Mystery of the Missing Man (12 page)

“Well, I was just remembering old Goon’s face this afternoon when I asked him if he had seen the Seven-Spotted Helmeted Kicking Beetle from Ollaby-oon in Grootenburgenstein,” said Fatty, much to Mr. Tolling’s amazement. He put down his soup-spoon and stared at Fatty, interested.

“The Seven-Spotted Helmeted Beetle,” he said. “I must have missed that. I really must see it tomorrow. I will ask that policeman to show me where it is.”

“Yes, do,” said Fatty. “He’ll be interested to hear about it again.”

“Frederick!” said his mother warningly, sure that the helmeted beetle was a make-up of Fatty’s, specially thought of for the helmeted Goon.

“Yes, Mother?” said Fatty, turning an innocent gaze on Mrs. Trotteville. She shook her head at him and gave it up. But Mr. Tolling didn’t. He pursued the subject of Helmeted Beetles for some time, and Fatty learnt, to his great surprise, that there really were “helmeted” beetles, and that apparently Mr. Tolling knew every one of them, which bored the whole table considerably.

“Shall we have another game of chess tonight?” asked Eunice, turning to Fatty as the meal ended with beetles still the subject of conversation.

“No, thanks,” said Fatty, briskly. “I’ve got to do some cross-country running tonight. I haven’t done any today, and it’s a fine night. Another time, Eunice.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Eunice. “I could do with a bit of exercise too. It’s lovely running this time of the evening. I often do at home.”

What a truly exasperating girl! Didn’t she know when she was not wanted? All right, Fatty would give her the shock of her life!

“I’ll go and change into a tweed skirt and wait here for you,” said Eunice, quite determined not to let Fatty out of her sight. If he thought he was going to rush of to Larry or Pip, then she was going to come too. She didn’t see why she should be left out of any excitement going on.

Fatty didn’t say a word. He disappeared down to his shed and hurriedly dressed himself in his tramp-clothes once more. He made up his face, stuck on the shaggy brows, and put in the prominent false teeth - and finally drew a horrible scar all down one cheek!

“The man with a scar!” he chuckled to himself. “Look out, Eunice - here he comes!”

He went out of the shed and locked the door. He stole up the garden and came to the house. He knew that his parents and Mr. Tolling had left to have a game of bridge with some friends. Only Eunice would be in the sitting-room, waiting for him.

Buster, shut up in his bedroom, was whining dolefully, as he always did when Fatty was going out without him. Eunice heard him up there, and quite thought that Fatty must be with him. She sat patiently waiting in the sitting-room, keeping a sharp ear for stealthy footsteps, in case Fatty thought of going running without her.

She heard what she was listening for - stealthy footsteps! Where did they come from? Outside the window, surely! Eunice tiptoed to the window and peered out - and there, staring at her from a bush, was the tramp - the horrible old fellow that she had seen in Fatty’s shed before! But this time he had a dreadful scar running down his face.

Eunice stared in horror! “Help!” she cried. “Here’s that tramp again. Help! Frederick, where are you? That tramp’s here again! Frederick!”

Jane, the house-parlourmaid, came running in at once. “What is it?” she cried. But by that time Fatty had gone from the bush. He knew that Jane’s sharp eyes would recognize him through his disguise; she had seen him as an old tramp far too often!

Eunice pointed to the bush where she had seen Fatty. “He was there - that tramp again,” she said. “What shall we do? Everyone’s out! Where’s Frederick, isn’t he in his bedroom?”

“I’ll go and see,” said Jane. But the only occupant of Fatty’s bedroom was Buster, who flew down the stairs at top speed as soon as Jane opened the door, wondering what Eunice’s screams had been about.

“Master Frederick wasn’t in his room,” reported Jane. “He must have gone without you, Miss.”

“Oh dear. I think I’d better ring up the police,” said Eunice. “Yes, I must. I think somebody ought to come up and have a look round. Why, the house might be burgled tonight!”

So Eunice rang up the police, and Mr. Goon answered promptly. “Police here. Who is it?”

“This is Miss Eunice Tolling, staying with Mr. and Mrs. Trotteville,” said Eunice. “I want to report seeing a horrible old tramp here - like the one I saw on Sunday.”

Goon frowned. Now - what was this? He remembered Eunice perfectly, of course - but he also knew that that tramp on Sunday was not a tramp. And he, Goon, was NOT going on a wild tramp-chase again, not for anyone!

