The Mystery of the Stolen Books

©2006 Keith Robinson

The Five Find-Outers and Dog are home for the holidays again. When Peterswood library is broken into, the gang are soon on the trail... much to Mr Goon's annoyance. Fatty and his friends find only one clue: a footprint on the windowsill where the burglar smashed a window and climbed in. Why anyone should risk breaking into a library to steal a few books is a mystery—so it's even more puzzling when the stolen books are found dumped in an old school field. Meanwhile, Mr Goon is investigating another break-in, this one at an office building in town. Valuable coins have been stolen out of a safe. Two burglaries in one night! Can they be connected somehow?

This is a completed novel which I sent to Egmont (the current publishers of the Find-Outer series) for consideration. They returned my synopsis with a hand-written note in the bottom corner saying simply, "I am sorry, I must pass." So I thought I'd make the story available here. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1: Fatty goes to the library

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It was just past four o'clock one rainy spring afternoon when Fatty hurried into the library, his cheeks red and his hair soaking wet. He shook himself like a dog and watched the raindrops fly off in all directions. Buster would have been proud of him!

Dogs weren't allowed in the library so Fatty had left him at home. It was either that or tie the little Scottie to the lamppost outside—but last time Buster had howled with indignation and Fatty had been forced to abandon his happy browsing in the crime section. So now Buster stayed at home, where he could sulk quietly while awaiting his master's return.

"Afternoon, Mrs Sharple," Fatty called merrily as he trudged by the front desk.

Mrs Sharple looked up, a rubber stamp poised in her hand. She was a petite white-haired old lady with a nice word to say about everyone. She frowned for a moment, and then beamed a bright smile. "Oh, hello, Frederick! You look so grown up I hardly recognised you. My, haven't you got tall!"

Fatty drew himself up straight, feeling a swell of pride. "Even my English teacher has to look up to me. Of course, I always was an imposing figure, so—"

"Yes, yes, that's nice, dear," said Mrs Sharple, her smile fading just a little. She put down her rubber stamp and smoothed down her grey cardigan. "So you're home for the holidays?"

"Yes," Fatty said, nodding, "arrived by train this morning. My mother's had her friends round for lunch and I've spent all afternoon entertaining them with classroom stories."

"And how are those friends of yours?" the librarian said. "I know young Margaret, of course—such a polite young lady...and her brother Laurence too. And everyone in Peterswood knows of the Hiltons. Have you seen Philip and Elizabeth since you got back?"

Fatty smiled, amused to hear his friends' proper names being used. "Larry, Daisy, Pip and Bets," he said. "No, I haven't had time. We've arranged to meet tomorrow morning round at Pip's, in their summerhouse if the weather's good. But right now I need some good books, Mrs Sharple, to brush up on my skills as a detective. Got any good ones in since last hols?"

"Now, let me see," mumbled Mrs Sharple, rubbing her small chin. "Yes, that's right—you borrowed nearly all of them during the last school holidays, didn't you? You rather liked The Art of Disguise, if I remember, and—what's it called?— The Secrets of Spies."

"What a fine memory you have!" exclaimed Fatty.

Mrs Sharple smiled and her cheeks reddened slightly. "I think you'll find a number of lovely new books in the crime section, Frederick. I've stocked up on them due to popular demand."

Fatty blinked, surprised. "Er...popular demand? Who's been asking for new books?"

Mrs Sharple narrowed her eyes and smiled. "Now, you know I can't give out names of our library members, young man. It wouldn't be proper."

Fatty thanked the old lady and meandered through the bookshelves towards the crime section. There was nothing better than poking through books and learning useful detective tricks, brushing up on the art of questioning suspects and witnesses, discovering new methods of encryption and code-breaking, and all manner of other exciting crime-solving techniques.

That is, nothing better except getting stuck into juicy mysteries! The Five Find-Outers and Dog had solved plenty of puzzling cases during school holidays. It seemed that every time they came home from school, something would turn up out of the blue. From burning cottages, disappearing cats and missing necklaces, to hidden houses, vanished princes and strange messages, there was nothing Fatty and his friends couldn't tackle.

As he arrived in the crime section, Fatty gave a delighted shudder of anticipation at the mass of new books on the shelves. There must be fifty or more now! He dived into them immediately, pulling out a shiny new book entitled Clues, And How To Analyse Them. He started to thumb through it, but couldn't help peering over the top and spotting another entitled The Many Faces of Undercover Detectives. Enthralled, he pulled that out too, and soon had a stack of books in his hands that he couldn't hope to look at all at once. He searched for a chair and found one tucked around the end of the aisle by the window. He sat, piled the books on the floor, picked one at random, and started into it with a sigh of happiness.

In moments he was lost in a world of mystery and intrigue, where Frederick Algernon Trotteville—the greatest detective that ever lived—was busy solving case after case and getting heaps of praise from his superior officer, Superintendent Jenks. In his daydream, the Five Find-Outers and Dog had a small office set aside for them in the police station in the next town where Jenks worked. Mystery after mystery was piled into their in-tray in the form of top secret folders stuffed with notes; mysteries too difficult for local bobbies to solve; mysteries that required the special attention of Fatty and his friends, Larry, Pip, Daisy and Bets—and of course Buster the dog. Day after day, the Find-Outers set out to crack open the cases and—

A shadow passed over him. He blinked out of his daydream and looked up. A heavy-set man in a dark blue uniform with shiny buttons stood over him, a scowl across his ruddy face and rainwater dripping off his helmet. It was Mr Goon, the village policeman. "Ho!" he said haughtily. "Back again, are you? Shame you can't stay at school all year and keep out of my way."

