Mystery of Tally-Ho Cottage (14 page)

They were soon standing round the bonfire, which was roaring up as if it had had paraffin put on it. Bets gave a sudden exclamation, and bent down to pick something up. ‘Fatty! Look - another drawing-pin just like the other one. The crate must be somewhere here!’

Fatty looked at the pin and compared it with the first one. Yes - they were exactly the same. Then he looked closely at the roaring flames. He picked up a fallen branch of dead wood and poked the fire, raking out what was in it.

‘Look!’ he said. ‘Here’s the crate! It’s burning in the fire! It’s been chopped up well, and thrown here - and then set alight so that no sign may be left of it!’

The children stared as Fatty pointed out bits of wood that had obviously come from a cheap crate. ‘Here’s a fragment of a label,’ said Larry, pouncing on a burning piece of thick paper. He blew out the flames. Only three letters still showed on the paper.

‘n-h-e,’ said Larry. ‘That’s all that’s left, I’m afraid.’

‘It’s enough,’ said Fatty, at once. ‘It tells us where the crate comes from - where it was last sent to be picked up by the Lorenzos! “n-h-e” are the sixth, seventh and eighth letters of the word Maidenhead! Count and see!’

‘Gosh yes!’ said Pip. ‘You’re jolly sharp, Fatty. Well, I suppose the picture’s gone now - burnt with the crate, so that no one can discover it.’

‘Don’t be an ass,’ said Fatty. ‘The picture has been unpacked and hidden - and the crate has been burnt to destroy all signs of it. It would be easy to hide just a painting. I expect it was cut neatly out of its frame - and then the frame and crate burnt together. There’s some funny golden-looking stuff here and there in the fire - I bet that’s all that is left of the lovely frame.’

The fire was still blazing, for the crate had been quite big. The children left it, certain that there was nothing more to be learnt there.

‘We’re getting warm!’ said Fatty, as they walked away. ‘We know now that the picture we have to look for is no longer in a big crate, nor even in a frame. It’s probably just a rolled-up bit of canvas!’

‘Yes. That would be much easier to hide!’ said Daisy. ‘It’s probably in the Larkins’ house.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Fatty. ‘The Lorenzos wouldn’t give the picture itself into the care of those dirty old Larkins! They might easily ruin it. No - it’s put in a very safe place - but not in that cottage!’

They went out of the wicket-gate and took their bicycles. They were just about to walk them down the path to the river-road when Fatty pulled them back.

‘Look out! There’s Goon!’ he said. And, sure enough, skulking in the shadows not very far in front of them was the familiar figure of Mr. Goon!

‘What’s he doing?’ whispered Fatty. ‘He’s following someone, isn’t he?’

‘Yes - there’s a man some way ahead of him, carrying a bag of some kind,’ whispered back Larry. ‘Who is it?’

‘I don’t know. But we’ll soon find out,’ said Fatty briskly. ‘As soon as we get to the road, and can ride our bikes, get on them and ride right up to Goon, ringing your bells madly, just to tell him we’re here - and then ride on as fast as you can to see who he’s following. I’ve no idea who it can be - but we ought to find out if Goon has got some kind of a Suspect he’s trailing!’

They leapt on their bicycles as soon as they reached the road and raced after Mr. Goon, who was still hugging the shadows. It was getting dark now and the children had switched on their lamps. They made quite a bright light on the road. As they overtook Mr. Goon he crouched back into the shadows, not wanting to be seen.

‘Jingle-iingle-rrrrrr-ing, tinga-linga-long!’ went the bells as they raced past him.

‘Night, Mr. Goon!’ yelled Fatty. ‘Pleasant walk to you!’

‘Good night, goodnight, Mr. Goon,’ shouted everyone, and Ern boldly yelled, ‘Night, Uncle!’ as he raced past, almost deafening Goon with his very loud bell.

‘Gah!’ said Mr. Goon in angry disgust. Now they had warned the man he was trailing - yes, he had shot off into a nearby wood. He’d never find him again! Gah!

The six bicyclists saw the man quite clearly. It was Mr. Larkin, with a shopping bag over his arm, shuffling along, his back bent and his head poked forward. His old cap was down over his nose as usual. He went into a little thicket of trees and disappeared.

‘He must have been going shopping,’ said Bets. ‘Why is Goon trailing him? Perhaps he thinks he may lead him to some Clue!’

‘Probably,’ said Fatty. ‘Well, he’ll find it difficult to trail old Larkin now. How I’d love to lead Goon a good old dance if he followed me!’

‘Yes! You’d have him panting and puffing!’ said Pip. ‘You’d better disguise yourself as Larkin, and have some fun with Goon!’

