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 10: A meeting in Fatty's shed

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Less than an hour earlier, straight after lunch, the Find-Outers gathered in Fatty's shed. Fatty could barely contain his excitement about his meeting with Peter Westlake.

Larry, Daisy, Pip and Bets seemed to sense immediately that something was up. "What is it?" asked Larry.

"Tell you in a moment," said Fatty, gesturing for them to make themselves comfortable.

It had been months since they had met in Fatty's shed, and dust had collected on the upturned wooden boxes they used as seats. Fatty provided Daisy and Bets with cushions so they wouldn't get their skirts dirty, while Larry and Pip just brushed the dust off with their hands.

"Right, you start, Larry and Daisy," Fatty ordered, reaching for a tin of biscuits he'd brought down to the shed after lunch. It was time he stocked up on snacks, and Cookie had provided him with a nice fresh-baked selection. He offered them around as Larry cleared his throat.

"There's not much to tell. We went to see Miriam Strider, and found her planting flowers in her garden. She's in her twenties, and a really nice person. She said she was sorry to hear about the break-in and went to fetch her library book."

Larry pulled out the book from under his coat. It was entitled Criminal Minds, and seemed brand new. Fatty took with interest. "I haven't read this one. I might have a look later."

"So, Fatty, what about you?" Pip demanded, looking impatient. "You have something on your mind, I can tell. You've gone all quiet and serious."

"You first, Pip and Bets," said Fatty, grinning suddenly.

Pip rolled his eyes, so Bets started into the short tale. "We flew over to Jack Crowder's house, but he wasn't in. His wife was there though, and she fished out the book and handed it over. Really nothing to report, I'm afraid."

Pip handed Fatty the book, entitled Cracking Cases. Again Fatty took it with interest, but he remembered straight away he'd read that one a long time ago. It wasn't particularly good.

"Now you," Pip demanded again. "Come on, Fatty, stop stalling. What's happened?"

Fatty stacked the two new books on top of the three he'd recovered from Peter Westlake, and then put the pile of five next to three more—the ones he already had. He opened his mouth to say something, but Daisy suddenly exclaimed and pointed at the books.

"Look! Fatty, one of those books has a blue cover!"

Startled, Fatty looked—and noticed a blue coloured spine. It was one of Peter Westlake's books. He'd been in such a daze earlier that he hadn't even noticed!

He held it up and grinned broadly. "Well, it's not exactly red lettering—but close enough." The words Under Scrutiny were emblazoned across the cover in bright orange letters. "Mr Goon will have a field day when he sees this!"

Everyone roared with laughter. For several minutes they forgot the matter at hand and joked about how excited the bumbling policeman would be when he laid eyes on the book. Pip's impromptu false clue had turned out to be uncannily accurate—at least from Mr Goon's point of view.

Then Fatty cleared his throat. "Now, let's back down to business. I need to tell you about my visit to Peter Westlake. Are you ready?"

Everyone leaned forward, eyes shining, and Fatty began. He first told them about the bald man, and how he had seemed familiar for some reason. Then he related Peter's startling story about how his father—the bald man—had received a telephone call and defaced one of his library books by scribbling on the back of it.

"Unfortunately we don't know what he wrote," Fatty said, "but we can find out easily enough by visiting the library and finding that book. It's called Confidence Tricksters."

"But...doesn't all this mean that the burglar had his hands on the right book after all?" asked Bets, puzzled. "In which case, why didn't he take it away with him? Why did he leave it in the old school field with the rest?"

"Perhaps he just needed to look at what he wrote on the back," Pip said thoughtfully. "Perhaps he copied it into a notebook or something. Then he wouldn't need to steal the book after all."

"That's what I thought," Fatty agreed. "Listen, and I'll tell you what I think happened yesterday. It all began when Peter Westlake was pottering about the house, getting ready to pop out to the library to return three books, which were due by the end of the day—that is, five o'clock. As he was getting ready, his father received a telephone call. Something was said on the phone that needed to be written down—but we don't know what."

"And Peter's books were sitting there by the telephone," said Daisy, nodding. "So he grabbed one, turned it over, and scribbled on the back."

"Why turn it over?" asked Larry.

Fatty shrugged. "Perhaps the cover was too dark to write on, but the back was white? Anyway, he turned it over and scribbled something—then put the phone down and turned to face Peter, who was standing there looking horrified."

Bets shuddered. "I could almost be there, the way you tell it, Fatty."

"Peter complains to his father about defacing books, but his father just sneers and walks away," Fatty continued. "He grabs his coat and goes out—possibly heading off somewhere that had something to do with that telephone call. Peter, meanwhile, is faced with a problem: one of his library books, Confidence Tricksters, is now messed up. But he simply must return those books that afternoon, before the library closes, so he tucks them into his coat and heads out into the rain."

"Yes—it was raining yesterday," said Larry, remembering. "All right. So he goes to the library, manages to check the books in without Mrs Sharple noticing the writing, and sighs with relief. He chooses another three books and leaves for home."

"Meanwhile," Fatty said, taking up the story again, "his father, Mr Westlake, returns home later that afternoon. He searches for the book he wrote on, looking for that important bit of information...but is puzzled, because the book seems to have vanished into thin air. He starts to panic, hunting everywhere for it—and then Peter comes back home, maybe around four forty-five or so."

"How do you know that, exactly?" asked Pip. "Peter didn't tell you what time he returned from the library, did he?"

