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 9: The Find Outers Get on the Case

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Larry and Daisy were wrapping Christmas presents when they heard the telephone in the hall ringing. Mrs Daykin answered it.

'Larry,' she called up the stairs. 'Frederick's on the phone and wants to speak to you urgently.'

Both Larry and Daisy dropped what they were doing and rushed to the phone.

'Hallo Fatty,' Larry said taking the receiver from his mother. 'What's up?'

'Hallo, Larry,' Fatty replied. 'Look I can't go into details over the phone, but I'd like to call a meeting of the Five Find Outers down in the shed.'

'Well, it can't be this evening,' Larry said. 'Only Dad said something about going up to London to see the lights in Oxford Street and the Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square.'

'I think we should have the meeting as soon as possible,' Fatty replied. 'It's just gone ten now, and I'd like to fit it in before lunch if possible.'

'You sound rather excited about something,' Larry said detecting the urgency in Fatty's voice. 'Have you got scent of a new mystery?'

'You could call it that, yes,' Fatty replied. 'I've just phoned Pip and both he and Bets can come over for ten thirty. How does that suit you and Daisy?'

Larry looked at his sister and grinned. 'Well, Daisy's really busy wrapping presents, so I'm not sure she'll be able to make it.'

Daisy punched him lightly on the arm and shouted into the receiver. 'Don't listen to him, Fatty, of course I'm coming. Wrapping can wait.'

'Great,' Fatty said. 'See you shortly.'

Fatty put down the telephone and went straight down to his shed where he lighted the heater and did a quick tidy up. By the time the others arrived, the shed was nice and warm.

'I'm rather worried about something,' Fatty began when they had all taken their seats, 'and I'd like your opinions. Maybe I'm worrying unduly, I can't be sure, but we've been in the game of detection for long enough to have developed a sense for things that are not quite right. And something is not quite right about my uncle.'

The others were silent. They could see that Fatty was concerned.

Bets was the first to speak. 'But what is it, Fatty?' she asked.

He outlined to them his concerns regarding the visit from Mr Digby, the man in the café, Uncle Harold's late night disappearance and the apparent burglary at the house agents.

'But you said Goon denied there had even been a break in at the house agents,' Larry said.

'Precisely,' Fatty said. 'And that is something we have to find out for ourselves. After all, Goon isn't the most reliable of detectives. He may just have not been able to find how the burglar got in and just assumed there hadn't been one. You know what he's like. He was probably annoyed that he'd been called out early.' Fatty was quiet for a moment and then said: 'I gave my uncle every opportunity to say he'd gone out in the night and he didn't mention it. Now why would he not say he had unless it was because he didn't want me to know?'

'He probably went out because, as you say, he suffers from insomnia,' Pip said. 'A nice brisk walk.'

'What's insomnia?' asked Bets. 'Is it when you lose your memory?'

'That's amnesia, silly,' Pip said scornfully. 'Insomnia is when you find it difficult to fall off to sleep.'

'I have insomnia sometimes, then,' she said. 'I always find it difficult to go to sleep on Christmas Eve night and the night before the holidays begin.'

'That's not the same thing, Bets,' Fatty said with a smile. 'That's just excitement.' He paused and then said: 'It was one of the coldest nights on record, last night, and Uncle Harold has lived in a warm climate for the past twenty years. To me, it doesn't seem likely he'd go out into the freezing night just for a walk.'

'So you think Uncle Harold may have burgled the house agents' office?' Daisy asked incredulously. 'But why on Earth would he do that?'

'I don't know,' Fatty said. 'I wasn't with him when he went to Featherstone's, but I've been going over in my mind what he said in Brompton's and for the life of me can't think of anything out of the ordinary. Oh, he asked if anyone had recently enquired about a short let. But this was in Brompton's and as far as we know that one wasn't burgled.'

'We need to go to the house agents and make some enquiries,' Larry said. 'See if we can find out whether there really was a burglary.'

'They won't tell us anything,' Pip said. 'We're only kids.'

They were quiet for a moment and then Bets suddenly said: 'You'll have to dress up Fatty.'

'That's just what I was thinking,' he said slowly. 'I could go to Featherstone's and see if I can get anything out of them. I can ask similar questions to the ones my uncle asked and then try and get the conversation round to security and burglary.' He looked at the others. 'I might find something out.'

For the next fifteen minutes, they helped Fatty decide which of his many disguises he should adopt. However, after trying on a few, none of them seemed suitable.

'Actually,' Bets said, 'as you look a lot like Uncle Harold, why not dress up as him and you could tell them that you would like a second look at their houses for sale and then get them into conversation about the burglary?'

'And what happens if he bumps into the real Uncle Harold?' Pip said scornfully. 'You're such a fathead sometimes, Bets.'

'Oh, I didn't think of that,' Bets said with a slight blush.

