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

by Enid Blyton

  ‘Lawks! I ought to have locked it up at once!’ thought Mr. Goon, and began to hurry back to his house. ‘How did I come to forget it? I was that mazed.’

  He hurried into his front garden - and then stopped short in dismay. The bicycle was gone! It was now of course, half-way to Pip’s house, ridden furiously by Larry, who was absolutely longing to know the whole of Fatty’s story. But Mr. Goon didn’t know that.

  He gulped. This was getting too much for him. Three red-headed boys all vanishing into thin air - and now a completely solid bicycle doing the same thing. He supposed that red-headed fellow must have taken it somehow without his seeing - but how?

  ‘Gah!’ said Mr. Goon, wiping his hot forehead. ‘What with these here letters - and hysterical women - and red-headed disappearing fellows - and that cheeky toad, Frederick Trotteville - my life in Peterswood ain’t worth living! First one thing and then another. I’d like to talk to that Frederick Trotteville. I wouldn’t put it past him to write me that cheeky anonymous letter. It’s him that done that - I’d lay a million dollars it was. Gah!’

  CLUES, REAL CLUES AT LAST!

  The Five-Find-Outers and Buster met in the little summer-house at the top of Pip’s garden that afternoon. It was warm and sunny there, and they wanted to be quite alone and hear again and again of all that Fatty had done that morning - especially of his neat escape from Mr. Goon’s boxroom.

  ‘I simply can’t imagine what he said when he unlocked the door and found you gone, Fatty’ said Bets. ‘I’d have loved to be there!’

  Fatty showed them the two specimens of handwriting he had taken from Miss Tittle and Mrs. Moon. He told them that Nosey couldn’t write, so that ruled him out completely. ‘And if you look at this receipt, which Mrs. Nosey signed, you’ll see she could never have written those letters either, even if Nosey had told her what to put into them,’ said Fatty.

  ‘It’s a funny thing,’ said Daisy, ‘we’ve had plenty of Suspects - but one by one we’ve had to rule them out. There honestly doesn’t seem to be a single real Suspect left, Fatty.’

  ‘And except for seeing the letters, we’ve got no real Clues either,’ said Larry. ‘I call this a most disappointing Mystery. The letter-writer went a bit mad this week, didn’t he - or she - sending letters to Mrs. Lamb - and Mrs. Moon and Mr. Goon. Before that, as far as we know, only one a week was sent.’

  ‘Isn’t old Clear-Orf funny when I keep pretending I’ve got a new Clue?’ said Fatty, grinning. ‘Do you remember his face when I pulled old Waffles, the white rat, out of my pocket? I just happened to have him there that day.’

  ‘Poor old Clear-Orf doesn’t believe anything we say any more,’ said Pip. ‘I do wonder if he really suspects somebody of writing those letters - someone we don’t know about?’

  ‘He may have some clues or ideas we haven’t been able to get,’ said Fatty. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if he solves this Mystery after all - and not us.’

  ‘Oh, Fatty!’ cried everyone in dismay.

  ‘How can you say that?’ said Bets. ‘Wouldn’t it be dreadful if he did - so that Inspector Jenks was pleased with him, and not with us.’

  Inspector Jenks was their very good friend, and had always been very pleased with them because they had managed to solve some curious mysteries in Peterswood before. They had not seen him since the Christmas holidays.

  ‘Let’s get out of this summer-house,’ said Larry. ‘It’s absolutely melting in here! Fatty, don’t forget to take your red-haired wig and things back with you tonight. This summer-house isn’t an awfully safe hiding-place for them. Pip’s mother might easily walk in and see them stuffed under the seat.’

  ‘I’ll remember,’ said Fatty, yawning. ‘Golly, it was funny going into Goon’s house this morning as a red-headed messenger-boy - and coming out just myself, and nobody spotting me! Come on - let’s go for a walk by the river. It’ll be cool there. I shall fall asleep in this heat!’

  As they went down the drive they met Mr. Goon cycling up. They wondered which of the household he was going to see. He stopped and got off his bike.

  ‘You know that there telegraph-boy, that brought you that telegram some time back?’ he said. ‘Well, I happen to know he’s a fake, see? There’s no telegraph-boy like that. And I’m making strict inquiries into the matter, I am - yes and into fake telegrams too, see? And I warn you all, if you hob-nob with red-heads, you’ll get into Serious Trouble. Very Serious Trouble.’

