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 3: Searching for clues

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The Five Find-Outers headed down to the library, dropping an indignant Buster off at Fatty's home on the way.

Union Street branched off diagonally from the High Street, and Peterswood Library filled the awkward triangular corner. Mr Goon's familiar bicycle stood propped outside the front door, and a CLOSED sign hung in the window, so Fatty ushered his friends around to the small garden at the back.

The garden was nestled between hedges and the backs of houses, accessible through a small side gate. Fatty had sat there in the past, on one of the wrought iron benches around an oversized fountain. The old statue of Cupid was badly worn and crumbling now, but the water flowing into the circular basin was clean and fresh, and sparkled in the sunlight. It was a very peaceful, tranquil place to sit and read.

Fatty led the way into the garden and stopped before a large broken window, which had been cordoned off with yellow police tape. Tiny fragments of glass lay all over the window sill. "You know, before we go in and see Mrs Sharple, let's poke around out here while we can—before we get under Mr Goon's feet and upset him. Careful now. Keep an eye out for clues."

"Clues!" Bets said loudly, and went red as Pip rounded furiously on her with his finger to his lips. "Sorry."

Fatty leaned over the yellow tape, scanning the area under the window. "It's a shame we can't get closer," he said. "I've never known Mr Goon to use police tape before. He must be growing some brains!"

Daisy pointed at the nearby back door, which stood wide open. "It seems odd that someone would break a huge window when they could have broken a small pane in the door there and let themselves in that way."

"Now, that's good detective work," Fatty said approvingly. "Keep it up. Now ask yourself—why would someone choose to smash a huge window instead of a tiny square pane? Why risk lots more noise and have to clamber over a window sill when you could just make a small hole, stick your hand in, and unlatch the door?"

There was a silence while everyone pondered. Fatty waited patiently. Finally Pip said slowly, "Maybe the door was bolted as well as locked. Even if the burglar drove his fist through the glass, stuck his hand in, and unlocked the door...well, what if he couldn't reach the bolt at the top without breaking another pane of glass higher up?"

"Excellent," Fatty said, slapping Pip hard on the back. "That's a good theory." He sighed, staring at the yellow tape. "I wish we could get a closer look at that window."

"Can't we just duck under the tape?" Daisy whispered. "Mr Goon's over at the front desk, talking to Mrs Sharple—look, see?"

They all peered through the broken window, and sure enough, there was the heavyset policeman at the opposite end of the library, taking notes and looking very important.

"Much as I hate to say it," Fatty said, shaking his head, "it's wrong to enter a crime scene—even if it's only Mr Goon's. We could contaminate the area."

Bets gasped. "Contaminate? But we don't have any diseases!"

Pip laughed and gave her a sharp, brotherly nudge. "Bets, you're the funniest. Diseased! Fatty means we might accidentally leave footprints or other traces of us in the crime scene. We might even spoil any genuine clues, just by stepping on them or something."

"Oh."

Fatty pointed at the smattering of glass fragments along the grass beneath the window. "See the glass? Remember what I said about staging burglaries? Well, this window was broken inwards. Although some of the glass is on the outside, most of it is inside—which means at least someone broke in, not out."

"Is that a footprint?" said Larry suddenly, gesturing towards the window sill. From where they stood they could just about make out a brown smudge that looked like it could have been where someone had put their foot while climbing in.

"I wish we could get a closer look," groaned Fatty. "I'd love to make a drawing of that and compare it to suspects' shoes later in the case."

"Well, let's go in and look from the inside," Pip said. "I can't see any yellow police tape in there, can you?"

Pip was right. Mr Goon had probably ordered Mrs Sharple to close the library for a while, so he obviously didn't expect anyone to enter. But Fatty and his friends were expected to help Mrs Sharple with her inventory, so the library wasn't closed to them!

Fatty hurried inside, and stopped to examine the back door. "See—a latch, which anyone could have opened if they'd stuck their fist through one of these small glass panes." Then he pointed upwards. "But see here—there's a dead-bolt, just as Pip said. That probably means someone knew the dead-bolt was there. Maybe he checked out the place during previous visits, trying to find the best way to break in. And when he saw the dead-bolt he knew he wouldn't be able to get in this way without smashing at least two of these little panes—one down low close to the latch, and one higher up."

Pleased, Fatty hurried on down the hall and emerged into the library. Larry, Pip, Daisy and Bets hurried behind, excited that they were investigating a brand new mystery.

Fatty put a finger to his lips and sidled around the bookshelves towards the broken window, taking care to avoid being spotted by Mr Goon and Mrs Sharple. The elderly librarian was talking in a quavering voice to the stolid policeman, who stood writing in his notebook with the utmost concentration.

The Find-Outers cautiously approached the rear window. Glass lay everywhere—huge shards as well as thousands of tiny fragments glittering from the carpet. There was no tape surrounding the window, so Fatty edged over to the sill, taking care where he trod. Glass crunched underfoot as he peered down at the dirty brown stain on the white painted sill.

"It's a footprint all right," he whispered over his shoulder to where the others stood patiently. "You stay right there, and if Mr Goon wanders over make sure you head him off."

Fatty reached into his capacious pockets and withdrew his notebook and a pencil. He would have preferred a full size sheet of paper so he could get the exact size of the print and everything, but he'd have to make do with a reduced scale drawing. The print was mostly a muddy smudge, but one small part was a clear pattern that could be matched up with the soles of shoes—if the Find-Outers happened to come across the pair worn by the intruder. It was a long shot, but good detectives had to make note of every detail.

"Hurry," Larry whispered.