“Right, Miss. I’ll take a few notes,” said Goon. “Sorry I can’t come up, but there’s business here to detain me.”

“But you must come up!” cried Eunice. “I tell you it’s the same man - and I got a closer look at him this time - he’s got a horrible scar on his face.”

Goon got quite a shock. “A scar?” he said. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Oh do come along here quickly,” begged Eunice. “You might be able to catch him. Buster’s in the garden too - looking for him, I expect.”

That piece of news did not please Mr. Goon at all. He never liked Buster to be loose if he was anywhere near him. Still - a man with a scar! That really sounded something! Suppose he was the escaped prisoner? What a feather it would be in Goon’s cap if he could catch him - and in that pest of a boy’s own garden!

“Where’s Master Frederick?” he asked.

“Out cross-country running,” answered Eunice.

“Good!” thought Goon. “So he’s out of the way. Well - I’ll go up straight away.”

He mounted his bicycle and pedalled up to the Trottevilles’ house. He left his bicycle just inside the front gate and went quietly round to the garden door and through it. “Miss!” he called cautiously, and gave Eunice and Jane such a fright that they both screamed loudly.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Jane. “What do you want to come creeping in on us like that for?”

“Well, I didn’t want to give that fellow any warning,” said Goon. “Now - where’s this bush you saw him in, Miss? And - er - where’s that dog?”

“He’s still about, I think,” said Jane, which made poor Goon feel very nervous indeed.

“You both come with me and we’ll work through the garden,” he said. “And if that dog appears, you call him, Miss. He might think I’m the tramp and go for me.”

So they all three worked through the garden, poking into every bush. There was no sign of Buster, which delighted Goon very much.

After almost an hour’s search, Goon gave it up. “That tramp’s gone,” he said. “Wish I knew where. I’m looking for a fellow with a scar, and it’d be a feather in my cap if I could lay my hands on him. Whereabouts was this scar, Miss? Just above his upper lip, I suppose?”

“Oh no - all down one cheek,” said Eunice in surprise. “Whatever made you think it was just above his mouth?”

Goon stared at her, bitterly disappointed and really angry. “But - but I thought you meant - oh well, I suppose you couldn’t know where the scar ought to be. Blow it - it’s not the man I thought it was. It must have been - oh no! - yes, it must have been that toad of a boy disguised again! And you said he’d gone running! What do you mean by telling me such fairy tales!”

Eunice stared at the angry policeman in dismay. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “And I will not be talked to like this. I shall go to bed.”

And away she went, holding her head high. How DARE that horrid policeman speak to her like that.

Jane laughed. “There goes Miss High-and-Mighty!” she said. “You look hot and bothered, Mr. Goon, sir. You come along into my kitchen and I’ll make you a cup of tea, and give you one of Cookie’s shortbread biscuits. For all we know, Miss Eunice didn’t see anyone at all - just a moving shadow!”

Mr. Goon removed his helmet, wiped his hot head and graciously accepted Jane’s invitation. He sat in her kitchen enjoying himself, telling her tales of his valour, and of the numberless arrests he had made. He didn’t hear quiet footsteps coming to the lighted kitchen window. He didn’t see a scarred face peering in at him. He didn’t even guess that Fatty had come back, still in his tramp clothes, and was even now getting out of them down in the shed.

Goon suddenly caught sight of the kitchen clock and was horrified to see the time. “I must go. Where’s my helmet?” he said. “My word, how the time’s gone. Goodnight to you, Miss, and thank you.”

He blundered out into the garden and went to find his bicycle. To his consternation it was gone! “I know I left it just here - and it’s gone! It’s been stolen!” he said. “That fathead of a girl is the cause of this - bringing me away from all my work to hunt someone I thought was the man with the scar. Gah! Now I’ve got to walk home.”

And walk home he did - only to find the telephone ringing as soon as he got in. Now who wanted him? If it was another tale about a tramp, he’d let fly!

But it was Fatty’s smooth confident voice. “Is that you, Mr. Goon? I have to report that there is a bicycle leaning by our kitchen door. I don’t know whose it is, but possibly you have had one reported to you as stolen.”

“You - you pest!” shouted Goon into the telephone. “You found my bike by your front gate, I know you did - and you took it away and hid it till I left - and now it’s by your kitchen door, you say. Well, WHO put it there? That’s what I want to know. WHO put it there?”

