Mystery of the Missing Man

Fatty’s News

“I’m going to buy some Easter eggs,” said Pip, at breakfast-time. “Are you coming too, Bets? Then we might go and call on old Fatty.”

“Oh yes - let’s!” said Bets. “I’ve only seen him once since he came back from school, and then he was with Mrs. Trotteville and we couldn’t say much.”

“We’ll call in and tell Larry and Daisy to come too,” said Pip. “We might go and have buns and coffee at the dairy. Mother, do you want anything in the village?”

“No - unless you like to buy yourself an alarm clock,” said Mrs. Hilton, buttering her toast. Pip stared.

“What for?” he said. “I’ve got a watch.”

Bets giggled. “You mean he might get up in time for breakfast then, Mother!” she said.

“Ha! Funny joke,” said Pip. “Anyway, no alarm clock would wake me if I’m really asleep. Besides, Mother - I’ve only just come back from a very, very hard term’s work, and as for the exams last weck, well I bet you wouldn’t get top marks any more than I shall. I’ve not slept well for weeks, worrying about my marks.”

“I suppose that means that you’ll be somewhere near the bottom again,” said Pip’s father, putting down his morning paper for a moment. “Well, we shall know the worst in a few days’ time when your report comes.”

Pip changed the subject quickly - a trick at which he was very good. “Dad, what do you want for Easter?” he asked. “I did think of getting you some of that tobacco you like - and Mother, I suppose you wouldn’t like a marzipan egg, would you, I know you like marzipan, and…”

The trick worked. Both his parents had to smile. His mother tapped hirn an the hand. “All right, all right, we won’t mention reports till after Easter. And yes, I do like marzipan. Now, do you want to finish the toast - because if so I’ll leave you to it. Bets, remember to make your bed and dust your room before you go out. AND - please don’t forget that dinner is at one o’clock sharp.”

The telephone bell shrilled out as Mrs. Hilton left the table. She went into the hall to answer it and called back into the room almost at once.

“It’s Fatty - he wants to speak to one of you. You go, Bets, you’ve finished your meal.”

Bets flew to the telephone. “Hallo! Hallo, Fatty!”

“Hallo, little Bets!” said a warm, lively voice on the telephone. “What about meeting somewhere this morning? I’ve got a spot of Easter shopping to do.”

“Oh yes, Fatty!” said Bets eagerly. “Pip and I were just thinking the same. Let’s meet at the dairy, shall we - for buns and coffee. Say at quarter to eleven.”

“Right,” said Fatty. “Will you tell Larry and Daisy, or shall I?”

“We will,” said Bets. “Have you got any news, Fatty? Anything exciting happening?”

She heard Fatty’s laugh at the other end of the phone. “What do you mean? You surely don’t think I’ve got a mystery up my sleeve already? Not a hope! As a matter of fact, I’m rather fed-up about something. Tell you when I see you. So long!”

Bets put down her receiver, and went to tell Pip. He was eating the last piece of toast and was alone in the room. “My word!” said Bets, eyeing the toast, “I never in my life saw so much marmalade spread on a small bit of toast.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Pip. “You wait till you go to boarding school - you’ll know how nice it is to get home and not have to share the marmalade with about twenty others at your table. What did Fatty say?”

Bets told hirn. “Fine!” said Pip. “Well, you buck up and make our beds, and…”

“You jolly weil make your own,” said Bets, indignantly, and went out of the room. She went up the stairs two at a time, feeling happy. Holidays were good - she wasn’t all alone then, the only one going to a day-school. All five of them were together - and Buster. Fatty’s little Scottie too - that made six.

Pip and Bets called for Larry and Daisy at half-past ten, and all four made their way to the village and went to their favourite little dairy. Fatty wasn’t there yet, so they sat down and ordered currant buns with butter, and hot coffee. “With plenty of milk,” said Larry, “and you needn’t put in the sugar. We’ll help ourselves.”

Fatty was five minutes late. He arrived on his bicycle, with Buster running beside the pedals. He came in, grinning as usual, and swung Bets out of her chair and up in the air. Then he put her down with a groan.

“No - I shan’t be able to do that much longer, Bets. You’re growing too big! My word, you’re a weight.”

