Mystery #04 — The Mystery of the Spiteful Letters tff-4

by Enid Blyton

  It was impossible not to giggle. Bets went off into a delighted explosion. Mr. Goon glared.

  ‘You clear-orf,’ he said majestically. ‘Making a joke of everything! Call yourself a detective! Gah!’

  ‘What a lovely word!’ said Bets, as they all walked off, giggling. ‘Gah! Gah, Pip! Gah, Fatty!’

  THE FIND-OUTERS MAKE THEIR FIRST PLANS

  Everyone went to tea at Fatty’s that day. Mrs. Trotteville was out, so the five children had tea in Fatty’s crowded little den. It was more crowded than ever now that Fatty had got various disguises and wigs. The children exclaimed in delight over a blue-and-white striped butcher-boy’s apron and a lift-boy’s suit complete with peaked cap.

  ‘But, Fatty, whenever could you disguise yourself as a lift-boy?’ asked Larry.

  ‘You never know,’ said Fatty. ‘You see, I can only get disguises that do for a boy. If I were a grown-up I could get dozens and dozens - a sailor’s suit, a postman’s, even a policeman’s. But I’m a bit limited, being a boy.’

  Fatty also had a bookcase crammed full of detective stories. He read every one he could find.

  ‘I pick up quite a lot of hints that way,’ he said. ‘I think Sherlock Holmes was one of the best detectives. Golly, he had some fine mysteries to solve. I don’t believe even I could have solved all of them!’

  ‘You’re a conceited creature,’ said Larry, trying on the red wig. He looked very startling in it. ‘How do you put those freckles on that you had with this?’ he asked.

  ‘Grease-paint,’ said Fatty. ‘There are my grease-paints over there - what actors use for make-up, you know. One day I’m going to make myself up as a black boy and give you all a fright.’

  ‘Oh - do give old Clear-Orf a scare too!’ begged Bets. ‘Let me try on that wig, Larry; do let me.’

  ‘We really ought to be making our plans to tackle this mystery,’ said Fatty, taking a beautiful gold pencil out of his pocket. Pip stared.

  ‘I say! Is that gold?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fatty airily. ‘I won it last term for the best essay. Didn’t I tell you? It was a marvellous essay, all about...’

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Larry and Pip together. ‘We’ll take your word for it, Fatty!’

  ‘I had a marvellous report again,’ said Fatty. ‘Did you, Pip?’

  ‘You know I didn’t,’ said Pip. ‘You heard my mother say so. Shut up, Fatty.’

  ‘Let’s talk about our new mystery,’ said Daisy, seeing that a quarrel was about to flare up. ‘Write down some notes, Fatty. Let’s get going.’

  ‘I was just about to,’ said Fatty, rather pompously. He printed in beautiful small letters a heading to the page in the lovely leather notebook he held. The others looked to see what he had printed:

  MYSTERY NO. 4. BEGUN APRIL 5TH.

  ‘Ooh - that looks fine,’ said Bets.

  ‘CLUES’ was the next thing printed by Fatty, over the page.

  ‘But we haven’t got any,’ said Pip.

  ‘We soon shall have,’ said Fatty. He turned over the page. ‘SUSPECTS’ was what he printed there.

  ‘We don’t know any of those yet either,’ said Daisy. ‘And I’m sure I don’t know how we’re going to find any.’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ said Fatty. ‘We’ll soon have something to work on.’

  ‘Yes, but what?’ said Pip. ‘I mean, it’s no use looking for footprints or cigarette-ends or dropped hankies or anything like that. There’s just nothing at all we can find for clues.’

  ‘There’s one very important thing,’ said Fatty.

  ‘What’s that?’ said everyone.

  ‘That anonymous letter,’ said Fatty. ‘It’s most important we should get a glimpse of it. Most important!’

  ‘Who’s got it?’ asked Larry.

  ‘My mother might have it,’ said Pip.

  ‘More likely Gladys has got it,’ said Fatty.

  ‘That’s the first thing we must do. Go and see Gladys, and ask her if she knows or guesses who could have written her that letter. We must also find out what’s in it.’

  ‘Let’s go now,’ said Pip, who always liked to rush off as soon as anything had been decided.

  ‘Right. You take us,’ said Fatty. Pip looked rather blank.

  ‘But I don’t know where Gladys lives,’ he said.

  ‘Ha, I thought you didn’t,’ said Fatty. ‘Well, Pip, you must find out. That’s the first thing we’ve got to do - find out where Gladys lives.’

