or mysterious to find.

‘It’s tea-time,’ said Fatty. ‘We’d better go home. I’ve got an aunt coming. See you tomorrow!’

Larry and Daisy drifted off home too. Pip and Bets splashed their way down their wet lane and went gloomily indoors.

‘Dull and boring!’ said Pip, flinging his mack down on the hall-cupboard floor. ‘Nothing but rain! Nothing to do!’

‘You’ll get into a row if you leave your wet mack on the ground,’ said Bets, hanging hers up.

‘Pick it up then,’ said Pip, in a bad temper. He hadn’t even an exciting book to read. His mother had gone out to tea. He and Bets were alone in the house with Gladys.

‘Let’s ask Gladys to come up to the playroom and play cards,’ said Pip. ‘She loves a game. Mrs. Moon isn’t in to say No.’

Gladys was only too delighted tp come and play. She was about nineteen, a pretty, dark-haired girl, timid in her ways, and easily pleased. She enjoyed the game of Happy Families as much as the two children did. She laughed at all their jokes, and they had a very happy time together.

‘It’s your bed-time now, Miss Bets,’ she said at last. ‘And I’ve got to go and see to the dinner. Do you want me to run your bath-water for you, Miss?’

‘No, thank you. I like doing it myself,’ said Bets. ‘Goodbye, Gladys. I like you!’

Gladys went downstairs. Bets went to run the bath-water. Pip went off whistling to change into a clean suit. His parents would not let him sit up to dinner unless he was clean and tidy.

‘Perhaps it will be fine and sunny tomorrow,’ thought Pip, looking out of the window at the darkening western sky. ‘It doesn’t look so bad tonight. We might be able to get a few bike-rides and picnics in if only the weather clears.’

It was fine and sunny the next day. Larry, Daisy, Fatty and Buster arrived at Pip’s early, full of a good plan.

‘Let’s take our lunch with us and go to Burnham Beeches,’ said Larry. ‘We’ll have grand fun there. You should just see some of the beeches, Bets - enormous old giants all gnarled and knotted, and some of them really seem to have faces in their knotted old trunks!’

‘Oooh - I’d like to go,’ said Bets. ‘I’m big enough to ride all the way with you this year. Mummy wouldn’t let me last year.’

‘What’s up with your Gladys?’ said Fatty, scratching Buster on the tummy, as he lay upside down by his chair.

‘Gladys? Nothing!’ said Pip. ‘Why?’

‘Well, she looked as if she’d been crying when I saw her in the hall this morning,’ said Fatty. ‘I came in at the garden door as usual, and bumped into her in the hall. Her eyes looked as red as anything.’

‘Well, she was quite all right last night,’ said Pip, remembering the lively game they had had. ‘Perhaps she got into a row with Mrs. Moon.’

‘Shouldn’t think so,’ said Fatty. ‘Mrs. Moon called out something to her quite friendly as I passed. Perhaps she’s had bad news.’

Bets felt upset. She went to find Gladys. The girl was sweeping the bedroom floors. Yes, her eyes were very red!

‘Gladys, have you been crying?’ asked Bets. ‘What’s the matter? Has somebody been scolding you?’

‘No,’ said Gladys, trying to smile. ‘Nothing’s the matter, Miss Bets. I’m all right. Right as rain.’

Bets looked at her doubtfully. She didn’t look at all happy. What could have happened between last night and now?

‘Have you had bad news!’ said Bets, looking very sympathetic.

‘Now just you heed what I say,’ said Gladys. ‘There’s nothing the matter. You run off to the others.’

There was nothing to do but go back. ‘She has been crying,’ said Bets, ‘but she won’t tell me why.’

‘Well, leave her alone,’ said Larry, who didn’t like crying females. ‘Why should we pry into her private affairs? Come on, let’s go and ask about this picnic.’

Mrs. Hilton was only too glad to say that the children could go off for the day. It was tiring having them in the house all day long, especially as Pip’s playroom was the general meeting-room.

‘I was going to suggest that you went off for the day myself,’ she said. ‘You can take your lunch and your tea, if you like! I’ll get it ready for you, whilst Fatty and the others go back to get theirs.’

It was soon ready. Mrs. Hilton gave them the packets of sandwiches and cake. ‘Now just keep out for the whole day and don’t come tearing back because you’re bored,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t want to see any of you till after tea. I’ve got important things to do today.’

