The Big Six: A Novel

by Arthur Ransome

Dr. Dudgeon smiled at her. “I’ve told Tedder he hasn’t got enough evidence.”

  “And we’ve got lots and lots,” said Dorothea.

  “Tedder says nobody but you could have got those shackles. He told me yesterday he was sure that you had a lot more, and he thinks that if he had a summons for you the truth would come out. And when I take him this new lot…. And I’ve got to take them to him. Now look here. You think you’ve got a lot of evidence. Well, what about consulting a lawyer? Put the whole thing in front of him and see what he says?”

  Dorothea’s eyes sparkled. “We’d simply love to,” she said. “Of course that’s what we ought to do.”

  “But what lawyer?” said Tom.

  “I’ll ring up Uncle Frank and ask if he’ll see you.”

  “But he’s on the other side,” said Tom. “Haven’t you seen the notice?”

  “That’s just why I’d like him to see you. Well? Have you any objection to telling him everything you’ve told me?”

  The detectives looked at each other and then, somehow, all five boys were looking at Dot.

  “We’d love to show him everything,” she said.

  “Right,” said Dr. Dudgeon. “I’ll telephone to Mr. Farland. You come home for lunch, Tom, and I’ll tell you then if you can see him or not. Of course, as Sonning’s lawyer, he may say he’d rather have nothing to do with you.”

  “You tell him he’s got to, Dad,” said Tom. “But, I say, what are we to do if Tedder comes charging along as soon as you’ve given him the shackles?”

  “I’ll tell him to leave you alone for this morning,” said Dr. Dudgeon, picking up the bundle of shackles and turning to go. “He hasn’t got his summonses yet.”

  “You won’t let him have them, will you, Dad?” said Tom.

  “Not till I’ve heard what your lawyer has to say.”

  He was gone.

  There was a long silence, as they stood by the Death and Glory looking at the chimney with the five fingerprints that seemed not to have settled things after all.

  “Tom,” said Joe at last. “Your Dad don’t think we done it, do he?”

  “He can’t think that,” said Dorothea.

  Tom looked very unhappy.

  “It’s those boats,” he said. “And partly it’s that beastly old Margoletta I had to cast off last spring.”

  “But he said himself that if boats were cast off at Ranworth he’d think it was someone else,” said Dorothea.

  “It’s with so many things all together,” said Tom.

  “I wish he hadn’t been in such a hurry,” said Dorothea. “There was lots more evidence we could have told him if he’d only waited.”

  “How could he wait?” said Tom, defending his father. “How could he wait with victims dying in all directions?”

  “We’ll have to show Mr. Farland every single thing,” said Dorothea.

  “I’d better go home and develop those photographs,” said Dick.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  THINGS LOOK BLACK

  DICK and Dorothea were at Mrs. Barrable’s. Joe, Bill and Pete were eating corned beef in the Death and Glory. They were to meet Tom at Scotland Yard after he had seen his father and learnt whether Mr. Farland would see them or not. Tom Dudgeon was waiting about for his father to come home.

  Usually the ringing of the bell for meals found Tom in the middle of something really important, and he knew from long practice just what it felt like to slip late into the dining-room, hoping that people would be talking hard and not noticing that his chair was empty and, perhaps, that a little more time spent on the washing of his hands would not have been wasted. Today Tom was waiting in the garden, hands washed, ready to go in, and when he found that a patient had waylaid his father at the gate and been allowed to come in and have a cut dressed, he felt it would have been a good thing if that particular victim had bled to death instead. He heard the hoot of the car, followed by the ring of the dinner-bell. He dashed hopefully into the house and there was the wretched patient going with the Doctor into the consulting room.

  “Oh, bother!” said Tom.

  “What’s the matter?” asked his mother, who was coming downstairs with “our baby”.

  Tom pointed over his shoulder. “Dad’s got a victim in the consulting room.”

  “Tom, I’ve told you a hundred times not to call them victims.”

  “Sorry,” said Tom. “But this one may keep him ages.”