  ‘I could ask Mother,’ said Pip doubtfully.

  ‘Now don’t be such a prize idiot,’ said Fatty at once. ‘Use your brains! You know jolly well your parents don’t want us mixed up in this mystery, and we’ve got to keep it dark that we’re finding out things. Don’t on any account ask your mother anything - or Mrs. Moon either.’

  ‘Well, but how am I to find out then?’ said Pip, looking bewildered.

  ‘I know a way, I know a way!’ sang out Bets suddenly. ‘Gladys lent me a book once and I didn’t have time to give it her back before she left. l could go to Mrs. Moon and tell her, and ask her for Gladys’s address so that I could send the book on to her.’

  ‘Clever girl!’ said Fatty. ‘You’re coming on well, you are, Bets! Perhaps you’d better handle this, and not Pip.’

  ‘I’ve got an idea too now,’ said Pip, rather sulkily.

  ‘What?’ said Bets.

  ‘Well - if I got a bit of paper and stuck it in an envelope, and wrote Gladys’s name and our address on it and posted it - Mother would re-address it and I could hang about and see what it was, when she puts the letter on the hall-stand to be posted,’ said Pip.

  ‘Yes, that’s a very fine idea too,’ said Fatty. ‘Couldn’t have thought of a much better one myself. Go to the top of the class, Pip.’

  Pip grinned. ‘Well - both Bets and I will carry out our ideas,’ he said, ‘and surely one of us will get Gladys’s address!’

  ‘Here’s a bit of paper and an envelope,’ said Fatty. ‘But disguise your writing, Pip.’

  ‘Why?’ said Pip, surprised.

  ‘Well - seeing that your mother gets a letter from you every single week when you’re away at boarding-school, it’s likely she might recognize your writing and wonder why on earth you were writing to Gladys when she was gone!’ said Fatty, in a very patient, but rather tired voice.

  ‘Fatty thinks of everything!’ said Daisy admiringly. Pip saw the point at once, but doubted very much if he could disguise his writing properly.

  ‘Here - give it to me. I’ll do it,’ said Fatty, who was apparently able to disguise his writing as easily as he could disguise his appearance and his voice. He took the envelope, and, to the children’s enormous admiration, wrote Gladys’s name and Pip’s address in a small, extremely grown-up handwriting, quite unlike his own.

  ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Elementary, my dear Pip!’

  ‘Marvellous, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!’ said Pip. ‘Honestly, Fatty, you’re a wonder. How many different writings can you do?’

  ‘Any amount,’ said Fatty. ‘Want to see the writing of a poor old charwoman? Here it is!’

  He wrote a few words in a scrawling, untidy writing. ‘Oh, it’s just like Mrs. Cockles’s writing!’ cried Bets in delight. ‘Sometimes she puts out a notice for the milkman - “TWO PINTS” or something like that - and her writing is just like that!’

  ‘Now write like old Clear-Orf,’ said Larry. ‘Go on! What does he write like?’

  ‘Well, I’ve seen his writing, so I know what it’s like,’ said Fatty, ‘but if I hadn’t seen it I’d know too - he’d be bound to write like this....’

  He wrote a sentence or two in a large, flourishing hand with loops and tails to the letters - an untidy, would-be impressive hand - yes, just like Mr. Goon’s writing.

  ‘Fatty, you’re always doing something surprising,’ said Bets, with a sigh. ‘There’s nothing you can’t do. I wish I was like you.’

  ‘You be like yourself. You couldn’t be nicer,
’ said Fatty, giving the little girl a squeeze. Bets was pleased. She liked and admired Fatty very much indeed.

  ‘You know, once last term I thought I’d try out a new handwriting on my form-master,’ said Fatty. ‘So I made up a marvellous handwriting, very small and neat and pointed, with most of the letters leaning backwards - and old Tubbs wouldn’t pass it - said I’d got some one to do that prep for me, and made me do it all again.’

  ‘Poor Fatty,’ said Bets.

  ‘Well, the next time I gave my prep in, it was written in old Tubbs’ own handwriting,’ said Fatty, with a grin. ‘Golly, it gave him a start to see a prep all done in his own writing!’

  ‘What did he say? ’ asked Pip.

  ‘He said, “And who’s done this prep for you this time, Trotteville?” And I said, “My goodness, sir, it looks as if you have!” ’ said Fatty. The others roared with laughter. Whether Fatty’s school tales were true or not, they were always funny.

