Mystery of the Vanished Prince (13 page)

Mr. Goon decided not to deal with that roundabout boy just yet. His words seemed to swim round in his head. He didn’t want to argue with any one just then. He held the tiger still more tightly, and shut his eyes to see if the world would steady itself again.

The Find-Outers and Ern found their bicycles and mounted them. “Come down this path,” said Ern. “It’s a shorter way to the road. I saw it when I was hiding under the caravan.”

So they took Ern’s path, that led across the field, past the caravans, and out into a lane that went straight to the road.

And it was when they were cycling slowly past the caravans that Pip suddenly saw something that made him almost wobble off his bicycle!

Clothes lines stretched here and there, hung with the washing belonging to the Fair people. Pip glanced at it idly as he went by. He saw a blouse there, a blue blouse made of rather common material - but it wasn’t the blouse that gave him such a surprise - it was the buttons on it!

“Gosh!” said Pip. “Surely they’re the same as the button I’ve got in my pocket - the button that came off Prince Bongawah’s pyjamas!”

He took the button out of his pocket and went over to the clothes line. He compared it with the buttons on the blouse. They were exactly the same - blue and gold, very fine indeed.

Pip glanced at the nearby caravan. It was bright green with yellow wheels. He would remember that all right, He rode fast after Fatty, almost upsetting the others on the narrow path as he passed them.

“Stop it, Pip!” cried Bets, angrily, as he almost brushed her pedal. “What’s the hurry?”

Pip caught Fatty up at last. “Fatty! Quick. Stop a minute, I’ve got something important to say!”

Fatty stopped in surprise. He got off his bicycle and waited by the little gate that led into the lane. “Wheel your bike out under those trees, so that we can’t be seen talking,” panted Pip.

Everyone was soon standing under the trees, surprised and puzzled. “What is it, Pip?” said Fatty. “What’s up all of a sudden?”

“You know this button that came off Prince Bongawah’s pyjamas?” said Pip, producing it. “Well, Fatty, when we passed those clothes lines I saw a blouse hanging on one - and it had buttons exactly like these all down the front! And you must admit they’re very fine and very unusual buttons!”

“Gosh!” said Fatty, startled by this remarkable statement of Pip’s.

He took a quick look at the button and then walked back the way he had come, wheeling his bicycle. “I must check up,” he said, in a low voice as he went. “Wait for me. I’ll pretend to be looking for something I’ve dropped in the grass.”

He went along with bent head until he came to the clothes line. He spotted the blouse at once. He went right up to it, still pretending to look for something on the ground - and then took a good look at the blouse which was now almost touching his nose.

He came back quickly. “Pip’s right,” he said, his voice sounding excited. “This is very important. We thought we’d wasted the afternoon, coming after twin-babies - and so we had from that point of view - but we’re onto something much better!”

“What?” asked Bets, thrilled.

“Well, obviously those buttons are off the Prince’s pyjamas,” said Fatty. “And quite obviously also, the pyjamas have been destroyed in case they might be recognized. But whoever destroyed them couldn’t bear to part with the lovely buttons - and put them on that blouse, thinking they would never be noticed!”

“They wouldn’t have been if Pip hadn’t found that button, and noticed the washing!” said Bets. “Oh, Pip you are clever!”

“Let’s think,” said Fatty. “Let’s think quickly. What does it mean? It means that the Prince is probably somewhere here - hiding - or being hidden. Probably in that caravan near the washing-line. We’ll have to try and find out.”

“We can’t very well stop now,” said Pip. “Mother said Bets and I were to be back by six - and we shan’t be if we don’t hurry.”

“I’ll stop behind,” said Fatty, making up his mind quickly. “No, I won’t. I’ll go back, change into some disguise and come back here. I’ll get into talk with the Fair people and see if I can pick up something. Yes, that’s the best thing to do. One of us must certainly make enquiries quickly.”

“Let me stop too,” said Ern.

“Certainly not,” said Fatty. “You go back with the others, Ern. Go on. Do as you’re told. I’m chief here. Let’s ride back quickly, because it will take me a little time to put on a disguise.”

“What will you be, Fatty?” asked Bets, excited, as they all cycled quickly down the lane, Ern looking a little sulky.

“A pedlar,” said Fatty. “Selling something. I can easily get into talk with the Fair people then. They’ll think I’m one of them. I simply must find out if there has been a new boy added to their company just lately!”

“Good gracious! From being quite unsolvable this mystery has jumped almost to an end!” said Bets.

