“I’ll get your book,” said Pete, and a moment later handed it out from the cockpit.
“It’ll be quicker going by the road, won’t it?” said Dorothea. “Come on, William…. No exploring. I’m going to put the leash on you.”
“Let’s just put the new clue with the others in Scotland Yard,” said Dick.
“What if he comes again?” said Tom. “Hadn’t I better stay?”
“Three of us,” said Joe. “We’ll settle him. All the better if he come again and we see his ugly face.”
Tom, Dick, Dorothea and William went back to Dr. Dudgeon’s where they hung a scrap of grey flannel beside the other clues, after which Dick and Dorothea took their bicycles and riding slowly, for the sake of the bloodhound, went home for the night.
*
In the Death and Glory, the three went early to bed.
“No good lighting the stove,” said Joe. “No cooking after all that grub.”
“Look here,” Pete protested. “It’s my turn to light that stove.”
“All right,” said Joe. “We know that. You can light it in the morning instead of the primus. And if you want to do some lighting you can light the lantern now.”
Joe fed his white rat and dealt out a ration of chocolate, after which they lay on their bunks, eating the chocolate, watching the lantern and talking of the day’s work.
“Better keep the lantern lit,” said Pete at last, “case that chap come again.”
“Good old pug,” said Joe, turning over on his left side to get the light out of his eyes. “Wouldn’t have thought a pug had had it in him.”
“Tread on ’em,” said Bill sleepily, “and all dogs is alike.”
CHAPTER XIX
UNWANTED GIFT
IT was Pete’s turn to light the fire and he had been looking forward to it. But lighting the fire in the evening is one thing and getting up to light it in the morning is another. Pete lay awake for some time thinking about it until both Joe and Bill, snuggling in their blankets, yelled at him to stir his stumps. Then, making up his mind to it, he threw off his blankets, rubbed his eyes, rolled out of his bunk and, kneeling on the cabin floor, opened the door of the stove. He thrust in a hand to claw out the ashes and bumped his knuckles.
“Who bung up that stove?” he asked indignantly.
First Joe and then Bill answered with a snore.
“It ain’t April first,” said Pete. “I near take the skin off my hand.”
“I’ll light the primus,” said Joe, “if you don’t get that fire lit. We want our brekfuss.”
“Why do you bung up that stove then?” said Pete, and reached in again. “Whatever have you gone putting in it?”
He felt something rough under his fingers and something hard inside it. There was a muffled clink of metal on metal as he pulled out a small heavy bundle of sacking.
Joe opened an eye and watched him sleepily from his bunk.
“Lot of old iron,” said Pete. “That’s a game to play on a chap!”
“Did you put it in, Bill?” said Joe.
“Put what in?” said Bill, rolling over in his bunk on the other side of the cabin. “I say, look out for that soot.”
Pete was opening the sacking on the floor by the stove.
“Gosh!” he said. “Shackles. Beauties!”
“Shackles!” exclaimed Joe and was out of his bunk in a moment, handling the shackles, new gunmetal shackles, shining like gold under a film of grease. “That’s what that chap were doing. Putting ’em down our chimney.”
Pete was counting them. “Couple o’ dozen big ’uns,” he said, “and eight little ’uns.”
“Wrap ’em up,” said Bill suddenly. “Wrap ’em up. We don’t want to be doing with them shackles. What was that Tedder talking night before last? Saying we had shackles when we didn’t have none. Shackles! Ain’t you read that paper on the staithe? Wrap ’em up. We got to take them shackles along to Tedder’s the first minute we done brekfuss. You get that fire alight, young Pete, and don’t you touch nothing else till you get the soot off you.”
The fire was lit. A kettle was put to boil and, meanwhile, there was hurried and worried washing in a bucket dipped from the dyke. They kept looking over their shoulders as they scrubbed themselves, as if an enemy might be lurking behind each osier bush.
“Somebody’s patching everything on us,” said Joe. “Casting off boats and stealing. Bill’s right. That chap put ’em down the chimney. We got no time to lose. Next thing that Tedder’ll be coming and finding ’em. Go on, Pete. That kettle’ll be near enough boiling.”