“We’ve ordered buns and coffee for you, Fatty,” said Pip. Fatty sat down and gave a heavy sigh.

“I’ll have the coffee. But not the buns,” he said, to everyone’s astonishment. They stared at hirn.

“Not the buns,” said Daisy. “But - but you always eat twice as many as we do.”

“I know. But I’m slimming,” said Fatty. “Haven’t you noticed my elegant figure?”

They all looked at hirn earnestly, running their eyes up and down him.

“Well - I can’t see much difference,” said Pip, at last. “Anyway - why ever are you slimming, Fatty? I thought you liked eating.”

“Oh, I do, I do,” said Fatty. “But the school captain wants me to be in the First Tennis Team next term - and I don’t fancy hurling myself about the court in boiling hot weather if I weigh about eleven stone.”

“I didn’t know you were so good at tennis,” said Larry, astonished.

“Neither did I,” said Fatty, modestly. “But I was just fooling about with a racquet and balls on a hard tennis court one sunny day last term, and old Dickory Dock - that’s our head-boy - came up and - er - well - I hardly like to go on.”

“You needn’t,” said Larry. “It seems a funny thing to me how many people think you’re a Wonder at this, that and the other. Here I’ve been training myself at school for terms on end, trying to get into the football team or the cricket, or even the swimming, and I can’t. And you just fool about somewhere and along comes the Head or the Captain or some big noise…”

“And says, ‘Trotteville, you’re the world’s marvel. Do us the honour of belonging to the First Tennis Team,’ ” finished Pip. “It’s not really fair. And you’re always top of your form - and I’m never higher than ninth, and I have to slog like anything to get there - and you never seem to do any work at all. Gosh, Fatty, if I didn’t like you as much as I do I’d loathe you.”

Fatty laughed, and helped himself to a bun. Then he sobered down and looked thoughtful. “It’s not going to be funny, though, this tennis business,” he said. “I’ve sworn to get my weight down these hols. I can smash the balls over the net all right, and place them as cunningly as the next man - and I can take a cannon-ball service without blinking an eyelid - but it’s this running about the court that gets me. I puff like a grampus.”

“Well, you’ll just have to slim then, Fatty,” said Bets, feeling very sympathetic. “We’ll all help you. What are you going to do besides cut down your eating?”

“I’m going to do cross-country running each day - or I might do it at night, when there’s not so much traffic,” said Fatty. “You’ve seen chaps tearing along all by themselves in white drawers and singlets, haven’t you? Grim and aloof and determined - and usually frightfully skinny. Well, I shall be grim and aloof and determined - though I haven’t much hope of getting really skinny.”

Everyone laughed at the idea of Fatty being skinny. “Well, you’ve eaten three buns already,” said Pip. “I suppose you didn’t notice? Or did you think you’d start slimming after Easter?”

Fatty groaned. “Have I really had three? That’s what comes of having hardly any breakfast. I get so hungry in the middle of the morning. Here, Buster, you can have my fourth bun.”

Buster was only too pleased. He gulped it down and looked up for more. “Buster’s doing well out of my slimming,” said Fatty. “I keep forgetting about it, and when I remember I hand him whatever’s on my plate.”

“So that’s why he’s so plump,” said Pip. “You’ll have to take him cross-country running too, Fatty. He’s all tummy.”

“Fatty - you said on the telephone this morning that you were fed up about something,” said Bets, remembering. “What did you mean?”

“Oh yes,” said Fatty, absentmindedly helping himself to a lump of sugar from the basin. “Well, it’s this - there’s some kind of peculiar Conference going to be held here in Peterswood after Easter - next week, I think - and one of the members is going to stay with us - he’s a friend of my father - went to school with him or something.”

“Well - but why are you fed-up about that?” asked Larry. “You won’t need to entertain him, surely? He’ll be some old fogey who spends his days at the Conference, won’t he?”

“Oh yes - but he’s bringing his awful daughter,” said Fatty. “At least - I’ve never seen her - but I bet she’ll be awful. Mother says she’s an only child, and that her mother died when she was two, so she’s been brought up by her father. And I’m supposed to entertain her.”

There was a horrified silence. “Gosh!” said Pip at last. “That is bad news. Either we’ve got to do without your company these hols, Fatty - or you’ve got to bring the girl with you wherever we go.”