'That's not a bad idea, Bets,' Fatty said and immediately began rummaging through his chest of drawers. 'Uncle Harold's gone up to London today, so there's no chance of bumping into him. Ah, here it is!' He held up a false moustache. 'This might do,' he said.

'But Uncle Harold's moustache is grey and that's black,' Daisy said.

I could grey it with something,' Fatty said holding it up to his face and looking in the mirror.

'Talcum powder,' Bets said. 'That should do it.'

'That's a good idea,' Fatty said. 'If you all wait here, I'll just pop up to the bathroom and get some.'

Fatty was gone for five minutes and returned with a jar of talcum powder. 'This is all I could find,' he said showing the others.

'Lily of the Valley,' Larry said and laughed. 'Pooh, you'll smell lovely, Fatty.'

'It'll have to do,' Fatty said pulling on a sweater. 'I didn't want to poke around in Mum and Dad's bedroom. I found this in the bathroom cabinet, I think it was left behind by my Great Aunt Winifred last time she visited.'

Fatty decided to wear three sweaters to give him some extra bulk, and then pulled on an old overcoat. He did not think it necessary to change his trousers or shoes, but wound a thick muffler round his neck and placed a broad brimmed hat on his head, similar to the one Uncle Harold wore. Then screwing up his face to make it wrinkly, he drew in a few discrete lines with an old eyebrow pencil.

'Now,' he said. 'The final touch.'

He sprinkled some of the talcum powder onto the false moustache until it was nice and grey and then stuck it firmly in place above his top lip.

He turned and faced the others to roars of approval.

'Good grief, Fatty,' Larry said standing and patting him on the shoulder. 'You look just like him.' He then leaned forward and sniffed. 'I can smell the Lily of the Valley a bit, but unless you kiss someone, I doubt anyone will notice.'

Fatty curled his top lip up so that the moustache was closer to his nose.

'You're right,' he said pulling a face. 'It is a bit strong isn't it.'

'Well, it's right under your nose,' Daisy said. 'What would you expect?'

Fatty sat down. 'Right,' he said, 'I'll go to Featherstone's and ask about properties to let and then mention that I've heard they were burgled and see what they say. That boy, Pimples, works there, he was quite talkative when we were investigating that secret room mystery.'

'Featherstone's is right opposite the dairy,' Pip said. 'We can sit in there and have hot chocolate and watch you through the window.'

'And we'll have Buster,' Bets said eagerly. She liked being in charge of the little Scottie.

Larry looked out of the shed door to make sure no one was about, and having turned off the heater, they stepped out into the garden. Fatty made sure the door was locked and put Buster on his lead.

They left the garden by the back gate and walked up the back lane until they reached the lane that led to the High Street. When they got to the corner of the High Street, Fatty suddenly stopped.

'Oh blast,' he said. 'I bought some bullseyes this morning and as I recall, Pimples is particularly fond of them, but I've left them in my bedroom. I can't go back for them now, so I'll have to get some more.'

They went up the High Street until they reached the sweet shop. 'This ought to give me a good opportunity to test my disguise,' Fatty said. 'You lot wait here.'

The others stood outside peering through the window whilst Fatty strode through the door and up to the counter.

'I'll have a quarter of your best bullseyes, please,' he said trying hard to sound like his uncle.

'Bullseyes, you say?' Mrs Smedley said, and turning round selected a jar and carefully measured out a quarter on the scales. She poured them into a bag and twisted the top. 'That'll be sixpence,' she said holding out her hand.

Fatty planted a sixpenny piece into her open hand and took his sweets then heard a tap on the window.

'What are them kids doing banging on my window?' Mrs Smedley said looking cross.

Fatty looked at the window and could see that Mr Goon had joined the children outside. He was the last person Fatty wanted to see as Goon had no love for Uncle Harold and confronting him dressed as his uncle would prove awkward.

Mrs Smedley was about to leave the counter to tell the children off, when Fatty suddenly said: 'Sherbet lemons.'

'I beg your pardon?' Mrs Smedley said stopping in her tracks.

'Sherbet lemons,' Fatty repeated. 'I'll have two ounces of sherbet lemons, if you please.'

Mrs Smedley turned once again towards the jars of sweets on the shelf behind her.

'Big ones or little ones?' she asked.

'Big ones or little ones,' Fatty repeated thoughtfully whilst eyeing the window and still seeing the dark form of Mr Goon. 'Now let me see. The big ones are undoubtedly more sherbety, but the little ones are more lemony.'

Mrs Smedley turned impatiently towards him. 'What is it to be, then, big or small?'

'I think I'll go for the big ones,' Fatty said and Mrs Smedley took a jar from the shelf and began pouring its contents onto the scales.'

Goon's dark shape could still be seen through the window, Fatty would need to drag out this sweet buying business for as long as possible.

