The Mystery of the Stolen Secrets

©2017 Richard Humphreys

It's going to be a white Christmas and Fatty's Uncle Harold comes to stay. However, before long Fatty begins to notice that his uncle is acting suspiciously. Why did he go out secretly in the middle of the night? Did he steal some keys from a local house agents' office? Who is the man with a limp? The Find Outers get on the case and are soon embroiled in a mystery that involves spies, stolen secrets and a dangerous chase along the river in the dead of night...

Chapter 11: An Interesting Discovery

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Number 2 Artisan Passage looked very rundown and was at the end of a terrace of four cottages, tucked away in a dark, narrow road off the High Street. The windows were boarded up and the walls were grimy and looked horribly dark against the white snow.

As they approached, Larry immediately noticed there were footprints on the front door step. 'Try them for size,' he said to Fatty, and once again, Fatty placed his foot into the footprint, and again found they were about the same size.

'That's a good sign,' Larry said. 'Uncle Harold may well have visited this one as well.'

Fatty opened the door and they went inside. The first thing that hit them was the smell of damp and the second was the dark. As the windows were boarded up, very little light found its way inside. But in the gloom, they could make out that the small hall opened into the front parlour, and next to that, further along the hall was a door that probably led to the kitchen or scullery. Fatty pushed open the parlour door and they filed in. It was unfurnished save for an old moth-eaten sofa and some ragged curtains hanging forlornly at the window. Fatty pulled the curtains apart releasing a cloud of dust that could be seen in the thin shafts of light that entered though the gaps in the wooden planking outside.

Buster began sniffing around the sofa and suddenly began sneezing. 'Has the dust got up your nose?' Bets asked and patted the Scottie. She then noticed something. 'Look at this,' she said. 'Look at the dust on the sofa.'

In the dim light, they could see that the seat cushions were comparatively free of dust.

'It's quite obvious that someone's sat on this sofa, and quite recently,' Fatty said, examining it closely.

'And at both ends,' said Pip. 'See, there's no dust on either of the seat cushions.'

'Other people may well have viewed the house,' Larry said, 'not just Uncle Harold. Anyone could have sat on this.'

'I don't think I'd want to,' Bets said. 'It's filthy and I dread to think what might be living in it.'

Next, they went into the kitchen, which was also dark and damp. At one time there must have been a leak and one of the walls was now completely covered with black mould..

'Ugh, this is awful,' Daisy said. 'It makes me shudder when I think of how many spiders and creepy-crawlies there must be lurking in here.'

This was not a pleasant thought, at all.

Fatty went to the window and again pulled back the curtains allowing in a little light. In doing so, he immediately noticed that the sash window was raised slightly, and could see that the two lower planks nailed on the outside of the window had been prised off and simply pushed back into position. He called the others over. 'This is interesting,' he said, 'someone has either come in or gone out this way.'

'We'll be able to tell by the footprints in the snow on the other side,' Larry said. 'Shall I pop round and check?'

'Yes, do that,' said Fatty. 'Leave the front door ajar when you go out so you can get back in, and we'll have a snoop around upstairs.'

They all went back into the hall and Larry went out of the front door leaving it just slightly open, the rest went up the narrow and creaking staircase. Upstairs, they found two bedrooms, one at the front and the other at the rear, which they went into first. As Fatty pushed open the door, they could smell stale smoke.

'There's been a fire in here,' he said looking around, 'and quite recently too.'

An old bedstead stood against one wall of the small room, and a pile of charred papers lay in the tiny fireplace. There were no curtains in this room and the planks of wood across the window were spaced wide enough apart to allow a reasonable amount of light in.

Fatty went to the fireplace and began sorting through the paper. 'Newspapers, mainly,' he said over his shoulder. 'And very old ones too.' He held up a tattered sheet in a shaft of light. 'This piece is ten years old according to the date. Someone's tried to make a fire, but for some reason it didn't burn properly. Could be that the chimney's blocked, and that would account for the smell of smoke.' He pulled the rest of the rubbish out onto the floor.

'Ooh, I hope there are no spiders amongst it,' Bets said, and reached down to take hold of Buster's collar to prevent him from sniffing around in the papers.

Fatty picked up something and carried it to the window. 'This is interesting,' he said.

The others crowded round to see what it was he was holding.

'It's a stamp,' said Pip.

'Yes, it is,' Fatty said. 'Or rather it's a stamp attached to the corner of an envelope.

He went back to the pile of rubbish and sifted through it. 'Here we are,' he said holding up some charred paper, 'the rest of the envelope. Or most of it at least.'

Just then Larry came through the door and made them all jump. 'Sorry,' he said seeing everyone's startled expressions. 'The footprints go away from the window, so whoever made them was leaving.' He then noticed that Fatty was scrutinising a piece of paper. 'What's that?' he asked.

'It's a torn up, half burned airmail envelope,' Fatty replied.

'And?' Larry asked.

'It was posted in Borovia,' Fatty said looking round at them.

'Borovia?' Daisy exclaimed. 'Where is it addressed to?' she asked, eagerly craning her neck to see it.

'2, Artisan Passage,' Fatty said holding it in the light.

'But that's this house,' Bets declared. 'Why would someone write to this place from Borovia, nobody lives here?'

'Is there a name as well as an address?' Larry asked.

'No, there isn't a name, that bit must have burned, just the address, that's all,' Fatty said, showing it to Larry before slipping it into his pocket. 'We can examine this more closely down in the shed,' he said.