  “No he won’t,” said his mother. “I’ve seen him. It’s only a bad cut. Not even stitches, I should think. Just disinfectant and a dressing. And that sort of thing can’t wait.”

  “Well I wish the victim … sorry … I wish he’d chosen another day. Dad’s simply bursting with important news. How’s our baby?” and Tom set his small brother gurgling by tickling him under the chin.

  “We’d better begin lunch,” said his mother and began to mix a salad.

  Presently they heard the front door close behind the patient, the sound of running water in a basin and Dr. Dudgeon’s cheerful whistling.

  A minute later, Dr. Dudgeon came in. Tom looked up eagerly. His father helped himself to cold meat and boiled potatoes at the sideboard, and sat down. Mrs. Dudgeon had already put a helping of undressed salad by his place. Dr. Dudgeon took a large wooden spoon and put a pat of mustard in it. Then he pulled the cruet towards him and carefully added olive oil and a little vinegar. He always liked to mix his own salad dressing. Tom watched and waited. Dr. Dudgeon took up a fork and began stirring the mixture in the spoon. Tom waited and watched. It was as if nothing in the world mattered except salad dressing, or as if, thinking of something else, Dr. Dudgeon was going to stir the oil and vinegar for ever. He stopped at last, but only to add a little pepper and stir again.

  “Get on with your meat, Tom,” said Mrs. Dudgeon.

  Dr. Dudgeon looked up and saw Tom’s anxious face.

  “I’ve talked to your Uncle Frank,” he said. “He won’t be in till late tonight. But he’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning before he goes to his office.

  “Oh good,” said Tom. “We were awfully afraid he wouldn’t. Did you tell him about the fingerprints?”

  “I did.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He said it was a very ingenious idea.”

  “So he knows now they didn’t take those shackles?” said Tom.

  “He said he wouldn’t make up his mind about that till he’d heard what you’ve got to say,” said his father. “And I wish I could make up my own mind about it too,” he added.

  “But you saw it yourself,” said Tom.

  “So I told him, but he said that a mark on a chimney last night doesn’t clear them of things they are said to have done on half a dozen different days.”

  Tom’s face fell.

  “You don’t really think those boys did it,” said Mrs. Dudgeon.

  “On the face of things, it looks as if they did,” said Dr. Dudgeon. “It’s only that they seem such decent boys, and have got you on their side, and Tom.”

  “And Mrs. Barrable, and Dick and Dorothea,” said Mrs. Dudgeon.

  “I know,” said Dr. Dudgeon. “But there you are. Frank tells me that he’s more than half convinced that Tedder is right. There have been no cases of boats being cast off here until this last fortnight, except that unlucky business Tom was mixed up with in the spring. And now there have been half a dozen. Each time it has happened in a place where those boys were close by and in a better position to do it than anybody else. Most of the cases were here. That case at Potter Heigham is the first they’ve had there since anybody can remember. It’s a biggish coincidence to get over, that the night those boats were cast off happens to be the one night these boys had taken their boat to Potter Heigham. The same thing with Ranworth. I admit I was puzzled about boats going adrift there after all the other things had happened, and you would have thought they’d have been very careful to do nothing of the sort. But the shackle business is even more unfortunate. The shackl
es were stolen at Potter Heigham the night they were there, and you must see it looks a little odd that they should find first one lot of them and then another.”

  “But Dad, Dot’s idea explains it all, and you’ve forgotten about the chap she saw touching their chimney.”

  “You’ll tell your Uncle Frank about that. I’m only pointing out how things look to an outsider.”

  “But don’t be an outsider, Dad,” said Tom. “You ought to be on our side.”

  “If you’d heard me talking to your Uncle Frank you’d have thought I was,” said Dr. Dudgeon. “I told him it seemed to me that you and your Scotland Yard had got together a lot of evidence pointing the other way.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Well, he said ‘Clever lads! But that doesn’t mean they’re very good ones’.”

  “I’m glad you’re a doctor not a lawyer,” said Mrs. Dudgeon.

