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 8: What can be so important about a book?

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When Mr Goon stalked out of the library at almost exactly twelve o'clock and had some sort of argument with two waiting library members on the doorstep, Mrs Sharple exclaimed something about "those poor dears" and rushed to invite them in. They ambled over to the front desk and Mrs Sharple checked in their books. Then, as the visitors lost themselves amongst the bookshelves, Fatty approached Mrs Sharple and spoke in an offhand sort of way.

"You know, Mrs Sharple...I can't help wondering about those other books."

"What do you mean, dear?" Mrs Sharple replied, peering over her glasses at him as she meticulously went through the pile of books that had been stolen and dumped in the field. She smoothed out a cover and brushed flecks of dirt and grass off.

"Well..." said Fatty, frowning. Behind him the others had put on innocent expressions. "It occurs to me that the burglar was after a specific book, but couldn't find it—which is why he dumped the lot of them in the field."

"Yes?"

"Well, he's not likely to just give up searching, is he?" Fatty reasoned. "The burglar is still on the lookout."

Bets piped up, "You mean, he might come back and break in again later?"

Mrs Sharple's hand flew to her mouth.

Fatty nodded. "That's right, Bets. But Mr Goon is on the case and will arrest him in no time."

"Hopefully," Larry added.

"His track record isn't too good though," Pip said. "I think we nearly always solve the mystery and catch the criminals before Mr Goon does."

"Yes," Daisy said, nodding, "and that's why we get on so well with Superintendent Jenks."

"You know Superintendent Jenks?" asked Mrs Sharple, surprised.

"Oh yes," said Fatty. "He often drops by to see if we've solved any mysteries lately in the Peterswood area."

The librarian pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. "And what about this case? Are you likely to solve this one? And catch the burglar?"

Fatty looked round at the others. "Well, it's hard to say. To tell you the truth, Mrs Sharple, we don't have much chance unless we can get a look at those remaining books. The thief was obviously after one of them, and it would be helpful to take a look at them and see if we can't figure out what he was after. If we find out what he was after, we might have a lead to follow."

Mrs Sharple looked down at the file containing the list of borrowed books. "I suppose I could phone those people and have them return the books as soon as possible."

Fatty nodded slowly. "Yes. Or you could phone them and say you're going to have them collected." He waved around at his friends. "Tell them we'll be along this afternoon to pick them up, if you like. We'll be happy to go and get them for you."

Mrs Sharple pondered for a moment, and then sighed. "I suppose that would be all right. I do want this burglar caught, so if you think it would help to look at the books..."

"It couldn't hurt," said Fatty. "I'll keep the books safely at home with the three I've already got. So I'll have eight books at my house, Mrs Sharple, and I'll return them as soon as we've finished examining them."

Mrs Sharple opened her file, and Fatty dutifully got out his notebook and pen. "I suppose Mr Goon won't mind you collecting these books and taking them home?" asked Mrs Sharple.

"He knows where I am," Fatty said truthfully. "I'm sure he'll want to see them, and he can come round to my house and collect them anytime he likes."

Mrs Sharple seemed satisfied. "I already gave you the names, didn't I? Let's see. Apart from yourself there's Jack Crowder, Peter Westlake, and Miriam Strider. Are you ready for their addresses?"

Fatty wrote carefully, feeling a surge of excitement. Now they could go and collect those books and study them. One of them had to be important somehow...unless, like Bets said, one had simply contained an envelope within its pages, or something like that—perhaps an important piece of paper that was worth breaking and entering for. Fatty remembered the time they had tackled the case of a strange bundle that had been thrown into the river one dark night to ensure a burglar couldn't find it. The bundle turned out to be a collection of clothes belonging to a ventriloquist's doll...and hidden carefully in one of its shoes was a tiny list of names. Those names had been sought after by some Very Important People indeed, and had something to do with the security of the country.

So it was highly possible that a scrap of paper hidden within a book could be highly sought after, worth the risk of breaking into a library. Unfortunately, by the same logic, this meant the burglar could already have found what he wanted—not an actual book, but something inside a book.

On the other hand it could, after all, be a particular book the burglar was after—one that wasn't in the library at the time of the break-in.