Fatty laughed. ‘I’ve a jolly good mind to! I really have! It would serve Goon right for telling that frightful fib about me to the Superintendent - saying I’d locked him up in the boiler-house - and Johns too. I don’t suppose either of them even heard the door being locked. I bet they were snoring too loudly.’

‘Oh, Fatty - will you really dress up as Larkin? When?’ asked Bets. ‘Please, please show us yourself if you do.’

‘All right,’ said Fatty, feeling very drawn to the idea of giving Goon a slight punishment for his untruthful tale to the Chief. ‘I’ll have my tea and then I’ll have a shot at it. I only hope Goon won’t retire to bed for the evening, seeing that he had a late night last night! I’d dearly love to lead him round the town!’

‘Don’t forget to come and see us first!’ called Bets, as they parted at the cross-roads. Fatty grinned to himself as he rode on. Yes - he’d certainly like to have a bit of fun with Goon!

Fatty had a very good tea indeed. He had it by himself because his mother was out, and the cook, who completely spoilt him, piled his tray with all the things he liked best. By the time he had finished Fatty didn’t feel very like having a bit of fun with anyone!

‘Well - at any rate I’m fat enough to masquerade as the plump Mr. Larkin!’ he thought, looking at himself in the long mirror down in his shed. ‘Now then - let’s sort out a few Larkin-like clothes.’

He went rapidly through his enormous collection of clothes, pulling out drawer after drawer of the big old chest. ‘Ah - baggy trousers, stained and messy. Good. Old boots. Frightful old overcoat - my very worst one!’

He pulled out a coat that had long since been discarded by the last-but-one gardener the Trottevilles had had. Just right!

‘Scarf - dirty grey and raggedy. This will do.’ He shut his eyes for a moment and pictured old Bob Larkin clearly in his mind. Fatty had a wonderful gift for clear observation, and he could see the old fellow almost as if he were there before him.

‘Nasty little unkempt beard - straggly moustache - shaggy eyebrows - glasses with thick lenses - and a horrible cap with a peak pulled sideways over his face. Yes - I can do all that!’

Fatty worked quickly and happily. First of all he made up his face and changed it utterly. Wrinkles appeared, and shaggy eyebrows over eyes almost hidden under thick glasses. A straggly moustache, a tooth gone in front (Fatty blacked one out!) and a beard that he trimmed to resemble Mr. Larkin’s - thin and untidy. He glued it to his chin and looked at himself in the glass.

‘You horrid old fellow!’ said Fatty to his reflection. ‘You nasty bit of work! Ugh! I don’t like you a bit! Put on your scarf and cap!’

On went the scarf, and then the cap at exactly the right angle. Fatty grinned at himself. He was old Larkin to the life!

‘I hope to goodness I don’t meet Mother coming in or she’ll scream the place down!’ said Fatty. ‘Now, Buster, I regret to say I can’t take you with me tonight - and in any case a self-respecting, well-brought-up dog like you wouldn’t want to be seen out with an old rogue like me!’

Buster didn’t agree. He didn’t mind how Fatty looked - he was always his dearly-beloved master!

Fatty shut Buster up and made his way cautiously to the road. It was dark now and no one was about. Fatty took his bicycle and rode to Pip’s. He gave their special whistle and Pip came flying down to the garden.

‘Is it you, Fatty? I’m longing to see you. Larry and Daisy are here - and Ern’s come along too. I can’t see you here, it’s too dark - it’s quite safe to come up because Mother’s got a bridge party on. Don’t make a noise, that’s all.’

Fatty went up to the playroom. Pip flung the door open and Fatty went in, bent and stooping, shuffling along with a half-limp just like old Larkin.

Bets gave a little scream. ‘Oh no - it’s not Fatty. It’s Mr. Larkin himself. Fatty’s sent him in to trick us!’

‘Lovaduck!’ said Ern, startled.

‘Marvellous, Fatty, marvellous!’ cried Larry, and clapped him on the back.

Fatty gave a horrible hollow cough, and then cleared his throat as he had heard Larkin do. He spoke in a cracked old voice.

“Ere! Don’t you slap the stuffing out of me like that, young feller! I’ll have the police on you, straight I will. Yus - I’ll call in me old pal, Mr. Goon!’

They all roared with laughter. ‘It’s the best you’ve ever done, Fatty, quite the best. Oh, can’t we come with you?’

‘No,’ said Fatty, straightening up and speaking in his own voice. ‘For all we know I shan’t find Goon wandering about on the watch for me, thinking I’m Larkin - he’ll probably be in his armchair, snoozing over a pipe.’

