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 6: Suspicions

Back | Index | Next

A few minutes later, Uncle Harold came through the door and joined Fatty and Bets at their table. He was holding a card envelope, which he said, contained the details of some houses he was interested in.

He called the waitress over and ordered more tea. Bets stood up. 'I'm afraid I'm going to have to go,' she said. 'I'll see you this afternoon down in the shed, Fatty.' She smiled at Uncle Harold. 'Thank you for the tea and toast,' she said. 'It was very kind of you. And I do hope you find a nice house.'

Uncle Harold thanked her, and Bets, having bent down and given Buster a little kiss on the top of his head, left the café.

'Nice girl,' Uncle Harold said as he watched Bets walk off down the High Street.

'Yes, she is,' Fatty said. 'All my friends are nice otherwise they wouldn't be my friends,' he added with a laugh. 'But Bets is special.'

The waitress brought another pot of tea and Uncle Harold poured himself a cup.

'There was a bit of a kerfuffle in the street just before you arrived,' Fatty said looking out of the window. 'Your friend, PC Goon seems to have upset the Vicar's sister.' He giggled and turned to his uncle, but Uncle Harold appeared not to have heard him as he was looking intently at a man sitting in the corner. Fatty looked across the café at him. 'Do you know him?' he asked.

Uncle Harold shook his head. 'No, it's just that he reminds me of someone, that's all.' He took a sip of tea. 'What were you saying about Goon and Miss Twit?' he asked.

'I think they had something of a misunderstanding,' Fatty said, 'and she whacked him over the head with a cucumber.'

'Good for her, wish I'd seen it,' Uncle Harold replied raising his cup to his lips and Fatty noticed that his uncle's eyes were still firmly fixed on the man in the corner.

They finished their tea and toast and as they left the café. Uncle Harold looked at his watch. 'Actually, it's almost time for lunch,' he said. 'Don't want to put your mother out, so we'll head back home and I'll pop out this afternoon and take a look at the churchyard so that I can tell your father I've seen the famous Sidney Cooper memorial, as he's bound to ask for my opinion of it over dinner.'

They started off up the High Street. 'There's a stamp fair on in the village hall,' Fatty said pointing across the street. 'Perhaps you'd like to see that as well?'

'Yes, I'll certainly take a look at that,' Uncle Harold said.

They left the High Street and as they approached the lane that led to Fatty's house, Uncle Harold suddenly stopped in his tracks. 'Bother, I've left that folder in the café. The one the house agent gave me. I'll pop back for it. Shouldn't be more than fifteen minutes.'

Before Fatty could say anything, Uncle Harold had sped off back up the road. Fatty watched him hurrying away along the pavement. 'Well, I'm glad to see he's got used to walking around in the snow,' he thought. 'Don't want him slipping up and breaking his leg.' He continued along the lane towards his house, Buster at his heels. It was as he approached his gate that he was aware that something was nagging in the back of his mind, something that Uncle Harold had said. Something strange. But try as he might he could not remember what it was. 'What am I trying to remember?' he said to Buster as he opened the gate and trudged up the drive to the house.

Uncle Harold had not returned by the time lunch was served, so Fatty ate his alone as his mother was out. Afterwards, he and Buster went down to Fatty's shed at the end of the back garden. It was very cold inside and the first thing he did was to light the paraffin heater. He rubbed away the ice that had formed on the inside of the window and tidied away the clothes he had worn the night before when he had dressed up as Miss Twit. Cookie had very kindly donated some of her freshly baked currant buns, which would certainly go down a treat with the two bottles of lemonade that Fatty produced from a cupboard in the corner.

Before long, Buster cocked his head and began to bark excitedly. Fatty looked through the window and saw Pip and Bets and Larry and Daisy making their way down the garden path. He opened the door.

'Quickly,' he said, 'come in before all the warmth escapes.'

They all crowded into the shed. 'Ooh, it's lovely and snug in here, Fatty,' Bets said taking off her coat and scarf. 'I can't remember the last time it was so cold.'

They all settled down and Fatty handed round the lemonade and buns.

'Bets told us about old Clear Orf getting clobbered by Miss Twit,' Larry said with a laugh. 'I'm sorry if she was embarrassed by something he said,' he continued, 'but you were so convincing, Fatty. None of us thought for one moment it was you.'

