Mystery of the Invisible Thief (9 page)

The next person was a burly man with a little black moustache, a dark brown face, dark glasses and big feet.

He pushed past the old tramp. “Give me room,” he said, in a sharp voice. Fatty pricked up his ears at once. He knew that familiar voice - yes, and he knew that unfamiliar figure too - it was Goon!

“Goon! In another disguise!” thought Fatty in amazement and mirth. “He’s done better this time - with dark glasses to hide his frog-eyes, and some stuff on his red face to make it look tanned.”

He looked at the burly Goon. He wore white flannel trousers and shirt with no tie, and a red belt round his portly middle. On his feet were enormous white shoes.

“Why the disguise?” wondered Fatty. “Just practising, like me? Or is he going to snoop round somewhere? Perhaps he has found out where or who Rods is. I’d better stand by and find out.”

He shuffled out and sat down on a wooden bench, just outside. He strained his ears to see if he could catch any words. What was Goon doing in the cobbler’s? Surely he hadn’t got the same bright idea as Pip had had - of asking about repairs to large-size boots!

Goon had! He was very pleased about it. He had made up a nice little story to help him along.

“Good morning,” he said to the cobbler. “Did my brother leave his boots here to be mended? He asked me to come in and see. Very large size, twelves or thirteens.”

“What name?” asked the cobbler.

“He didn’t give his name,” said Mr Goon. “Just left the boots, he said.”

“Well, I haven’t any boots as big as that here,” said the cobbler. “I’ve only got two customers with feet that size.”

“Who are they?” asked Goon.

“What’s that to you?” said the cobbler impatiently. “Am I going to waste all my morning talking about big boots?”

“I know one of your customers is Mr Goon,” said Mr Goon. “I know Mr Goon very very well. He’s a great friend of mine. Very nice fellow.”

“Oh, is he? Then you know him better than I do,” said the cobbler. “I’ve got no time for that pompous old bobby.”

Mr Goon went purple under his tan. “Who’s your other customer?” he asked, in such an unexpectedly fierce voice that the cobbler stared. “The one with big feet, I mean. You’d better answer my question. For all you know I might have been sent here by Mr Goon himself!”

“Bah!” said the cobbler, and then thought better of it. “The other fellow is Colonel Cross,” he said.

“Does he have rubber heels?” asked Mr Goon and was immediately amazed by the cobbler’s fury.

“Rubber heels! How many more people want to know if he has rubber heels! What do I care? Go and ask him yourself!” raged the cobbler, going as purple as Mr Goon. “You and that old tramp are a pair, you are!”

“What old tramp?” asked Goon in surprise.

“The one you pushed past at the door - with feet as big as yourself!” raged the cobbler. “Clear out of my shop now. I’ve got work to do. Rubber heels!”

Goon went out with great dignity. He longed to tell the cobbler who he was - what a shock for him that would be. What was it he had called him? “A pompous old bobby!” Goon put that away in his memory. One day he would make the cobbler sorry for that rude remark!

Now, what abut this tramp with big feet? Where was he? He might be the thief! There didn’t seem many people with enormous feet in Peterswood as far as he could find out - only himself and Colonel Cross. He would have to enquire about Colonel Cross’s boots - see if they had rubber heels - though it wasn’t very likely that Colonel Cross went burgling other people’s houses.

Goon blinked in the bright sunshine, quite glad of his dark glasses. Where was that tramp? Well - what a piece of luck - there he was, sitting on the bench nearby!

Goon sat down heavily beside him. Fatty took one look and longed to laugh. He saw Goon looking at his big old boots. Ah - they had roused his suspicions.

Well, Fatty was quite prepared to sit there as long as Goon - and to have a bit of fun too. He stuck his boots out well in front of him. Come on, Goon - say something!

A Little Bit of Fun

Goon hadn’t the slightest idea that he was sitting next to Fatty. He looked through his dark glasses at the dirty old man. Could he be the thief? He tried to see his hands, but Fatty was still wearing the holey old gloves.

“Want some baccy?” said Goon, seeing that Fatty’s clay pipe was empty.

Fatty looked at him and then put his hand behind his ear.

“Want some baccy?” said Goon a little more loudly.

Still Fatty held his hand behind his ear and looked enquiringly at Goon, sucking at his dirty old pipe, and squinting horribly.

“WANT SOME BACCY?” roared Goon.

“Oh, ah - yes - I’ve got a bad back-ache,” answered Fatty. “Oooh, my back-ache. Somethink crool, it is.”