‘What are they, Mother?’ asked Pip, hoping he was not going to miss anything exciting.

‘Never you mind,’ said his mother. ‘Now, off you go and have a lovely day!’

They rode off on their bicycles. ‘Mother seemed to want to get rid of us today, didn’t she?’ said Pip. ‘I mean - she almost pushed us out. I wonder why? And what’s so important today? She didn’t tell us about any Meeting or anything.’

‘You’re trying to make it out to be quite a mystery!’ said Bets. ‘I expect she’s going to turn out cupboards or something. Mothers always seem to think things like that are very important. Hurrah, Pip - there are the others! Come on!’

With a jangling of bicycle bells the little party rode off. Buster sat solemnly in Fatty’s basket. He loved a picnic. A picnic meant woods or fields, and woods or fields meant one thing and one thing only to Buster - rabbits!

MR. GOON’S GLOVE

The children had a lovely day. It was warm and sunny, there were primroses everywhere, and the little bright mauve dog-violets made a carpet with the wind-flowers.

‘This is glorious,’ said Daisy. ‘Thank goodness the weather’s changed at last. Let’s lay out our macks and sit on them.’

Buster went off happily. The children watched him go. ‘Off to solve the great Rabbit Mystery!’ said Fatty. ‘Where is the rabbit-hole that is big enough to take a dog like Buster? That is the great problem Buster’s always hoping to solve.’

Everyone laughed. ‘I wish we had a great problem to solve,’ said Daisy. ‘I’ve sort of got used to having something for my brains to chew on each hols. It seems odd not to have anything really to think about.’

The day passed quickly. It was soon time to go home again, and the five mounted their bicycles. Buster had with difficulty been removed from halfway down a rather big rabbit-hole. He had been very angry at being hauled out, and now sat sulkily in Fatty’s basket, his ears down. Just as he had almost reached that rabbit! Another minute and he’d have got him!

‘Buster’s sulking,’ said Pip, and laughed. ‘Oy, Buster! Cheer up!’

‘I wonder if Mother’s done all the important things she said she had to do,’ said Bets to Pip. ‘Anyway she can’t say she’s been much bothered with us today!’

They all parted at the church corner to go their different ways. ‘We’ll meet at Larry’s tomorrow!’ said Fatty. ‘In the garden if it’s fine. Cheerio!’

Pip and Bets biked down their lane and into their drive. ‘I’m jolly thirsty,’ said Pip. ‘I wonder if Gladys would give us some ice out of the frig to put into a jug of water. I feel like a drink of iced water, I’m so hot.’

‘Well, don’t ask Mrs. Moon,’ said Bets. ‘She’s sure to say no!’

They went to find Gladys. She wasn’t in the kitchen, for they peeped in at the window to see. She wasn’t upstairs either, for they went up and called her. Their mother heard them and came out of the study to greet them as they ran downstairs again.

‘Did you have a lovely day?’ she said. ‘I was pleased it was so fine for you.’

‘Yes, a super day,’ said Pip. ‘Mother, can we have a drink of iced water? We’re melting!’

‘Yes, if you like,’ Mrs. Hilton said. They shot off to the kitchen. They peeped in. Mrs. Moon was there, knitting.

‘What do you want?’ she said, looking unexpectedly amiable.

‘Just some iced water, please,’ said Pip. ‘But we weren’t going to ask you for it, Mrs. Moon. We were going to ask Gladys. We didn’t want to bother you.’

‘No bother,’ said Mrs. Moon, getting up. ‘I’ll get it.’

‘Is Gladys out?’ asked Bets.

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Moon shortly. ‘Now, take these ice-cubes quick, and slip them into a jug. That’s right.’

‘But it isn’t Gladys’s day out, is it?’ said Pip, surprised. ‘She went the day before yesterday.’

‘There now - you’ve dropped an ice-cube!’ said Mrs. Moon. ‘Well, I’m no good at chasing ice-cubes round the kitchen floor, so you must get it yourselves.’

Bets giggled as Pip tried to get the cold slippery ice-cube off the floor. He rinsed it under the tap and popped it into the jug.

‘Thanks, Mrs. Moon,’ he said and carried the jug and two glasses up to the playroom.

‘Mrs. Moon didn’t seem to want to talk about Gladys, did she?’ said Pip. ‘Funny.’