'Yes, you're still the Master of Disguise,' Daisy said.

'The man of a thousand faces,' Pip said, and then added: 'Golly, these buns are out of this world.'

'Thanks,' Fatty said passing a piece of bun to Buster, 'but I wish now I hadn't said all that stuff about Goon.'

'Oh well,' Daisy said, 'what's done is done. And to be perfectly honest, that awful man deserves everything he gets. By the way, Larry and I saw your Uncle Harold on the way here.'

'Really?' Fatty said, his interest immediately aroused.

'Yes he was sitting in a car talking to someone,' Larry said.

Fatty was surprised. 'What sort of car?' he asked.

'Didn't notice,' Larry said. 'Just a black car, might have been an Austin.'

'And who was he talking to?' Fatty asked.

'An old man with a beard,' Larry said helping himself to another bun.

Fatty thought for a moment. He remembered that his uncle had been watching the man in the café whom he said seemed familiar, but he had been clean-shaven and could hardly be described as old. 'You say he was old?' he asked.

Larry nodded. 'Yes,' he said. 'Old with a grey beard and round glasses.'

'And he was wearing a hat, an Anthony Eden, I think,' Daisy said.

'But that sounds like Mr. Digby,' Fatty said, suddenly remembering the publisher who had called the previous week to see Uncle Harold. 'I suppose he must have bumped into him,' he added and frowned.

'What's the matter?' asked Bets.

Fatty shrugged. 'Probably nothing,' he said. 'It's just that I've got a funny feeling, that's all.'

'A funny feeling about what?' asked Larry.

Fatty picked up a bun and bit into it. 'Oh, nothing,' he said thoughtfully and then shrugged his shoulders. 'I'm just imagining things.'

They chatted for a while, and then Bets suddenly said: 'This is the first holiday in ages we haven't had a mystery to solve.'

'I was thinking that just last night,' Pip said.

'Me too,' Larry added. 'Perhaps the Find Outers are losing their touch.'

'Well, I suppose we've all been so busy,' Daisy said, 'what with one thing and another. There's nothing in the papers except about those missing scientists and Goon doesn't look as though he's on the trail of anything.'

'Except Miss Twit,' Larry said and they all laughed.

'Well, I hope he quickly realises that that particular trail has gone well and truly cold,' Fatty said giggling. 'Otherwise she might hit him with something a little more substantial next time.'

'What's the latest on the scientists then?' asked Pip.

'Not much,' Fatty said. 'The authorities are checking all the ports and airports in case they try to leave the country. But, I think the feeling is they may have already slipped the net. Got out before they were missed.'

'Well there aren't many flights out with all this snow and a number of the smaller airports have been shut for a couple of weeks,' Larry said. 'So who knows, they may still be in the country.'

'They might even be in Peterswood,' Bets said, her eyes shining.

'Wishful thinking, Bets,' Fatty said. 'Now how about a game of Beggar My Neighbour?'

For the next hour, they played cards and chatted and laughed. The buns soon disappeared and eventually it was time to go home.

'I'm not sure what I'm doing tomorrow,' Fatty said to Larry as they all tramped along the snowy path to the front drive. 'I'll call you in the morning.'

He waved them goodbye and went inside.

As Fatty took off his coat and boots, he could hear his uncle talking with another man in the drawing room, and not wanting to interrupt them, he went up to his bedroom.

Fatty lay on his bed reading and eventually, heard the front door close. He jumped up and looked out of the window. Walking down the drive was the man Uncle Harold had been speaking to. The man had a limp and appeared to be having some difficulty walking in the snow. Fatty watched him go through the gate at the end of the drive and turn into the lane.

'That could well have been Mr Digby,' Fatty thought. 'He was wearing the same type of coat and hat. Pity I didn't see his face. I'll ask Uncle over dinner.'

He heard Uncle Harold come upstairs and go into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him, and Fatty lay down on his bed again and carried on reading until he heard his parents come in about a hour later.

Over dinner, Uncle Harold gave his opinion of the tombs in the churchyard and explained to Mr. Trotteville that the museum had been closed. He also spoke about a couple of properties he would be seeing with a view to renting one of them, and there was some discussion about where the houses were situated and who had lived in or near them.

After dinner, Fatty challenged his uncle to a game of chess, and was roundly beaten twice. It was over the second game that Fatty asked Uncle Harold about his visitor.

