Mystery of the Missing Man (7 page)

“Oh, Fatty, yes!” said Daisy. “And his hands were gloved. They might be very knobbly for all we know.”

“And his eyes were sharp, roving everywhere, did you notice?” said Fatty. “We can’t see what kind of hair he’s got because he had a clown’s close-fitting cap on. He was about medium height too. I say - I just wonder!”

“Well - he’s our first Suspect,” said Daisy. “We may find two or three more! Let’s have one more look at the clown and then we’ll go somewhere else. I don’t know where the others are, but that doesn’t matter. Come on.”

They went to have a good look at the clown again. He was calling out in a raucous voice “Come on in, folks - see some fine boxing! Only sixpence a time, come on in. See Champ Charlie knock ’em all out. Sixpence a time!”

Yes - his thickly painted mouth would certainly hide any scar above it, and his eyes were as sharp as needles as they raked the crowd for possible customers. Fatty pulled Daisy over to the stall opposite, which sold cups of tea.

“Cup of char, mate?” said the man there, and Fatty nodded.

“It’s all right. He means tea,” said Fatty, seeing Daisy’s mystified look. He spoke to the man who was pouring out the tea.

“I seem to have seen that clown over there somewhere else,” he said. “What’s his name, do you know?”

“I don’t,” said the man, handing the cup. “I never saw him before. He’s just called Bert.”

“Does he travel with the Fair?” asked Fatty.

“How do I know?” said the man, turning to another customer. “Ask him yourself.”

Fatty didn’t want to. He decided that it would be best to go to the Fair the next morning, when there would be fewer people, and try to get into conversation with the clown when he wasn’t so busy. He might find him out of his clown-costume then, and without his paint.

“Come on, Daisy,” he said, seeing that she didn’t like her tea. “Pour it away. I only wanted to get it to make an excuse to ask the man about that clown.”

“I know,” said Daisy. “Look, let’s go into the shooting-range and look round there.”

They went in, passing an old woman sitting on a chair, who tried to sell them tickets, and watched some young men shooting at ping-pong balls that bobbed up and down on little jets of water. Daisy nudged Fatty and nodded towards a man who had just come in, and was taking over from the boy who had been handing out the rifles.

Fatty was startled. At first sight the man looked very like the photograph of the escaped prisoner - sharp eyes, dark brows, thick dark hair. He was burnt very brown, and looked a thoroughgoing man-of-the-Fair.

Fatty pushed Daisy outside. “It isn’t the fellow we’re looking for,” he said, regretfully. “There’s no scar above his mouth - at first I thought his sunburn might have been painted on to hide it - but it isn’t.”

“And his hands weren’t knobbly,” said Daisy. “I looked at them specially. They’re smooth - almost like a woman’s hands.”

“Anyway - if he was the fellow we want, he wouldn’t go about openly like that with no disguise,” said Fatty. “It’s just a fluke that he’s like him. We can wash him out.”

“Let’s just look into the shooting-range once more,” said Daisy. They went back to it, passing the old woman sitting on a chair outside. She called to them in a cracked voice. “Take a shot, young sir, take a shot!”

“No, thanks,” said Fatty, and looked in at the shooting-tent again. No - the man there was definitely too young to be the escaped prisoner, and, as Daisy said, his hands were very smooth. Fatty knew from experience that while it was possible to alter and disguise a face very easily, it was exceedingly difficult to disguise hands.

“Spare a copper, young miss,” said the cracked voice of the old woman. Daisy looked down and pitied the poor old creature. Her face was screwed-up and full of wrinkles, though her eyes were still lively. She had a filthy shawl pulled over her head, and her skinny bony hands clutched the roll of tickets.

Daisy nudged Fatty as they went by. “What a pity that man in there didn’t have knobbly hands like that old woman!” she said. “We’d really have thought he might have been the man we want!”

“We shall get knobbly hands on the brain soon,” said Fatty. “Let’s go and find the others. But I say, look - DO look, Daisy!”

Daisy looked where Fatty nodded, and saw a fat red-faced man watching the swings. He had a red moustache and a little red beard. He wore no collar, but a dirty blue muffer instead, and a blue cap pulled right down over his forehead. His tweed coat was too tight for him, and his grey flannel trousers a little too short. Altogether he was a figure of fun, and passers-by laughed when they saw him.

“Do you know who that is?” said Fatty in a low voice to Daisy. She shook her head.

“Oh, Daisy, Daisy - you’ll never make a detective!” said Fatty, disappointed. And then Daisy gave a little squeal and turned laughing eyes on Fatty.