His mind whirling with all the possibilities, Fatty thanked the kindly librarian and ushered the others out the door, where they stood on the pavement to make plans. "We'll get on this straight away," he said, glancing at his watch. "It's ten past twelve. We still have a little time before lunch, so I think if we split up we can go and get those books back from the library members and meet up this afternoon."

"Do we have to interview them as well?" asked Daisy, looking worried.

Fatty thought for moment. "I don't suppose we do. They're not suspects, and I don't believe they would know anything of use. But double-check they haven't found anything while skimming through the books—scraps of paper, envelopes, that sort of thing. If so, we definitely must have it!"

Pip glanced at his own watch, frowning. "We need to hurry then. Mother will be furious if we're late. You know how she is. Bets and I will go to one of the addresses, and then we can collect the book and head straight home together."

"Right," said Fatty. "You go and see Jack Crowder then. He lives at 23 Pike Lane, which is probably the closest to your house, I think. Jack's got one of the books. Larry and Daisy can collect another book from Miriam Strider over at—" Fatty quickly checked his notes. "—Yes, here we are. Dogwood Cottage in Holly Lane."

"Holly Lane!" Bets exclaimed. "We solved a mystery there once!"

"We did," said Fatty, grinning. "Now, let's get moving. I'll go and see Peter Westlake. He's got another three books. And of course I have the remaining three books in my shed. That makes eight in total."

"But wait a minute," said Larry, scratching his head. "If we're looking for something like a scrap of paper or an envelope jammed between the pages, well, what if the burglar already found something like that in one of the books he stole? It would explain why he left them all in the field. Maybe he did find what he was looking for after all!"

Fatty nodded, pleased. "Well reasoned out, Larry. And of course I've already considered that. But since we have no other leads, I suggest we do what we can and collect those remaining books. You never know, we might find something of use—and if nothing else we can eliminate them from our enquiries."

He climbed on his bike. "See you all this afternoon. Be at my shed by two."

Fatty headed off to Peter Westlake's home at 101 Springwater Close. It was a nice little cul-de-sac, and the Westlake house was at the very end. It was a little rundown compared to neighbouring houses, with a front garden that needed mowing and old flower beds that were overgrown with weeds. A garage stood at the end of the drive, and the large doors were wide open. A burly man was polishing a large shiny motor bike.

"Hello," said Fatty cheerfully, walking up the drive. "I've come to see Peter Westlake."

The man twisted round and scowled at him. He was completely bald with an unshaven face, and looked a nasty piece of work. "What for?" he said in a curt voice.

Startled, Fatty stared hard at the man. He looked familiar. "The library sent me," said Fatty, racking his brains. "I've come to pick up a few books. Did Mrs Sharple telephone you?"

"How should I know?" the man growled, and threw down his rag. He climbed to his feet and stood looking down at Fatty. He was forty-something, and seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face. He nodded towards the front door of the house. "Go and knock. Peter's in."

"Thanks," said Fatty politely.

He headed up the path and knocked on the door. Immediately a tremendous high-pitched barking started up inside, and moments later a small weight thudded against the inside of the door. The barking went on and on, and Fatty laughed to himself. This must be how visitors to the Trottevilles' are greeted by Buster, he thought. He listened with amusement to the scrabbling of small paws on the door. The paintwork must be scratched to bits!

After a while the door opened and a youthful man stood there, holding onto a small one-eyed Jack Russell. Oh!—Fatty suddenly remembered what Mrs Sharple had said about Peter's dog, whose name was Purdy. Peter was in his late teens—a college student, Fatty recalled, writing an essay on crime.

"Yes?" said Peter over the barking. "Purdy, settle down. Quiet now."

"Good afternoon," said Fatty. "I'm here on Mrs Sharple's behalf. I've been sent to collect—"

"Oh, the books, yes. She said you'd be round." Peter looked worried, and he swallowed. "She didn't say much, just that she was sending someone round to collect them. She didn't sound her usual cheerful self, and I was worried that..."

He seemed uncertain of what to say, and Fatty put on a nonchalant face and bent to stroke Purdy's head. She whined and pawed at him, trying to get out of her master's grip. "Worried about what?" asked Fatty.