‘You’d better go now,’ said Pip urgently. ‘I can hear Mother bustling about. She’s probably coming up here to fetch something. Go, Fatty - and jolly good luck. You look simply FRIGHTFUL!’

Fatty went downstairs cautiously, and crept to the garden door just as Mrs. Hilton came along to go up the stairs. He found the big black cat outside the garden door, waiting to come in, and gave her such a shock that she leapt into the night with a howl!

Fatty mounted his bicycle and rode off to Goon’s. He saw a light in Goon’s front window and looked in. Yes - Goon was there, looking through some letters. Fatty decided to give him a fright.

He went up to the window, and pressed his face against it. Then he coughed his hollow cough. Mr. Goon looked up at once, and gaped when he saw what he thought to be the face of old Larkin at his window.

‘Hey, you!’ cried Mr. Goon. ‘I want to speak to you! Hey!’ He grabbed his helmet, put it on and rushed out.

Fatty hurried away, and then began to walk like old Larkin, shuffle-limp, shuffle-limp. Goon saw him in the distance and paused. Oho - so old Larkin had been spying on him through the window, had he? Well, he, Goon, would have another try at stalking him. Where was he going to at this time of night? Goon felt very, very suspicious of Mr. Larkin!

‘Peering in at me like that! Must be mad! He knows more than he’s said he does,’ thought Goon to himself, and set off after the supposed Mr. Larkin, keeping well to the shadows.

Fatty chuckled. ‘Come on, Mr. Goon! I’ll take you for a lovely walk! Do you good to take off some of your weight. Come along!’

Goon followed Fatty as closely as he dared. Fatty, looking back every now and again, decided to lead Goon to an allotment, where there were a few sheds. He could look into each one and make Goon wonder what he was doing.

He went as quickly as he could, shuffle-limp, shuffle-limp, and Goon marvelled that old Larkin could get along so quickly with his bad leg. Fatty, having a quick look round, also marvelled that big, burly Goon managed to hide himself so well in the dark shadows. Goon was really quite clever sometimes!

He came to the allotments, and Goon took a loud hissing breath! Oho! He was after tools or something, was he? That Larkin! He never had liked him, and now that he was mixed up in this Lorenzo case Goon was even more suspicious of him. He even began to wonder if Larkin knew where the stolen picture was!

Fatty enjoyed himself. He examined sheds and even bent down to pick some grass, which Goon immediately noted. ‘Ah - what’s he picking now? Brussels sprouts, I’ll be bound! The rascal!’

Fatty left the allotments and went into the children’s playground not far off. Goon, standing behind a tree, watched him suspiciously. Now what was old Larkin going into the playground for? Something queer, anyway!

To his great astonishment Fatty went to one of the swings and sat down. He began to swing to and fro watching the amazed Goon out of the corner of his eye.

‘Look at that!’ said the mystified Goon to himself. ‘He must be daft - quite daft. Coming here at night to have a swing! Ah - he’s off again. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not on the lookout for a little burglary!’

Fatty slipped out of the playground chuckling. He went into the well-lighted main street. There someone stopped him.

‘Well, Bob Larkin! Haven’t seen you for some time! Come and have a bite with me and my missus!’

Fatty looked at the speaker - a tall thin man with a drooping moustache. He answered in Larkin’s quavering old voice.

‘I’m not too bad! Can’t stop just now, though. Got some business to do!’ And off he went, shuffle-limp, shuffle-limp. Goon loomed up out of the shadows. Who was that that Larkin had spoken to? Had he come out to meet anyone - someone sent by the Lorenzos, perhaps? Dark suspicions began to form in Mr. Goon’s mind. What was old Bob Larkin Up To?

Fatty took him back to the playground again and had another swing. By this time Goon didn’t know whether to think that Larkin was completely mad, or was waiting about to meet somebody - and filling in his time with a few odd things such as having a swing.

He decided to tackle old Larkin. This wasn’t funny any more - hanging about under bushes and trees on a cold January night, watching somebody rush up and down through the town, peep into sheds, swing to and fro… he’d have to find out what he was doing. So he hailed the shuffling fellow in front of him.

‘Hey, you! Bob Larkin! I want to speak to you!’ But the figure in front only hurried on more quickly, trying to keep under the dark trees. Goon became much more suspicious.

‘Why doesn’t he stop when he’s told to! He knows my voice all right! HEY! BOB LARKIN!’

On went Fatty, grinning to himself. Come on, Goon - a nice long walk will do you all the good in the world. Where shall we go now?

Fatty thought that a really good finish would be to take Goon right back to Larkin’s cottage! He could easily disappear somewhere there, and Goon would think that old Larkin had gone into his little house. Fatty chuckled.