“That’s why there’s no marks,” exclaimed Joe, glancing at the chimney.
“What’s that?” asked Mr. Tedder.
“Don’t tell him,” squeaked Pete.
“Oh, nothing,” said Joe.
“You say ‘Don’t tell him!’” said Mr. Tedder sternly. “I hear you. And you’d better tell and tell quick. I take them shackles to Potter yesterday, and Mr. Sonning identify ’em. Them shackles is part of the lot took from his shed.”
“That’s what we think, all of us,” said Joe.
“Think!” said Mr. Tedder scornfully. “You know they was, and you come to me with a yarn about finding ’em in your stove. Who put ’em there if you didn’t?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” said Bill.
Pete looked at Bill in horror. Was Bill going to give away secrets to the enemy, to one who might be the very villain they were trying to catch?
But Bill went on. “The one what put them shackles in our stove is likely the one that steal ’em and the one what cast all them boats off. And if everybody go patching it on us they’ll never get him.”
“Now look here, young Bill,” said Mr. Tedder. “I give you every chance I can. I’m going to see Mr. Farland now, and I didn’t ought to warn you first. I got to tell him what them shackles is, and I got to tell him who bring ’em to me. That’ll be a lot easier for you if you own up now and hand over the rest of ’em. You got ’em put away somewheres.”
“We ain’t,” said Joe.
Mr. Tedder thought for a moment. “I ain’t got a search warrant,” he said at last, “but I can easy get one.”
“Search away,” said Joe. “We don’t mind….”
“Well, if you’re agreeable,” said Mr. Tedder.
“Mind your head when you go in,” said Bill. “Tom Dudgeon crack his every time.”
Pete found himself holding Mr. Tedder’s helmet. Mr. Tedder stooped down, and shielding the top of his head with a hand in case of accidents, crawled into the little cabin. The owners of the Death and Glory watched from the cockpit.
Bent double, the tall policeman looking along the bunks, lifted the straw mattresses, ran his eye along the shelves, and then, on all fours, crawled into the fo’c’sle and looked at the gear stored in the bows.
“What about them doors?” he said, looking at the cupboards.
“Ope ’em,” said Joe, who was proud of the cupboards. “They ain’t locked.”
Mr. Tedder opened the cupboard doors.
“You got a lot of stores,” he said.
“Plenty of everything,” said Bill. “That’s all soups below. Them’s potted meat. That’s salmon and shrimp. Them’s jams….” He had hurried in, and, as chief cook, was proudly showing off the larder.
Mr. Tedder began to back his way out, and Bill backed too, to let him come.
“Your Dads never give you the money to buy all that stuff,” said Mr. Tedder, stretching to his full height again in the cockpit.
“We never ask ’em,” said Joe.
“Where did you get the money?” said Mr. Tedder.
“Earn it,” said Joe. “We tell you about that before and you wouldn’t believe us. We earn it.”
“Where?”
“Selling fish.”
“When?” Mr. Tedder pulled out his note-book.
“That time we went to Potter,” said Joe.
“Ar,” said Mr. Tedder, sucked his pencil, and wrote.
“Them shackles is gone,” he said presently. “Who buy ’em from you? We can have him up for receiving property knowing it to be stolen.”
“Nobody buy ’em,” said Joe.
“How do you know?” said Mr. Tedder. “Answer me that now. How do you know they ain’t sold if you ain’t got ’em?”
“Nobody buy ’em from us,” said Joe. “And for why? ’Cos we ain’t had ’em to sell.”
Mr. Tedder sucked his pencil again. “Refused all information,” he said solemnly, writing the words as he spoke them. “Well,” he went on. “It’ll be all the worse for you. I’m off now to see Dr. Dudgeon and Mr. Farland.” He put his note-book in his pocket, looked from one to another of the three boys and then, in an almost friendly tone, said, “Now you think again. You just change your minds and own up.”
“We ain’t got nothing to own up to,” said Joe.
“And you all sons of decent chaps,” said Mr. Tedder mournfully. He went ashore, took his helmet from Pete and strode away through the bushes.