“Don’t you believe it,” said Fatty, grimly. “There’s more in this than meets the eye. It’s not as straightforward as it looks. There’s something queer about it!”

This all sounded extremely exciting. The six of them rode along in silence, each thinking the same tumultuous thoughts. What would Fatty find out? Would he discover the Prince that evening? What was the “something queer” he meant?

They got home in good time. Fatty went straight down to his shed. He knew exactly what disguise he would wear. It was one he had worn before, and he felt it was just right.

It was an ordinary schoolboy who went into the little shed - but an ordinary schoolboy didn’t come out! No, a pedlar crept out, a dirty-looking creature, with long earrings in his ears, a cloth cap pulled down over his face, a brilliant red scarf round his neck, and protruding teeth. Fatty was In Disguise!

Dirty flannel trousers clothed his legs and old gym shoes were on his feet. He wore a red belt and a dirty yellow jersey. On his back was a pack. It held bottles of all kinds marked “Cold Cures,” “Cures for Warts,” “Lotion for Chilblains,” and all kinds of weird concoctions that Fatty had invented himself for his pedlar’s pack!

He grinned as he crept up the path. His protruding teeth showed, ugly and white. He had fixed a fine false set over his own, made of plastic. Fatty was Going Investigating - and nobody in the world would have guessed he was anything but a dirty little travelling tinker or pedlar!

He cycled off, back to Tiplington. That was clever of Pip, to spot those buttons. Very clever. It put the Mystery back on the map, so to speak. Fatty thought rapidly over his plan.

“I’ll go to the Fair field. I’ll sit down and get into talk with the roundabout boy or some one. I’ll find out who lives in that green and yellow caravan, and pretend I know the people there - and perhaps get the roundabout boy to take me over and introduce me. Then I’ll see who’s in the caravan and have as good a snoop round as I can. Well - I hope the plan will work!”

He was soon back at the Fair. There were more people now, because it was evening. The roundabout was swinging round bravely. The swing-boats were flying high. There was a babble of talk and laughter everywhere.

“Now then,” thought Fatty, carefully hiding his bicycle in the middle of a thick bush. “Now then! Once more into the breach, dear friend - and see what’s what!”

He sauntered on to the field. No one asked him for entrance money because he looked exactly like one of the Fair folk themselves. Fatty looked round. The roundabout boy was there at his place. Should he have a word with him? No, he was too busy. What about the hoopla boy?

No, he was busy too. Fatty strolled along, keeping his eyes open.

He came to the swing-boats. The man looking after them was standing holding his arm as if in pain. Fatty walked up. “What’s up, mate? Hurt yourself?”

“One of these swing-boats came back and knocked my elbow,” said the man. “Look after them for me for a few minutes, will you, while I go and get something for it?”

“Right,” said Fatty, and looked after the swing-boats faithfully, till the man came back, his arm neatly bandaged.

“Thanks,” he said. “You with us, or have you just come along?”

“Just come along,” said Fatty. “Heard that maybe some one I knew was here. Thought I’d give them a call-in.”

“Name of what?” said the man.

“I disremember the name for the moment,” said Fatty, taking off his cap and scratching his head hard. He screwed up his face. “Let me see, now - Barlow, Harlow, no, that wasn’t it.”

“What line were they in?” said the man.

“Ah wait - something’s coming back to me!” said Fatty. “They had a green caravan with yellow wheels. Any one here in a caravan like that, mate?”

“Oh yes - the Tallerys,” said the man, taking some money for a ride in his swings. “Those who you mean? They’ve got that green and yellow caravan over there!”

“That’s right - the Tallerys!” exclaimed Fatty. “How did I come to forget the name! Are they all still there, mate?”

“Well, there’s old Mum, and there’s Missus Tallery, and there’s a nephew, Rollo,” said the man. “That’s all. Old Man Tallery’s not there. He’s on a Job.”

“Ah,” said Fatty, as if he quite well knew what the Job was. “Well, I feel queer at going along to them if Old Man Tallery’s not there. The others might not remember me.”

“I’ll take you along, chum,” said the obliging swing-boat man. “See, what’s your name?”

“Smith,” said Fatty, quickly, remembering that most gypsies were called Smith. “Just Jack Smith.”

“You wait till this lot’s finished their swings and I’ll take you over,” said the man. “Maybe they aren’t there, though. I did see Old Mum and Missus Tallery going off this afternoon.”

