Mystery of the Missing Man (10 page)

“Well, keep off lions and tigers,” said the girl. “They’ll flash out their paws at you for nothing when you pass them - and maybe scar you for life!”

“Talking of scars,” said Fatty, “did you ever meet anyone with a scar curving above his upper lip?”

“And what do you mean by that?” said the girl, and she gave Fatty such a glare that he was astonished. “Go on - what do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” said Fatty, surprised.

“You clear out,” said the girl, and held out a shilling. “And don’t come back here.”

“But why - what have I said to upset you?” asked Fatty. “I didn’t mean …”

“Clear out or I’ll have Josef run you out,” said the girl, crisply, and Fatty decided that it was best to go, and go quickly. He went out of the tent, looked round for the others, and gave them a brief nod. Then he made for the gate, and went out. He waited outside for the four to come along.

“I do wish we could have seen those performing fleas,” said Bets, as she came up. “Hallo, Fa…”

“Sh!” hissed Fatty, and Bets went red, remembering that Fatty must never be recognized when in disguise.

“We’ll catch the bus back,” said Larry, and they all made for the bus-stop, Fatty a little way behind, as if he did not belong to them.

The top of the bus was empty when they got on, so they all trooped upstairs. “Anything interesting, Fatty?” asked Larry.

“I don’t know. I think so,” said Fatty. “We won’t talk here. All come down to my shed, please; we’ll meet there. I want to talk something over.”

Fatty leapt off the bus as soon as it stopped and made his way to the lane at the back of his garden. He slipped in through the little gate there and went cautiously to the nearby shed. Was Eunice anywhere about? She didn’t appear to be. Good!

The others soon joined him, and he locked the door. “What’s up, Fatty?” asked Larry. “Oh, blow - there’s Buster outside - he must have heard our voices. I’ll let him in.”

Having let in the excited little Scottie, they all settled down again, and looked expectantly at Fatty.

“It’s something that girl said - the girl that owns the fleas,” said Fatty. “First of all, I must tell you that she’s twin to that fellow in the shooting-tent - the one we thought was so like the escaped prisoner.”

“Oh, I thought she reminded me of someone,” said Bets. “Of course - that’s who it was. Go on, Fatty.”

“Well - I was sweeping out the tent for her, and talking,” said Fatty, “and I happened to say that I’d like to work with animals, in a circus - and she said, ‘Well, keep off lions and tigers. They’ll flash out their paws at you for nothing when you pass them, and maybe scar you for life.’ And I said, quite casually. ‘Talking of scars, did you ever meet anyone with a scar curving above his upper lip?’ ”

“And what did she say then?” asked Pip.

“She said, ‘And what do you mean by that?’ ” said Fatty, “and gave me such a glare. Then she said, ‘You clear out and don’t come back here.’ Just like that.”

There was a silence. “What did she mean?” said Daisy, puzzled.

“That’s what I want to know,” said Fatty. “My question disturbed her - maybe even frightened her. Why?”

“Because she jolly well does know someone with a scar above his upper lip!” said Larry. “That’s why!”

“Exactly,” said Fatty. “Now you see why I wanted to have a talk about it.”

“My word - yes - we’ve got to get to the bottom of this,” said Larry, excited. “If she does know someone with a scar like that, it’s obviously the escaped prisoner. Well, he’s not at the Fair. We’ve pretty well seen everyone closely now - so where is he?”

“Where does that girl live?” asked Pip. “In the Fair?”

“No - in a caravan that stands with a good many others in Barker’s Field,” said Fatty.

“Would she be hiding this fellow, do you think?” asked Larry. “In her caravan, perhaps? Would he be another brother?”

“No. She told me that she and her twin are all that’s left of her family,” said Fatty. “Except that ugly old mother, of course. But yet, she and her brother are so like the photo of that man, aren’t they? I wonder if the Chief Inspector knows if there’s another brother?”

“You could easily find out,” said Pip. “Wait - doesn’t it say in those notes you had?”

Fatty took them out of a drawer and the five of them examined them. “Yes - it says here - ‘Family. No brothers or sisters. Father and mother dead. One uncle, dead. No children.’ ”

“Well - that girl and her twin can’t be his brother or sister,” said Larry. “All the same, Fatty, I wish you could have a snoop round their caravans!”

