Mystery of the Strange Messages (14 page)

"Right under my nose again, yesterday!" said Ern "I
was watching like anything, never took my eyes off the back yard, never once,
not even when I atty came into my room and spoke to me. And Mrs. Hicks was down
in the kitchen too, in full view of the window—and yet there was the note,
sitting on top of the plate of dsh in the larder! And
neither
of us saw
anyone come into the yard, or creep over to the larder window and pop the note
on the fish! Beats me! Must have got an invisible cloak or something!"

"Do you know what
I
think?" said Daisy, suddenly.

"
I
think it's Mrs. Hicks who's putting the notes
there! Putting them there herself! We once had a gardener who complained that
someone was slipping into the garden and taking the strawberries, and there
wasn't—Daddy caught
him
taking them himself! I bet it was
Mrs. Hicks
with
those notes, pretending it was someone else all the time!"

There was a silence after this speech of Daisy's. Fatty stared at
her—and then smacked his hand in delight on the chest beside him, making Buster
jump in fright.

"Daisy!
What
an ass I've been! Of course—that's the only possible explanation! Mrs. Hicks is
being paid by someone to hide those notes at Goon's—someone who doesn't want to
be seen for some reason. I wonder who's paying her. Where does she live,
Ern?"

"With her sister and little niece," said Ern. "To
think she got me into all that trouble with my uncle! How
could
I see
anyone delivering notes when all the time she must have had them hidden in her
apron pocket? Just wait till I see that Mrs. Hicks again."

"No. Don't you say a word to her if you do see her,"
warned Fatty. "Let her think she isn't suspected at all. There won't be any
more notes, of course, because old Mr. Smith has been got rid of."

"Maybe that's the end of the whole thing, then." said
Pip.

"F don't think so," said Fatty. "No, I
certainly
don't think so, though Goon does, of course. There's something more behind
those notes than just spite against an old man. Well, I must go. Ern, you go
and see how Mrs. Hicks is getting on, and ask my mother if you can do any jobs.
She'll like that."

"Can we come with you. Fatty?" asked Bets, longingly.
"Could we walk a little way behind you—just to watch you being a
rag-and-bone man? You do look exactly like one—in fact you look so awful that
I'm sure Mother would send you off at once if you came to
our
house!"

"I say—I haven't overdone it, have I?" said Fatty,
anxiously, and looked at himself in the glass. "Do these false teeth that
I've put on over my own stick out too much?"

"Oh no. They're fine," said Larry. "And I love the
way your shaggy eyebrows go up and down. I do hope you meet Goon."

"Well, I don't," said Fatty. "If I do I shall put
on a foreign accent—or stammer or something, so that Goon can't get any sense
out of me. Well, so-long. I'm going to get the hand-cart now."

He looked out of the shed window to make sure that the gardener
was nowhere near, and then went rapidly to the garage. The hand-cart was there,
together with a good deal of jumble taken from the attics. Fatty piled some on,
and then set off to Fairlin Hall. Perhaps he could catch sight of those men who
had got the keys.

He sang out the usual rag-and-bone ditty. "Rag-a'-bones!
Rag-a'-bo-o-o-ones! Bring out your rag-a' bo-o-o-ones!"

He hoped that nobody would, because he hadn't much money in his
pocket, and didn't really want to pay any one for jumble! He came safely to
Fairlin Hall, and set down the hand-cart. He took an old pipe out of his pocket
and began to fiddle with it, keeping a watch on the house, trying to make out
if anyone was there.

He couldn't see anyone, and decided to wheel his cart right into
the drive. Perhaps he would be able to spot the two men who had gone to the
House Agent's for the keys, if he went down the drive. He decided not to shout
his rag-a'-bone cry, but to go very quietly.

Ah—the men must be in the house—there was a small car at the front
door. Fatty noted the number swiftly, and the make and colour. "Brown
Riley, AJK 6660." Then he went on cautiously, wheeling his hand-cart,
making his way to the back door.

