The Mystery of Fitzjames Manor

©2015 Richard Humphreys

The Find-Outers visit Fitzjames Manor and are very quickly embroiled in a new mystery that has its roots in the distant past. With the help of a couple of old friends, Fatty and the Find-Outers piece together the clues and are led finally to an astonishing discovery.

Chapter 2: Mr. Goon

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Mr. Goon stomped home in a bad mood. He was mulling over his meeting with Fatty earlier and thinking about all the gruesome things he'd like to do to him.

'That toad of a boy,' he muttered, 'always interfering, always meddling, always claiming credit for my hard work, always sucking up to the Superintendent. And that gang of his, always taking the mickey. Gah!'

He kicked out at a tin can that was lying on the pavement and it clattered across the road where it came to rest at the feet of the vicar who was out on his afternoon rounds.

The Reverend Twit bent down and picked it up. 'Really, Mr. Goon,' he said peering over the top of his half-moon glasses, sternly. 'I don't expect to find you kicking tins around the streets.' He crossed over the road and handed it to Goon. 'Here,' he said. 'You take it home with you and put it in your dustbin.'

Goon took the tin. 'Oh, yes, of course, sorry vicar, I just caught it with me boot. Wasn't looking where I was going,' he said sheepishly.

'We must all play our part in keeping the streets of Peterswood tidy, Mr. Goon,' the vicar said, wagging his finger at the policeman to press home his point. 'And that includes you.'

'Er, yes, vicar,' Goon replied humbly. 'I certainly will in future.'

'See that you do. Now you can trot off home and have your afternoon nap,' the vicar said and strutted off feeling pleased with himself for having admonished the pompous policeman.

Mr. Goon was now seething. 'The cheek of it, don't I get any respect in this village?' he muttered bitterly. He looked over his shoulder in time to see the vicar disappearing round the corner. 'Interfering old fool,' Goon snarled, and having thrown the tin can over the nearest hedge, continued on his way.

On reaching his house, he shut the front door behind him and went into his small sitting room where he sank down into his favourite armchair with a long sigh.

A small woman bustled into the room and stood with her hands on her hips. 'Oh, so you're back are you?' she said.

'No, Mrs. Boggs,' Goon replied with a sarcastic sneer. 'I'm still out on me beat. What does it look like?'

'There's no need to get uppity with me Mr. Goon,' she said sticking her chin out. 'The day you pay me twice as much to come in and do for you, is the day you can snap at me. And that day will never come.'

'Did you want something?' Goon asked trying hard to control his temper.

'Only to tell you that telephone of yours hasn't stopped ringing all afternoon. I don't get paid to answer your phone when you're out gallivanting. I'm not your secretary, Mr. Goon, I'm here to do a bit of cleaning and cooking, that's all.' She took a step closer. 'Anything else is extras for which I expect to get paid more.'

'Yes, yes,' Goon said in a tired voice. 'We'll discuss that later.'

'Right,' said Mrs Boggs with a nod, satisfied that she had made her point. 'Now, you ready for your afternoon tea?'

Goon yawned. 'Yes, I am, thank you. By the way, who was it on the phone?' he asked as Mrs. Boggs disappeared out of the room.

'Oh just that Superintendent whatsisname,' she said over her shoulder. 'Said it was urgent and you was to phone him as soon as you got in.'

'Jenks,' Goon cried, jumping to his feet. 'What does he want?' He followed Mrs Boggs into the kitchen. 'Er, did he say what it was about?'

'Course not,' she said, filling the kettle at the sink, 'as if he'd tell me anything. Really, Mr. Goon. He just said that you was to phone him when you got back.'

She lighted the gas stove. 'Least ways, that's what he said the first time he called. The second time, he asked me if I knew where you was. Well, I told him, you could be anywhere, you don't keep me informed of your movements and nor am I in the least bit interested.'

She gave a sniff and took a cup from the dresser.

'And that was it, was it? Goon asked anxiously.

'Then the third time he phoned,' she continued, clearly enjoying Goon's discomfort, 'he seemed quite angry and even asked me if I could go out and look for you.' She shook her head and gave a little laugh. 'But I said to him, I don't get paid to go tramping the streets looking for you. I told him you was probably sat in someone's kitchen drinking tea and gossiping, like you usually are and that you'd be home shortly for your afternoon nap.'

Mr. Goon swallowed hard. 'And how is it everyone in this village seems to know I take an afternoon nap?' he snapped.

'I couldn't say, I'm sure,' Mrs Boggs replied with an innocent look.

Mr. Goon's brain started to go over everything that had happened since his last conversation with the Superintendent six days before, trying desperately to remember any incidents that might have resulted in some kind of complaint being made against him. He counted them on his fingers and decided there might be about six or seven!

'Well if I was you, I'd phone him,' said Mrs. Boggs with a sigh, 'otherwise he'll be here banging on the door, I shouldn't wonder.'

'Phone him, er, er,' Goon stuttered. 'I think I'll have me tea first.'

Mrs. Boggs stared at him. 'You all right, Mr. Goon?' she asked, peering closely at his face. 'You've gone all pale. You sit down there and I'll pour you out a nice cup of tea.'

Goon sank into the nearest chair. He hated calls from the Superintendent as they usually involved some kind of ticking off. Rarely did he get a pat on the back, and now this silly woman had been saying all sorts.