Pete made cocoa from a tin of cocoa and milk powder so that there was nothing to do but pour boiling water on it and stir. They drank it without complaining that he had made it before the water really boiled, so that the powder of the cocoa tickled the roofs of their mouths. At least it wasn’t too hot to drink. Their eyes were on the parcel of sacking on the cabin floor.
“Best put ’em out of sight,” said Bill, and put the parcel away in the fo’c’sle.
“Overslept we have too,” said Joe. “If that chap’s put Tedder on, we’ll have him here in two twos.”
They ate a thick round of bread apiece and a stout slab of bacon, then another round of bread and marmalade. While they ate, their eyes kept glancing towards the fo’c’sle just because they knew the shackles were there. It was as if they had a keg of gunpowder aboard.
“Come on,” said Joe, almost before they had done. “Take ’em to Tedder right away.”
“Better take ’em to Tom Dudgeon’s first,” said Bill.
“Put ’em in Pete’s fish-bag,” said Joe.
They went along the river bank, through Mr. Farland’s garden, over the drawbridge and so to Scotland Yard. The door of the shed was open. William was asleep on the threshold and Dorothea was busily writing at the table.
“Where’s Tom?” asked Joe.
“They’ve gone on,” said Dorothea. “They were in a hurry to get to the bicycle shop. You’re to go after them. We want a list of all the bicycles with Dunlop tyres. What’s the matter? What’s happened?”
“Worst that could have,” said Joe.
“I find it in our stove,” said Pete.
“We know what that chap was doing with our chimbley,” said Bill. “Let her see ’em, Joe.”
Joe emptied Pete’s fish-bag on the floor of Scotland Yard and untied the twine that held the parcel of sacking together. Dorothea looked at the shining yellow shackles.
“What are they?” she asked.
“And you gone Able Seaman,” said Joe. “Don’t you know? Them’s shackles. New ’uns. Greased from the store. Them’s what was took from Sonning’s at Potter, and Pete find ’em in our stove. When he go lighting the fire.”
“That chap were putting ’em down our chimbley when you catch him,” said Pete.
“Good, good!” said Dorothea.
“Why good?” said Joe.
“It all fits in,” said Dorothea. “Don’t you see? I thought the villain was doing it on purpose … just casting off boats where you were, trying to make people think you’d done it. Now we know. It’ll help a lot. It shows it’s all one person. Potter Heigham made it look so funny. Because it’s so far away. But with things from Potter Heigham turning up at Horning…. Somebody must have brought them…. It’s a Horning person…. We’ve only got to find out who. And he’s got a bicycle with Dunlop tyres. And part of his pump is missing. And a bit torn out of his trousers. And …”
The Death and Glories stared at her.
“What a good thing you found them,” said Dorothea. “The villain meant to come with a search party and find them himself and then everybody would have thought you had hidden them.”
“Come on,” said Joe. “Let’s get rid of ’em quick.”
“I tell you so, first thing,” said Bill.
“Let’s count them,” said Dorothea.
“Two dozen big ’uns,” said Pete. “And eight little ’uns.”
; “Come along,” said Joe, hurriedly wrapping them up again.
“What are you going to do with them?” said Dorothea. “They’ll be safe here. Let’s hang them with the rest of the clues.” She pointed to the wall where drawings of tyre-treads, a scrap of grey flannel and a bit of indiarubber tubing hung, each on its nail.
“Tedder’s after these shackles,” said Joe. “We’re taking ’em to him just as fast as we can.”
“Perhaps it’s safer,” said Dorothea. “Tom and Dick’ll be waiting near the bicycle shop.”
They ran round the house and out of the Doctor’s gate and hurried along the road to Mr. Tedder’s.
Two big boys on bicycles were riding down the road.
“Here come George Owdon and his pal,” said Pete.
The two big boys jumped off their bicycles and waited for the Death and Glories.
“Where are you going?” said George Owdon.
“Police,” said Bill.
“Cast off any more boats?”
“We ain’t cast off no boats,” said Joe.
“What have you got in that bag?”