  Pip slipped the blank piece of paper into the envelope that Fatty had addressed and stuck it down. He took the stamp that Fatty offered him and put it on.

  ‘There!’ he said. ‘I’ll post it on my way home tonight. It’ll catch the half-past six post and it will be there tomorrow morning. Then if I don’t manage to spot the re-addressed letter my name isn’t Pip.’

  ‘Well, it isn’t,’ said Bets. ‘It’s Philip.’

  ‘Very funny!’ said Pip. ‘I don’t think!’

  ‘Now don’t squabble, you two,’ said Fatty. ‘Well, we’ve done all we can for the moment. Let’s have a game. I’ll teach you Woo-hoo-colly-wobbles.’

  ‘Gracious! Whatever’s that?’ said Bets.

  It was a game involving much woo-hoo-ing and groaning and rolling over and over. Soon all the children were reduced to tears of mirth. Mrs. Trotteville sent up to say that if anybody was ill they were to go down and tell her, but if they were just playing, would they please go out into the garden, down to the very bottom.

  ‘Oooh. I didn’t know your mother was back,’ said Pip, who had really let himself go. ‘We’d better stop. What an awful game this is, Fatty.’

  ‘I say - it’s almost half-past six!’ said Larry. ‘If you’re going to post that letter, you’d better go, young Pip. Brush yourself down, for goodness sake. You look awful.’

  ‘Gah!’ said Pip, remembering Mr. Goon’s last exclamation. He brushed himself down, and re-tied his tie. ‘Come on, Bets,’ he said. ‘Well, so long, you others - we’ll tell you Gladys’s address tomorrow, and then we’ll go and see her and examine our first clue - the “nonnimus” letter!’

  He ran down the path with Bets. Fatty leaned out of the window of his den and yelled, ‘Oy! You’re a fine detective! You’ve forgotten the letter!’

  ‘So I have!’ said Pip and tore back for it. Fatty dropped it down. Pip caught it and ran off again. He and Bets tore to the pillar-box at the corner and were just in time to catch the postman emptying the letters from the inside.

  ‘One more!’ said Pip. ‘Thanks, postman! Come on, Bets. We’ll try out your book-idea as soon as we get home.’

  DISAPPOINTMENT FOR PIP AND BETS

  Bets flew to find the book that Gladys had lent her, as soon as she got home. She found it at once. It was an old school prize, called The Little Saint. Bets had been rather bored with it. ‘The Little Saint’ had been a girl much too good to be true. Bets preferred to read about naughty, lively children.

  She wrapped the book up carefully, and then went down to say good-night to her mother. Mrs. Hilton was reading in the drawing-room.

  ‘Come to say good-night, Bets?’ she said, looking at the clock. ‘Did you have a nice time at Fatty’s?’

  ‘Yes! We played his new game, Woo-hoo-colly-wobbles,’ said Bets. ‘It was fun.’

  ‘I expect it was noisy and ridiculous if it was anything to do with Frederick,’ said her mother. ‘What’s that you’ve got, Bets?’

  ‘Oh Mother, it’s a book that Gladys lent me,’ said Bets. ‘I was going to ask Mrs. Moon her address so that I could send it to her. Could I have a stamp, Mother!’

  ‘You don’t need to ask Mrs. Moon,’ said her mother. ‘I’ll see that Gladys gets it.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Bets. ‘Well - I’ll just put her address on it. I’ve written her name. What’s her address, Mother?’

  ‘I’ll write it,’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘Now don’t stand there putting off time, Bets. Go up to bed. Leave the parcel here.’

  ‘Oh, do let me just write the address,’ said poor Bets, feeling that her wonderful idea was coming to nothing, and that it wasn’t fair. ‘I feel like writing, Mother.’

  ‘Well, it must be for the first time in your life then!’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘You’ve always said how much you hate writing before. Go up to bed, Bets, now.’

  Bets had to go. She left the book on the table by her mother, feeling rather doleful. But perhaps Pip would see the address later on in the evening, if her mother wrote it on the parcel.

  Pip said he’d keep an eye open. Anyway, what did it matter? His own letter would come in the morning and they’d soon find out the right address.

  He saw the book on the table when he went down ready for dinner, cleaned and brushed. He read the name on the wrapping-paper... but there was no address there yet.

  ‘Shall I write Gladys’s address for you, Mother?’ he asked politely. ‘Just to save you time.’