He stood in a corner, pretending to arrange the things on the
cart, but keeping his ears open for any sound that

might tell him where the men were, and what they were doing He
couldn't hear or see a sign of them

He decided to go to the back door and knock, pretending that he
had come to see the Smiths But as he passed the window of the kitchen, he
caught sight of a movement inside, and stopped. He peered through the window.

Two men were inside, one opening the cupboard doors, the other
taking up the carpet, rolling it to one side. Fatty felt angry. What did they
think they were doing? Robbing the poor old Smiths of the few things they had
left behind?

Fatty went to the door and banged on it violently. There was an
exclamation from inside and one of the men went to the window and peered out He
said something to the other man, and then opened the window.

Apparently he hadn't a key to open the kitchen door.

The window swung wide open, and a thin-faced elderly man looked
out, and shouted at Fatty

"What are you doing here'' Clear out!"

Fatty put on a real Cockney voice " "Ere, mate, I've
come to see me frens, the Smiffs," he said "What you a-dom' of, messin'
abart in their rooms'? You ain't up to no good I'll git the police in, see if I
don't."

"The Smiths have gone," said the man, curtly.
"We're probably going to buy the house; we've got the keys to look over
the place Clear out, now, your friends have gone "

"Well, what you a-dom" of then, wiv their things'?"
shouted Fatty "What you rollin' up that bit of carpet for'? What you ..
"

"Now, now, now, what's all this?" said a familiar voice,
and to Fatty's surprise and annoyance Mr. Goon marched up to the window
"That your cart in the drive, fellow'? Take it out then And who's this in
the house!?"

"Constable, remove this man," said one of the men
indoors "He says he's a friend of someone called Smith, but it's my belief
he knew they were gone, and came to

steal their bits of furniture We've got the keys to look over the
house, and suddenly saw this fellow at the back door "

"Ho! So that's it, is it?" said Goon, roughly, and
turned on Fatty "You clear orf, my man, or I'll march you off to the police-station
What's your name?"

Fatty pretended to be scared "F-f-f-f-f," he stammered,
while Goon still glared at him "F-f-f-f-f.. "

"Well, go on—get it out," commanded Goon, taking out his
notebook. "Name
and
address."

"F-f-f-f-fred," said Fatty, "T-t-t-t-t-t.  ."

"Fred," said Goon, writing it down "Fred what?"

"T-t-t-t-t-t," stammered Fatty, looking absolutely
agonized "T-t-t"

"All right, all right," said Goon, shutting his notebook
"I've got more important things to do than to stand here and listen to a stutterer
You go and get your tongue seen to—and take that cart out of this drive If I
set eyes on you again today I'll run you in "

"R-r-right," said Fatty, and shot out of the drive with
his cart, grinning He stood at the front gate, wondering what to do He had seen
those two men, and noted what they looked like—he had got particulars of their
car—he had watched them examining the Smiths' kitchen and the things in it,
goodness knew what for—and he had had a successful few minutes with Goon What
next?

He moved on down the road, shouting "Rag-a'-bones" at
intervals—and then he saw someone he knew, hurrying along on the pavement

"It's Mrs. Hicks," he thought, and his interest
quickened "I suppose she's got the morning off Where's she going m such a
hurry'"

He decided to follow her If she had really been the one to hide
those notes, then someone must have given them to her, and presumably she was
being paid for hiding them at Goon's Goon, of course, was the only person who
had the power to turn the Smiths out, so that was why the notes had been sent
to him It would be

very very interesting to find out who the sender was. It might
throw quite a lot of light on the mystery.

Fatty trundled his hand-cart after Mrs. Hicks. Round the corner
she went and round the corner went Fatty. Down a little hill and round another
corner. And ah—Mrs. Hicks turned in at a gateway and vanished.

Fatty trundled his cart along the gutter, and came to a stop
outside the gate. He pretended to fiddle with his pipe again, examining the
house as he did so. It was a fairly big one, well-kept, and looked comfortable.
From between the curtains he could see what looked like a gleaming brass
ornament.