‘Pip - you don’t think Gladys has left, do you?’ suddenly said Bets. ‘I do hope she hasn’t. I did like her.’

‘Well - we can easily find out,’ said Pip. ‘Let’s go and peep in her bedroom. If her things are there we’ll know she’s just out for a while and is coming back.’

They went along the landing to the little room that Gladys had. They opened the door and peeped in. They stared in dismay.

Every single thing that had belonged to Gladys had gone! Her brush and comb, her tooth-brush, and the little blue night-dress case she had embroidered at school for herself. There was nothing at all to show that the girl had been there for a month or two.

‘Yes - she has gone!’ said Bets. ‘Well, why didn’t Mother tell us? Or Mrs. Moon? What’s all the mystery?’

‘It’s jolly funny,’ said Pip. ‘Do you think she stole anything? She seemed so nice. I liked her.’

‘Let’s go and ask Mother,’ said Bets. So they went down to the study. But their mother was not there. They were just turning to go out when Pip’s sharp eyes caught sight of something lying under a chair. He picked it up.

It was a large black woollen glove. He stared at it, trying to remember who wore black woollen gloves.

‘Whose is it?’ asked Bets. ‘Look - isn’t that a name inside?’

Pip looked - and the name he saw there made him stare hard. On a little tab was printed in marking ink, five letters: ‘T. GOON.’

‘T. Goon! Theophilus Goon!’ said Pip, in surprise. ‘Golly! What was old Clear-Orf here for today? He came here and sat in this study, and left a glove behind. No wonder Mother said she had important things to do if she had old Clear-Orf coming for a meeting! But why did he come?’

Bets burst into a loud wail. ‘He’s taken Gladys to prison! I know he has! Gladys has gone to prison, and I did like her so much.’

‘Shut up, idiot!’ said Pip. ‘Mother will hear you.’

Mrs. Hilton came quickly into the study, thinking that Bets must surely have hurt herself. ‘What’s the matter dear?’ she asked.

‘Mother! Mr. Goon’s taken Gladys to prison, hasn’t he?’ wept Bets. ‘But I’m sure she didn’t steal or anything. I’m sure she didn’t. She was n-n-n-nice!’

‘Bets, don’t be silly,’ said her mother. ‘Of course Mr. Goon hasn’t done anything of the sort.’

‘Well, why was he here then?’ demanded Pip.

‘How do you know he was?’ said his mother.

‘Because of this,’ said Pip, and he held out the large woollen glove. ‘That’s Mr. Goon’s glove. So we know he has been here in the study - and as Gladys is gone we feel pretty certain Mr. Goon’s had something to do with her going.’

‘Well, he hasn’t,’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘She was very upset about something today and I let her go home to her aunt.’

‘Oh,’ said Pip. ‘Then why did Mr. Goon come to see you, Mother?’

‘Really, Pip, it’s no business of yours,’ said his mother, quite crossly. ‘I don’t want you prying into it either. I know you all fancy yourselves as detectives, but this is nothing whatever to do with you, and I’m not going to have you mixed up in any of your so-called mysteries again.’

‘Oh - is there a mystery then?’ said Bets. ‘And is old Clear-Orf trying to solve it? Oh Mother, you might tell us, you might!’

‘It’s nothing whatever to do with you,’ said Mrs. Hilton firmly. ‘Your father and I have discussed something with Mr. Goon, that’s all.’

‘Has he been complaining about us? ’ asked Pip.

‘No, for a wonder he hasn’t,’ said his mother. ‘Stop howling, Bets. There’s nothing to wail about.’

Bets dried her eyes. ‘Why did Gladys go?’ she said. ‘I want her to come back.’

‘Well, maybe she will,’ said her mother. ‘I can’t tell you why she went, except that she was upset about something, that’s all. It’s her own private business.’

Mrs. Hilton went out of the room. Pip looked at Bets, and slipped his hand into the enormous black glove. ‘Golly, what a giant of a hand old Clear-Orf must have,’ he said. ‘I do wonder why he was here, Bets. It was something to do with Gladys, I’m certain.’

‘Let’s go up and tell Fatty,’ said Bets. ‘He’ll know what to do. Why is everything being kept such a secret? And oh, I do hate to think of Clear-Orf sitting here talking with Mother, and grinning to think we were not to know anything about it!’