The three watched him go.
“Well, we got to get our brekfuss anyways,” said Bill at last. “That kettle’s boiling.”
*
A shout of “Coots Ahoy!” brought the crew of the Death and Glory tumbling up out of the cabin with their mouths full.
Dick and Dorothea were coming through the bushes from the road.
“Is it a good print?” asked Dick, when they were still a dozen yards away.
“Tom’s just coming,” said Dorothea. “We met Mr. Tedder going in to Dr. Dudgeon’s. Tom’s waiting to get the news. What did Mr. Tedder say when you showed him?”
“We ain’t got nothing to show,” said Bill.
“Tedder search our boat,” said Joe. “He’s dead sure we stole them shackles.”
“Them shackles was from Potter all right,” said Bill. “And Tedder think we got the rest of ’em.”
“Well if he searched the boat he knows they’re not here now,” said Dorothea. “That’s one good thing. And you showed him you had nothing to hide.”
“He pretty near say we steal our stores,” said Pete, bitterly.
Dick was on the cabin roof looking carefully over every inch of the green chimney.
“There ain’t a mark on it,” said Joe. “Only where I touch it with my thumb. Ain’t likely to be a mark neither. That Tedder say he were hanging about here last night while we was at the Admiral’s. That’s why.”
“Oh dear,” said Dorothea. “And now he’ll tell the whole place about the chimney and the villain will be careful to keep his paws off it.”
“He won’t do that,” said Joe. “Pete squeak just in time. It were on the tip of my tongue to tell him how he muck things up.”
“That’s all right,” said Dorothea with relief.
“There’s enough paint for another coat,” said Dick, looking in the tin.
“Good, oh, good,” said Dorothea. “If Mr. Tedder frightened him off last night he’ll be all the more certain to come this evening. Hullo, haven’t you had your breakfast? The Admiral let us have ours early so that we could get here first thing. We’re going to Ranworth. Dick wants some more photographs, and we’ve got our bicycles.”
“I’ve got to take one photograph here,” said Dick, “to show just what Dot saw the time William got the villain’s trouser leg.”
“What for?” said Bill.
“You’ll see,” said Dorothea. “It’ll be very important evidence. Hullo. Here’s Tom.”
“No good,” said Tom. “Dad’s off seeing victims. He was talking to Mr. Tedder till the very last minute. I couldn’t get him at all. We’ll have to wait till he comes in for dinner. What about fingerprints?”
“There aren’t any,” said Dorothea. “But it’s all right. It’s not because the villain isn’t coming. I’m sure he is. It’s the only thing he can do. But he couldn’t come last night because Mr. Tedder was hanging about here all the time. So he gave it up and slunk away. He’ll probably come tonight.”
“We’ll put another coat of paint on this afternoon,” said Dick. “Let’s get that photograph. We’ll want that anyhow.”
“Wait just while we finish our brekfuss,” said Pete.
“Pitch it in then,” said Tom.
“We’ll be finding the place to put the camera,” said Dick.
The Death and Glories crammed down the rest of their breakfast, put off washing up till later, and hurried out to find that Dick had his camera standing on its tripod just where Dorothea had been when she first saw th
e villain, if it was the villain, patting the chimney.
One by one they squinted through the finder and saw the tiny picture of their ship snugly moored among the osier bushes.
“Now we want the villain,” said Dick.
“What do you mean?” said Pete.
“Somebody’s got to be in the picture doing just what Dot saw him do.”
“I’m him,” said Joe.
“No,” said Dorothea. “Tom’s bigger.”
“Well, I’m not big enough,” said Tom. “I tried the other night.”
“That’s just it,” said Dorothea. “You reach out as far as ever you can and the photograph’ll show you can’t touch the chimney. And you’re the biggest of us all. So the photograph’ll be proof that it was someone else.”
“Gee whizz!” said Joe.
“That’s pretty good,” said Bill.
“Tedder could reach all right,” said Pete.
“Oh, shurrup, Pete,” said Joe.