“Sh!” said Fatty, warningly, and guided Daisy away to a distant corner, where she laughed loud and long.

“Oh, Fatty - it was Mr. Goon in disguise!” she giggled. “Oh, do let’s find the others and see if they’ve spotted him. Oh dear - why does he make himself so very very conspicuous! Fancy trailing a Suspect in that get-up - he’d be noticed at once! Oh, that red moustache!”

They saw the others in the distance and ran to join them. As soon as they came near Larry called out. “Have you seen Goon? We nearly died of laughing!”

“Yes, we saw him,” said Fatty. “What a sight! I say - do let’s go and ask him the time, or something! We won’t let on that we know him. He’ll be so bucked to think we haven’t seen through his disguise!”

“Yes - quick, come on while he’s still over there!” said Pip. “I’ll go up and ask him the time first - then you can go and ask him something, Bets - and then Larry. Quick!”

They wandered near Mr. Goon, who was now watching the Dodgem cars with much concentration, his cap almost hiding his eyes. Pip went up to him.

“Please, sir, could you tell me the time?” he said. Goon looked surprised when he saw that it was Pip, and then grunted. “Four o’clock or thereabouts,” he said, putting on a very deep voice, which made Pip jump.

“Thank you, sir,” said Pip, and went back to the others, chuckling.

Goon obviously felt pleased that his disguise was apparently so good. He even wandered nearer to where the children stood watching the roundabout. Ho, he thought, they didn’t know it was he, Goon, who was there keeping a sharp eye on them! He walked past them, whistling. Bets ran after him.

“Oh, please,” she said, “do you know what time the Fair closes?” Goon cleared his throat and put on his deep voice again.

“About half-past ten,” he said, and then feeling his moustache coming loose, he put up his hand hurriedly to press it back. Bets gave a sudden giggle and fled.

Larry tried next. He walked close to Goon, pretended to pick something up from the ground and looked at it. Then he turned round. “Have you dropped this button, sir?” he asked. As it was one that Daisy had hurriedly twisted off her red dress, it obviously wasn’t Goon’s!

Goon cleared his throat again. “No, my boy, it is not mine,” he said. “Er - are you enjoying yourself?”

“Oh, very much, sir, thank you!” said Larry - and then up came Fatty.

“Please, sir, I’d like to know where you got those policeman’s boots you’re wearing?” he said sternly. “I mean - I hope they’re not stolen, sir.”

“You toad of a boy!” said Goon, reverting to his own voice. “You would say a thing like that. Clear orf!”

“Good gracious - it’s you, Mr. Goon!” gasped Fatty. looking quite flabbergasted. “Well now, who would have thought it!”

“I said - ‘CLEAR ORF!’ ” thundered Mr. Goon, much to the surprise of everybody nearby. And Fatty “cleared orf”, laughing till the tears came into his eyes. Poor old Goon!

Mr. Tolling loses his Way

“Where’s Eunice?” said Fatty, when he and the others had finished laughing. “Has she gone home?”

“No. She wanted to go in a swing with her father, so we left her to it,” said Larry. “Honestly, Mr. Tolling is a surprise! He’s trying everything!”

“Where is he now?” asked Fatty.

“I expect they’ve gone to the roundabouts,” said Daisy. “I heard Mr. Tolling say he’d like to. Goodness - he won’t be fit to face the beetles tomorrow!”

“There they are, look,” said Pip, as they strolled near the roundabout. It was going on its circular tour for the ten-thousandth time, churning out its old-fashioned tune.

“Not many people on it,” said Fatty. “Only about seven or eight. What about us having a ride? Look - it’s slowing down.”

Everyone got off except for one person. That was Mr. Tolling. Eunice called to him. “It’s stopped, Father!”

“I’m having another go,” said the surprising Mr. Tolling. He was clutching the tall neck of a giraffe, and looked very peculiar, sitting on the big wooden creature in his dark town clothes.

“All right. But it makes me feel sick,” said Eunice. “You go on alone. Oh - here are the others. Are you going on the roundabout, Frederick?”

“We thought we would,” said Fatty, and paid for everyone. “Sure you won’t, Eunice? Right! Get on, everybody! Choose some kind of animal to ride!”

Mr. Goon wandered over to the roundabout. He looked keenly at the roundabout boy, as if wondering if he might be a disguised prisoner. Then he looked sharply at a man going by wheeling a barrow.

“He’s feeling very important, wearing a disguise and peering at everyone,” said Larry to Daisy. “I can’t say his disguise is a very good one. He looks exactly what he is - a policeman in disguise!”

