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 4: Boris Boggs

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Pip, Bets, Larry and Daisy, having got rather bored with playing Happy Families and Beggar My Neighbour, decided to walk down to the shops to have another look at the Meccano fairground in the toy shop window. It looked beautiful with all the lights flashing on and off and the Ferris wheel going round.

They went inside to get out of the cold, and Bets immediately found a display of string puppets arranged in a pretty puppet theatre.

'I hoped you'd grown out of dolls,' Pip said scornfully.

'These aren't dolls, silly,' Bets said, 'they're marionettes, you know, puppets.'

Pip peered at them. 'Hmm, just dolls on strings,' he said dismissively and wandered off.

The shopkeeper, an old lady called Mrs Cropper, smiled at the children. 'I expect you're all wondering what Father Christmas is going to bring you?' she asked, apparently not realising that the children were past the age when they still believed in Father Christmas.

'Well, I certainly am,' Larry said humouring her. 'I wouldn't mind that Meccano set you have in the window.'

Having had a good look round the shop, they decided to go home as it was getting on and they would be expected. As they stood outside arranging to meet up the next day, Mr Goon, who was out on his beat, happened to come along. He saw the children and swaggered up to them. 'Still having a good laugh are you?' he said. 'You'll get your just desserts one day.'

'Well when it arrives, I do hope it's rhubarb crumble and custard,' Pip said.

'We did try to warn you about Uncle Harold, Mr Goon,' Daisy said. 'It's not our fault you never believe us.'

Mr Goon huffed loudly.

'Oh, and we had a visitor this afternoon, Mr Goon,' Daisy continued. 'Miss Twit, the vicar's sister, you know her don't you?'

Goon looked down at her. 'Yes, well what of it?' he snapped.

'Well, she told us how much she admired you, that's all, and that she very much hoped that one day she would be your sweetheart,' Daisy continued.

Goon was silent for a moment. 'Gah, have your fun. You're pathetic, that's what you lot are. Are you telling me that the Vicar's sister would say something like that to a bunch of disrespectful upstarts like you?'

'But it's true Mr Goon,' Larry said in a very serious, grown-up voice. 'We were all there and we all heard what she said.' He leaned towards Goon and said confidentially: 'I think it's quite possible she's in love with you.'

Goon sniffed and raised himself to his full height. 'I'm not wasting any more time listening to your poisonous nonsense, I've got better things to do. Clear orf!' He began to walk away, then stopped and turned around. 'She er, she left the village some time ago, as I recall, so she's back is she?' he said.

'Yes, she went out to Africa, but she's back for Christmas,' Larry said and the others nodded their heads earnestly.

'I wish you lot would clear orf to Africa,' Goon snarled and stomped off.

'Do you think he believed us?' Pip said.

'Well if he did it'll be a first,' Larry said.

By the time Goon had finished his beat and arrived home he was cold and in a bad mood, and having shut his front door with a bang, slouched into his small sitting room. To his surprise, a rather scruffy boy of about ten was sitting on the hearthrug warming himself by the fire. He jumped to his feet as Goon entered the room.

'What's all this?' Goon snarled. 'Who on Earth are you?'

'I ain't done nothing, Mister, honest I ain't,' the boy cried backing into a corner.

'Mrs Boggs,' Goon bellowed, and a small woman rushed into the room drying her hands on her apron. 'Does this belong to you?' he asked pointing at the boy.

'Boris,' Mrs Boggs shouted, 'how many times have I told you not to come into Mr Goon's sitting room?'

'I ain't done nothing, Nan,' the boy whimpered.

Mrs Boggs strutted over to him and taking hold of one of his rather prominent ears, dragged him, squealing, towards the door. 'He's my Jimmy's eldest,' she explained as Goon took off his overcoat and threw it onto an armchair. 'Trina, that's my daughter-in-law, has had to go into hospital with her appendix and Jimmy can't cope on his own with three kids, so he was going to send this one to Trina's Ma till she's better, but the little devil refused to go, 'cause he thinks she's too strict.' She shook the boy by his ear. 'Don't you, you little monster?'

'Yes, Nan,' Boris said, squirming.

'So he's been left with me,' she continued. 'Well I can't leave him at home all day by himself, Mr Goon, there's no telling what he might get up to. So for the next fortnight, I'm going to have to bring him in with me, so as I can keep an eye on him.'

Goon let out a very audible groan and sank down into his chair. 'Just make sure you do keep an eye on him and confine him to the kitchen,' he said poking the fire. 'I don't want him nosing around in my office or my sitting room. Is that clearly understood?'