“Come on, Tom,” said Dorothea. “You stand like that, and I’ll go back to Dick and see if it looks right.”
She ran back and stood beside the camera. “Leaning over a bit more,” she said. “And his hand came much higher. Stay like that….”
“Keep still,” called Dick. “I’ll have to give it nearly half a second because of all the trees…. Now….”
There was a click, and then another.
“That’s all,” called Dick.
“Are you only going to take one?”
“I’ve only got two more to expose,” said Dick, “and I want those to show the place where the villain pumped up his tyre at Ranworth. We’re going on there now and then we’ll be able to develop them right away.”
“Let’s all go,” said Joe. “We can take Bill’s bike, and take turns. One run. One ride proper, and t’other hang on.”
But at that moment there were sounds of more visitors coming through the bushes from the road.
“Oughtn’t to be allowed to padlock that gate,” said a woman’s voice.
“Only make people climb that fence for nothing,” said another.
“Hullo, Mum!” shouted Pete.
“Hullo, Mum!” shouted Bill and Joe.
The three mothers were already close to the boat. All three were carrying baskets with loaves of bread and other food. All three looked rather grave, as they exchanged “Good mornings” with the detectives.
“Well,” said Bill’s mother, “I don’t see you can be up to much harm in here.”
“Nor I,” said the mother of Joe.
“That Tedder’s getting too big for his boots,” said the mother of Pete.
“But there’s things going on,” said the mother of Bill.
Dorothea looked at the mothers and then at their three sons.
“We’d better be getting those Ranworth photographs done,” she said. “You won’t want us here while you’re having a talk.”
“Well, there is a bit to say,” said the mother of Bill.
Dorothea caught Joe’s eye, glanced at the chimney and back again, and saw that he understood. Not a word was to be said about that, even to mothers, because, if word got about the village, the villain was likely to hear it and be warned.
“Meet at Scotland Yard this afternoon,” said Tom. “I’ll have seen Dad by then.”
“Where’s the bloodhound?” asked Pete. “You can leave him here.”
“We left him with the Admiral,” said Dorothea, and went off with Tom and Dick.
*
“Scotland Yard?” said Joe’s mother.
“Bloodhounds?” said Bill’s mother.
“What’s adoing?” said the mother of Pete.
And Pete, Joe and Bill, without giving away the secret of the chimney pot, found themselves telling their mothers how the Coot Club was doing the best it could and trying to find out who the villain was who had been casting off boats and stealing shackles and making people think that all his villainies were the work of virtuous Coots.
“But what’s Scotland Yard doing in it?” asked Joe’s mother.
“That’s what that Dot call the shed against Tom Dudgeon’s,” said Joe.
“And that Dick he’s got a lot of evidence, photographs and such,” said Bill.
“But bloodhounds!” exclaimed Bill’s mother.
“We ain’t got but one,” said Pete. “That’s Mrs. Barrable’s William.”
“That yellow pug,” said Bill’s mother, laughing for the first time. “You won’t make a bloodhound out of him.”
“He get the villain by the leg,” said Bill. “We got good evidence for that. If that chap he get weren’t the villain he’d have been at Tedder’s claiming for the bite.”
“Wish he’d have got that Tedder,” said Pete’s mother. “He make as much to-do as if you was all murderers. He come round yesterday with a lot of fool talk about you stealing shackles from Potter, and there was your Dad sitting at his supper with a bit of good beef over his black eye, and he ask your Dad how he come by it. And your Dad up and tell him he come by it knocking spots off a fellow who say the same fool things as has just been said. He tell him his son don’t steal shackles and he don’t cast off boats and if Tedder want to say he do he’d better play fair and say it without his uniform on. And Tedder say he don’t say nothing. He only make inquiries as directed. And your Dad say he’s glad to hear it and Tedder’s got his answer. Tedder go off then and say something about breach of the peace and your Dad was that mad I had to tell him spuds was getting cold to stop him going out of door after him.”