The name on the house was
"kuntan".
Who lived there? Was it someone who had given those notes to Mrs. Hicks?
He decided to go to the back door and ask for anything old and done for. Even
if he had to give up all his money for junk, it would be worth it, if he could
find the sender of those anonymous notes.

He went cautiously down the side-entrance, and came to the back
door. Beside it were piled wooden crates, with foreign words printed across
them—empty crates, evidently unpacked, and then thrown out for firewood. One
was already half-chopped up.

Fatty looked at them—and then one word made him stare in
excitement. Just one word, stamped across each crate in big black letters—the
name of the place the crate had come from.

"RANGOON"

A very lucky find.

Fatty stared at the name on the crate, remembering how hard he had
tried to think of a word with "goon" as part of it, when he had tried
to fathom why Mr. Goon's name

should have been spelt each time with a small letter g. "Mr.
goon", not "Mr. Goon" had been on each of the envelopes
containing those anonymous notes.

"When I asked Mother if she knew of any word with the four
letters 'goon' in it, she suggested 'Rangoon'," thought Fatty,
remembering. "And here's a crate with 'Rangoon' stamped across it. Can it
be just chance—just a coincidence? Or is it a real clue—a clue pointing to the
man who sent those letters to Goon?"

He stared at the crate again. "A man lives here who has
friends in Rangoon, that's certain—friends who send him crates of something.
Well, he might have Rangoon
newspapers
sent to him too—he might have cut
out words and letters from them, and taken 'goon' from the title of the
newspaper—
Rangoon Times,
it might be, or something like that. Gosh—I
think I'm on to something here!"

He was still staring at the crate, when the back door suddenly
opened and made him jump. He turned in fright, and saw Mrs. Hicks there, being
ushered out by a small, foreign-looking man.

"Burmese!" thought Fatty, at once, recognizing the
slanting Burmese eyes, the brown complexion and black hair. "And Rangoon
is in Burma! Is this the fellow who sent those notes?"

Mrs. Hicks caught sight of him at once and frowned.
"Rag-a'-bones, rubbish, jumble, anythink bought!" said Fatty at once.
"Good price paid!"

"Do you want to get rid of any rubbish, sir?" asked Mrs.
Hicks, turning to the Burmese. "This fellow will take it for you. Your
yard looks pretty cluttered up. I can deal with him for you, if you like. What
about those crates—he'd buy them for firewood—I see you've already got plenty
chopped up."

"Yes, Meesees Icks," said the Burmese, and nodded.
"You do beesinces wiz zis man. Much much rubbish here!"

And with that he shut the door. Mrs. Hicks beamed.

What a bit of luck! Now she could sell these crates and keep the
money herself!

"You tan have the crates," she said. "And I'll have
a peep in the shed and see if there's any rubbish there "

She disappeared into a small shed, and Fatty followed her. It was
stacked with old junk, just as his mother's attic had been—but Burmese junk! A
big brass tray, green with neglect, stood on its side in one corner. A broken
gong was near it, and a pair of small Burmese idols in brass. Other
curiously-shaped ornaments were thrown here and there.

"You could have some of these if you liked," said Mrs.
Hicks. "Cheap too—you could sell them for a good bit to a dealer. Take
what you like "

"Nobody wants junk like that," said Fatty, knowing that
he must bargain. "Funny stuff, this—where's it come from? It's all
foreign-like! Docs it belong to that gentleman there?" and he nodded his
head towards the house

"Yes," said Mrs. Hicks. "Burmese, he is, but he married
an English wife I do sewing for her, but she's too stuck-up for me. Her
husband's all right, though, and so are his two friends. Free with their money,
and that's what I like."

"What are the friends like?" asked Fatty, poking about
among the junk. "Burmese too?"

"No! English," said Mrs. Hicks. "One's been in
Burma for years, but the other's a close one—don't know where he's from, I'm
sure Never opens his mouth! Well, what about this stuff? Give me a good price
and you can take what you like "