  ‘You do frighten me,’ said Fatty, making his eyes go big.

  ‘And I’ll have None of your Sauce!’ said Mr. Goon majestically. ‘I know more than what you think, and I advise you all to be careful. Call that dog orf!’

  ‘Come here, Buster,’ said Fatty, in such a mild voice that Buster took no notice at all. He went on prancing round Mr. Goon’s ankles.

  ‘I said, call him orf!’ repeated Mr. Goon, doing little prances too, to avoid sudden rushes by Buster.

  ‘Come here, Buster,’ said Fatty again, in an extremely polite voice. Buster ignored him completely.

  ‘That’s not calling him orf!’ shouted Mr. Goon, beginning to lose his temper. ‘Yell at him, go on! Nuisance of a dog!’

  Fatty winked at the others, and with one accord they all opened their mouths and yelled at the top of their voices. ‘COME HERE, BUSTER!’

  Mr. Goon jumped violently at the noise. He glared. Buster also jumped. He went to Fatty.

  ‘Not pleased even now, Mr. Goon!’ said Fatty sweetly. ‘Oh dear - there’s no pleasing you at all, I’m afraid. Wait a minute - I believe I’ve got a really good clue to hand you - ah, here it is!’

  He took out a match-box and gave it to the policeman. Mr. Goon opened it suspiciously. It was a trick match-box, and, as Mr. Goon opened it, he released a powerful spring inside which sprang up and shot the match-box high in the air. Mr. Goon got quite a shock.

  He went purple, and his eyes bulged.

  ‘So sorry, so sorry,’ said Fatty hastily. ‘It must have been the wrong match-box. Wait a bit - I’ve got another...’

  If Buster had not been there with his ready teeth Mr. Goon might quite well have boxed Fatty’s ears. He looked ready to burst. Fearing that he might say something he ought not to, poor Mr. Goon hurriedly mounted his bicycle and rode up the drive, breathing so heavily that he could be heard all the way to the kitchen-door.

  ‘He’s gone to talk to Mrs. Moon again,’ said Pip. ‘I expect they’ll come to blows! Let’s get on. Oh, Fatty, I thought I should burst when that trick match-box went up in the air. Goon’s face!’

  They strolled down the lane to the river. It was pleasant there, for a breeze blew across the water. The children found a sunny place beside a big bush and lay down lazily. A swan came swimming by, and two moor-hens chugged across the water, their heads bobbing like clockwork.

  ‘Let’s forget all about the Mystery for a bit,’ said Daisy. ‘It’s so nice here. I keep on thinking and thinking about those letters, and who could be writing them - but the more I think the less I know.’

  ‘Same here,’ said Pip. ‘So many Suspects - and not one of them could apparently have Done the Deed. A most mysterious mystery.’

  ‘One that even the great detective, Mr. Frederick Sherlock Holmes Trotteville can’t solve either!’ said Larry.

  ‘Correct!’ said Fatty, with a sigh. ‘I almost - but not quite - give it up!’

  Larry’s hat blew away and he got up to go and get it. ‘Blow!’ he said. ‘There’s old Clear-Orf again - cycling over the field-path. He’s seen me too. Hope he doesn’t come and make a row again. He’d like to eat you alive, Fatty, you’re so aggravating.’

  ‘Sit down quickly, in case he hasn’t seen you,’ said Daisy. ‘We don’t want him here.’

  Larry sat down. They all watched the blue water flowing smoothly by. The moor-hens came back again, and a fish jumped at a fly. A very early swallow dipped down to the water. It was all very peaceful indeed.

  ‘I should think old Clear-Orf didn’t see me
after all,’ said Larry. ‘Thank goodness. I think I’m going to sleep. There’s something very soothing about the gurgling of the water - a lovely, peaceful afternoon.’

  Heavy breathing disturbed the peace, and clumsy footsteps came over the grass towards their bush. Mr. Goon appeared, his face a familiar purple. He carried a small sack in his hand, and looked extremely angry. He flung the little sack down fiercely.

  ‘More Clues, I suppose!’ he sneered. ‘More of your silly, childish jokes! White rats and match-boxes! Huh! Gah! What a set of children! And now these Clues - hidden nicely under a bush for me to find, I suppose? What do you think I am? A nitwit?’

  The children were astonished at this outburst, and Bets was really alarmed. Fatty put out a quick hand on Buster’s collar, for the little Scottie had got his hackles up and was growling fiercely, showing all his teeth.