  “It’s lawyers they’ll have to deal with,” said Dr. Dudgeon seriously.

  “He doesn’t really think they did all the painting of the chimney and that just for show,” said Tom. “Why, it wasn’t even their idea. It was Dick’s. Besides you’ve only got to look at the print to see their hands aren’t big enough to make it, and you could compare the lines or whatever it is detectives do.”

  “He only means they could have done it,” said Dr. Dudgeon. “They could have got a friend to make that mark.”

  “I’ll have a talk with him myself,” said Mrs. Dudgeon. “It’s idiotic. Those boys would never think of such a thing.”

  Dr. Dudgeon went calmly on with his cold meat and salad.

  “Don’t be too hard on Frank,” he said presently. “To hear our good policeman talk you’d think poor Frank was in league with the boys himself.”

  Tom, who had been with difficulty trying to eat his dinner looked up.

  “Yes,” said his father. “Our Mr. Tedder has been rather pleased with himself as a detective, and with all the help he’s had from the people who’ve been out at all hours of the night watching the river and hoping to catch someone casting off a boat, he thinks he’s got the mystery solved.”

  “But he’s all wrong,” said Tom.

  “He thought that first lot of shackles settled it,” said his father. “And he’s pretty well fed up with your Uncle Frank for telling him that he’d rather not prosecute at all than not be absolutely sure of his ground. It seems Uncle Frank told Tedder that he and his watchers have made rather a mess of things, and that they’d have done much better to lie low and catch those lads actually pushing a boat off. Instead, everybody from Wroxham to Yarmouth knows they’ve been keeping an eye on the staithe and patrolling the river, so naturally the casting off of boats has come to an end. Frank saw him this morning. That was before they knew about that second lot of shackles, and you should have heard our Mr. Tedder on the subject when I handed them over. You know how he talks. ‘Proof! Why them shackles is proof enough to a blind cow, and them boys is too artful to push a boat off where we could catch ’em at it. And I talk straight to Mr. Farland and tell him so, and he say he’d be better satisfied if we catch ’em in the act. What’s he want more’n them shackles? And what am I to say to the chaps who been watching at nights? Am I to tell ’em Mr. Farland’d be better pleased if more boats been cast off?’ Mr. Tedder was feeling very ill-used, I can tell you, and was holding an indignation meeting all by himself.”

  “But when you gave him the new lot of shackles and told him about the mark on the chimney and the green paint?”

  “He said he’d known all along they had the rest of the shackles put by.”

  “But what’s going to happen, Dad?”

  “Nothing, till you’ve shown Uncle Frank all your evidence. But if when he’s looked at it he isn’t convinced, he thinks he ought to let Tedder have his way. He’s going to hear both sides tomorrow. I gather Tedder is putting his case together and your young friends had better do the same with theirs. But I’m very much afraid the strongest point they’ve got is that no one has actually seen them pushing a boat off.”

  “Oh Gosh!” exclaimed Tom. “We ought to have started our own watchers right at the beginning, the day that first boat was cast off, and then we might have caught whoever it was pushing off one of the others.”

  “You seem very sure your Coots had nothing to do with it. Are you sure of all three of them? You see any of them could have done it without telling the others.”

  “They wouldn’t,” said Tom. “Not one of them. Boats matter more than anything else to them. More than birds. Not one of them would do it.”

  “More than birds?” said his father, knowing very well that Tom was thinking of how he himself had cast a boat off to save a family of coots and their nest.

  “They had nothing to do with that time,” said Tom. “They didn’t know what I was going to do … and … just look how they salved her in the end even though those beastly Hullabaloos were still in her.”

  “I know,” said his father. “Well, put your evidence together as well as you can. I wish you luck. You and your young Portia. Everything’s going to depend on tomorrow morning, and I can tell you I don’t look forward to being on the Bench when your young friends are brought up and charged with theft.”

  “But they haven’t done a single thing,” said Tom.

  “Well, you convince Uncle Frank,” said his father.