"Afternoon, Mr Goon," Fatty said politely, flashing a grin. "Always wonderful to see our local bobby keeping the order."

"You watch your cheek, Master Trotteville," Mr Goon growled, putting his hands on his hips. He glared at the books on the floor next to Fatty's chair. "I see you're poking your nose into matters that don't concern you again. Learning how to be a detective so you can interfere with the law as usual."

"Are you learning how to be a detective too, Mr Goon? Is that why you're here—to borrow a few books all about crime and detection?"

Mr Goon's nostrils flared. "Books? I don't need books, my boy. I'm a trained police officer. And I don't need no help from the likes of you, Master Trotteville. You're best off keeping your nose out."

Fatty closed his book with a snap and spread his hands innocently. "But Mr Goon, you're my hero! I'm simply following in your tremendous footsteps. One day I shall be an officer of the law too, just like you. I can help you solve mysteries in our lovely village of Peterswood."

Mr Goon's cheeks turned red. "Over my dead body," he snapped. He pointed a pudgy finger at Fatty's face. "Just you keep out of things, you hear? You kids think you can run rings around me and pull the wool over my eyes. Well, things have changed, see? If I catch you meddling in affairs that don't concern you, there'll be trouble, see?"

Fatty smiled. "I'll be sure to remember that next time a mystery crops up. I'll see to it that all the clues we find are handed over to you straight away. I'm sure you'll do a much better job at solving the case than the Five Find-Outers, now that you've been studying books on how to do your job better."

Mr Goon ground his teeth for a moment while breathing hard through his nose. He clenched and unclenched his enormous ham fists, and his face turned a familiar shade of purple.

After what seemed an age he stepped back and waggled his finger at Fatty once more. "You just mind what I said," he growled. Then he turned and stalked away.

Fatty jumped to his feet and watched the policeman stomp past Mrs Sharple at the front desk. She looked surprised. "Going so quickly, Mr Goon? I thought you were here to borrow some more books—"

"Job to do," the policeman grumbled loudly, and exited the library. Through the window Fatty watched him hunch up his shoulders and set off into the rain.

"Touchy," Fatty said quietly to himself. He chuckled, returned to his seat, and opened the book he'd been reading. "Well, well, well," he murmured. "So Old Clear-Orf's brushing up on his skills too."

Old Clear-Orf was what the Find-Outers called Mr Goon, because "clear orf" seemed to be his favourite thing to say to them. Fatty sat and chuckled for a moment, trying to imagine the lazy policeman getting stuck into a good book. More likely the book would lay open across his lap as he snoozed the afternoon away.

Fatty wondered if Goon had just returned a few books. Maybe he could ask Mrs Sharple about it; it would be funny to see which ones the idiotic policeman had borrowed! But he doubted the fussy librarian would tell him if he asked directly, because there was a privacy issue to consider and Mrs Sharple took her job very seriously. He thought for a moment, and then got up and headed for the front desk. "Mrs Sharple?"

The librarian smiled at him. "Found something nice?"

"Pardon?" Fatty glanced at the book in his hands. "Oh, yes. This and a pile of others. But I was wondering...do you have any others checked out at the moment?"

Mrs Sharple pursed her lips. "One or two, if I recall. I'd have to check my records. Oh, and there's a few more here, which were returned earlier." She reached for a small stack of books behind her, and plucked off the top three.

Fatty smiled to himself. Those had to be the ones Mr Goon just brought back. "Oh," he said, pretending to be surprised. "Good job I asked, then. May I see? These might be just what I need. Thanks very much."

He took the three books and returned to his chair near the crime section. So what had Mr Goon been reading? The first was called Sniffing Out Criminals. Fatty snorted and gave a laugh. Sniffing out criminals was certainly something the idiotic policeman needed help with!

The next was called The Many Faces Of The Law. Fatty flipped through it with interest, but put it down when he realized it was mostly about long-term undercover work, something beyond his scope. He loved undercover work, but until he was an adult he would have to make do with being back by teatime each day.

The third book was the most interesting. Clues focused on how to correctly preserve the scene of a crime. Fatty instantly remembered all the false clues he and his friends had left lying about for Old Clear-Orf to find. When Lady Candling's valuable Siamese cat Dark Queen had disappeared, the Find-Outers had delighted in stuffing a load of useless clues through the bars of the cage for the policeman to find. That was known as contaminating the crime scene, Fatty thought, reading part of the book.

Mrs Sharple called to him. "We're closing in five minutes, Frederick."

Fatty glanced at his watch, and was startled to find it was just before five o'clock. He'd been there nearly an hour already! He quickly chose three books and returned the rest neatly to the shelves. Then he hurried to the front desk, brandishing his library card.

Mrs Sharple stamped his books and wrote carefully in a large book on her desk. Then she passed the books to Fatty and smiled pleasantly. "I do hope you enjoy them, Frederick. And say hello to your friends for me, won't you? You should encourage them to come in occasionally."

"I should," Fatty said, thinking that wouldn't be a bad idea. His fellow Find-Outers could do with sharpening their detective brains a little.

He waved goodbye and headed towards the door. As he reached for the handle a huge bald man burst in and brushed past him rudely, seeming to be in a hurry. Fatty was too surprised to protest, and he stood in the doorway for a moment watching the burly man glance about as if unsure where to look.

"Some people have no manners," Fatty mumbled, shaking his head.

It was still raining outside so he stuffed the books under his coat and hurried up the lane to his house.

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