Mystery of the Strange Messages (9 page)

"No, Uncle. My notebook's private," said Ern,
remembering that he had put into it notes of the meetings he had had with Fatty
and the others.

"Now, look here, young Ern," said Goon, advancing on
him, and Ern promptly fled out of the back-door. He saw a black shadow moving
before him, and yelled.

"Uncle! There's someone out here! Quick, uncle!"

Mr. Goon rushed out at once—and ran straight into Mrs. Hicks'
washing-line, which was hung with overalls, two sheets and a dark blanket. The
line broke, and Mr. Goon gave a yell as the blanket folded itself round him.

Poor Ern! He really had thought that the washing blowing in the
darkness on the line was somebody in the yard. When he saw his uncle staggering
into the kitchen with the washing dragging behind him on the broken line, he
knew there was only one thing to do—and that was to rush up to his bedroom and
lock himself in!

That means going without his supper—but at least he still had his
precious notebook and at least he was safe from his uncle's anger. Judging from
the noise downstairs he was lucky to have escaped in time. Why, oh why had he
ever said he would come and help his uncle? Never again, thought poor Ern.
Never again!

Meantime Fatty was feeling that he had come to a full stop where
the mysterious notes were concerned. They hadn't found a house called The
Ivies, or even one with ivy growing up it that
had
been called The
Ivies. Neither had they found the right Smith. Was there anything else to do?

"Only one thing," thought Fatty. "And that will be
a terribly fiddling job. I'd better try and get the letters and words off, that
are stuck on to the sheet of writing-paper. I might find something printed on
the other side to help me—I might even find out what newspaper they come from.
If it was, say, a Bristol paper, the odds are that the writer of the notes
comes from Bristol—or if it turns out to by a Manchester paper, maybe he comes
from Manchester. Not that that will be much help."

So he went down to his shed that evening and set to work. It was
indeed a horribly fiddling job. In the middle of it, his lamp flickered and
went out.

"Blow!" said Fatty, and gathered up his things by the
light of a candle and went indoors. He sat himself down in his bedroom to
finish the job.

He found a few interesting things as he tried to get the pasted-on
letters off the strips they were stuck on. The word "goon" for
instance, which was, in every case, apparently part of a whole word—it was not
made of four separate letters. Fatty stared at it. "Goon". It must be
part of a whole word. But what word had "goon" in it. He couldn't
think of any.

As he went on with his work, a tap came at the door, and his
mother came in. "Frederick, have you taken my library book?" she
asked. "Good gracious, whatever are you doing? What a mess!"

"I'm just solving a—well, a kind of puzzle really," said
Fatty. His mother picked up the cut-out piece of paper he had just put down—the
bit with "goon" on.

"Goon," she said. "What a funny puzzle, Frederick.
Is that part of 'Rangoon' or something?"

"Rangoon!”
said Fatty. "I never thought of Rangoon. It's about the only
word ending in 'goon', isn't it. Mother? Has Rangoon been in the papers much
lately? Has anything happened there? Would the name be printed a lot in our
papers?"

"Well no—I can't remember seeing anything about
Rangoon," said his mother. "Oh Frederick—you
have
got my
library book! Really, that's too bad of you."

"Gosh, sorry, Mother—I must have brought it up by
mistake," said Fatty. "It's almost exactly like mine, look."

"Would you like me to stay and help you to sort out this
queer puzzle?" asked his mother. "I like puzzles, as you know."

"Oh no. Mother, thank you, I wouldn't dream of bothering
you," said Fatty, hastily, afraid of some awkward questions as to where he
had got the "puzzle" from. "It's hopeless, really. I expect I'll
have to give it up."

And that is exactly what poor Fatty had to do, after struggling
with it for at least two hours. There was nothing on the other side of the
pasted-on letters that could help him to identify any newspapers—only odd
letters

that might have come from any part of any paper. It was very
disappointing.