'Did you hear that?' Mrs Boggs shouted into the boy's ear.

'Yes, Nan. I did,' Boris replied eyeing Goon with a look of utter hatred.

'Right, well you just make sure you do as Mr Goon says or he'll clap you in irons and lock you up in one of his deepest, darkest dungeons. Isn't that right, Mr Goon?' Mrs Boggs said.

'Yes, I keep a very special dungeon for naughty boys,' Goon said with a horrible smirk on his face. 'It's cold and dark and damp and full of spiders and cockroaches.'

Just then, Mrs Boggs noticed that Boris was holding something shiny in his hand. 'What's that you've got?' she asked sharply.

'Nothing, Nan,' Boris replied putting his hands behind his back.

Mrs Boggs grabbed his hand and began to prise his fingers open.

'Don't Nan, you're hurting me,' Boris wailed. 'I ain't got nothing.'

'Then what's this?' said Mrs Boggs holding up a small silver pencil.

'Why that's mine,' cried Goon jumping to his feet. 'Good heavens, the little beggar must have pinched it off me desk in the office. Turn out his pockets.'

Boris started to cry. 'I didn't pinch it Nan,' he snivelled. 'I found it on the floor and was going to give it back.'

Goon was unmoved. He pointed a fat finger at the boy. 'Turn out his pockets, Mrs Boggs, or I'll do it meself,' he barked.

'You heard Mr Goon,' Mrs Boggs said, jabbing Boris in the back, 'empty your pockets.'

Boris slowly emptied his pockets of a motley assortment of objects, placing them one at a time on the sideboard. There was a silver plated Apostle spoon, one of a set given to Mr Goon some years before, two brass buttons, a brass police whistle, a small unused notebook, a rather dirty handkerchief, a well sucked gobstopper wrapped in a grubby piece of paper and a small plastic Mickey Mouse, which Mr Goon had found in his breakfast cereal that very morning.

'Regular little magpie, ain't he?' Goon said eyeing Boris' loot. He retrieved his possessions, not touching Boris' gobstopper and handkerchief. 'You're going to have to send him back from whence he came,' he said looking down at the boy and wrinkling his nose with distaste, 'I won't have him in the house.'

'I ain't going nowhere, Nan,' Boris said defiantly through his sniffles. 'I'll run away if you try and make me, you see if I don't.'

'You see how he is, Mr Goon, so what can I do?' Mrs Boggs said shaking her head. 'If he refuses to go to his other Nan's and you won't have him here, I'll have no alternative but to stay at home with him and as much as I'd hate to leave you in the lurch, what with Christmas just around the corner and all...'

'Yes, yes, very well,' Goon said sinking back down into his chair by the fire. 'But make sure you keep him away from me. I've enough to occupy my mind without worrying about what that little urchin is getting up to.' He rubbed his hands together. 'Now then, what about a nice cup of tea and a couple of custard creams?'

'Well, I can manage the tea,' Mrs Boggs said, 'but you're all out of biscuits.'

'All out?' Goon shouted. 'But I only opened a new packet yesterday.'

Both he and Mrs Boggs stared at Boris.

'I ain't taken 'em. Nan, honest,' he said trying to edge out of the door.

'Well if that's the case, where'd them crumbs in the corners of your mouth come from, eh?' Goon boomed, and pointing the poker at Boris, yelled: 'Get him ready for the special dungeon, Mrs Boggs!'

Boris was terrified. 'No, Nan, I never took 'em, honest,' he squealed. 'Don't let him put me in the special dungeon.'

'Perhaps you could over look it, just this once, Mr Goon, if Boris here, promises to replace the biscuits straight away?' Mrs Boggs asked.

Goon grunted and began jabbing the fire viciously. 'Well, I'll be lenient just this once.' He looked at Boris. 'But any more naughtiness, young man, and I'll chuck the book at you.'

Boris wondered which book Mr Goon had in mind as he'd seen some big fat ones in his office.

'I'll send the boy out for some more biscuits directly, Mr Goon and stop the cost of them out of his pocket money,' Mrs Boggs said.

'But that ain't fair,' Boris said as he was dragged into the hall. 'I never took 'em, Nan.'

But Nan wasn't listening. She bundled him into his duffle coat and having put a two shilling piece into his hand, marched him to the door.

'You know the biscuits to get,' Mrs Boggs said. 'And hurry, straight there and straight back, do you hear me?'

'Yes, Nan, I hear you,' Boris said sullenly, and with Mrs Boggs' hand pushing him, stepped out into the snow.