“Well, I’d be glad if you’d take me across,” said Fatty. “You can tell them I knew Old Man Tallery!”

Rollo talks a Lot

The swing-boat man took Fatty across to the yellow and green caravan. An old woman was outside, sitting in a sagging wicker chair that creaked under her great weight.

She was calling loudly to some one, “Rollo! Drat the boy, where is he? I’ll give him such a hiding when I get hold of him!”

“Hallo, Old Mum,” said the swing-boat man, coming up. “That scamp of a Rollo gone again? I’ll give him a clip on the ear if I see him, and send him over to you. He’s the laziest young’un I ever did see in my life.”

“He is that,” grumbled Old Mum. “His aunt’s gone down to the town, and he was told to set to and clean the windows of the caravan. They’re that dirty I can’t see to knit inside!”

She peered at Fatty. “Who’s this? I don’t know him. Do you want Old Man Tallery? He’s not here. Won’t be back for a few days.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Fatty. “I wanted to see him.”

“Friend of his,” the swing-boat man explained to Old Mum. “Name of Jack Smith.” He turned to Fatty. “You sit and talk to the old lady a bit. She’ll love that! What have you got in your pack? Anything to interest her? I’m going back to my swings.”

Fatty opened his pack and displayed his bottles and tins. Old Mum took one look at them and laughed a wheezy laugh.

“Ho ho! That’s your line, is it? Coloured water and coloured powders! My Dad was in the same line and very paying it was too. Shut your pack up, lad, I’ve no use for them things. I’m too old and too spry to be caught by such tricks!”

“I wasn’t going to sell you any, Old Mum, or try to,” said Fatty, in a voice very like Ern’s. “When did you say Mrs. Tallery would be back?”

“Oh, I never know how long she’ll be,” said Old Mum, crossly. “Here, there, and everywhere she is. Here to-day, gone tomorrow - leaves me alone for days on end, she do. Off she went a few days ago, never said where - and back she comes without a word.”

Fatty pricked up his ears. Could Mrs. Tallery be the woman in the caravan - the woman with the babies?

“Let me see now,” said Fatty, “how many children has she got?”

“She and Old Man Tallery never did have children,” said Old Mum. “Nary a one. That’s why they took on Rollo, though gracious knows why they wanted to pick on him, the little pest. But his Ma’s got eleven kids besides him, so she was glad to get rid of him.”

“Oh, of course,” said Fatty, quite as if he knew all about it! He was about to ask a few more questions when the swing-boat man came up again, leading a brown-faced gipsy boy by the ear.

“Here’s Rollo, Old Mum,” he said. “Shall I set him to work cleaning the windows, or shall I put him across my knee and give him a hiding first?”

“No!” yelled Rollo, squirming about. “I’ll do the windows, you big beast!”

The swing-boat man shook him like a rat, laughed, and went off again. Fatty looked at the angry boy. He wasn’t very big, about Pip’s size, and the scowl on his face made him very ugly and unpleasant. Old Mum began to scold him soundly, the words pouring out of her mouth in an endless stream. The boy made a rude face at her.

He then went to get a pail of water and a cloth, presumably to clean the very dirty windows. Old Mum heaved herself up to go into the caravan.

“I’m chilly,” she said. “Just keep an eye on that boy, will you? Give me a call if he stops his work!”

Fatty helped the old woman into the caravan. She seemed surprised at his help, “Well, ’tisn’t often my son, Old Man Tallery has friends like you!” she said. “First time I’ve known one of them help me up the steps!”

She disappeared into the smelly, dirty caravan. The boy sulkily sloshed water over the windows, and made them so wet and smeary that Fatty thought they were worse than ever!

He sat and waited till the boy had finished. Rollo emptied the water, threw the cloth under the caravan and made a face at Fatty.

“Here,” said Fatty, taking some money out of his pocket. “I’m hungry. Go and buy something with this, bring it back, and we’ll share it. Skip along!”

“Right,” said the boy, looking less sulky. He took the money and went. Soon he was back with two meat-pies, gingerbeer, and four enormous jam-tarts. He sat down by Fatty.

“You a friend of Old Mum’s?” he said. “Cross-patch she is. I like my aunt better. No nonsense about her.”

“You’ve got plenty of brothers and sisters, haven’t you?” said Fatty, eating the pie. He didn’t like it at all, It was dry and musty.

“Yes. Eleven,” said Rollo. “The youngest is twins. Always yelling they are.”