'Ah yes, Mr Rupert Digby,' Uncle Harold said. 'I met him in the stamp fair and brought him back here to have a look at my manuscript.'

'I thought it was him,' Fatty said. 'I recognised the hat and coat he was wearing.'

Uncle Harold looked at him across the chessboard. 'You've met him?' he asked.

'Well, only briefly,' Fatty explained. 'He turned up here to see you last week by mistake.'

Uncle Harold sat back in his chair. 'Did you get a chance to talk to him?' he asked.

'No, just to say you wouldn't be arriving for another week, that's all,' Fatty said and moved his Bishop into a threatening position. 'I noticed he was limping, has he had a mishap in the snow?' he asked.

'No, he explained that he had had some kind of accident, he's limped for years,' Uncle Harold said countering Fatty's move by Castling.

Fatty looked at his uncle in surprise. 'That's odd,' he said, advancing one of his Knights. 'I certainly don't remember him limping last week when he came, and I watched him go all the way down the drive.'

Uncle Harold swept his Queen across the board. 'Check,' he announced and then added: 'You must be mistaken about Digby, Fred, he definitely limps, and has done for the past ten years, apparently.'

Fatty moved his own Queen to block the threat from his uncle's. 'Well, perhaps I am,' he said, though in truth he thought otherwise.

'Check-mate,' Uncle Harold said as he brought his Bishop into play to take Fatty's Queen.

Fatty congratulated his uncle and then having called Buster and said goodnight, went up to his bedroom. He climbed into bed and picked up his book, but try as he might, he simply could not concentrate on what he was reading. Thoughts were nagging at him, thoughts about Uncle Harold! Who was the man he was staring at in the café? And was the man who came today, and whom Larry and Daisy had seen talking to Uncle Harold in a car, really Mr Digby? Fatty was convinced that the man he had met the week before had had no limp, therefore he could not have been the man who came today. If that is the case, then who was it that came to the house last week claiming to be Digby, and why the deception? And there was something else, and this really puzzled Fatty. When they were in the café and he had told his uncle about Miss Twit's attack on Goon, he hadn't mentioned her name, but Uncle Harold knew it. Fatty could remember his uncle's very words: 'what were you saying about Goon and Miss Twit?' How on Earth did Uncle Harold know that the vicar's sister is called Miss Twit? From what he understood, Uncle Harold had never been to Peterswood before.

He sighed and tried to read again, but found it impossible. The wind was howling outside and he got out of bed and went to the window. It was snowing very heavily. 'Like a blizzard,' he thought and quickly got back into bed.

'I'm too suspicious, by half,' he said to himself. 'It's likely that Uncle Harold had heard the Vicar's name and simply assumed his sister was unmarried. And as for Digby, maybe I am mistaken about his limp.' He laughed. 'I mean, what on Earth could Uncle Harold be involved in, anyway?'

Eventually, he gave up trying to read, turned the lamp off and fell asleep. Some time later, he woke up with a start, and switching on the lamp, saw that it was just after one o'clock. Buster was standing at the bedroom door growling softly. 'What's the matter, Old Chap,' Fatty asked, getting out of bed and putting on his dressing gown. 'Have you heard something?' He opened his bedroom door very carefully and listened. All was quiet, but Buster pushed past him and ran down the stairs, making far too much noise for such a late hour. Not wanting to turn on any lights, Fatty grabbed his torch and followed.

On reaching the hall, Buster ran to the garden door and began sniffing at it. Fatty shone his torch over the door and saw that the bolt had been drawn back. He tried the handle and finding the door unlocked, opened it quietly and shone his torch around. The snow has eased off slightly now and the wind had dropped. All appeared quiet and he was about to close the door when glancing down, he noticed footprints, footprints that went from the garden door out into the night. 'They must be quite fresh or else they would have been covered up by the snow,' he thought. 'It has to be Uncle Harold, and he's gone out through the garden door because he doesn't have a latch key.' He carefully closed the door and with Buster at his side, went back upstairs. When he got to his bedroom, he stopped. 'I'll just make sure,' he thought and crept along the landing to Uncle Harold's room. He quietly opened the door and quickly shone his torch around inside, and just as he had suspected, Uncle Harold's bed was empty!

Back | Index | Next