"Well, I know how fussy she is over her library books," said Peter, "and when my dad ruined one yesterday I was sure I was going to have to pay for it. I should have just owned up, but—"

"Wait, stop," said Fatty, confused. "I don't understand."

Peter sighed and lowered his voice, jerking his head towards the bald man out by the garage. "My dad has no respect for books. They're for sissies, he reckons. He keeps telling me I read too much, and I should get out and earn some money. He says I take after my mother—and I do! Mum used to read a lot...before she died."

Fatty instantly felt sorry for the poor young man. So he lived with his father, that bald-headed nasty piece of work. Life must be pretty miserable, he thought.

"Purdy, will you sit still!" Peter pushed the dog inside and closed the door behind him, standing on the doorstep. "So anyway, yesterday my dad got a phone call and looked about for something to write on—and he turned one of my library books over and scribbled on that. I couldn't believe it! By the time I realised what he was doing, he'd already done it. I don't think he knew it was a library book, but he wouldn't have cared anyway."

Fatty was silent for a moment. He felt he was on the edge of something very important here, although he wasn't yet sure what. "So...you're worried about returning a book that's been defaced?"

Peter shook his head. "I've already returned it. That was yesterday. It was due by five o'clock, and I was just getting ready to pop out to the library when Dad got the phone call—and ruined the book. I was furious, but he just sneered and said I should grow up and stop reading detective books. Then he grabbed his coat and went out."

Peter seemed almost thankful to get all this off his chest, and Fatty was very glad to hear the little tale without having to prompt for details.

"Anyway, soon after that I gathered the library books together and went out. But I didn't know if I should tell Mrs Sharple about it or not. I'm a college student, you know, and I don't have much money...and I can't afford to pay for a damaged book. So I decided to keep quiet about it and see if she noticed the scribble on the back."

"And did she?" asked Fatty breathlessly.

"No. She checked the books in and didn't notice, so that was that. I felt guilty afterwards, but I chose three more books and went on my way. And I didn't hear anything about it until fifteen minutes ago, when she called." Peter looked crestfallen. "I suppose she only just noticed the scribble and checked her records to see who borrowed that book last. She said she wanted my new books back straight away, probably to stop me ruining those too."

Fatty stood open-mouthed for a moment, then shook his head. He glanced at the burly bald man over by the garage, who was still polishing his motor bike. "Peter," Fatty said quietly, "it's important you tell me which book your dad scribbled on."

"Confidence Tricksters," said Peter without hesitation. "A really nice book about—"

"Yes, I think I've read it," Fatty interrupted. "Do you remember what your dad wrote on the back?"

Peter screwed up his face in thought. "Just a string of numbers and letters. I don't know what it meant. Why? Is it important?"

And suddenly Fatty remembered something. He knew where he'd seen that bald man before! He almost staggered with the realisation, and he grabbed hold of the doorframe as if to steady himself. Huge cogs were clunking into place in his mind.

Peter looked concerned. "Are you all right? You look pale."

"I'm fine," Fatty said shakily, and looked once more at Peter's father, Mr Westlake. Yes, he was definitely the man he'd seen at the library yesterday, just before closing time—the man who'd nearly knocked him over in the lobby.

Fatty composed himself. "Peter, what time did you return your books?"

But suddenly Peter looked suspicious. "Why are you so interested? Look, do you really need to take these other books today? I'm still writing my essay and wasn't finished with them."

Fatty nodded and decided to reveal the truth—or part of it. "The library was broken into last night, and several books were stolen. Mrs Sharple just wants all her borrowed books back so she check off her inventory."

Peter looked puzzled, and then nodded slowly as he disappeared inside to a volley barks.

Fatty glanced around again, and at that moment Mr Westlake looked up and caught him staring. Fatty smiled and nodded, and the man slowly went back to work polishing his bike.

Peter returned and handed the books over. "Here you are. Now I'd better get on. Essays don't write themselves, you know." He closed the door softly.

Fatty tucked the books under his arm and set off down the path, surreptitiously stealing a glance at the bald man as he went. He shuddered, climbed on his bike, and rode off with a LOT to think about!

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