'Good, then you mind what I say. And don't dawdle, they'll be closing soon,' Mrs Boggs said as he tramped down the short path to the gate.

It was snowing slightly as Boris trudged up the road to the High Street. He was feeling very hard done by, and now wished he had resisted the temptation to eat Mr Goon's biscuits. Thinking about it, it was probably a mistake to eat all of them. He knew from experience that one or two were rarely missed, but nearly a whole packet was bound to be noticed. And what about the interesting things he had found on and around Mr Goon's desk, that whistle, for instance? The other things, he could do without, but he really wanted the whistle. Perhaps there was still a chance of getting it back. After all, Mr Goon must have another one and why would he need two?

Boris bought a new packet of biscuits in the small grocers, which he stuffed into the pocket of his duffle coat, and then ambled around looking in the shop windows before slowly making his way back. Before leaving the High Street, he noticed a dim light on in the village hall so he crossed the road to investigate it. On the door to the hall was a notice that read: 'International Philatelic Society Christmas Fair – Opens Thursday'. Boris did not understand the first part, but he knew what a fair was and he wondered how all the rides and stalls could possibly be built inside the village hall! The notice said it was not open until Thursday, which was the next day, but before he turned to leave he gave the door a hard push and a pull and to his surprise it opened. He slipped inside and was immediately disappointed. In the rather dim light, that came from a solitary bulb overhead, he saw that there were no rides, no dodgems, no hoop-la stalls, but instead the hall was filled with screens on which collections of postage stamps were displayed. There was no one about, so he began to wander around peering closely at the stamps. He thought that most of them were boring. Some of the boys at Boris' school collected stamps, but he never understood why. After all, stamps were things you stuck on letters, why should people want to save them and put them into albums?

It was warm inside and Boris was in no hurry to get back to Mr Goon's, so he continued to look, without much interest, at the displays. When he got to the back of the hall, he noticed what appeared to be some kind of office, the door of which was ajar. He approached the door very cautiously and carefully peered into the room. There was a desk inside and some cabinets, so he pushed the door open and crept into the small room. It was much darker in the office, and as it contained nothing of any interest, Boris decided to leave. Just as he got to the door he heard light footsteps in the main hall. Boris' heart began to pound and he thought what Mr Goon would do to him if he were caught trespassing. The special dungeon loomed large in his mind's eye as he crept further back into the office and looked for a place to hide. Luckily, Boris is small and he managed to squeeze himself into the kneehole of the desk, but in doing so he pushed a chair, which made a scraping noise against the floorboards. Holding his breath and listening, not daring to move, he could hear someone moving around in the hall and then the sound of footsteps coming closer and the soft creak of the office door swinging open. The beam of light from a torch flashed around the room and he heard a man's voice mutter something. There was a small knothole in the front part of the desk and through it Boris could see the figure of the man silhouetted again the light from the hall. In the man's left hand was the torch and in his right, what appeared to be a gun!

To Boris' relief, the man then turned and walked back through the hall to the front door. Fifteen minutes passed before Boris felt brave enough to emerge from under the desk and carefully peer into the hall. It all seemed quiet now and, taking a deep breath, he rushed to the exit. The door was closed but he gave it a tug, and thankfully it opened. Boris scooted down the street to a shop doorway, where he paused to get his breath back. The High Street was deserted except for an old lady walking her poodle. He decided not to tell his Nan or Mr Goon about what had happened. They would not believe a story like that, and he would no doubt get into trouble for going into the hall in the first place. The church clock struck seven and suddenly remembering his Nan's order to hurry, he rushed back to Mr Goon's.

'Where on Earth have you been?' Mrs Boggs snapped when she answered the door to him. 'I thought I said straight there and straight back.'

'I did, Nan,' Boris said and showed her the packet of biscuits.

'And there'll be seven pence halfpenny change,' Mrs Boggs said.

Boris handed it over.

'Now then,' Mrs Boggs continued, taking her coat from the hallstand, 'take those straight out to the kitchen and put them in the larder.' She poked her head into the sitting room. 'I'll be off now, Mr Goon, your steak and kidney pie will be ready in ten minutes and the potatoes and peas are boiling on the hob.'

In the kitchen, Boris smelt the pie and felt very hungry. He sighed deeply and put the packet of biscuits in the larder. He was just about to close the door, when he noticed a bowl of junket, one of Mr Goon's favourite puddings, had been left on the bottom shelf to set. He looked over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear, then poked his fingers into the middle of the pudding, scooped out a dollop and popped it into his mouth.

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