"That
idea's
no good then." said Fatty, putting the bits and pieces back into the
envelope. "Waste of two hours! I'm at a dead-end. Can't find any clues at
all—and even when there was a chance of actually
seeing
that fellow who
delivers the notes, Ern doesn't see him. He must have had forty winks—he
couldn't have failed to .see him if he was really awake. Blow! Where do we go
from here? I'll call a meeting tomorrow morning, and we'll see if anyone has
any ideas."

So next morning, at ten o'clock sharp, everyone was at Fatty's,
including Ern. Ern was feeling a bit happier. His uncle had had a nice letter
from Superintendent Jenks that morning, about some small case that Goon had
apparently handled quite well—and the big policeman had beamed all through
breakfast. He read the letter to Ern three times, very solemnly.

"Now if
I
had done what
you
did yesterday, and
sat looking out of that window of yours, keeping watch, and hadn't even
seen
something going on under my very nose, I wouldn't be getting letters like
this," said Goon.

Ern didn't argue. He nodded his head and helped himself to more
bread and butter and marmalade. He made up his mind to go up to Fatty's
immediately after breakfast and tell him he was going home. He was sure that
his uncle wouldn't pay him any more wages, and he wasn't going to stop with him
for nothing!

So Ern was at the meeting too. When they were all in the shed.
Fatty told them of his failure the night before. "Mother came up and
offered to help me," he said. "But I was afraid she'd ask me awkward
questions. She did say that she thought the word 'goon' with the small letter
instead of the capital one, might be part of Rangoon. And it
might,
though
I can't think how it could help us! I gave up trying to find a clue by unpasting
the letters in the messages. And now I don't really see what else we can
do."

"Well, there's only
one
thing left," said Daisy,
"and that's that place that Larry and I found. What was it called
now—Fairlin Hall. The place that was empty. I just wondered if it might be
worth while finding out if it had
ever
been called 'The Ivies'."

"But you said it was empty," said Fatty. "You saw a
notice-board up, saying that it was for sale."

"Yes, I know," said Daisy. "But I went by it
today—just out of curiosity, you know—and I saw something queer."

"What?" asked everyone at once.

"Well—I'm sure there was smoke coming out of a chimney at the
back," said Daisy. "I couldn't be
quite
certain—the chimney
might have belonged to a house I couldn't see. But it did
look
as if a
chimney belonging to Fairlin Hall itself was smoking."

"Well! This certainly needs investigating," said Fatty,
cheering up at once. "There might be someone hiding there—Smith perhaps! I
vote we all cycle down straightaway and have a snoop round. What about it. everyone?
Come on!"

And out they all rushed to get their bicycles, with Buster barking
madly round them. Was this a clue to the mystery—or wasn't it? A smoking
chimney! If only it
did
belong to Fairlin Hall!

The Caretakers at Fairlin Hall.

The six cyclists, with Buster panting behind, rode through
Peterswood at top speed. It was most unfortunate that they should meet Mr. Goon
round a corner. He was on his bicycle too, and Ern, being on the middle of the
road, almost ran into him. "Ern!" yelled Mr. Goon, wobbling dangerously.
"I'll

teach you to—here, where are you going, Ern!
Ern!
"

But Ern, and the others too, were away up the road, Ern looking
scared. "Hope he won't come after me," he said He looked round, and
to his horror saw that Mr. Goon had swung round and was pedalling furiously
some way behind them

"Can't let him see us going into Fairlin Hall," panted
Fatty "We'll go right past it, and up Cockers Hill. Goon will soon be left
behind then "

So they swept past Fairlin Hall, each trying to see whether smoke
was coming from any chimney, turned the corner and made for the steep Cockers
Hill. Up they went, more slowly now, hearing Mr. Goon's shouts for Ern faintly
behind them. Bets began to giggle.

"Oh dear! Mr. Goon will be as red as a beetroot when he's
half-way up this hill' It's rather a shame, Fatty."

