The Mystery of the Spiteful Letters

MR. GOON IS PUZZLED

Fatty thought he would wear his butcher-boy disguise the next morning, in case he had to go and do a bit more snooping or interviewing. It was a simple disguise, and very effective. He put on his red wig, with no cap. He adjusted the black eyebrows and made his face red. Then, with his striped apron tied round his middle, he set off to Pip’s.

Mrs. Hilton saw him as he flashed by the window. ‘Ah, the butcher-boy,’ she thought. ‘Now Mrs. Moon won’t have to go and fetch the meat again.’

The others greeted Fatty with delight. They were always thrilled when he disguised himself. He pulled off his wig, eyebrows, and apron when he got up into the playroom in case Mrs. Hilton should come in and see him.

He had no sooner done this than a great commotion began downstairs. The children listened, quite startled. They heard wails and groans, and somebody speaking sharply, then more wails.

They went to the head of the stairs and listened. ‘It’s Mrs. Moon - and Mother,’ said Pip. ‘Whatever is happening? Mrs. Moon is crying and howling like anything and Mother is trying to make her stop. Gracious, what can be the matter?’

‘Perhaps Mother’s discovered that Mrs. Moon is the bad letter-writer!’ suggested Bets, looking rather scared.

‘I’ll go down and see what’s up,’ said Fatty, rising to the occasion as usual. He went downstairs quietly. He heard Mrs. Hilton’s stern voice.

‘Now Mrs. Moon, you are not to go on like this. I won’t have it! Pull yourself together at once!’

‘Oh Mam, to think I’d get one of those nasty letters!’ wailed Mrs. Moon’s voice. ‘And such a spiteful one too! Look here what it says.’

‘I don’t want to see, Mrs. Moon. Pay no attention to it,’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘You know quite well it is only something written out of somebody’s spiteful imagination. Let Mr. Goon see it, and then forget all about it.’

‘That Mr. Goon!’ wailed Mrs. Moon. ‘Didn’t he come here yesterday and tell me I might be one of them he suspects could have written the letters - me, a law-abiding, peaceful woman that never did no one no harm. Ooooooo-o-oh!’

‘Pull yourself together at once,’ said Mrs. Hilton sharply. ‘You’re getting hysterical and I won’t have it! When did the letter come?’

‘Just this minute as ever was!’ wailed Mrs. Moon. ‘Somebody pushed it in at the kitchen door, and I picked it up and opened it - and there was that nasty spiteful message - oh, to think somebody could write to me like that, me that hasn’t an enemy in the world.’

‘Somebody pushed it in just now?’ said Mrs. Hilton thoughtfully. ‘Well now - I saw the butcher-boy coming by my window a minute ago.’

‘He never came to my back door!’ declared Mrs. Moon. ‘Never left any meat or nothing.’

‘Strange,’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘Could it possibly have been that boy who delivered the note - for somebody else? Well, we can easily make inquiries at the butcher’s.’

Fatty wished heartily that he hadn’t put on his butcher-boy disguise. He must hide it well away when he went upstairs.

‘I’ll go and telephone to Mr. Goon now,’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘Make yourself a cup of tea, Mrs. Moon, and try and be sensible.’

Fatty shot upstairs as Mrs. Hilton came out into the hall to telephone. The others clutched him.

‘What’s the row about?’ they asked. ‘Quick, tell us!’

‘What do you think!’ said Fatty. ‘Mrs. Moon’s had one of those letters - delivered by hand a few minutes ago. We might any of us have seen who it was that left it here - but we didn’t. But your mother spotted me in my butcher-boy disguise, Pip, and that’s a pity, because she thinks I’m the one that delivered the letter!’

‘Mrs. Moon’s had a letter!’ said Larry, and gave a low whistle. ‘Well, that rules her out then. That leaves only Nosey and Miss Tittle.’

‘Let’s watch for Mr. Goon,’ said Bets. So they watched. He came cycling up the drive and dismounted by the front door. Mrs. Hilton let him in. The children stood at the top of the stairs, but Mrs. Hilton, worried and puzzled, did not even see them.

‘I sent for you to say that Mrs. Moon has now had one of those unpleasant letters,’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘She is naturally very upset.’

‘Well, Madam, I may tell you that I’ve had one too, this morning!’ said Mr. Goon. ‘It’s getting beyond a joke, this is. I found mine in the letter-box this morning. Course, it may have been delivered in the dark of night, probably was. Making fun of the Law like that. Things have come to a pretty pass if the Law can be treated like that!’

‘It’s very worrying,’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘I can’t imagine anyone wanting to send you that kind of letter, Mr. Goon.’

‘Ah, no doubt the wrong-doer knows I’m on their track,’ said Mr. Goon. ‘Thinks to put me off, no doubt! Tells me I’m a meddler and a muddler! Ah, wait till I get me hands on them!’