“So do I,” said Fatty. “But I don’t see how I can. I mean - it stands among a lot of others, and I’d easily be seen prying round in the daytime - and at night they’d be in the caravan, and I wouldn’t dare to go knocking at it!”

A voice broke into their conference. It was Eunice’s! “Frederick! Are you in your shed? Don’t you know it’s lunch-time, and if you want to go to the first meeting this afternoon, you oughtn’t to be late.”

“Oh, blow Eunice!” said Fatty, in disgust. “Is it as late as that? Gosh, yes it is! Well, we seem to be up against a blank wall. Think about it, will you, and telephone me if anyone sees a way out! ALL RIGHT, EUNICE, I’M COMING!”

The others slipped quickly out of the shed, avoided Eunice, and went out of the little gate that led into the back lane. Fatty stripped off his filthy things, cleaned his face and dressed himself. He arrived five minutes late for lunch and sat down, apologizing.

“Sorry. Didn’t notice the time!” he said. “Yes, I’ll have some ham, please, Mother.”

He took up his knife and fork, and then discovered that he had forgotten to clean his nails. They were still full of dirt he had forced into them! He tried to hold his knife and fork with bent fingers, so that his nails did not show. His mother noticed at once.

“Frederick! What’s the matter, dear? Have you hurt your hands?”

Everyone immediately looked at Fatty’s curiously bent fingers.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Fatty. “Just a touch of cramp, that’s all.”

Eunice at once took hold of his right hand and straightened the fingers as if to get the cramp out. “The best thing is to…” she began, as Fatty snatched his hand away. But his mother had already seen the filthy nails and looked coldly at Fatty.

“Please go and do your nails, Frederick,” she said, and Fatty fled, conscious of the shocked eyes of Mr. Tolling, his mother and Eunice. Thank goodness his father had gone back to his work!

“We shall be late, we shall be late,” fussed Mr. Tolling, when Fatty came back and lunch proceeded on its leisurely way. “Frederick, are you sure you can be ready when Eunice is? Have you your ticket? We really must start soon. I do hope you will have a most enjoyable afternoon!”

Fatty was certain he wouldn’t. He was sure that he would not find the escaped prisoner at the Coleopterist Conference. No - he would much more likely be found in a caravan in Barker’s Field. What a nuisance to have to go to such a dull meeting - and with Eunice, of all people!

A Very Interesting Afternoon

It was only about seven minutes’ walk to the Town Hall. Mr. Tolling hurried along, with Eunice and Fatty just behind. Quite a number of other people were hurrying along to the Town Hall too! Fatty was surprised to think that there were so many beetle-lovers staying in Peterswood.

He was also surprised to see how many of the men wore moustaches and beards. “Is it a sort of uniform with coleopterists to wear hair on their faces?” he enquired of Eunice.

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “Look, there’s the wonderful Maria Janizena, the one who hatched out all those eighty-four beetles from Thibet.”

“Oh yes, the one hundred and sixty-eight twins,” said Fatty, remembering. He stared at the great Maria Janizena and shuddered. “She looks very like a big beetle herself,” he said in a low voice to Eunice. “And those things sticking up in her hat are rather like the horns my stag-beetles had.”

He expected Eunice to be angry and scornful at such a disrespectful remark, but to his surprise she gave a sudden giggle. “Don’t,” she said. “Father will hear.”

They went up the steps of the Town Hall just behind Mr. Tolling. When he was almost at the top Fatty had a shock. Mr. Goon was there, standing beside a man who held a long list in his hand, apparently helping with the checking of the members.

“Goon must have got some idea that the man we want will come here,” thought Fatty, at once. “Now who told him that? The Chief Inspector? Or has he worked it out himself as I did - that the man is interested in insects, and so will come to the Conference - and may probably even be a member!”

Mr. Goon was even more surprised to see Fatty than Fatty was to see him. He scowled, and then looked quickly down the list held by the man standing near him. Mr. Tolling presented his ticket, and Eunice presented hers. Mr. Goon then barred Fatty’s way.

“Sorry,” he said. “Only ticket-holders admitted.”

“Oh - I’m vouching for him. He’s my guest for this Conference,” said Mr. Tolling, much to Goon’s annoyance. He let Fatty past, glaring at him. That boy! Always turning up where he wasn’t wanted. Did he think too that that escaped prisoner might be somewhere about in this peculiar Conference?