“I said, WANT SOME BACCY?” yelled Goon again.

“I heard you the first time,” said Fatty, with dignity. “I’m having treatment for it at the hospital. And for me pore old feet too.”

He gave a long, wheezy cough and rubbed the back of his hand over his nose.

“You’ve got big feet!” said Goon loudly.

“Oh, ah - it’s a nice sunny seat,” agreed the old tramp. “I allus sits here of a mornin’.”

“I said you’ve got BIG FEET,” shouted Goon.

“You’re right. Not enough meat these days,” said the tramp, and coughed again. “’Taint right. Meat’s good for you.”

Goon gave it up. “Silly old man,” he said in his ordinary voice, thinking that the tramp was absolutely stone deaf. Most surprisingly the old fellow heard him.

“Here! Who are you calling a silly old man?” said the tramp fiercely. “I heard you! Yes, I did! Think I was deaf, didn’t you? But I heard you!”

“Now now - don’t be silly,” said Goon, alarmed at the disturbance the tramp was making. “Be calm.”

“Harm! Yes, I’ll harm you!” said the tramp, and actually raised his stick. Goon retreated hurriedly to the other end of the bench and debated with himself. This old chap couldn’t be the thief. He was deaf, his feet were bad, and he had back-ache. But where had he got those boots? It might be as well to follow him home and find out where he lived. It was no good asking him, that was plain. He’d only make some silly reply. So Goon took out his own pipe and proceeded to fill it, and to wait until the old tramp moved off.

Fatty was also waiting for Goon to move off, because he wanted to see if the policeman had discovered who or where Rods was. So there they both sat, one sucking an empty pipe, the other pulling at a lighted one. The smoke from it almost choked poor Fatty.

And then he saw Larry, Daisy, Bets and Pip coming down the street! Thank goodness they hadn’t got Buster, who would certainly have smelt out Fatty at once and greeted him with joy. Buster was safely locked up in the shed, and was no doubt still scraping hopefully at the door.

Fatty sank his chin down on his chest, hoping that none of the four would recognize him. It would be maddening if they did, and came over to him and gave the game away to Goon.

They didn’t recognize him. They gave him a mere glance, and then rested their eyes on Goon.

They walked by, giving backward glances at the disguised policeman, who pulled at his pipe desperately, praying that the four would go away. Thank goodness that fat boy was not with them. He’d have spotted him at once, disguise or no disguise.

The four children stopped at the end of the street because Bets was pulling at Larry’s sleeve so urgently. “What is it, Bets?” asked Larry.

“See that big man sitting on the bench by the dirty old tramp?” said Bets. “I’m sure it’s Goon! I’d know his big hairy hands anywhere. He’s in disguise again - a better disguise this time, because his eyes are hidden. You just simply can’t mistake those when you see them.”

“I believe Bets is right,” said Daisy, looking back. “Yes - you can see it’s Goon - the way he sits, and everything. It is Goon!”

“Let’s have a bit of fun with him then,” said Pip. “Come on, let’s. He won’t know if we’ve spotted him or not, and he’ll be in an awful fix.”

Bets giggled. “What shall we do?”

“Oh nothing much - just go up to him innocently and ask him footling questions,” said Larry. “You know - what’s the time, please? Have you got change for sixpence? Where does the bus start?”

Everyone laughed. “I’ll go first,” said Pip. He walked up to the bench. Fatty saw him coming, and felt alarmed. Surely Pip hadn’t recognized him. It looked as if he was going to speak to him. No - Pip was talking to Goon!

“Could you please tell me the time?” Pip asked innocently. Goon scowled. He pulled out his big watch.

“Ten to twelve,” he said.

“Thanks awfully,” said Pip. Fatty was astonished. Pip had his own watch. What was the point? Gosh! - could the others have recognized Goon after all - and have made up their minds to have some fun with him?

Larry came next. “Oh - could you possibly give me change for sixpence, sir?” he asked Goon politely. Fatty almost choked, but his choke was lost in Goon’s snort.

“No. Clear-orf,” said Goon, unable to stop himself from using his favourite expression.

“Thanks very much,” said Larry, politely, and went off. Fatty got out his handkerchief, ready to bury his face in it if any of the others came along with a request. He hadn’t bargained for this.

Up came Daisy. “Could you tell me, please, if the bus stops here for Sheepridge?” she asked.