“It ain’t only Tedder,” said Bill’s mother. “The old Reverend came round and say he’s sorry you’re in trouble and what can he do about it … I tell him best he can do is close his ears to evil tongues.”
“It’s the whole village gone crazy,” said the mother of Joe. “To hear ’em talk, you’d think you was the only boys in the place and just out of gaol at that. And what’s all this Tedder say about you bringing him some of them shackles and keeping the rest. He want to know if you bring any home.”
An angry chorus told just how the bloodhound had come to bite the villain, of the parcel found in the stove, of Tedder’s visits and of his searching of their ship.
“Right down wicked, I call it,” said Bill’s mother. “He ought to be grateful, he ought, with you bringing of ’em back. Didn’t, he’d be looking for ’em still. And there he go asking if we give you pocket money and how much. I tell him you have plenty which is what Mrs. Dudgeon tell me. And he say ‘Ar’ that silly, I could have slam the door on him.”
A slow grin spread over Bill’s face. He was thinking that detective work was not too easy even for real policemen.
She went on. “What are we going to do, I want to know? Your Dads say, best take you off the river, but Mrs. Dudgeon stick up for you and say why spoil your holiday if you ain’t done nothing? And she say you’d be all right here. But with that Tedder and his shackles, I’m sure I don’t know.”
“We’re going to find out who did it,” said Joe. “Tom and that Dot and Dick they say we’ll find out sooner’n Tedder, because he think it’s us and we know it ain’t.”
“You be quick about it,” said his mother. “Casting off boats and that is no good in a place like this, and Hannam’s would have sacked your Dad if he weren’t too good a boatbuilder to lose. There was some as said he must have knowed Jim Wooddall’s rope was hid in Jonnatt’s shed. And that Tedder’s talking of the law, and if it come to summonses, whatever are we to do?… That’s new paint you’ve put on your chimney?”
“It’s dry now,” said Pete.
“We did that apurpose,” began Bill, but Joe slipped and caught him a buffet with his elbow just in time.
After that the mothers had to see inside the boat, and were a bit shocked to find the remains of breakfast until it was explained to them that there had been a lot of interruptions. Bill made them a cup of tea, and would not even let his own mother touch kettle or teapot. They sat in t
he cabin and were given gingerbread biscuits and were treated and behaved as honoured guests aboard ship. It was only as they were leaving that things turned dark again.
Bill’s mother looked round as they were saying goodbye, to see that there was nobody else about. “Mrs. Dudgeon she say she don’t think you done nothing. But what about her Tom? He cast off one boat this year, that we do know.”
There was a chorus of protest from the Coots.
“All right then, all right,” said Bill’s mother. “If anybody ask we’ll tell ’em you’re finding out who done it. We’ll tell ’em you’ll be finding out before that Tedder and he’d better get you learn him his job.”
“No, no, don’t you say nothing,” said Bill in horror. “Wait till we catch him first.”
“You catch him then,” said his mother. “For if it come to summonses there’s nothing your Dads can do but take you off the river.”
INSIDE THE CABIN
CHAPTER XXII
ANOTHER COAT OF PAINT
THE spirits of the Death and Glories had fallen low with the news that had been brought by their mothers. They fell lower when Tom came into Scotland Yard to say that Mr. Tedder had indeed been talking to Dr. Dudgeon about summonses.
“If we ain’t quick it’s going to be too late,” said Joe.
“We aren’t going to be too late,” said Dorothea. “Just look at all the evidence we’re getting.”
“We ain’t got them fingerprints,” said Pete.
“If only that Tedder hadn’t have hung around,” said Joe.
“We’ll get them tonight,” said Dorothea.
“I’ve fixed it up for us all to have supper here,” said Tom. “So as to give the villain a chance.”
“What are we going to do now?” asked Pete. “Put another coat of paint on?”
“Not yet,” said Tom. “You can find something or other to do. Dot’s getting the evidence into shape. Dick and I are going to develop those photographs.”
“If we’re to be turned off the river,” said Bill gloomily, “we’d best tidy up the ship.”
The Big Six: A Novel Page 21