‘Well - come and see Mrs. Moon,’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘Please handle her carefully, Mr. Goon. She’s almost hysterical.’

Obviously Mr. Goon couldn’t handle a hysterical person, judging by the angry voices soon to be heard from the kitchen. The door opened again at last and Mr. Goon came out into the hall, looking extremely flustered, to find Mrs. Hilton, who had retired to the drawing-room.

‘And that’ll teach you to come pestering and accusing a poor, innocent woman!’ Mrs. Moon’s voice came from the kitchen. ‘Pestering me yesterday like you did - and me struck all of a heap today!’

Mr. Goon heard next about the red-headed butcher-boy, who had so mysteriously ridden up and left no meat, and had apparently departed without being seen.

Mr. Goon immediately thought of the red-headed telegraph-boy. ‘Funny goings-on!’ he said to himself. ‘Them dropped letters now - and that telegraph-boy picking them up - and now this red-headed butcher-boy, without his meat - and maybe delivering that letter to Mrs. Moon. This wants looking into.’

‘The five children are upstairs,’ said Mrs. Hilton. ‘I don’t know if you want to ask them if they saw the butcher-boy. They may give you a few more details.’

‘I’ll see them,’ said Mr. Goon, and went upstairs to the playroom. When he got there the children were apparently playing a game of snap. They looked up as Mr. Goon walked heavily into the room.

‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Did any of you see a red-headed butcher-boy coming along here this morning?’

‘Yes, I saw him,’ said Pip with a grin.

‘Ho, you did! What did he do?’ asked Mr. Goon.

‘Just rode up the drive,’ said Pip.

‘And rode down again at once, I suppose,’ said Mr. Goon.

‘No. I didn’t see him ride down,’ said Pip. Nobody had apparently. Mr. Goon began to feel that this mysterious red-headed boy must be somewhere about the premises.

‘He a friend of yours?’ he said.

Pip hesitated. Fatty was his friend - and yet to say that the butcher-boy was his friend would lead him into difficulties. Fatty saw him hesitate and came to the rescue.

‘We’ve got no butcher-boy friends,’ he said. ‘And no telegraph-boy friends either. You remember you asked me that one too?’

‘I’m not speaking to you,’ said Mr. Goon, with a scowl. ‘I’m speaking to Master Philip here. I’d like to get hold of them two red headed lads! And I will too, if I have to go to the post-office and speak to the postmaster, and ask at every butcher’s in the town!’

‘There are only two butchers,’ said Pip.

‘Mr. Goon, I’m so sorry to hear you’ve had one of those horrid letters too,’ said Fatty earnestly. ‘I can’t think how any one could have the nerve - er, I mean - the heart to write to you like that.’

‘Like what?’ said Mr. Goon sharply. ‘What do you know about any letters I’ve had? I suppose you’ll tell me next you’ve seen the letter and know what’s in it, hey?’

‘Well, I can more or less guess,’ said Fatty modestly.

‘You tell me what was in that letter then,’ said Mr. Goon, growing angry.

‘Oh I couldn’t,’ said Fatty. ‘Not with all the others here.’ He didn’t know, of course, what was in the letter at all, beyond that Goon was a meddler and a muddler, but it was amusing to make the policeman think he did.

‘Well, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if you didn’t write that there letter to me!’ said Mr. Goon. ‘It might not be the letter-writer at all - it might just be you!’

‘Oh, you couldn’t think that of me!’ said Fatty, looking pained. Larry and Daisy, rather alarmed, looked at him. They remembered how he had said he would love to write a letter to Mr. Goon. Surely he hadn’t?

Mr. Goon departed, determined to run the red-headed butcher-boy, and the equally red-headed telegraph-boy to earth. Larry turned to Fatty.

‘I say! You didn’t really write to him, did you, Fatty?’

‘Of course not, silly! As if I’d send an anonymous letter to any one, even for fun!’ said Fatty. ‘But my word, fancy somebody delivering a letter right into the lion’s mouth! To Goon himself. I can’t see Miss Tittle doing that - or even Old Nosey the gypsy.’

‘And now Mrs. Moon’s ruled out,’ said Larry. ‘Gracious - it seems more of a muddle than ever, really it does. Got any ideas as to what to do next, Fatty?’

‘One or two,’ said Fatty. ‘I think it would be rather helpful to get specimens of Miss Tittle’s writing and Old Nosey’s. Just to compare them with my tracing. That might tell us something.’

‘But how in the world can you do that?’ said Daisy. ‘I wouldn’t be able to get Old Nosey’s writing if I thought for a month!’

‘Easy!’ said Fatty. ‘You wait and see!’