  ‘What’s up, Goon?’ said Fatty, in a sharp, rather grown-up voice.

  ‘You know as well as I do!’ said the policeman. ‘More Clues! I suppose you’ll tell me next that you don’t know anything about that sack of Clues! Gah!’

  ‘What sack? What clues?’ said Fatty, really puzzled. ‘No - I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Goon.’

  ‘You don’t know - ho no, you don’t know!’ said Mr. Goon, and he laughed a nasty laugh. ‘You don’t know anything about red wigs, either, I suppose? Or writing rude letters to the Law? Well, I know a lot! Oho, don’t I? I’ll teach you to lay clues about for me to find. Think I’m a real hignoramus, don’t you?’

  ‘Shut up, Buster,’ said Fatty, for Buster was now snarling very loudly indeed. ‘Mr. Goon, please go. You’re frightening little Bets, and I don’t think I can hold Buster in much longer. I don’t know what you’re talking about - and certainly I’ve never seen the sack before.’

  Buster gave such a fearfully loud snarl that Mr. Goon thought it would be best to do as Fatty said and go. He went, leaving the little sack on the ground, and stepped heavily away, looking as majestic as he could.

  ‘Well, what an unpleasant fellow,’ said Fatty, slipping his arm round Bets, who was in tears. ‘Don’t bother about him, Bets. We know the blustering, roaring old fellow by now. You need never be scared of him!’

  ‘I don’t like p-p-people to shout like that,’ sobbed Bets. ‘And oh Fatty, he said about your red wig! Has he found it?’

  ‘I wondered about that too,’ said Fatty. ‘We’ll look when we go back. I left it in the summer-house, didn’t I? Wish I hadn’t now.’

  ‘What’s this sack of clues that old Clear-Orf kept yammering about?’ said Larry. He pulled it towards him. ‘Some old collection of rubbish some tramp had left behind him under a bush, I suppose - and Mr. Goon found it and then thought it was some more of your false clues, Fatty, planted for him to find.’

  Larry undid the neck of the little sack. It was not much bigger than a three-pound flour bag. Inside, half-wrapped in brown paper, were some curious things.

  There was a small school dictionary - and when he saw it Pip sat up in surprise. ‘Golly! That’s my dicky, I do declare!’ he said. ‘The one I lost last hols. Isn’t it, Bets? Gracious, how did it get into this sack?’

  This made every one sit up and take notice at once. Fatty reached out his arm and took the sack. He ran his fingers quickly through the dictionary, and noted that several words were underlined. One of them was ‘thief.’ Another was ‘fruit.’ Fatty found others, all underlined.

  Pip’s name was in the front of the dictionary. There was no doubt at all but that it was his lost book. Fatty put his hand into the sack to see what else there was there.

  He drew out - an alphabet book. ‘A is for Apple, so rosy and red!’ he chanted, ‘B is for Baby who’s just off to Bed.’ My goodness, no wonder old Clear-Orf thought we’d planted these things for him - a dictionary - and an alphabet book. Most peculiar!’

  The next thing was a child’s copy-book with some of the pages filled in, not very neatly. Larry laughed.

  ‘This is some village kid’s little treasure-store, I should think,’ he said. ‘Though goodness knows how the kid got hold of Pip’s dictionary.’

  Fatty dipped his hand in again. His eyes were suddenly very bright indeed. He pulled out an old bus time-table. He looked at it and then flipped it. It fell open at one much-thumbed page - and on that page there was a mark.

  ‘Do you know what is marked?’ said Fatty. ‘The 10.15 bus to Sheepsale! What do you think of that?’

  The others stared at him. They were all very puzzled now. Fatty spoke excitedly.

  ‘These are real Clues! Don’t you understand, you donkeys? Goon thought they were silly, false ones put there by us to deceive him - but they’re real ones, ones that may help us to put our hand on the letter-writer this very day.’

  Now it was the turn of the others to get excited. ‘Oooh,’ said Bets. ‘How silly of Mr. Goon to give them all to us.’

  Fatty put his hand in once again and drew out a little, torn scrap of paper with some untidy writing on it. There were only two or three words to be made out. One was ‘spoonful,’ another was ‘stir,’ and another was ‘oven.’ Fatty read them and nodded. He was evidently very pleased indeed with this find.

