Mystery of the Missing Man (6 page)

“Wuff!” said the little Scottie, joyfully, sensing that the solemn meeting was at an end, and that Fatty was relaxing. He rolled over for his tummy to be tickled.

“Well - where do we meet?” asked Daisy. “Gosh, look, there’s Eunice! She’s tracked us down!”

“And she thinks I’m miles away running for all I’m worth!” said Fatty, horrified. “Quick - go out of the summer-house, all of you, and leave me here. Take the girl indoors and stuff her with biscuits, or something. She’s always willing to eat.”

Hurriedly the others went out of the little summer-house to meet a rather sulky Eunice. “Hallo!” she said. “Where’s Fatty? His mother said he might be at Pip’s, so I went there, and Pip’s mother said you were all meeting here, so I came on here.”

“Welcome!” said Larry, with a much-too-bright smile. “Come indoors and have a snack. I hope you like gingerbread biscuits. Wherever can old Fatty be? I hope he won’t wear himself out, running for miles and miles - do come in, Eunice! This way!”

A Little about Beetles

Fatty, left by himself in the summer-house with Buster, stayed there for some while, fearing that he might be seen by the sharp-eyed Eunice. But then, as the coast seemed quiet and clear, he stepped out briskly, made his way to the side gate and disappeared into the road.

Only Bets saw him go. She was watching the gate, knowing that he would probably slip out there when he thought it was safe. She went quickly out of the room, ran down the stairs and out into the garden. She tore after Fatty, shouting.

He turned, and when he saw it was only Bets, he stopped. “What is it?” he said, as she came running up out of breath. “Don’t tell me Eunice saw me!”

“No, she didn’t,” panted Bets. “But we didn’t arrange what time to meet this afternoon at the Fair, or where.”

Fatty considered. “I should think three o’clock would be a good time,” he said. “There will be heaps of people there then, and the man we’re looking for would probably think it safe to be there. He may possibly have taken a job at the Fair, you know.”

“Yes. So he might,” said Bets. “Perhaps that’s how it was that he has been seen here.”

“You go back to the others,” said Fatty, giving Bets a pat. “Don’t say you’ve seen me, of course.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Bets. “You aren’t really going to go running, are you?”

“Yes. I am,” said Fatty, “Somehow I’ve got to take off at least half my fat. So I and Buster will now race at a good speed round the county of Bucks. So long, young Bets!”

Bets watched him set off at a steady trot, with Buster at his heels. She hoped he wouldn’t get too thin. He wouldn’t be Fatty then, the Fatty she liked so much. She went back to the others, wondering if they had thought of any way of getting rid of the loud-voiced Eunice.

Fatty really did have a long run that morning. For one thing it was a lovely April day, and for another he quite enjoyed stretching his legs and running so steadily. He ran by the river mostly, and then turned when he got to Marlow, and went back again.

Jog-jog-jog, jog-jog-jog. Fatty’s alert mind ran as steadily as his feet all the time he jogged along. Why had that escaped prisoner come to Peterswood? Had he friends there? Where was he sleeping at night? Was he dossing down behind some haystack or in somebody’s garden? What work was he doing? He had to get money to keep himself, presumably, unless he had friends to help him. The Fair was certainly the likeliest place to look for him.

He came to Peterswood, turned up from the river into the road that led to the village, and jogged up it. He glanced at his watch. Yes - he had made good time. He turned the corner abruptly and was almost knocked down by a bicycle.

“Hey!” said Mr. Goon’s familiar voice. “What you doing - you almost knocked me off my bike.”

“Well, you nearly knocked me down!” said Fatty, jogging on without stopping. Goon swung his bicycle round and followed him, riding beside him, much to Fatty’s annoyance.

“What’s the idea?” asked the annoying Mr. Goon, pedalling along, keeping out of Buster’s way - though by this time Buster was far too tired to snap at anyone’s ankles, even Goon’s.

“What’s what idea?” said Fatty. “Haven’t you ever seen anyone running before?”

“Yes. But what have you suddenly started it for?” asked Mr. Goon, wondering whether this outbreak of running had anything to do with hunting escaped prisoners.

“To slim down,” said Fatty. “And it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you did the same, Mr. Goon. Think how easy it would be to chase tramps and people like that if you were really in training, and could run fast!”

“You seen any more of that old tramp in your shed?” asked Mr. Goon.

“No. Have you?” said Fatty and ran to a stile, climbed over it and jumped down into the field. He was tired of Mr. Goon.