Goon nearly exploded. These kids! Here he was, in a perfectly splendid disguise, one good enough to prevent anyone from knowing him, one that should be an absolute protection against these pests of children - and here they all were, making a bee-line for him. Did they do this sort of thing to everybody? He’d have to report them - complain to their parents!

“Go and look at the bus time-table,” he snapped at Daisy.

“Oh, thank you very much,” she said. Fatty chortled again into his handkerchief and Daisy looked at him in surprise. What a strange old man.

Bets was the last to come. “Please, have you seen our little dog, Buster?” she asked.

“No,” roared Goon. “And if I do I’ll chase him out of town.”

“Oh, thanks very much,” said Bets politely, and departed. Fatty was nearly dying of laughter, trying to keep back his guffaws. He had another coughing fit in his handkerchief and Goon looked at him suspiciously.

“Nasty cough of yours,” he said. Poor Fatty was quite unable to answer. He prayed that the others wouldn’t come back to ask any more questions.

Goon was debating with himself again. With those children about, pestering him like this, he’d never get anywhere. Had they seen through his disguise? Or was this kind of thing their usual behaviour? He saw Daisy bearing down on him and rose hurriedly. He strode off in the direction of the police station. He could bear no more.

Fatty collapsed. He buried his face in his handkerchief and laughed till he cried. Daisy looked at him in alarm. “Are you all right?” she said timidly.

Fatty recovered and sat up. “Yes, thanks, Daisy,” he said in his normal voice, and Daisy stood and stared at him, her mouth open in amazement.

“Fatty!” she whispered. “Oh, Fatty! We recognized Goon - but we didn’t know the tramp was you! Oh, Fatty!”

“Listen,” said Fatty. “I don’t want to have to change out of this disguise - it takes ages to take off and put on - and I want to see if Goon has found out anything about Rods. He’s using his brains over all this, you know. Thought about going to see the cobbler and everything, just as we did. I don’t want him to get ahead of us. I think I’d better trail him today.”

“All right,” said Daisy, sitting down near to him, and speaking in a low voice. “You want us to get you some lunch, I suppose? There’s a bus-stop near Goon’s house. You could sit there and eat your lunch and read a paper - and watch for Goon at the same time.”

“Yes - that’s what I’ll do,” said Fatty. “I feel somehow as if Goon’s got going on this. If he’s going to get ahead of us I want to know it.”

“I couldn’t find the street directory this morning,” said Daisy, talking straight out in front of her, so that nobody would think she was talking to the old tramp. “Larry’s borrowing one this afternoon. Pip found two names in the telephone directory that might help - one is Rodney, the other is Roderick. The Rodneys live up on the hill, and the Rodericks live near you.”

“Oh yes - I remember now,” said Fatty. “Well, we can rule the Rodericks out, I think. There’s only an old lady, a Mrs Roderick, and a young one, a Miss. There’s no one there who wears size twelve shoes. I don’t know about the Rodneys though.”

“Shall I and the others go and see if we can find out anything at the Rodneys?” said Daisy. “We could go this afternoon. Mother knows them, so I could easily go on some excuse.”

“There’s a jumble sale on in the town,” said Fatty. “Couldn’t you go and ask for jumble? Especially old boots - large size if possible as you know an old tramp who wears them!”

Daisy giggled. “You do have bright ideas, Fatty,” she said. “I suppose you’re the old tramp who wears them! Yes, I’ll go and ask for jumble. Bets can go with me. I’ll go over to the others now. They’re standing there wondering what on earth I’m doing, talking to myself!”

They were certainly very surprised to see Daisy sitting down after Goon had so hurriedly departed, apparently murmuring away to herself. They were just about to come over when she left the bench and went to them.

“What’s up with you?” asked Larry. Daisy smiled delightedly. “That was Fatty!” she whispered. “Don’t recognize him, for goodness sake. We’ve got to get some lunch for him somehow, because he thinks Goon is on the track of something and he wants to trail him.”

The four marched solemnly past Fatty on the bench, and each got a wink from the dirty old tramp.

“We’re going off to get lunch,” said Daisy loudly, as if she was speaking to Larry. But the tramp knew quite well that she was speaking to him!

A Very Busy Afternoon

Fatty shuffled his way to the bus-stop bench near Goon’s house. He let himself down slowly as if he indeed had a bad back. He let out a grunt. An old lady on the bench looked at him sympathetically. Poor old man! She leaned across and pressed a coin into his hand.