They couldn’t go up to Fatty’s that evening, because Mrs. Hilton suddenly decided she wanted to wash their hair. ‘But mine’s quite clean,’ protested Pip.

‘It looks absolutely black,’ said his mother. ‘What have you been doing to it to-day, Pip? Standing on your head in a heap of soot, or something?’

‘Can’t we have our heads washed tomorrow night?’ said Bets. But it wasn’t a bit of good. It had to be then and there. So it wasn’t until the next day that Pip and Bets were able to see Fatty. He was at Larry’s, of course, because they had all arranged to meet there.

‘I say,’ began Pip, ‘a funny thing’s happened at our house. Old Clear-Orf went there yesterday to see my father and mother about something so mysterious that nobody will tell us what it was! And Gladys, our nice housemaid, has gone home, and we can’t find out exactly why. And look - here’s a glove Goon left behind.’

Every one examined it. ‘It might be a valuable clue,’ said Bets.

‘Idiot!’ said Pip. ‘I keep telling you you can’t have clues before you’ve got a mystery to solve. Besides, how could Goon’s glove be a clue! You’re a baby.’

‘Well - it was a clue to his presence there in your study yesterday,’ said Fatty, seeing Bets’ eyes fill with tears. ‘But I say - it’s all a bit funny, isn’t it? Do you think Goon is on to some mystery we haven’t heard about, but which your mother and father know of, Pip, and don’t want us to be mixed up in? I know that your parents weren’t very pleased at that adventure we had in the Christmas hols. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if there isn’t something going on that we children are to be kept out of!’

There was a silence. Put like that it seemed extremely likely. What a shame to be kept out of a mystery when they were such very good detectives!

‘What’s more, I think the mystery’s got something to do with Gladys,’ said Fatty. ‘Fancy! To think there may have been something going on under our very noses and we didn’t know it! There we were snooping about in barns and sheds and all the time there was a mystery in Pip’s own house!’

‘Well - we’ll jolly well find out what it is!’ said Larry. ‘And what’s more, if Goon is on to it, we’ll be on to it too, and we’ll get to the bottom of things before he does! I bet he’d like to do us down just once, so that Inspector Jenks would pat him on the back, and not us, for a change.’

‘How are we going to find out anything?’ asked Daisy. ‘We can’t possibly ask Mrs. Hilton. She’d just shut us up.’

‘I’ll go down and tackle Goon,’ said Fatty, much to every one’s admiration. ‘I’ll take his glove back, and pretend to know lots more than I do - and maybe he’ll let out something.’

‘Yes - you go,’ said Pip. ‘But wait a bit - he thinks you’re in China!’

‘Oh, I’ve come back now after solving the case there very quickly!’ laughed Fatty. ‘Give me the glove, Pip. I’ll go along now. Come with me, Buster. Goon isn’t likely to lose his temper with me quite so violently if you’re there!’

THE ‘NONNIMUS’ LETTER

Fatty rode off on his bicycle, Buster in the basket. He came to Mr. Goon’s house, and went to knock at the door. It was opened by Mrs. Cockles, who cleaned for Mr. Goon, and for the Hiltons as well. She knew Fatty and liked him.

‘Is Mr. Goon in?’ asked Fatty. ‘Oh good. I’ll come in and see him then. I’ve got some property to return to him.’

He sat down in the small, hot parlour. Mrs. Cockles went to fetch the policeman. He was mending a puncture in his bicycle, out in his back-yard. He put his coat on and came to see who wanted him.

His eyes nearly fell out of his head when he saw Fatty. ‘Lawks!’ he said. ‘I thought you was in foreign parts!’

‘Oh - I solved that little mystery out there,’ said Fatty. ‘Didn’t take me long! Just a matter of an emerald necklace or so. Pity you didn’t come out with me to Tippylooloo, Mr. Goon. You’d have enjoyed eating rice with chop-sticks.’

Mr. Goon was sure he would have enjoyed no such thing. ‘Pity you didn’t stay away longer,’ he grumbled. ‘Where you are, there’s trouble. I know that by now. What you want this morning?’

‘Well - er - Mr. Goon, you remember that little matter you went to see Mr. and Mrs. Hilton about yesterday?’ said Fatty, pretending to know a great deal more than he actually did. Mr. Goon looked surprised.

‘Now look-ere,’ he said. ‘Who’s been telling you about that? You wasn’t to know anything, any of you, see?’