“Tell him,” said Bill.
“Lot of shackles,” said Joe. “Bet you it’s them shackles what was took from Sonning’s at Potter.”
“You ought to know,” said George.
“What do you mean … ‘You ought to know’?” said Joe angrily.
“Well, don’t you?” said George. “You’ve seen the notice. Taking them to Tedder? Yes. I suppose that’s the best thing you could do.”
The other big boy laughed.
“Yes,” said George. “You take them to Mr. Tedder and perhaps he’ll let you off easy.”
“We haven’t done nothing to be let off,” said Pete.
“Well, if you count casting off other people’s boats nothing, and stealing … nothing,” said George.
“I find ’em in our stove,” said Pete.
“Naturally you knew where to find them if you put them there,” said George.
“Come on,” said Joe. “Mr. Tedder’s got more sense than some.”
“Now then,” said George. “No cheek.”
They heard more laughter behind them as they hurried on their way.
“He’s dead sure it’s us, because of Tom Dudgeon casting off that Margoletta,” said Bill.
“We never look at their tyres,” said Pete a moment later.
“Look at ’em later,” said Bill. “But it ain’t them two. Tell you for why. George Owdon never cast off no boats. He shoot buttles and he take beardies’ eggs but he’s dead nuts against monkeying with boats. Look how he side with them Hullabaloos against Tom, and look how he work in with Tedder, watching to see no more get cast off by no one.”
They saw Mr. Tedder’s bicycle leaning against the railing of his little garden, and knew that he had not yet left his house.
“Dunlop,” said Pete as they passed it and went in through the gate.
“There you are,” said Joe. “And Mr. Tedder ain’t cast no boats off neither.”
Mr. Tedder, in his shirt-sleeves, opened the door to them.
“See here, Mr. Tedder,” said Joe, and took the parcel of sacking out of the fish-bag.
“What’s this?” said Mr. Tedder.
“Shackles,” said Joe. “You was asking about shackles t’other night and we tell you we ain’t got none. No more we hadn’t. But Pete find this lot in our stove this morning. We very near catch the chap what put ’em down our chimbley….”
“Come in,” said Mr. Tedder and they followed him into his little parlour with the big picture over the mantelshelf showing Mr. Tedder and Mrs. Tedder on their wedding day, Mr. Tedder looking like choking in a high white collar and Mrs. Tedder holding a big bunch of flowers in such a way as to show the ring on her finger. Mr. Tedder went to a cupboard in the wall and brought out a writing pad, a pen and an inkpot. He sat down at the table on which he had put the parcel. The three small boys stood side by side on the hearthrug under the picture of the wedding pair.
Mr. Tedder opened the parcel and looked at the shackles.
“Where are the rest of ’em?” he asked.
“Them’s all we found,” said Joe.
Mr. Tedder looked at the clock, which had an inscription on it to say that it had been presented to him on the occasion of his marriage “by friends and admirers in the force”.
“At ten fifteen, a.m.”, he wrote, saying the words aloud as he put them down…. He looked up gravely at the small boys. “Now,” he said. “You think again…. No good telling me a yarn like that. And don’t you go thinking you can keep the rest of them shackles just because you give up a few you don’t want.”
“We don’t want none of ’em,” said Joe. “And we didn’t take none.”
“How’d they get into your boat? You tell me that,” said Mr. Tedder.
“Down our chimbley,” said Joe. “I just tell you we near caught a chap putting ’em down.”
“We’d have found ’em last night,” said Pete, “only we didn’t light the fire. It was my turn this morning, and I find ’em soon’s I ope the stove.”
“Now look here,” said Mr. Tedder. “You lie here at the staithe and boats get cast off. You go to Ranworth and boats get cast off there. Jim Wooddall lose his new warp off of his wherry what you cast off and we find that in Jonnatt’s shed close where you was lying.”
“Oh, they found that,” said Pete eagerly. “That were a brand new warp and Tom say Jim think it had gone in the river.”
“Course they found it,” said Mr. Tedder. “They found it where you put it.”
“We never touch it,” said Bill.