He took his cup of tea and raised it to his lips just as the telephone in the hall rang. Goon jumped, spilling the tea all over the table.

'Mr. Goon, really, that table cloth was clean on this morning.' cried Mrs Boggs.

But Goon wasn't listening. He rushed into the hall, smoothing down his hair as he went and slowly raised the receiver.

'Peterswood Police House, Constable Goon speaking, how may I be of assistance?' he announced in the most professional and polite voice he could manage.

'Is that you Goon? So you're back at last,' came the curt response. 'Superintendent Jenks here.'

'Oh, yes, good afternoon, Sir,' Goon replied. 'As it happens, I've just this second come through the door. There's been a bit of a ruckus up at Lobb Farm, a pig escaped and was running amok. But I managed to get it all sorted, Sir.' Goon's dangerously creative imagination began to take over. 'It was vicious, Sir, and huge, nearly had me once or twice. It was touch and go for a while, I can tell you, but I managed to corner the beast and eventually with a bit of cunning I...'

'Yes, yes,' Superintendent Jenks interrupted. 'I'm heartened to hear you managed to outwit a pig. By the way, what's all this your house-keeper was telling me about you gossiping in kitchens and taking afternoon naps?'

Goon clenched his teeth and winced, then held the receiver very close to his mouth and lowered his voice. 'Well between you and me, Sir, she's a little bit simple.'

'I heard that,' shouted Mrs. Boggs from the kitchen. 'Simple is as simple does, Mr. High and Mighty Goon, you remember that the next time you make a complete fool of yourself!'

'Who's that shouting?' came the irritated voice of the Superintendent.

'Oh, er, no one, Sir,' Goon said reaching across and carefully closing the kitchen door. 'Just something on the wireless, that's all.'

'Right, then,' the Superintendent said. 'Now listen carefully, Goon. The reason I've been trying to get hold of you is that there's to be a sale up at Fitzjames Manor the day after tomorrow with a viewing day tomorrow.'

Mr. Goon began scribbling down salient points on the notepad by the telephone.

'Yes, Sir, sale at Fitzjames Manor, right' he muttered. 'Viewing Day tomorrow, got that, Sir.'

The Superintendent gave an audible sigh. 'I'm pleased that you're diligent enough to be taking notes, Goon,' he said, 'but it's really not necessary. Now, as I was saying,' he continued. 'There's a viewing tomorrow, followed by a sale the day after and I want you to get up there, talk to Lady Fitzjames and check out the arrangements for the sale and the security. She had a theft there a few years ago, some historical documents were stolen and I want to make sure that her security is adequate. Got that?'

'Yes, Sir,' Goon replied still scribbling down his notes.

'Now, you're a Peterswood man, Goon,' the Superintendent continued. 'I'll be sending over a file of the local nere-do-wells for you to look through, so keep your eyes open for any sort of suspicious behaviour. There was also a robbery at the auction house over in Maidenhead last month, during which only Lady Fitzjames' lots were stolen. This is why she's decided to hold the next sale in her own home. So keep your eyes open.'

'I certainly will, Sir,' Goon said, feeling pleased that the Superintendent should value his local knowledge. He puffed out his chest. 'As you know, Sir, I've lived in Peterswood man and boy, and I can tell you, Sir, there's not much goes on round these parts that I don't know about. There's not much gets past Theophilus Goon,' he boasted. 'I make sure I keep my ear well and truly to the grindstone.'

The Superintendent unsuccessfully suppressed a laugh. 'All right, Goon, just make sure you keep your nose to the grindstone as well as your ear.'

'You can rely on me, Sir,' Goon said confidently and replaced the receiver with a sigh of relief. 'That went rather well,' he thought. 'Yes, I think the Superintendent is finally realizing just what a valuable member of the force I am. And not before time, neither!'

He almost skipped into his office and sat down behind his desk. 'Now what was it he was saying?' he muttered and began deciphering his scrawled notes. 'A possible robbery up at the Manor, a previous robbery in Maidenhead, only Lady Fitzjames' things stolen. What could that mean?' He chewed his lip and rubbed his chin, but after two minutes of very hard thinking and getting no flashes of inspiration, he gave up. 'I'll just have to wait for the file to arrive, that's all,' he said and went into the kitchen.

Mrs. Boggs was standing at the sink with her back to him.

Goon cleared his throat to announce his presence. 'Er, I hope you didn't think I was referring to you when I mentioned someone being a bit simple,' he said apologetically.

Mrs. Boggs grunted a response.

'Only it wasn't you I was talking about,' Goon continued. 'Oh dear me no, it was that Trotteville boy, I meant. Bumped into him earlier and he was sounding off something chronic. Very odd behaviour, I think he needs treatment.'

Mrs. Boggs shrugged her shoulders. 'If you say so Mr. Goon,' she replied without much conviction.

'Now, how about a nice cup of tea, eh?' Goon said in a smooth voice, rubbing his hands together. 'You have one yourself as well, and there's some Battenberg in the larder, I know you like that. We'll have a nice slice each and a nice cup of tea.' He sat down at the kitchen table. 'That sounds...er...nice, doesn't it?'

Mrs. Boggs turned round and cast her eyes heavenward. 'Very well, Mr. Goon,' she said with a deep sigh. 'I'll put the kettle on.'

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