Mystery of Holly Lane (11 page)

“Yes. I can easily find that out,” said Fatty. “Mother knows her. I’ll go and see if she was delivering at Hollies this morning. If so, she’s not a Suspect, of course. But we can’t afford to rule any one out till we’ve proved they’re all right.”

“And we can look out for car ERT 100,” said Pip. “I wonder who the young man is — and that young woman who stayed such a long time.”

“Probably the old man’s granddaughter,” said Fatty, shutting up his notebook. “She comes to clean for him. Pip, you and Bets get on with the grocer-boy Suspect. Larry, you finish these tracings, will you, and let us each have one. I’ll go and find out a bit more about these six people if I can. Daisy, will you wander about with Buster, and see if you can spot that car — ERT 100, remember.”

“Right!” said every one and got up. This was exciting. A mystery they could really work on! Now who, of all those six, was the thief?

Fatty gets Going.

Fatty went straight off to Mr. Henri. His sister, Mrs. Harris, was quite pleased to see him. Fatty had excellent manners, and the Frenchwoman liked a boy who knew how to behave.

Soon he was sitting beside Mr. Henri’s couch. “Well, have you come to ask me more questions?” said the man, in French. “We will speak in French, will we not? It is so much easier for me — and you, you talk French like a native! You are a most accomplished boy!”

Fatty coughed modestly, and restrained himself from agreeing whole-heartedly with Mr. Henri. “I just wanted to ask you a few things about our six Suspects,” he began.

“Ha! Mr. Goon also asked me many questions,” said Mr. Henri. “He is a stupid fellow; but he asks good questions. They are well-trained in this, your police.”

“Oh,” said Fatty, disappointed to hear that Goon had had the bright idea of questioning Mr. Henri too. “Blow Goon! Well, it can’t be helped. Mr. Henri, who, of all these six people on our list, went into the bungalow — right inside, I mean?”

“All of them,” said Mr. Henri. “The door could not have been locked. Every one turned the handle and walked in.”

“What! The window-cleaner too?” said Fatty.

“Yes, he too,” said Mr. Henri. “By the way, my sister says that he is the same one she has. He came to do her windows first, and then went to Hollies.”

“Does she think he’s honest?” asked Fatty.

“Perfectly,” said Mr. Henri. “And a good cleaner. But you should see him and question him, Frederick.”

“Oh, I will,” said Fatty. “Decidedly. You told me too about the lady with the papers or magazines. I think she may have been the vicar’s sister, delivering Parish magazines.”

“So? I do not know what they are,” said Mr. Henri. “But yes, the lady may have been of that type — she too went in, but she did not stay long.”

“What about the well-dressed young man you said went in for a short time?” asked Fatty.

“Well, he came again, when you were there,” said Mr. Henri. “You saw him — quite well-dressed. Did he not say who he was?”

“Gosh, that was the old man’s great-nephew!” said Fatty. “He called him uncle, I remember. So he came during the morning, too, did he — before we got there — and afterwards as well. Very interesting! I’ll find out where he lives and do a spot of interviewing.”

“The young woman must have been the granddaughter who cleans and cooks for the old fellow,” said Mr. Henri. “There was also the man who came in a car — that is all, is it not? Well, which do you suspect the most?”

“I don’t know,” said Fatty. “I really don’t. The one I suspect least is the lady with magazines — but even so I’ll have to check up. The worst of it is Goon has probably checked up too. That makes it more difficult for me. I mean — a policeman has the right to interview people. I haven’t!”

Mrs. Harris came in. “You will stay to tea, won’t you?” she said. “We are just going to have it.”

Fatty shook his head most regretfully. “I’m awfully sorry. Nothing I’d like better. But I must go and do a spot of interviewing before Mr. Goon gets too far ahead of me.”

He shook hands politely, thanked Mr. Henri, and let himself out. It was about a quarter to five. He was quite near the Vicarage. Should he chance his luck and go and see if the Vicar’s sister was in?

Fatty decided that he would. So he cycled away quickly and was soon riding up the Vicarage drive. He saw somebody just by the house, kneeling on a mat, weeding. The Vicar’s sister! What a bit of luck!

Fatty got off his bicycle and said good afternoon. The Vicar’s sister looked up. She was a small, kindly faced woman, who knew Fatty’s mother well.

“Ah, Frederick!” she said. “Do you want to see the Vicar?”