“And you go to Potter,” went on Mr. Tedder, “and boats get cast off the night you’re there, and Sonning’s lose a gross and a half of new shackles, and then you come here and bring me some of the shackles….” He stopped suddenly, picked up a shackle and looked at it. “First step,” he said, “is identification. Ought to have thought of that. You can clear out now, all of you, and I’ll see you again, soon’s Mr. Sonning identify them shackles. Out you go. But don’t go thinking we shan’t get to the bottom of this. You think it over and tell me the truth next time. Sorry for your Dads, that’s what I am. They’re all honest chaps.”
“We’d have done better to drop them shackles in the river,” said Joe furiously as they went out.
Outside the gate Pete stopped, very red in the face. He went back to Mr. Tedder’s door. Mr. Tedder was still there, thinking hard.
“Can you give me a bit of paper, Mr. Tedder?” he said. “I got a pencil.”
“If you volunteer to make a written statement,” said the policeman, “you’ll have to sign before witnesses.” He went into the parlour and came back with a sheet of paper from his writing pad.
Pete thanked him and joined the other two outside the gate.
“What’s up, Pete?” said Bill.
Pete plumped down in the road beside the back wheel of Mr. Tedder’s bicycle, and made as good a drawing as he could of the tread of his tyre.
The policeman came out just as he had finished.
“What’s all this?” said Mr. Tedder. “What are you up to now? You leave that bike alone.”
Pete, still red in the face, flourished his bit of paper. “Dunlop tyre,” he said. “The chap what put them shackles down our chimbley have a bike and his tyres are Dunlop too.”
Mr. Tedder had no idea what he was talking about.
“If you’ve been sticking a knife into my tyre,” he said darkly.
The three hurried off to look for Tom and Dick. Mr. Tedder felt his tyre between his fingers and looked after them with a puzzled expression on his face.
CHAPTER XX
DUNLOP TYRES
TOM and Dick were in the doorway of Mr. Bixby’s bicycle shop, where they were asking careful questions. Yes, they had been told, if they were wanting new tyres, there was nothing to beat Dunlops. Not that Palmers were not good too, if they had a fancy for something else. O
ld Mr. Bixby, who had been selling bicycles for nearly fifty years, looked hopefully at Tom.
“What about punctures?” said Tom.
“Any tyre’ll puncture if you push a nail in it,” said Mr. Bixby, “but there ain’t the punctures nowadays there used to be. Roads better kept maybe. Fewer horses. And hedges not what they was. Thorns are as bad as nails, maybe worse, but you don’t get the thorns lying about in the dust same as you used to get before the roads were all tarred.”
Tom looked over his shoulder and saw the three younger Coots, who had come round the corner and were waiting close by. He took no notice of them and they knew they were not wanted, not while Tom was asking questions anyway. He was just working up to something.
“Do you get many punctures to mend?” he asked, and they saw Dick pull his spectacles off. This was the vital point.
“Not so many,” said Mr. Bixby.
“Any lately?” asked Tom as if he had no special reason for wanting to know.
“Why yes,” said Mr. Bixby, jerking his hand towards a rusty old bicycle leaning up against his work bench. “I had that brought in day before yesterday.”
“Dunlop tyre?” said Tom and he could not keep the eagerness out of his voice.
“Yes,” said Mr. Bixby. “They mostly use ’em. Are you wanting a new bike?”
“Not just now,” said Tom. “I shall some day. But mine’s got a lot of wear in it yet.”
“Wanting new tyres for it perhaps?” said Mr. Bixby.
“Not just now,” said Tom.
“Oh,” said Mr. Bixby. “You’ll excuse me. I’m busy.” And he went off to the back of his shop.
“It hasn’t got a pump at all,” said Dick, looking at the old bicycle by the bench. “I say. I wish we’d asked if anybody’s been buying pump-tubes.”
“We’ll have to watch to see who comes to take it away,” said Tom. “Look here, you Coots, we mustn’t go about detecting all in a crowd.
“Something’s happened,” said Joe. “You know that chap what was at our chimbley last night?”
“Yes,” said Tom.
The Big Six Page 19