“There now - I wanted to find out if the Chief had gone and told him anything about that escaped prisoner,” thought Goon. “I don’t want that fat boy messing about looking for him, always turning up everywhere. Drat him!”

Eunice came home in time for lunch, having spent what she considered to be a very pleasant morning with the others. Fatty wondered if they had found it quite so pleasant! He himself had arrived back at twelve o’clock and had spent the rest of the morning in peace and quiet, down in his shed, looking through all his belongings there, in case a sudden disguise should be needed.

“We’re all going to the Fair this afternoon,” she announced to Fatty, as soon as he came into lunch, looking spick and span in grey flannels.

“Good,” said Fatty, politely.

“But I warn you - don’t try throwing any rings at the hoopla stalls,” said Eunice.

“Why not?” asked Fatty, surprised.

“Well, because they’re a fraud,” said Eunice. “The rings are made just too small to fit over anything - anything decent that is, I mean - it’s no good throwing for a clock, or anything like that - you’d never get it.”

“Stuff,” said Fatty, who considered himself very good at hoopla. “I’ve often won things at hoopla stalls. You probably don’t win anything because you’re not good at throwing.”

Mr. and Mrs. Trotteville came in with Mr. Tolling. He beamed round through his thick glasses. “Well! And how have you two been getting on together this morning? I hope you’ve played together nicely.”

“Father! DON’T talk as if we were seven years old!” said Eunice. “As a matter of fact, I’ve hardly seen Frederick this morning.”

“Oh, Frederick - didn’t you look after Eunice?” said his mother. “She’s your guest, you know.”

“I’ve been cross-country running,” said Fatty. “Eunice was with the others. Mother - do I look any thinner?”

“Well, no,” said his mother, looking at him carefully. “And I don’t suppose you will look any thinner so long as you eat so many potatoes, Frederick. Look how many you’ve taken - five!”

“Gosh, so I have,” said Fatty, quite startled. “And I only meant to take two.” He put three back, looking rather gloomy.

“I’m much looking forward to my first Conference at your Town Hall tomorrow,” said Mr. Tolling, taking quite a lot of potatoes himself. “Some very distinguished people will be there.”

“Who?” asked Fatty, politely.

“Well, there will be William Wattling,” said Mr. Tolling. “He is the expert on the Cross-Veined Three-Spot Mackling Beetle of Peruvia. A wonderful man - truly wonderful. He spent one whole week lying outside this beetle’s hole, in the middle of a swamp.”

“Good heavens! I wonder he’s alive to tell the tale!” said Mr. Trotteville, startled at this revelation of what a beetle-lover would do.

“And there’s Maria Janizena,” said Mr. Tolling, enjoying himself. “Now she’s a marvel, she really is. Believe it or not, she found a batch of eighty-four eggs belonging to the Skulking Hunch-Beetle of Thibet, and hatched everyone out herself.”

“What! Did she sit on them?” said Fatty, sounding amazed.

“Now, Frederick,” said his mother. However Mr. Tolling apparently saw nothing but complimentary astonishment in Fatty’s question, and went on solemnly.

“No, boy, no - of course not. She merely put the eggs in a warm cupboard - but the astonishing thing was, that when the eighty-four eggs hatched out, there were one hundred and sixty-eight young beetles - not eighty-four. Now what do you make of that strange fact?”

“All twins,” said Fatty, solemnly, and was most gratified to hear Eunice give a loud guffaw and his father chuckle loudly.

“Shall we change the subject?” asked Mrs. Trotteville. “I keep thinking I see beetles in the cabbage.”

“Really Mrs. Trotteville?” said Mr. Tolling, full of immediate interest. “Where? I must examine them.”

Now it was Fatty’s turn to roar, and poor Mr. Tolling looked bewildered.

“Father’s no good at seeing a joke,” Eunice informed the company. “Are you, Father?”

“Who else will be at the Conference?” asked Fatty. “Will they all be experts?”

“Most of them, my boy, most of them,” said Mr. Tolling. “We would not welcome any novices at our meetings. I think I may say that every one of us there will have a large knowledge of the Coleoptera as a whole.”

“And do you know everyone?” asked Fatty, thinking that if Mr. Tolling did know all these learned beetle-lovers, he could most certainly point out to Fatty anyone he did not recognize - and that might be a Most Suspicious Person - you never knew!