'Oh, I'm so sorry,' he said. 'I've changed my mind. I think I'll have the small ones instead.'

Mrs Smedley gave an irritated tut and poured the sweets back into the jar before replacing it on the shelf and taking down the jar next to it. 'Now you're sure you want the small sherbet lemons?' she asked before opening it.

'Yes, yes, quite sure,' Fatty said with a glance towards the window.

As Mrs Smedley measured out the sweets he wondered what Goon could possibly be saying that was taking so long.

Mr Goon had been out on his usual beat when he had seen the children gathered outside the sweet shop and immediately strutted over to them.

'So here you are, you lying bunch of curs,' he spat, puffing up his chest. 'I've been wanting to give you a piece of my mind.'

'Good morning, Mr Goon,' Larry said politely. 'What can we do for you?'

'Don't you come all la-di-da innocent with me, Master Daykin,' Goon snarled. 'You know full well to what I am alluding.'

'But I've no idea to what you are alluding , Mr Goon,' Larry said suppressing a laugh. He turned to the rest. 'Do you know to what Mr Goon is alluding?' he asked and they shook their heads.

'I wonder what your parents would think if they knew you were going round the village slandering the Vicar's sister?' Goon said jabbing his finger at Larry's face.

'Oh, you're alluding to Miss Twit,' Larry said and turned to the others. 'He's alluding to Miss Twit.'

Ignoring Larry's sarcasm and Busters growling, Goon continued. 'Nothing's sacred to you lot, is it, anything for a laugh, even if it means upsetting innocent folk? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, the lot of you.'

'Are you by any chance referring to what we told you the other evening?' Larry asked still maintaining the polite, grown up voice he knew Goon hated.

Goon's face was now purple with rage. 'You know full well I am, you little liar,' he said.

'Well, Mr Goon, if what we said was out of place, then we sincerely apologise for any embarrassment caused to Miss Twit,' Larry said. 'But when we gave you that news, we believed it to be true. If you are now saying it isn't true,' he continued, 'then, we're all very sorry.'

'And what about my embarrassment?' Goon spluttered. 'I've got a reputation in this village and I'm not having a bunch of snotty-nosed kids like you undermining it. Is that clear?'

'Crystal clear, Mr Goon,' Larry said. 'And in future we will do all we can to ensure that your reputation in this village remains as high as it always has.'

'Gah, you think you're so smart, don't you,' Goon sneered and looked around. 'And where's that toad of a boy, your leader, old Fatso?'

Larry shrugged his shoulders. 'If by that you mean Fatty, he's somewhere around, I believe.'

'Right, well you just keep out of my way for the rest of the holidays, I don't want to keep turning round and finding you lot under my feet, is that clear?' Goon said. 'Has that sunk into your thick skulls?'

'I believe it has, Mr Goon,' Larry said with a big smile on his face.

'Right, well I'll be keeping my eye on you lot and if any of you steps out of line, I'll come down on you like a ton of bricks.' Goon looked across the faces of the smiling children and settled on Bets whom he knew was a little frightened of him. 'And I'll be watching you especially,' he said pointing his finger at her. 'Now clear orf.' So saying, he snorted and strode off.

Meanwhile poor Fatty had been stuck in the sweet shop buying umpteen bags of sweets.

'Take out all the blue liquorice allsorts, if you'd be so kind,' he said to Mrs Smedley after she had measured out two ounces of them. 'And can you make them up with pink ones. I always find the blue ones make me bilious.'

He turned to the window and saw that Goon had finally gone. 'Second thoughts,' he said walking to the door. 'I think I'll give them a miss altogether as the pink ones have a tendency to make me a bit giggly and the white and yellow ones make me sing Auld Lang Syne at the top of my voice. Good day.'

He rushed through the door with his coat pockets bulging with bags of sweets. 'Thanks for banging on the window to warm me, ' Fatty said. 'What did Goon want?'

'Oh nothing much,' Larry said with a laugh. 'Just blustered on about Miss Twit and his precious reputation, that's all.'

'He was out here for so long,' Fatty said, 'I thought I'd end up buying the whole shop.' He pulled the bags of sweets from his pockets. 'Here, have these on me,' he said handing them round. 'There's sherbet lemons, rhubarb and custard, Devon cream fudge, yellow pear drops, I requested that Mrs Smedley remove all the red ones because they give me hiccoughs, and four Jamboree bags!'

'You're mad, Fatty,' Daisy said. 'I don't know how you have the nerve to say some of the things you come out with.'

Fatty rubbed his hands together. 'Right, I think I'm now ready to face Featherstone's,' he said. 'You lot scoot over to the dairy and I'll see if I can charm old Pimples into giving me the information we need.'

The others crossed the road and watched by the dairy as Fatty calmly opened the door of the house agent and stepped inside.

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