Fatty sat down with Eunice and Mr. Tolling. He began to study the people around him. They all looked extremely earnest, almost as if they had come to church. The few women looked even more serious than the men. The wonderful Maria Janizena was up on the platform with the other big noises, the spiky things in her hat nodding to and fro as she spoke to the men on each side of her.

“Aren’t there any beetles to see?” asked Fatty. “Is it going to be talky-talk all the time?”

“There’s a show of beetles in another room, I think,” whispered back Eunice. “There usually is. Very, very precious too they are - lots of them from different Collections! We’ll go and see them afterwards. I’ll show you some that my father caught. Very rare ones.”

Fatty came to the conclusion that beetle-lovers were very much alike to look at - they were either bald and bearded, or bushy-haired and bearded. The few who had no moustache or beard stood out among the crowd, and it was only a minute’s work to discover that not one had a curving scar above his upper lip.

“Not that I really had a hope to see one,” thought Fatty. “Gosh, I wish I’d thought of disguising myself and painting a scar above my mouth, and coming here. Goon would have been too thrilled for words!”

He ran down the list of names of members obligingly lent to him by Eunice. Some of them were foreign and very queer-sounding - no help to Fatty at all. He began to feel that it was an utter waste of time to come to the meeting. The only thing that would be any real help would be to pull at a few moustaches and see if they came off and were hiding any scar beneath! But that unfortunately was impossible.

The meeting was even duller than Fatty had feared it might be, though Mr. Tolling appeared to enjoy it very much, listening intently to every word that was said by the speakers on the platform. Fatty began to yawn, though he tried his hardest to stop. Mr. Tolling gave him a stern look, but somehow that made Fatty yawn all the more.

He looked round to see if Mr. Goon was still at his place by the door. Yes, he was - presumably to stop any gate-crashers. As Fatty looked at him he yawned - a most prodigious yawn that set Fatty off again. He caught Fatty’s eye and glared. Pest of a boy - copying his yawn like that! Goon spent a pleasant few minutes thinking of some of the things he would like to say to Fatty if only he had the chance.

At last, when Fatty was almost asleep, the meeting was over. “Now we go to the other room to examine the specimens,” whispered Eunice. “They’re really interesting. I’ll show you Father’s.”

Goon was already in the outer room when the members filed in. Round the room were trestle-tables and on them were big cases, glass-fronted, in which were specimens of many different kinds of beetles.

“Are there any live beetles?” Fatty asked Mr. Tolling, who, with gleaming eyes, was already examining a case of curious horned beetles.

“Oh yes - there should be,” said Mr. Tolling. He spoke to someone beside him, a man whom Fatty had seen sitting on the platform. “Good-afternoon, Sir Victor - may I congratulate you on your speech? And do you happen to know if there are any cases of live beetles - my young friend here wants to know.”

“Oh yes, yes,” said Sir Victor, whose beard reached almost down to the bottom of his waistcoat. “But we had a sad accident yesterday, when we were arranging them - two cases were carelessly handled, fell, and broke. Mercifully, most mercifully, we were able to capture all the live beetles but one.”

“Aren’t you showing those beetles then?” asked Mr. Tolling, disappointed.

“Yes. It so happened that the old woman engaged to come as a cleaner this week has a daughter who runs what is, I believe, called a flea-circus at some local fair - and as these people have well-made display cages for their performing insects, we were able to borrow two of them. Most fortunate! Look, there they are over there - in some ways they are better than ours for display purposes!”

Fatty was interested to hear this, as he had seen the flea-cages that very morning at the Fair. What was the name of the bad-tempered girl who owned them - Lucita? He looked along the row of display cages and recognized two that were like the one the old woman had shown him that morning. Live beetles were running about in them.

Behind the two cages was the old woman herself, duster in hand. So this was the “new job” she had spoken about to Lucita - she had taken work as a cleaner while the Conference was on. Fatty took a good look at her and wondered if she knew anyone with a scar that curved above his upper lip.

Fatty decided to speak to her. She would never recognize him as the boy she had seen in the flea-circus tent that morning, for he now looked totally different.

He spoke to Mr. Tolling as they leaned over the cases of scurrying beetles. “I’m sure I saw cages like these at Peterswood Fair,” he said. Thc old woman heard him, as he meant her to.

“They’m borrowed from there,” she said in her cackling voice. “They’m flea-cages from the flea-circus, young sir.”