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE LAST CHANCE

  FIVE detectives and a bloodhound were waiting in Scotland Yard. Three damp photographs were drying on the window. The one of the whole cockpit had come out very well, and so had the one of the chimney. You could see the mark left by the hand of the villain, small though it was in the picture. The photograph of the shackles in the darkness under the after deck was a failure as Dick had thought it would be, but they had decided that it did not matter so much. Dick had bought a bottle of red ink on the way back after lunch, meaning to mark with a cross the place where the shackles were found as soon as the photographs had dried. Dorothea was already using the red ink to mark in the photographs of Ranworth the place where Dick had found the tracks of the bicycle. William was asleep. The others were watching the door and wondering why Tom was so long over his lunch.

  “Is he going to be all day?” said Joe.

  “Bet something’s gone wrong,” said Bill.

  “Eating and eating,” said Pete.

  And then they heard running footsteps and the next moment Tom came in.

  “We’ve made the most awful mistake,” he said.

  “What’s happened?” said Dorothea. “Won’t Mr. Farland see us?”

  “Go on Tom, said Joe.

  “No, it’s not that,” said Tom. “We started detecting too late. We ought to have begun right at the beginning. We ought to have done what Tedder and the others did and started watching after the very first boat was cast off and then we’d have had a chance of catching the villain in the act.”

  “How was we to know there was going to be any more cast off?” said Bill.

  “I know. I know,” said Tom. “But Uncle Frank told Tedder that if only he’d caught you casting a boat off, he’d feel happier.”

  “Why?” said Pete. “He don’t WANT boats going adrift.”

  “No. But he meant he’d feel there was more proof if only you’d been caught in the act. So of course if only we’d caught the villain in the act everything would have been all right. And we’ve had chance after chance if only we’d thought of it.”

  “Well, it’s not too late,” said Joe.

  “Yes it is. We’ve got to take all our evidence to Uncle Frank tomorrow morning. Before he goes into Norwich. And Tedder’s going to take his. And if ours isn’t good enough it’s all up. Dad says Tedder’s furious because of Uncle Frank not thinking he’s got enough already. And now he thinks that last lot of shackles settles it.”

  “But it proves it wasn’t us,” said
Dorothea.

  “Tedder thinks it proves just the opposite.”

  “What’s the good of anything,” said Pete, “if that Tedder don’t believe a word we say?”

  “If only we’d begun detecting at the beginning,” said Tom.

  “What else did Dr. Dudgeon say?” asked Dorothea. “Try to remember every single thing.”

  In no sort of order, just as it came into his head, Tom told everything he could remember. He told how Mr. Tedder thought he had proof enough to take out summonses. He told how his own father was not sure one way or the other. He told how once more Mr. Farland had made the policeman furious by saying that all the hard work he had done as a detective was not really enough to prove his case. “But all the same Uncle Frank thinks it was the Death and Glories at the bottom of everything. And if we can’t persuade Uncle Frank tomorrow that it wasn’t, Dad thinks he’s got to let Tedder have his summonses. Dad’s pretty upset about it too. He called you Portia by mistake, instead of Dorothea.”

  Dorothea blushed. She understood, but she did not explain.

  “We’ve got a lot of evidence that it wasn’t the Death and Glories,” said Dick.

  “But it doesn’t show who it was,” said Tom. “And tomorrow’s the last chance…. What’s the matter, Dot?”

  Joe, Bill, Pete, Dick, and even the bloodhound, William, all turned to look at Dorothea, who was sitting at the table, pulling at one of her own pigtails and scowling most horribly.

  “I’m being the villain,” said Dorothea.

  “How?”

  “I’m just being him and thinking what he thinks.”

  “Bet he ain’t got no plait to pull,” said Joe, but was instantly ashamed of himself when he saw the serious way Dick was looking at his sister.

  “Whoever he is,” said Dorothea, “he knows everything we do. He knew when you went to Potter Heigham. He knew when you went to Ranworth. He knew when you hid the Death and Glory in the Wilderness.”

  “That’s right,” said Joe. “Look how quick he were coming with them shackles. And there was that Tedder on to us first thing.”