‘You can’t keep things like that secret,’ said Fatty.

‘Things like what?’ asked Mr. Goon, pretending he didn’t know what Fatty was talking about.

‘Well - things like you-know-what,’ said Fatty, going all mysterious. ‘I know you’re going to set to work on that little matter, Mr. Goon, and I wish you luck. I hope, for poor Gladys’s sake, you’ll soon get to the bottom of the matter.’

This was quite a shot in the dark, but it seemed to surprise Mr. Goon very much. He blinked at Fatty out of his bulging frog-eyes.

‘Who told you about that there letter!’ he suddenly said.

‘Oho,’ thought Fatty, ‘so it’s something to do with a letter!’ He spoke aloud.

‘Ah, I have ways and means of finding out these things, Mr. Goon. We’d like to help you if we can.’

Mr. Goon suddenly lost his temper, and his face went brick-red. ‘I don’t want none of your help!’ he shouted. ‘I’ve had enough of it! Help? Interference is what I calls it! Can’t I manage a case on my own without all you children butting in? You keep out of it! Mrs. Hilton, she promised me she wouldn’t say nothing to any of you, no, nor show you that letter either. She didn’t want you poking your noses in no more than I did. Anyway, this is a case for the police not for little busy-bodies like you! Clear-orf now, and don’t let me see you messing about any more.’

‘I thought perhaps you would like your glove, Mr. Goon,’ said Fatty politely, and he held out the policeman’s big glove. ‘You left it behind you yesterday.’

Mr. Goon snatched at it angrily. Buster growled. ‘You and that dog of yours!’ muttered Mr. Goon. ‘Tired to death of both of you I am. Clear-orf!’

Fatty cleared off. He was pleased with the result of his interview with Mr. Goon, but very puzzled. Mr. Goon had given a few things away - about that letter, for instance. But what letter? What could have been in a letter to cause this mystery? Was it something to do with Gladys? Was it her letter?

Puzzling out all these things Fatty cycled back to the others. He soon told them what he had learnt.

‘I think possibly Mrs. Moon may know something,’ he said. ‘Bets, couldn’t you ask her? If you just sort of prattled to her, she might tell you something.’

‘I don’t prattle,’ said Bets indignantly. ‘And I don’t expect she’d tell me anything at all. I’m sure she’s in this business of keeping everything secret from us. She wouldn’t even tell us yesterday that Gladys had gone.’

‘Well, anyway, see what you can do,’ said Fatty. ‘She’s fond of knitting, isn’t she? Well, haven’t you got a bit of tangled up knitting you could take down to her and ask her to undo for you - pick up the stitches or whatever you call it? Then you could sort of prat... er - talk to her about Gladys and Goon and so on.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Bets. ‘I’ll go downstairs to her this afternoon when she’s sitting down resting. She doesn’t like me messing about in the morning.’

So that afternoon Bets went down to the kitchen with some very muddled knitting indeed. She had been planning earnestly what to say to Mrs. Moon, but she felt very nervous. Mrs. Moon could be very snappy if she wanted to.

There was no one in the kitchen. Bets sat down in the rocking-chair there. She always liked that old chair. She rocked herself to and fro.

From the back-yard came two voices. One was Mrs. Moon’s and the other was Mrs. Cockles’s. Bets hardly listened - but then she suddenly sat up.

‘Well, what I say is, if a girl gets a nasty letter telling her things she wants to forget, and no name at the bottom of the letter, it’s enough to give anyone a horrid shock!’ came Mrs. Moon’s voice. ‘And a nasty, yes right-down nasty thing it is to do! Writing letters and putting no name at the bottom.’

‘Yes, that’s a coward’s trick all right,’ said Mrs. Cockles’s cheerful voice. ‘You mark my words, Mrs. Moon, there’ll be more of those nonnimus letters, or whatever they calls them - those sort of letter-writers don’t just stop at the one person. No, they’ve got too much spite to use up on one person, they’ll write more and more. Why, you might get one next!’

‘Poor Gladys was right-down upset,’ said Mrs. Moon. ‘Cried and cried, she did. I made her show me the letter. All in capital letters it was, not proper writing. And I said to her, I said, “Now look here, my girl, you go straight off to your mistress and tell her about this. She’ll do her best for you, she will.” And I pushed her off to Mrs. Hilton.’