Fatty shook his head. "True, but I think his father must have headed straight out the door the moment he found out Peter had just returned the books to the library." He looked around the group and smiled. "There's something I haven't told you yet. I said I thought Mr Westlake looked familiar, and he was—because that very same man burst into the library a couple of minutes to five yesterday evening, just as I was on my way out. He nearly knocked me over, he was in such a hurry! I didn't think much of it at the time, only that he was rude—but now I'm certain he was there to find that book Peter had returned a little earlier."

"He must have been furious when Peter told him he'd taken the book back to the library along with his precious scribbles!" said Daisy. "What else could Mr Westlake do, except go to the library straight away and try to find it?"

Fatty nodded again. "And even though he probably didn't know the title of the book, he did know what kind of books his son read, so he just had to go to that section and sift through them. But Mrs Sharple was hovering about jangling keys, looking impatient, ready to lock the place up."

Pip suddenly slapped the table. "So Mr Westlake did the next best thing—he decided he'd have to break in later, so he went out the back door, checking to see if there were any deadbolts, which of course there were. That's why he decided to smash the big window and get in and out quickly."

Daisy's cheeks were flushed with excitement. "And he was so afraid of someone hearing the glass breaking and calling the police that he just stuffed all the books from the crime section into a bag and ran off."

"Then," Bets cried, "he hid in the old school field, went through the books until he found his little scribble on the back, copied whatever it was into a notebook, and took off." She clapped her hands with excitement. "That's it! We've solved the mystery!"

Fatty held up his hands and smiled ruefully. "No, Bets, we haven't. We don't yet know why he wanted that book back so badly it was worth breaking in for that night. Why break in at all when he could simply return to the library the next day and have a quiet, sneaky peak through the crime section without breaking the law? No, whatever his reasons were, he needed that book badly—and urgently."

Fatty gazed around at his thoughtful Find-Outers. How wonderful it was to talk things through with them. He had most of the details straight in his mind already, but still it helped to bring it up for discussion, where everyone could chip in. Everything seemed to make sense now. Or most of it, anyway.

"All right," he said, "we need to do a couple of things. We need to somehow find out what was written on that book. We can head straight back to the library now and—wait, even better would be to phone Mrs Sharple quickly. I'll do that in a second. Once we know what was written, it might give us some clue as to why it was so important—and why he needed it so urgently it couldn't possibly wait until the next morning."

"Should we report this to the police?" said Larry. "I mean, not Old Clear-Orf, but perhaps Superintendent Jenks?"

"We don't have any proof," said Fatty. "Everything we have is theory, an educated guess. The last thing we want is to alert Mr Westlake that we know about him—otherwise he might be careful to cover his tracks. We need to catch him out quietly, before he knows we're on to him."

An ominous silence fell across the shed. Even Buster whined briefly, as if he knew that such detective work involved danger. Snooping around after someone like Mr Westlake was not going to be a pleasant job at all.

"I'm going to telephone Mrs Sharple," said Fatty, getting up. "Let's find out what was written on that book. We can go and pick it up later, but I feel I'm going to burst if I don't find out now what was so important!"

Fatty told the others to wait patiently while he hurried up to the house. He dialled the number for the library and was relieved when Mrs Sharple answered crisply.

"Mrs Sharple, it's Fatty—er, Frederick Trotteville. I have all your books here, safe and sound."

"Well, that's wonderful," said Mrs Sharple, sounding pleased. "And did you find out anything of use?"

"Maybe. But I need you to check something for me, if you will. Would you go over to the crime section and collect a book entitled Confidence Tricksters? Bring it back to the phone. I'll wait here."

Puzzled, Mrs Sharple went off. The line was silent for several minutes, and then Fatty heard a small clattering sound as she returned. "All right, I have the book here. Now what?"

Almost breathless with excitement, Fatty said, "Turn it over. Tell me what's scribbled on the back."

There was another silence. "I don't understand," Mrs Sharple said. "There's nothing written on the back. And I should hope not, too."

Taken aback, Fatty almost felt like telling Mrs Sharple to look again—but he realised she might get annoyed at him if he suggested that. Instead he said, "Nothing? Nothing at all?"

"Well, unless it was written on the dust jacket," the elderly librarian said. "It's missing, as I mentioned earlier. All the books are in rather bad shape now, unfortunately. Some are torn, others are dirty and bent, and this one has its dust jacket missing."

Fatty's shoulders sagged in disappointment. He murmured something and hung up, all the excitement draining from him in a rush. What a blow! But of course it made perfect sense. The burglar had found exactly what he was after—his scribbled notes on the dust jacket of that book. And instead of copying the information into a notebook, or stealing the book, he'd simply removed the dust jacket, stuffed it in his pocket, and taken off into the night.

Turning to head back to the shed, Fatty almost jumped out of his skin when the telephone rang loudly right behind him. Startled, he snatched it up. "Hello? Frederick Trotteville here."

"Ah, Frederick, my boy," said a crisp, clear, and very familiar voice. "And how's my right-hand man coming along? Still solving mysteries, I hope?"

"Superintendent Jenks!" exclaimed Fatty, amazed and delighted. "It's great to hear from you! And yes, we're still solving mysteries—or trying to. We're in the middle of the library robbery case, sir, and getting on fairly well."

There was a tiny pause. "Well, I suppose that shouldn't surprise me," said Superintendent Jenks with a chuckle. "But hang on to your hat, Frederick, because I have something a little more—what would little Bets call it?—a little more juicy to get stuck into. Stolen books are no laughing matter, by any means, but there's something else concerning me at the moment, and I'd like you to get involved—if you're up for it?"

Fatty was astonished. Two mysteries to solve?

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