But there was no answer except a chuckle. The phone went dead, and Goon groaned. Now he had got to walk all the way back and fetch his bicycle! All right, Master Frederick Trotteville, you just wait - you’ll get paid out one day!

Fatty Has a Surprise

While Mr. Goon and Eunice and Jane had been searching feverishly for the old tramp, Fatty had been having quite an interesting time. He had hurriedly left his garden by the little gate at the bottom, as soon as he heard Goon coming on his bicycle. Then he had made his way towards the river.

“Barker’s Field is the one near old Barker’s farmhouse,” he thought. “If I meet anyone in this tramp get-up, I’ll ask if they can tell me of any old barn I’d be allowed to sleep in. Gosh - what a scream Eunice let out when she saw my face peeping out of that bush! I hope Goon and she had a wonderful time hunting all through the garden!”

He put on a limp whenever he met anyone, and suddenly decided to cut himself a stick from the hedgerow. He could use it as a walking-stick - and it might come in useful if there were any loose dogs at the caravan camp.

He cut himself quite a stout hazel staff, and set off again. He came at last to the caravan field and stood looking at it. Which caravan was the Fangios’? There were about twenty caravans standing about, some modern, some old. Most of them had lights on inside.

No one seemed to be about, so Fatty grew quite bold. He peeped into a nearby caravan, standing on one of the wheels to reach the window. The curtains were pulled across but a crack had been left between them. Two people sat inside, one sewing, one reading. Man and wife, probably, quite decent-looking people.

He went to the next caravan - a very modern one. A dog barked as he came near, and Fatty decided he wouldn’t go any further. He crossed the field and came to an old caravan that badly needed repainting. The night was now coming down quickly, and Fatty pulled out his torch. There was no light in this van. Perhaps it was empty?

It was. It smelt musty as he opened the door, and he shut it again quickly. Pooh! He went down the steps and looked round again. This sort of thing wasn’t going to get him very far!

As he went to yet another caravan, someone came down the steps and spotted him in the darkness. “Who’s there?” called a man’s voice.

“Only an old fellow who wants a doss-down somewhere,” said Fatty, in a high cracked voice. “Can you tell me if there’s a haystack anywhere, Mister?”

“Come in here and we’ll give you a cup of tea,” said the voice. “The farmer doesn’t like tramps. He’ll set his dog on you if you go on to his land. Let’s have a look at you.”

Fatty limped up the caravan steps. It was an old caravan, but the inside was fairly clean, though not very comfortable. The man who had spoken to him was an oldish fellow with a kindly face. Inside was another old man.

“My brother,” said the first man. “He’s blind. We make pegs and baskets to sell, and we ain’t got much money, but we can always spare a cup of tea. Can’t we, Steve?”

“Ay,” said the blind man, and put out his hands to clear away a mess of cane and half-made baskets near him. “Set you down.”

Soon Fatty was sitting down drinking a very strong cup of tea. “I’m looking for some people called the Fangios,” he said. “Do you know them? I was told they had a caravan here.”

“Oh ay,” said the first man. “Their caravan is over yonder.”

“Two of them, there are,” said the blind man. “Brother and sister.”

“No, three now,” said the brother. “An old woman, their mother. Proper old tartar she is, and strong as a horse. Chops up all the wood, and carries buckets of water as good as any man! Her daughter, Lucita, she’s a sulky young woman, she is, but the brother’s all right.”

“Yes - that’s Josef,” said the blind man. “He takes my baskets to fairs for me, when they’re around about here, or to the market, and sells them. He’s a good lad. Are they relations of yours?”

“Not exactly,” said Fatty. “They wouldn’t know me now. I’m a lot different from the last time they saw me! Ah, this tea’s good - black and strong, how I like it!”

“We’ve got a loaf and some marge if you want a bite,” said the blind man. “Cut him a bit, Bill.”

“No, thanks,” said Fatty, hurriedly, touched by the generosity of this poor old couple. Bill turned up the wick of the lamp a little, and looked at Fatty, sizing him up.

“You can sleep here in our van if you so wish,” he said, after a moment.

“Well, thanks all the same - but I think I’ll be getting on,” said Fatty. “That tea was just what I wanted!”

“You got a queer scar there, above your mouth,” said Bill. “Like a snake! How did you get that?”

“Blow!” thought Fatty. “I forgot I’d painted on that wonderful scar!” He laughed, and answered the old fellow. “Oh, that’s nothing. Can’t go through life without a few scars - that’s right, ain’t it, Bill?”