Fatty nodded, but spent a few more minutes carefully sketching before finally slipping his notebook and pencil back into his pocket. Nodding with satisfaction, he glanced around the window frame again, looking for anything that might be useful as a clue. Then he crunched over the glass and returned to his friends.

"Now," he said, rubbing his hands, "let's announce our presence as if we've only just walked in."

They began chatting amiably as they sauntered between the bookshelves towards the front desk. Mr Goon's head snapped around and his face turned deep red.

"Get out!" he roared. "The library's closed! Didn't you see the sign on the front door? Or can't you read?"

Larry spread his hands. "We didn't come in that way."

"We came in the back," Pip added. "And there were no signs there at all."

Mr Goon advanced on them angrily. "And I suppose you didn't see the yellow police tape? I would have thought that was pretty plain to see, even for meddling kids like you."

"Oh, we saw that all right," Fatty agreed. "And we took it to mean don't come in through the window. So we used the door, which was standing wide open."

Mr Goon ground his teeth and huffed himself up. "Now, see here. I don't know who you think you are, coming here and wandering in as if you have a right to be here. The library's closed, got it? So clear orf!"

"But Mr Goon," said Mrs Sharple in small, trembling voice, "these children are here to help."

Mr Goon turned on her. "Over my dead body," he said scornfully. "I have no need for help from any kids. I'm an officer of the law, and I can manage this perfectly well on my own, thank you very much."

"No, they're here to help me," Mrs Sharple said timidly. "Mrs Hilton telephoned before lunch and said they had kindly offered to help go through the inventory with me." She turned to the Find-Outers and beamed. "And I can't tell you how grateful I am for that!"

Mr Goon's mouth opened and closed but no words came out. Finally he snapped his notebook shut and stuffed it in his pocket. "Right," he growled to Fatty, "you go ahead and help Mrs Sharple with her inventory. But not until I'm finished in here, understand? Go outside and wait. I have important police business to take care of and I don't want a lot of noisy kids pestering me."

Fatty sighed. "Whatever you say, Mr Goon." He turned to go, but suddenly turned back. "By the way, did you learn anything at all in that book you read recently? What's it called now?— Sniffing Out Criminals, that's it. Fascinating book, isn't it?"

Mr Goon glared at him. "What? What are you talking about? I never read no such book. Where did you get that idea? I'm a trained police officer, I am. I have no use for silly amateur books. Now be on your way."

Fatty nodded politely and headed outside with the others in tow.

"What was all that about?" said Larry, perplexed.

"I'll tell you another time," Fatty replied mysteriously. "While Old Clear-Orf is inside nattering with Mrs Sharple, we should take the opportunity to search the grounds a little. Let's spread out and walk across the grass—and keep your eyes peeled!"

The five of them fanned out from the library's back door and set off at a snail's pace across the enclosed garden, all eyes on the ground.

"Are we looking for clues?" asked Bets excitedly.

"Anything that might have been dropped by the intruder," said Fatty, nodding. "Pip—you're closest to the fountain. Make sure you check around it carefully. The intruder might have had a cigarette or something, perhaps before he plucked up the courage to break in."

Daisy turned to him, looking astonished. "Fatty, whatever would make you think he stood by the fountain plucking up courage? Surely a professional burglar would be in and out as fast as possible!"

Fatty scanned the short grass at his feet. "We don't anything about the intruder yet. He might have not been a burglar. He might have been a tramp looking for a warm, dry place to spend last night. It was raining all day yesterday, remember? We don't know anything yet—so we must consider all possibilities rather than jumping to conclusions."

There was a silence as the Find-Outers continued their slow amble across the garden. Pip hung back. Being in the middle and having the fountain in his path, he had a lot of nooks and crannies to search—all sorts of places where someone could have dropped a cigarette end.

"There are lots of them!" he said in dismay. Everyone looked across at him. He stood at the base of the fountain, looking appalled at the amount of squashed cigarettes that had been left lying about. "However will we know if one of these belongs to the intruder?"

Fatty sighed. "We won't. But it was worth looking anyway. Keep moving."

They all reached the far end of the garden at the same time, except for Pip who caught up to them shortly afterwards. They walked alongside the hedge until they met in the middle, where an opening led through into an alleyway.

"Where does this go?" asked Bets, peering through the gap. "Ooh, it looks creepy and dark."

The alley was very long and dead straight, stretching so far it was hard to see all the way to the end. "It runs behind the houses and shops of the High Street," Fatty said. "And on the left is the grounds of the old school that was closed a few years ago. It fronts onto Union Street."

Wooden fences six feet high ran the length of the alley on the right hand side, while on the left a rickety chain link fence was almost buried under overgrown bushes. Chestnut trees had dropped conkers all over the path, and Larry exclaimed in delight as he stepped through into the alley.

"We should collect a few of these! We could have a good old conker-bashing game later."

The five eagerly rushed out to find the biggest conkers they could, forgetting for a moment they were in the middle of an important mystery. Fatty used his pocket knife to prize off the spiky shells so they could deposit the fresh conkers into their pockets without getting pricked.

"Now, Find-Outers," said Fatty, "remember we're supposed to be working here. If I wanted to break into the library, I'd break in round the back. And there are only two ways into the back garden—through the side gate where we came in, or along this alley. Which way do you think the intruder came in?"

"This way, without a doubt," Pip said. "And I'll bet he left this way too. So there are bound to be clues along here somewhere!"

"Let's hope so," said Fatty, setting off along the narrow path. "And let's hope Mr Goon hasn't beaten us to it!"

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