"He doesn't
need
to follow us up it," panted
Fatty, who was a good deal too plump for such violent exercise. "Look
behind. Bets Has he dismounted yet?"

Bets glanced behind. "Yes, he has He's standing still, mopping
his head. Poor Goon! We'll soon shake him off"

They came to the top of Cockers Hill, sailed down it thankfully,
and then made their way back to the road in which Fairlin Hall stood. There was
no sign of Goon anywhere. They put their bicycles against the wall, and stood
at the gate entrance, looking into the drive.

"See what I mean," said Daisy, eagerly "Isn't that
smoke from one of the chimneys right at the back of the house?"

"Yes. I rather think it is," said Fatty. "What an
ugly old place! Look at those great pillars at the front door—and those heavy
stone balconies. It must have been empty for years "

He went to look at the "For Sale" board, and noted the
House Agent's name on it. "Paul and Ticking," he said. "It
wouldn't be a bad idea to go and ask them for

particulars of this place—we might find out if it had ever been
called 'The Ivies'."

"Yes. That's a good idea!" said Pip. "Well—shall we
snoop round the place and see if anyone's about? We must find out if that
smoking chimney belongs to the house."

"Yes," said Fatty. "I'll go with Bets. You stay
here, you three, out of sight, with Buster. Bets and I will go round to the
back of the house, calling Buster, as if we'd lost him, and if anyone
is
there,
they'll probably come out to us When we've stopped yelling for Buster, you can
let him go, and he'll come to us."

"Right," said Larry, catching hold of the little Scottie
by the collar Fatty and Bets made their way down the overgrown drive, Fatty
calling "Buster, Buster, where are you?" at the top of his voice
Buster nearly went mad trying to follow, and was extremely angry with Larry for
hanging on to his collar. He almost choked himself, trying to get away.

Fatty peeped into the windows he passed. The house was as dismal
inside as it was outside Great empty rooms, dirty and dreary, with filthy
windows, and faded paint—Bets shivered, and turned her face away

They rounded a corner and came to the kitchen end There was a line
across the yard, with clothes blowing on it—aha, there was certainly someone
here, then! Fatty nudged Bets and glanced upwards. Bets did the same and saw a
chimney above, smoking. Daisy had been right.

"Buster, Buster, where are you, you naughty dog!"
shouted Fatty, and whistled piercingly.

An oldish woman came out of the kitchen door, thin and
sad-looking, but with a kindly, rather sweet old face. "Have you lost your
dog?" she said.

"He's somewhere about," said Fatty truthfully. "I
do hope I didn't disturb you. Isn't this place empty? I saw a 'For Sale' notice
outside "

"That's right," said the woman, pulling her shawl round
her. "We're caretakers. The house was left quite

empty for years, but tramps kept breaking in—so the agents put in
caretakers. We've been here for fifteen years now—and we hope the place
won't
be sold, because we don't want to be turned out!"

Buster suddenly came rushing round the corner, and barked madly
when he saw Fatty. He was most indignant at being held so long by Larry, who,
of course, had let him go as soon as Fatty had stopped calling him.

"Ah—there's your dog," said the old woman. "He
couldn't have been far away. I sometimes wish
we
had a dog. Three times
since we've been here there's been burglars—though what they expect to find in
an empty house, I
don't
know!"

A voice called her from indoors, and then someone coughed long and
painfully. "That's my poor husband," said the old woman. "He's
ill. I suppose you aren't going back to the village, are you? I ought to go to
the chemist and get him some more medicine, but I don't really like leaving him."

"Of course we'll leave a message at the chemist for you—or
better still we'll pop down and get the medicine ourselves and bring it back!”
said Fatty. "We've got our bicycles."

"Well, that would be real kind of you," said the old
lady. "I'll just get the bottle," and she hurried indoors.

"Wonder if their name is Smith," said Fatty, in a low
voice. "Shouldn't think so. Obviously they're just caretakers who've been
here for years. Ah—here she comes."