“Well, no, I really wanted to see you,” said Fatty. “I won’t keep you a minute. It’s about that poor old man whose money has been stolen. I and my friends happened to be the first ones to help him when he discovered his loss. And…”

“Yes, I was so sorry to hear about that,” said the Vicar’s sister. “I had been to see him myself only that morning, left him the Parish magazine, you know — his granddaughter reads it to him — and he was sitting in his chair, quite happy, listening to the radio. It was going so loudly that I could hardly hear myself speak!”

“Did you see anything suspicious at all?” asked Fatty. “We couldn’t see anything out of the way when we arrived there.”

“No. Everything seemed just as usual,” said the kindly-faced woman. “I just left the magazine, had a few friendly words and went. Such a pity to hide money in one’s house — a real temptation to thieves.”

“Yes,” said Fatty. “Well, thanks very much. I didn’t think you could help me really — but you never know.”

“How did you know I called there yesterday?” asked the Vicar’s sister, looking suddenly puzzled.

“Oh, I just heard that you did,” said Fatty, turning his bicycle round. “Thank you very much. My kind regards to the Vicar and his wife!”

“One of the list of Suspects,” said Fatty to himself as he rode away. “I felt sure that ‘woman with magazines’ sounded like the Vicar’s sister. Anyway, it’s quite, quite obvious she had nothing to do with the money. She didn’t say if Goon had gone to see her — I suppose he hasn’t, or she would have told me. Well, I should have thought he would have shot along to interview her, even though he knew she wasn’t really a Suspect.”

But Goon had not thought of the Vicar’s sister. The description of the woman with the magazines had rung a different bell in Goon’s mind. Aha! A red coat — and a black hat with roses! Didn’t that sound like the woman who had sold him that ticket and read his hand? The woman who had actually seen that fat boy Frederick in his hand — and a Mystery also!

“There’s more in this hand-reading business than anyone would guess,” said Goon to himself. “Much more. I don’t reckon that woman who read my hand has got anything to do with the theft of the money, but I’m pretty certain she’s the woman with the papers who visited Hollies yesterday morning, so I’ll go and interview her — and maybe she’ll read my hand a bit more. Maybe she could tell me more about the Mystery she saw in my hand.”

Poor Goon! He had no idea that his visitor, the woman in the red coat, who had sold him the Sale Ticket, had been Fatty in disguise! He cycled hopefully up to Fatty’s house, and rang the bell. The woman had told him she was staying for three weeks with Fatty’s mother, so she should still be there.

Fatty had just arrived back himself, and was washing his hands in the bathroom. He saw Goon cycling up the drive and was puzzled. Now what did Goon want? He dried his hands and slipped downstairs, going into the lounge, where his mother was sewing.

Jane came into the room almost at once. “Mr. Goon, the policeman, would like a word with you, Madam,” she said.

Mrs. Trotteville frowned. She was not fond of Mr. Goon. “Show him in here,” she said. “Don’t go, Frederick. It may be something to do with you.”

Mr. Goon came in, helmet in his hand. He was always on his best behaviour with Mrs. Trotteville. “Er — good evening, Madam,” he said. “I wondered if I could have a word with the lady who is staying with you.”

Mrs. Trotteville looked surprised. “There is no one staying with me at present,” she said. “Why do you think there is?”

“But — but there must be!” said Mr. Goon, startled. “Why — this lady — she came to see me the other morning and sold me a ticket for a Sale of Work — five bob — er, five shillings I paid for it. She said she was a friend of yours and was staying with you for three weeks. I wanted to see her to ask a few questions. I have reason to believe that she was one of the people who went to Hollies — where the robbery was, you know — on the morning that the old man discovered that his money was gone.”

Fatty turned round and poked the fire vigorously. How marvellous! How super! Goon really and truly thought that one of the Suspects was the woman in the red coat who had visited him and read his hand — Fatty himself in disguise!

“Really, Mr. Goon, I can’t think why in the world this woman said she was staying with me,” said Mrs. Trotteville, very much on her dignity. “I have never heard of her in my life!”

“But — but she sold me this ticket for five bob!” said poor Mr. Goon, in anguish. “Five bob! Is it a dud, then?” He pushed the ticket at Mrs. Trotteville.

“No. It is not a dud,” she said. “I also have those tickets for sale.”

“She read my hand too,” wailed Goon. “And the things she said were true.” He stopped suddenly. No, it wouldn’t do to tell Mrs. Trotteville what the woman had said about a fat boy.

