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 2: The Stranger

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As arranged, next day, Larry and Daisy arrived at Pip and Bet's house at one o'clock.

They went in through the garden door, and Bets met them wearing her overcoat and muffler. 'Don't take your coats off,' she said quickly, 'Mummy's just asked Pip and me to pop down to the grocer to pick up some more raisins for the Christmas cake. It seems we haven't got enough for Cook's new recipe.'

'Our cook made ours last week,' Daisy said. 'Every other day she pours a little brandy on it.'

'That sounds like my kind of cake,' Pip said appearing from the sitting room with a ten shilling note in his hand.

'You fibber,' said Bets. 'You don't like the taste of alcohol. Remember when you helped yourself to a sip of cherry brandy last Christmas and were nearly sick afterwards?'

'A liking for alcohol is something achieved through dedicated practice,' said Larry with a laugh. 'That's what Dad says, anyway.'

They walked out into the front garden. It had snowed heavily in the night and the footprints they had made on the lawn the day before had almost disappeared. Having brushed away the new snow from Old Clear Orf's head and made him look a little more presentable, they went out into the lane, turning in the direction of the High Street.

The shops were all gaily decorated with paper chains and lanterns and a large Christmas tree, lit up with coloured lights, stood on the green. Pip bought the raisins at the grocers, and having spent some time looking through the window of the toyshop where a large animated fairground, complete with Ferris wheel, made entirely of Meccano was on display, they set off on their way back home.

As they reached the end of the High Street, they noticed a curious looking man walking behind them.

Bets saw him first and nudged Pip. 'There's something rather strange about that man,' she said quietly.

They all turned to look at him. He was plump, elderly with a white bushy moustache and was wearing a rather shabby blue overcoat, a light coloured wide brimmed hat and a bright orange muffler knotted under his chin. He was struggling with a heavy suitcase and was having difficulty walking on the slippery pavement.

Pip frowned. 'Actually, you know there's something familiar about him.' He looked at Larry. 'Do you suppose it's Fatty?'

They brushed the snow from a nearby bench and sat down to watch the man slipping and sliding rather theatrically along the pavement.

'He's got Fatty's build,' said Daisy. 'Fatty can make himself look fatter, but not thinner. And that moustache is a bit obvious, isn't it? It must be false.'

'I'm sure I remember seeing that scarf in Fatty's shed,' Bets said suddenly. 'It must be him.'

'I think I remember seeing it there as well, and that hat looks familiar, too,' Larry said. 'Well, fancy spinning us a line about going to Maidenhead with his Mother, when all the time he was planning to fool us with a new disguise.'

The man cursed loudly and slid around before performing a kind of splits and ending up sitting on the pavement, much to the children's amusement. He looked over at them. 'Well, are you just going to sit there laughing or are you going to help me up?' he said desperately trying to stand.

'That's Fatty's voice,' Daisy said. 'He's trying to disguise it, but it's definitely his voice.'

'You're losing your touch, Fatty,' Larry shouted.

'Will you please come here and help me, young man,' the man said desperately.

Larry looked at the others. 'Shall we help him?' he asked with a wink.

'I'm not sure,' said Pip. 'We could just leave him there on the pavement.'

'Good heavens,' the man said, struggling once again to get to his feet without success. 'Are all the children in this village as rude as you?'

'All right Fatty,' said Larry. 'Come on,' he said to the others, 'let's play along with him.'

Larry and Pip took hold of the man's arms and began pulling him to his feet. He was heavy and his feet were sliding in all directions as they pulled him this way and that. 'You're really not helping much,' the man said rather breathlessly. 'I'm beginning to think you want me to fall over and break my neck.'

'We wouldn't want you to break your neck, Fatty,' Larry said. 'But it might help if you put that case down.' Larry tried to take the case from the man, but he held on to it tightly.

'Are you trying to rob me, or help me?' the man blustered. He then looked across the road and called out: 'Officer, here quickly' and they all turned to see the large form of Constable Goon bearing down on them.

'What's going on?' he boomed. 'Are these here kids interfering with you, Sir?'

'Yes, they are, Officer,' the man said. 'I do believe they may want to rob me.'

Larry and Pip let go of him and he slid back down onto the pavement with a bump.

'Come on, Fatty,' Larry said. 'A joke's a joke. We got you fair and square.'

'And they're insulting with it,' the man said. 'Fatty, indeed!'

Mr. Goon looked at the children and then down at the stranger. 'So it's like that is it?' he said prodding him with the toe of his boot. 'Come on, get up, no more larking around, I'm taking you straight home. I want your parents to see exactly what you get up to, you toad.'

'I beg your pardon,' the man said incredulously. 'Have you gone mad?'

Without a word, Goon bent down and grabbed him under the arms, yanking him to his feet. 'And you won't be needing this,' he said, wrenching the suitcase from his grasp and throwing it into a ditch that ran along the side of the road.

'I shall put in an official complaint about this,' the man said. 'And give me my case, you thug, it's got valuables in it!'

Goon grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and began marching him in the direction of Fatty's house.

The others watched. 'Fatty'll be for it now,' Pip said. 'His mother will have a fit when Goon presents him to her dressed like that.'

'I'd better rescue his suitcase,' Daisy said gloomily and retrieved it from the ditch. As she carried it back, she noticed it had a number of labels stuck on it and one caught her eye, it read: SS Fidelity. Zapol to Southampton.

'Where's Zapol?' she asked, rejoining the others.

'It's the capital of Borovia,' Larry said. 'Why?'

Suddenly the penny dropped. 'That isn't Fatty,' Daisy gasped, 'it's Fatty's Uncle Harold. He must have arrived early. Look at the label on the case.'