  ‘Poor old Goon!’ he said. ‘He makes the one glorious find in this Mystery - and throws it down at our feet. Won’t he kick himself when he knows? What a bit of luck, oh what a bit of luck!’

  INSPECTOR JENKS ARRIVES

  The other four tried in vain to make Fatty tell them more. But he wouldn’t. ‘You can look at all these clues as much as you like,’ he said, ‘and if you use your brains they will tell you exactly what they tell me. Exactly. I could tell you everything in two minutes - but I do really think you should try to find out what I have found out.’

  ‘But that silly alphabet book!’ said Daisy. ‘It doesn’t tell me a thing!’

  ‘And all that time-table tells me is that there’s a bus to Sheepsale at 10.15, and it’s the bus the letter-writer probably took - but it doesn’t tell me anything else,’ said Pip. ‘As to my dictionary - well, that beats me!’

  ‘Come on - let’s get back home,’ said Fatty. ‘I’ve got to think this all out. It’s not a scrap of good going to Goon about it. He won’t believe a word. In fact I think he’s got it firmly in his head that I’m mixed up in all this letter-writing. I’m sure he thinks I wrote the letter to him!’

  ‘Well - who are we going to, then?’ asked Bets. ‘Inspector Jenks? I’d like that!’

  ‘I thought perhaps we’d better tell your mother first,’ said Fatty. ‘I don’t somehow feel as if I want to bring Inspector Jenks down here for an affair like this - and go right over Goon’s head with the clues that Goon himself presented us with. Doesn’t seem quite fair somehow.’

  ‘It seems quite fair to me!’ said Bets, who disliked Mr. Goon more than any of the others did. ‘Oh, Fatty - tell us all you know from these clues, do, do, do!’

  ‘Now, Bets, if you like to think hard and study these clues, you would know as much as I do,’ said Fatty. ‘Come on - let’s go home - and on the way you can all think hard and if nobody can find out what these clues mean, or who they’re pointing to, then I’ll tell you myself. But give your brains a chance, do!’

  In silence except for Buster’s occasional yaps at a stray cat, they went home to Pip’s. When they got into the drive they saw a big black car there.

  ‘Whose is that?’ said Bets, in wonder.

  ‘And there’s Mr. Goon’s bike,’ said Daisy, pointing to where it stood by the front door. ‘He’s here too.’

  Mrs. Hilton suddenly opened the front door and stood there, waiting for them, looking pale and worried.

  ‘Come in this way,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you’ve come. Mr. Goon is here - saying most peculiar things - and he’s got Inspector Jenks over too!’

  ‘Oh! Is he here?’ cried Bets in delight, and rushed into the drawing-room. The big Inspector sat there, his eyes twinkling as he saw Bets. He was very fond
of her.

  She flung herself on him. ‘I haven’t seen you since the Christmas holidays! You’re bigger than ever! Oh - there’s Mr. Goon!’

  So there was, sitting upright in a corner, looking curiously pleased with himself.

  The other four came in more quietly, and shook hands with the big Inspector. They knew him well, for he had come to their help very often, when they were solving other problems. Buster capered round his ankles in delight, awaiting for the pat he knew would come.

  Mrs. Hilton waited till the greetings were over, and then spoke in a worried voice.

  ‘Children! Mr. Goon brought Inspector Jenks over here today, when he was visiting Peterswood, because he had a serious complaint to make of your behaviour, especially one of you, and he thought that it would be a good thing if the Inspector reprimanded you himself. But I cannot imagine what you have been doing - unless you have been interfering in this anonymous letter business - and I said you were not to.’

  Nobody said anything. Fatty looked politely and inquiringly at the Inspector.

  ‘Suppose you hold forth, Goon,’ said the Inspector, in his pleasant, courteous voice. ‘You have quite a lot to say, I believe.’

  ‘Well, sir,’ began Mr. Goon, in a righteous sort of voice, ‘I know your opinion of these here children has always been high - but I’ve always known more of them than you have, if you’ll pardon me saying so, sir - and they’ve bin getting above themselves, sir - meddling in things that don’t concern them, and hindering me in my business, sir - and one of them - this here boy by name of Frederick Trotteville, sir, I regret to inform you that he has meddled in this anonymous writing, and sent me a most rude and incivil letter, sir - and what’s more he goes about pretending to be what he’s not, sir - and deceiving me proper-like...’

  ‘Exactly what do you mean by that, Goon?’ asked the Inspector mildly. ‘Going about pretending to be what he’s not?’