'This discovery definitely links this house with Uncle Harold, then,' Larry said. 'After all, he lived in Borovia and it would be too much of a coincidence for it not to be connected to him.'

'Yes, I think you're right,' Fatty said gloomily. 'Let's check out the other bedroom.'

They walked across the landing into the other bedroom, which was larger than the first and overlooked the street. Once again Fatty pulled the curtains apart and was pleased to find that the wooden planking outside only covered half the window, so plenty of light was admitted. The room was empty save for a pile of rags in the corner, and an old ladder that had clearly seen better days was propped against one wall.

'I find it hard to believe that this place is being offered to let,' Pip said. 'Who on Earth would want to live here?'

'Well, you could do it up, I suppose,' Bets said looking around. 'Some nice wallpaper and paint and bits and pieces of furniture.'

'But what would be the point?' Pip retorted. 'I mean, there are other places that are much nicer. You'd have to be mad to want to live here.'

'Perhaps the ladder's here because someone thought the house was worth decorating,' Daisy said. 'There's no other reason for having a ladder in a bedroom.'

Fatty looked at his watch. 'Look,' he said, 'it's one-fifteen now, I imagine we're all expected for lunch.'

'Crumbs,' said Pip. 'You're right. Come on Bets or we'll be late.'

They went back down the stairs and out onto the road, shutting the door of the cottage behind them.

'How about meeting again tonight, down in the shed?' Fatty suggested as they walked back to the High Street.

'Can't, I'm afraid,' Larry said. 'Mum and Dad are taking Daisy and me up to see the lights in London.'

'Oh yes, I remember you saying,' Fatty said and looked at Pip. 'How about you and Bets?' he asked.

'We can't either,' Pip said sullenly. 'Great Aunt Mary is paying her annual Christmas visit. She always asks Bets to sing 'Oh Little Town of Bethlehem' to her whilst standing by the Christmas tree.'

Bets laughed. 'But she always brings such lovely presents, so I don't really mind.'

They turned into the High Street keeping a keen eye open for Goon. Luckily, he was nowhere to be seen and, having said goodbye to the others, Fatty hurried along to the house agent to return the keys. Rather than go inside and possibly face more awkward questions, he pushed the keys through the letterbox and made a quick getaway.

Using the back lanes, he got home without meeting anyone and went straight into his shed where he changed out of his disguise and put on his own clothes.

He sat down at his desk by the shed window and looked at the charred envelope. Using a magnifying glass he could see that the date of the postmark was only seven days old. The postmark had missed the stamp completely, and Fatty could clearly make out the profile of the Borovian King, Otto, and above his head the crown in the centre of which was the famous Pearl of Attila.

He looked closely at the address. It was hand written in blue ink, but revealed nothing about the person who wrote it. He looked at the rough edge above the first line of the address, which although singed slightly, was also torn. Perhaps the piece of the envelope that bore the name was still somewhere in the fireplace, simply torn off rather than burnt. Fatty now regretted he had returned the keys so promptly.

He looked at his watch and realised he was late for lunch, and having locked the shed door and with Buster at his side, he rushed back up the garden path to the house.

Jane met him in the hall. 'Sorry, Jane,' he said taking off his coat. 'I completely forgot the time. Is Mother annoyed?'

'Your mother's out, Master Frederick, she's having lunch with her friends from the Women's Institute,' Jane said. 'There's some nice stew for you, so you go into the dining room and I'll bring it.'

'Thanks,' Fatty said walking into the dining room. 'You're a brick.'

Five minutes later, Jane brought in his lunch.

'We had a telegram from your uncle while you were out,' she said as she laid the table. 'He's decided to stay in London for a couple of days.'

'Oh really?' Fatty said.

'Yes, he didn't say why,' Jane continued. 'Just said he wouldn't be back for a couple of days and he'd phone later to say when he was returning.'

'I wonder why he didn't phone?' Fatty said.

'Too busy, I expect,' Jane said and left Fatty alone with his meal.

'Too busy?' Fatty repeated to himself. 'Too busy to make a phone call, yet plenty of time to send a telegram, it doesn't make any sense.'

The clock in the hall struck two.

'I'll go back to the cottage in Artisan Passage this afternoon and see if I can find anymore bits of that envelope. I'd like to know who it was addressed to,' he thought. 'I think I ought to disguise myself.' He pondered for a short while and then came to a decision. 'I'll dress up as a tramp then if I'm caught snooping around, I can claim to be looking for somewhere to get out of the cold.'

Discarding his table manners, he gulped down the rest of his lunch and went into the hall where he put on his overcoat. Buster began to get excited at the prospect of another walk, but Fatty had to disappoint him.

'Sorry old chap,' he said to the little Scottie, 'I'm going to have to leave you behind.'

He took Buster upstairs and left him in the bedroom with instructions to be patient, then went down to his shed.

Fatty was so used to dressing up as a tramp that it only took him a few minutes to get ready. He selected a particularly horrid set of false teeth, all black and broken, which he slipped on over his own, and then blackened his cheeks and chin to appear as though he needed a shave. He pulled on some threadbare corduroy trousers and a pair of rather worn boots, then put on a couple of old pullovers to make him appear fatter and over those, a dirty old overcoat. Finally, he looked at his reflection in the mirror and smiled, this would certainly do, and having wrapped a long muffler round his neck and pulled on an old felt hat, he left the shed and went out of the garden by the back gate.

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