'You're joking,' Larry said and looked at the suitcase. 'Crumbs, I think you're right. Come on, we'd better let Goon know.'

Larry took the heavy case and the four children ran to catch up with Goon and the struggling Uncle Harold.

'Mr. Goon, we've made a terrible mistake,' Larry said. 'This isn't Fatty it's his Uncle Harold, he's just arrived from Borovia.'

'At last some commonsense,' Uncle Harold said. 'Now will you let me go, you buffoon?'

Goon turned to the children. 'Clear orf, the lot of you,' he snarled. 'You think you can fool me with a cock and bull story like that? Borovia, huh, there's no such place! I know who this is all right.'

'But Mr. Goon, you're wrong,' Daisy said.

'Don't think I didn't hear you call him Fatty,' he turned his head and smirked at them. 'You think you're clever, but you made a mistake there, didn't you? Now clear orf, the lot of you.'

They were now approaching the gate to Fatty's house. Uncle Harold appeared to have given up the fight, realising that it would all be sorted out shortly and this idiot of a policeman would get his comeuppance.

Mr. Goon, followed closely by the children, dragged the unfortunate Uncle Harold up the drive to the front door. He banged on it loudly. A few moments later, Jane the house parlour maid, opened it. She was startled to see the policeman standing on the doorstep with a dishevelled looking man in his clutches.

'Mr Trotteville, if you please,' Goon boomed.

Jane half closed the door. 'I'm afraid Mr Trotteville is not at home,' she replied.

Goon scowled at her and gave a loud huff. 'Mrs. Trotteville, then,' he yelled.

'She's not at home, either,' Jane said. She looked past Goon at the children and then back to Goon. 'What's going on?' she asked.

'None of your business, young lady,' Goon snapped. 'When will they be back?'

'I can't say,' Jane said.

'I'm Harold Trotteville,' Uncle Harold said hopefully, 'I'm expected.'

Before Jane could respond, Goon shook him. 'You keep your trap shut,' he snarled then cleared his throat. 'Well as they're out,' he said puffing himself up, 'I'll come in and wait.' Just at that moment, from inside the house, Buster, who had just heard the familiar tones of Mr Goon's voice, began to bark wildly. Goon suddenly seemed unsure of himself. 'Er, is that there dog locked up?' he asked nervously. Mr Goon was rather frightened of the little Scottie who enjoyed nothing more than dancing round his ankles nipping them.

Jane looked over her shoulder. 'If you'll wait a moment, I'll make sure he's shut in the kitchen.'

'You do that,' Goon said.

Just then the children heard the gate at the end of the drive swing shut. They turned and saw Mrs Trotteville advancing up the drive with her arms full of parcels.

The children ran to meet her.

'What on Earth is going on?' she said when she saw Goon on her front doorstep.

'Mr Goon thinks Uncle Harold is Fatty in disguise,' Larry explained quickly. 'And I'm afraid it's our fault, because we thought he was Fatty in disguise as well,' he added.

'But we know it's Uncle Harold, now,' Daisy said, 'because his suitcase has a label from Borovia on it. But Mr Goon won't listen to us.'

Goon heard the talking and turned to see Mrs Trotteville approaching. 'I'm returning your son to you,' he announced pompously and gave Uncle Harold a shake. 'This is what he gets up to when your back's turned. Mischief making, deceiving, lying...'

'Mr Goon, please take your hands off my brother-in-law,' Mrs Trotteville said coldly. She disliked the policeman intensely. She turned to the children. 'Will you please hold these parcels for me?' she said.

Mr Goon suddenly looked confused and his mouth dropped open. He gulped. 'But this is Fatty, er Freddie, er Frederick,' he blustered.

Uncle Harold shook himself free of Goon's grip. 'You see, you nincompoop,' he yelled and removed his hat. It was very clear now, that this was the face of a grown man and certainly not Fatty. 'Do you really think I look like a schoolboy? I've met some idiots in my time but you certainly take the biscuit. You're a disgrace to your uniform and I shall certainly be lodging a serious complaint about your disgraceful behaviour!' He looked at the children. 'And I'll have my suitcase back, thank you.' Larry handed it to him.

'Come inside Harold,' Mrs Trotteville said taking him by the arm. 'You could do with a good strong cup of tea.'

'Correction, I could do with a large brandy and soda,' Uncle Harold said giving Goon a contemptuous glare.

'Bring the parcels in please, children,' Mrs Trotteville said.

Both Uncle Harold and Mrs Trotteville brushed past Goon into the house.

'We did try to warm you, but you just wouldn't listen,' Daisy said as the children went in through the door, closing it behind them.

Goon was left standing alone on the doorstep with his teeth clenched and his face bright red. He was both angry and worried. Angry that he'd been shown up in front of Mrs Trotteville and the children and worried about any complaints Uncle Harold might make about him.

Flakes of snow began to fall as he slowly made his way back down the drive feeling utterly despondent. When he reached the gate he heard a cheerful voice. 'Good afternoon, Mr Goon, and may I offer to you and yours the very best of the season's greetings?'

Goon looked up and saw Fatty approaching from down the lane with a couple of large parcels in his arms. 'Been doing a bit of door to door carol singing on behalf of the Policeman's Benevolent Fund, have we? That's the spirit!' Fatty said pleasantly, and then added: 'Would you be so kind as to hold the gate open for me, as you can see, my hands are rather full?'

Goon slammed the gate shut behind him. 'Open it yourself, you, you pestilence!' he snarled and stamped off up the lane.

Fatty watched him go. 'And thank you for those heartfelt Christmas greetings, Mr Goon, they are very much appreciated,' he shouted at the disappearing form of the policeman.

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