“That’s just about it,” said Fatty, gloomily, and took another bun. Nobody noticed, and he was halfway through it when he remembered that he was slimming. He looked at the bun in disgust.

“Why did you sit on that dish looking so new and curranty?” he frowned. “Well - I can’t put you back - and Buster’s almost bursting, I should think. Here goes!” And he munched the other half, still looking gloomy.

“When’s this girl coming?” asked Bets. “I do think it’s too bad, Fatty. Why should you have to entertain her? Why can’t your mother?”

“Well, you know how busy my mother is, with committees and things,” said Fatty. “She rushed off to something or other this morning and said, ‘Well, Frederick, I know I can depend on you to make Eunice feel at home - and don’t forget to meet her and her father on the eleven-fifty train….’ ”

“Eunice!” said Daisy. “Goodness, what an unusual name. But look at the clock, Fatty - you won’t be in time to meet them - it’s eleven-forty-five already!”

“Oh, my goodness!” cried Fatty, leaping to his feet. “I must go. No, it’s all right. That clock’s fast. What about you all coming with me to the station and seeing what our dear Eunice is like? Come on!”

They paid the bill hurriedly and went out of the little shop, all looking gloomy. Yes - no wonder Fatty felt fed-up. Blow Eunice - she would spoil everything!

Eunice

They hurried up the road, and past the Town Hall. “Look, that’s where the Conference is going to be,” said Larry, pointing to a large notice. “Four meetings next weck - and look, it says ‘All Coleopterists are invited to attend.’ Whatever are Coleopterists?”

“Colly-what?” asked Bets. “Fatty, what are these colly-people?”

“Owners of collie dogs?” suggcsted Pip. “Or growers of cauliflowers?”

“Or sufferers fron colly-wobbles?” said Daisy, with a laugh.

“Ass,” said Fatty. “They’re… hallo, look out - here’s Mr. Goon on bis bicycle. My word - I ought to offer him a few hints about a slimming diet.”

Mr. Goon bore down on them, his uniform almost bursting at the seams. He was not at all pleased to see the Five, and even less pleased to see Buster, who immediately flew at his ankles. Goon kicked out at hirn.

“That dog!” he said in disgust. “Call him off! So you’re back again for the holidays, are you? Well, no meddling in what isn’t your business, see? I’m going to be busy the next weck or two, what with a fair coming here, and that there Conference of colly - colly - er…”

“Collie-dog breeders?” suggested Fatty, innocently.

“Oh - so that’s what they are, is it?” said Goon, with displeasure. “Bringing a whole lot of dogs with them then, I shouldn’t wonder. Dogs! As if we hadn’t got enough running about in this town!”

He kicked out at Buster again, but the little Scottie kept well out of reach. “You’d better keep that dog of yours on the lead, if there’s collie-dogs wandering about,” he said. “Vicious, some of them are - and they’d make mincemeat of that dog of yours. Good thing too!”

And away sailed Goon on his bicycle, feeling very pleased at having ticked off the five children. Buster sent a volley of barks after him.

“Don’t say such rude things, Buster,” said Fatty, gravely. “Remember that other dogs are listening.”

Bets giggled. “Oh, Fatty - whatever made you tell Mr. Goon about Pip’s silly idea of collie-dog breeders? He’ll be watching out for collie-dogs everywhere!”

“Anyway - what are Coleopterists?” asked Daisy. “Don’t you know, Fatty! I thought you knew everything.”

“Of course I know,” said Fatty, wheeling bis bicycle along more quickly, as he caught sight of a clock. “Coleopterists are lovers of beetles.”

This announcement was greeted with exclamations of utter disbelief.

“Fibber! Nobody loves beetles! Ugh!”

“Fatty - we’re not as stupid as Goon.”

“Think of something better than that, Fatty!”

“All right, all right,” said Fatty, amiably. “I can think of plenty of things. But that happens to be the truth.”

“As if anyone would hold a Conference about beetles!” said Pip, scornfully. “I’ll ask your father’s friend about it!”

“Right. You ask him,” said Fatty. “I say - that was the train whistling - do buck up. My mother will be furious if I’m late in meeting Mr. Tolling and his dear little Eunice.”