“No, my dear boy - I don’t know all of them,” said Mr. Tolling. “I have the list of all those who are going to attend the Meeting, here in my wallet - and I know perhaps half of them.”

“Could I see the list sometime, sir?” asked Fatty, eagerly. If he went to the Meetings and saw someone like the escaped prisoner, he could check him on the list - and if he was not down on it, well, that would be very suspicious indeed!

“Yes, Frederick, certainly,” said Mr. Tolling, most gratified to think that Fatty should show such interest. “I take it that you will like to come to one or more of the Meetings? I can vouch for you, of course, at the door. No strangers are allowed in, unless vouched for.”

That was really interesting news. It looked as if any checking-up would be fairly easy. Fatty took the list of names from the obliging Mr. Tolling with warm thanks. “And I’ll certainly be coming to some of the Meetings, sir,” he said, much to the amazement of his parents. “The Coleoptera are most interesting - most interesting! Mother, do you remember those two stag-beetles I had when I was at kindergarten - the ones that kept fighting each other?”

Mr. Tolling looked pained, and Mrs. Trotteville frowned at Fatty. Really this was going too far. She couldn’t understand why Fatty was playing up to the very boring Mr. Tolling in this way. Fatty saw her frown and changed the subject in his usual cheerful way.

“We’re all going to the Fair this afternoon!” he said. “Mr. Tolling, you come too - it’ll be a change from beetles. Come and ride on the roundabout.”

“Well,” said Mr. Tolling, most surprisingly, “I think I will! It’s years since I went to anything but meetings - yes, Frederick, I’ll accept your kind invitation with pleasure!”

Whew! What a shock that was for Fatty!

Fun at the Fair

Larry, Daisy, Pip and Bets were extremely surprised when they saw Fatty coming to meet them at the Fair, accompanied by Mr. Tolling. It was bad enough to have Eunice - but here was her father too! Whatever could Fatty be thinking of?

“Sorry,” said Fatty, when he got Larry to himself for a moment. “I just asked him to come for a joke - pulling his leg, you know - and he accepted! You could have knocked me down with a feather - or a beetle!”

“You really are an ass,” said Larry, in disgust. “Now we’ve got to drag the two of them about with us. And did Mr. Tolling have to come to a Fair dressed like that - in town clothes, all muffled up as if it was a winter’s day. He looks queer enough anyhow, with his beard and thick glasses. Honestly, we’ll be laughed at wherever we go.”

“I tell you, I’m sorry,” said Fatty, annoyed. “How was I to know he’d say he’d come? Shut up about it and let’s go round the Fair. And look out for You Know What.”

The Fair was quite an ordinary one, with a roundabout, swings, hoopla stalls, a shooting-range, cake and sweet stalls, and various small side-shows. The little company walked round it, trying their luck at the hoopla, where Eunice proved most annoyingly right. Nobody’s rings fell completely round anything.

“I told you so,” she said, which impelled Fatty to waste another shilling trying to prove her wrong.

“There you are!” she said. “I told you the rings are too small. They always are!”

“Here, Miss - don’t you say things like that!” said the boy in charge. “It’s just that you ain’t got the right knack of throwing, see? You watch me do it!”

And he climbed out of his stall, took a handful of rings and proceeded to throw each one round something - a packet of cigarettes, a clock, a vase and a box of chocolates. He grinned at Eunice’s crestfallen face.

“Easy when you know how,” he said. “Have another shilling’s worth?” But nobody would!

Mr. Tolling appeared to enjoy himself extremely. He tried the hoopla. He bought sweets and even sucked them himself. He went on the little Dodgem motor-cars with Eunice, and put up bravely with her desire to bump violently every car in sight.

“Can’t get rid of him,” sighed Fatty to Daisy. “Have you seen anyone interesting - you know what I mean, don’t you?”

“Yes. But I haven’t,” said Daisy. “Look. Let’s go in here - where that clown is calling out something about boxing. If it’s clowns boxing, it ought to be funny.”

It wasn’t. It was merely a boxing-ring into which anyone could step to box with a stalwart youngster called Champ Charlie. Daisy was not in the least interested in boxing and Fatty took her out again, laughing at the clown’s antics as he did so. Then his face suddenly changed and he stared hard. Daisy wondered why, and she gazed at the clown too, with his painted face and white-gloved hands.

Fatty took Daisy off and they went behind a tent. “That clown!” said Fatty. “Did you see his painted face? There was a big red line all over the space between his mouth and nose - where the escaped prisoner is known to have a noticeable scar?”