They gazed at him, and then saw him give a slight start, as if he were surprised. He was looking at the roundabout, staring hard at Mr. Tolling.

“Why is he staring at Eunice’s father?” wondered Daisy. She leaned over to where Fatty was riding an absurdly large duck that rose and fell as soon as the roundabout began. “Fatty - look at old Goon. He’s staring at Mr. Tolling as if he’s seen a ghost.”

Fatty looked at Goon and then at Mr. Tolling. “Well - he’s never seen Mr. Tolling in out-door clothes before,” he said, “and honestly he looks a bit queer, doesn’t he? Perhaps old Goon thinks he’s the escaped prisoner!”

“Oh, Fatty! I believe he really does think that!” said Daisy, with a little squeal of laughter. “He can’t take his eyes off him!”

Fatty gazed at Mr. Tolling again. He suddenly saw why Mr. Goon might possibly be thinking that Eunice’s father was the man they were looking for! Yes - the right height - a moustache and beard - intelligent eyes - knobbly hands. Good gracious - he couldn’t be that escaped prisoner, could he?

Fatty pulled himself together. “Don’t be an ass!” he said to himself. “You know jolly well he’s your father’s friend and Eunice’s parent. But gosh, I might have thought the same as Goon is thinking, if I didn’t know who he was!”

The roundabout had now begun its usual journey, and the raucous music rang out all over the Fair. Every time that Mr. Tolling and his giraffe came round in front of Mr. Goon’s eyes, the policeman stared and stared. Fatty began to laugh.

Now what would Goon do? Arrest poor Mr. Tolling? Oh no - that would never do. Eunice would be really shocked and upset.

The roundabout slowed down again, and at last stopped. Mr. Tolling was on the opposite side to Mr. Goon and got off there. He called to Eunice, who was nearby waiting for him.

“I’m going back now. I told Mrs. Trotteville I’d be in to tea, and I see it’s late. You go back to your friends, Eunice.”

Eunice went off at once to join the others, who were now all getting off the roundabout. Fatty looked for Mr. Goon, who was nowhere to be seen. And then he spotted him. Yes - there he was, trailing Mr. Tolling across the Fair towards the gate. Good gracious - so he really did think that Mr. Tolling was the escaped prisoner!

“I say!” said Fatty, pulling Larry and Daisy aside from Eunice and the others. “I say - I think old Goon has somehow got the idea that Mr. Tolling is the man we’re after! I’ll follow him to see what happens, and you two stay here with the others. Goon might notice three of us behind him - I’ll see that he doesn’t spot me! I may have to rescue Mr. Tolling from the clutches of the law!”

Daisy laughed. “All right - you follow them. I’ll go back to the others, but we won’t say a word to Eunice, or she’ll be after you like a shot.”

Fatty started off across the Fair field, and soon saw Goon not far in front of him. There wasn’t much fear of the disguised policeman looking round and seeing Fatty, because he was obviously so intent on his own prey. Mr. Tolling was hurrying along - he must be hungry for his tea, thought Fatty!

And then Mr. Tolling unfortunately lost his way! He took the wrong turning, and went off towards Maidenhead instead of Peterswood. Fatty felt cross. Now they would go miles out of their way!

Mr. Tolling suddenly realized that he was on the wrong road and stopped. He looked up and down the street, hoping to see someone from whom he might ask the right way. He was short-sighted, and peered into the distance, delighted to make out someone at last. It was Mr. Goon, of course, sauntering up behind him.

“Oh, pardon me - but could you please put me on the right road to Peterswood?” said Mr. Tolling, politely. “I seem to have taken the wrong turning.” He gazed up at Goon in surprise. What a peculiar-looking person!

Goon stared down at him most forbiddingly. Was that a scar under that moustache? “I’ll take you back on the right road myself,” said Goon. “We’ll, er - have a little conversation on the way.”

“Oh, you don’t need to come with me,” said Mr. Tolling, feeling quite alarmed at Goon’s fierce gaze. “Just tell me the road to take.”

“This way,” said Goon, almost as if he were taking someone off to prison. He actually took firm hold of Mr. Tolling’s arm. But Mr. Tolling shook it off angrily.

“If you behave like this I shall give you in charge for molesting me!” he said. “You must be one of those awful fellows from the Fair.”

“Here - that’s enough!” said Goon, annoyed. “All right - go by yourself if you want to! That’s the way, see?”

Mr. Tolling went on by himself, turning round every now and again to see if Goon was following him. He was most annoyed to find that he was. Awful fellow with his silly red moustache and beard! Surely he didn’t mean to rob him!