Fatty was having a violent coughing fit, his handkerchief to his face. His mother looked at him, annoyed. “Frederick, go and get a drink of water. Mr. Goon, I’m sorry not to be able to help you; but I do assure you that I have no friend who goes about reading people’s hands. Some one has — er — deceived you. Still, you’ve got the ticket. You can always go to the Sale. There will be plenty of good things for you to buy.”

Mr. Goon made a peculiar noise — half snort and half groan. He got up, said good evening, and stumbled to the door. That woman in the red coat! Who could she have been? Telling him fairy tales like that — making him stump up for a silly Sale of Work ticket! What a waste of money. All the same, she did warn him against that fat boy, and she did know that a Mystery was near. Strange. Most peculiar.

Fatty appeared in the hall. “Oh, are you going, Mr. Goon?” he said. “Do let me see you out. Very strange that that woman should have said she was staying here, isn’t it? By the way, how are you getting on with this new Mystery? For Mystery it is! You no doubt have plenty of clues?”

Goon looked at him with a surly face. “Yes, I have,” he said. “And one or two of them you won’t like — Mister Clever! I told you you’d poke your nose into things once too often!”

“What exactly do you mean by that?” said Fatty.

“Wait and see,” said Goon, rudely. Fatty opened the door and Goon marched out. Fatty called after him politely.

“Oh — er, Mr. Goon! Did that woman who read your hand warn you against a fat boy, by any chance? She did, did she? Well, take her advice. Beware of him!”

And Fatty gently shut the door on a most bewildered Mr. Goon. Now — HOW did Fatty know what that woman had read in his hand? Goon puzzled over that for a very long time indeed!

Mostly About Window-Cleaners.

It was too late to do anything else that evening. Fatty decided that he would go and see the window-cleaner first thing the next morning, then he would go to Pip’s at ten o’clock for the next meeting of the Five. By that time the others might have something to report, too.

“After the meeting I’ll see if I can find that young man — the great-nephew,” said Fatty. “And have a word with the granddaughter too. By then we might be able to see daylight a little. My word — fancy Goon going right off the track, and coming up here to trace a woman who doesn’t exist — the woman who read his hand. Poor old Goon. He’s got hold of a bit of jigsaw that doesn’t fit!”

Fatty decided that he would dress up in old clothes the next day, find the window-cleaner, and pretend that he wanted some advice about going in for window-cleaning himself. He might get the man to talk more freely if he thought he was not being interviewed.

“I’d better go early, or he’ll be off to work,” thought Fatty, and arranged with Cook to have breakfast at an earlier hour than usual. He was up in good tune and came down just as Jane brought a tray of breakfast for him into the dining-room. She looked in surprise at Fatty.

“My word! Are you going in for chimney-sweeping or something?” she said. “Where did you get those dirty old clothes? Don’t you let your father see you!”

“I won’t,” said Fatty, and began on his breakfast. He propped his notebook in front of him as he ate, considering all the facts of the robbery and the removal of the furniture. Pity they couldn’t find out where the furniture was — it would help matters a good deal!

He had the address of the window-cleaner. Mr. Henri’s sister had given it to him. “Sixty-two, North Street, Peterswood. The other end of the town. Well, I’ll be off.”

Fatty didn’t cycle. His bicycle was too expensive-looking to be owned by a young man who wanted a job at window-cleaning. He set off at a good pace, with Buster at his heels.

It took him about twenty minutes to get to the address. No. 62 was a smart little house, with a television aerial on the roof. Evidently window-cleaning was quite a well-paid occupation. Fatty walked round to the back door.

A man sat there, cleaning some boots. He looked up at Fatty and Fatty grinned.

“Hallo, mate! What do you want?” said the man, liking the look of this cheerful-faced fat boy.

“Just wanted to ask you if you could give me a few hints about your job,” said Fatty. “I might like to take it up — if any one would teach me!”

He spoke in a rough kind of voice, so that the man would not suspect him to be any other than he seemed.

The window-cleaner looked him up and down.

“You seem a likely sort of lad,” he said. “I might do with a mate meself. When are you free?”

“Oh, not for some time,” said Fatty, hastily, marvelling at the ease with which one could get a job. He then began to ask the window-cleaner a few questions: how much did a ladder cost? Could one be bought second-hand? Were leathers expensive?