  ‘I can’t imagine why you and Bets are so anxious to do a little writing tonight!’ said Mrs. Hilton, looking up from her book. ‘No, Pip. I can’t be bothered to look up the address now, and I can’t remember it off-hand. Leave it.’

  So it had to be left. Pip was glad to think his letter was coming in the morning. He was sure that had been a better idea than Bets’!

  Pip was down early next morning, waiting for the postman. He took all the letters out of the box and put them by his mother’s plate. His own was there, addressed in Fatty’s disguised handwriting.

  ‘There’s a letter for Gladys, Mother,’ said Pip, at breakfast-time. ‘We’ll have to re-address it.’

  ‘My dear boy, you don’t need to tell me that!’ said Mrs. Hilton.

  ‘Did you put the address on my parcel?’ asked Bets, attacking her boiled egg hungrily.

  ‘No. I couldn’t remember it last night,’ said Mrs. Hilton, reading her letters.

  ‘Shall Pip and I take the letters and the parcel to the post for you this morning?’ asked Bets, thinking this was really a very good idea.

  ‘If you like,’ said Mrs. Hilton. Bets winked at Pip. Now things would be easy! They could both see the address they wanted.

  A telephone call came for Mrs. Hilton after breakfast, whilst the children were hanging about waiting to take the letters. Mrs. Moon answered it. She went in to Mrs. Hilton.

  ‘There’s a call for you, Mam,’ she said.

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Mrs. Hilton. Pip and Bets were most astonished to see Mrs. Moon winking and nodding mysteriously to their mother, but not saying any name. However, Mrs. Hilton seemed to understand all right. She got up and went to the telephone, shutting the door behind her so that the children could not follow without being noticed.

  ‘Well - who’s on the phone that Mother doesn’t want us to know about?’ said Pip, annoyed. ‘Did you see how mysterious Mrs. Moon was, Bets?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Bets. ‘Can’t we just open the door a bit and listen, Pip?’

  ‘No,’ said Pip. ‘We really can’t. Not if Mother doesn’t want us to hear.’

  Their mother came back after a minute or two. She didn’t say who had telephoned to her and the children didn’t dare to ask.

  ‘Shall we go to the post-office now?’ said Pip, at last. ‘We’re ready.’

  ‘Yes. There are the letters over there,’ said Mrs. Hilton.

  ‘What about my parcel for Gladys?’ said Bets.

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t need to go - nor the letter for her,’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘Somebody’s going to see her today and he will take
them. That will save putting a stamp on the parcel.’

  ‘Who’s going to see Gladys?’ asked Pip. ‘Can we go too? I’d like to see Gladys again.’

  ‘Well, you can’t,’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘And please don’t start trying to find out things, Pip, because, as I’ve already told you, this is nothing whatever to do with you. You can take the other letters to the post for me. Go now and you will catch the ten o’clock post.’

  Pip and Bets went off rather sulkily. Bets was near tears. ‘It’s too bad, Pip,’ she said, when they got out-of-doors, ‘we had such good ideas - and now they’re no use at all!’

  ‘We’ll post the letters and then go up and see Fatty,’ said Pip gloomily. ‘I expect he’ll think we ought to have done better. He always thinks he can do things so marvellously.’

  ‘Well, so he can,’ said Bets loyally. ‘Let me post the letters, Pip. Here’s the post office.’

  ‘Here you are then. What a baby you are to like posting letters still!’ said Pip. Bets slipped them into the letter-box and they turned to go up to Fatty’s house. He was at home, reading a new detective book.

  ‘Our ideas weren’t any good,’ said Pip. He told Fatty what had happened. Fatty was unexpectedly sympathetic.

  ‘That was hard luck,’ he said. ‘You both had jolly fine ideas, and it was only a bit of bad luck that stopped them having their reward. Now - who is it that is going to see Gladys today?’

  ‘Mother said it was a “he,” ’ said Pip. ‘She said, “Somebody’s going to see Gladys today, and he will take them!” ’

  ‘That’s easy then,’ said Fatty briskly. ‘He can only mean one person - and that’s old Clear-Orf! Well, now we know what to do.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Pip, still gloomy. ‘You always seem to know everything, Fatty.’

  ‘Brains, my dear fellow, brains!’ said Fatty. ‘Well, look here - if it’s Goon that’s going to see Gladys, we can wait about and follow him, can’t we? He’ll go on his bike, I expect - well, we can go on ours! Easy!’