The Mystery of the Spiteful Letters

A TALK WITH POOR GLADYS

In about half an hour Mr. Goon came cycling along, and went right by the hidden children without seeing them.

‘Now listen!’ said Fatty. ‘It’s no use us all tearing after him in a bunch because we’d be so easy to spot. I’ll go first and keep a long way ahead. You follow, see? If I have to take a turning you may not know I’ll tear a sheet out of my notebook and drop it the way I go.’

‘It’s windy today. Better hop off your bike and chalk one of those arrows on the road that gypsies always seem to make,’ said Pip. ‘Your bit of paper might blow away. Got any chalk, Fatty?’

‘Of course!’ said Fatty and took a piece out of his capacious pockets. ‘Yes, that’s a better idea. Good for you, Pip! Well, I’ll get along in front of you now. Look, there goes old Clear-Orf panting up the hill in the distance. Looks as if he’s going to take the main road.’

Fatty rode off, whistling. The others waited a little while and then rode after him. It was easy to see him in the distance in the open country. But soon they came to where the road forked, and Fatty seemed nowhere in sight.

‘Here you are! Here’s his chalk arrow!’ said Daisy, her sharp eyes spotting it at once, marked on the path at the side of one of the roads. ‘This is the way!’

They rode on again. They rarely saw Fatty now, for he and Mr. Goon had left the main road and were cycling down narrow, winding lanes. But at every doubtful fork or corner they saw his chalk mark.

‘This is fun,’ said Bets, who liked looking for the little arrows. ‘But oh dear - I hope it’s not much farther!’

‘Looks as if Gladys lives at Haycock Heath,’ said Larry. ‘This road leads there. My, here’s a steep hill. Up we go! I bet old Fatty found it heavy going here, with Buster in his basket. Buster seems to weigh an awful lot when he’s in a bicycle basket.’

At the top of the hill, just at a bend, Fatty was waiting for them. He looked excited.

‘He’s gone into the very last cottage of all!’ he said. ‘And isn’t it good luck - it’s got a notice with “Minerals” printed on it, in the window. That means lemonade or ginger-beer is sold there. We’ve got a fine excuse for going in, once Clear-Orf has gone.’

‘Better get back into this other little lane here, hadn’t we?’ said Larry. ‘I mean - if old Clear- Orf suddenly comes out, he’ll find us!’

So they all wheeled their bicycles into a crooked, narrow little lane, whose trees met overhead and made a green tunnel. ‘Must give old Buster a run,’ said Fatty and lifted him out of the basket. But most unfortunately a cat strolled down the lane, appearing suddenly from the hedge, and Buster immediately gave chase, barking joyfully. Cats and rabbits were his great delight.

The cat gave one look at Buster and decided to move quickly. She shot down the lane, and took a flying leap over the little wall surrounding the back-garden of the cottage into which Mr. Goon had disappeared. Buster tried to leap over too, and couldn’t - but, using his brains as a Buster should, he decided that there must be another way in, and went to look for the front gate.

Then there was such a hurricane of barks and yowls, mixed with the terrified clucking of hens, that the children stood petrified. Out came Mr. Goon, with a sharp-nosed woman - and Gladys!

‘You clear-orf!’ yelled Mr. Goon to Buster. ‘Bad dog, you! Clear-orf!’

With a bark of joy Buster flung himself at the policeman’s ankles, and snapped happily at them. Mr. Goon kicked at him and let out a yell.

‘It’s that boy’s dog! Get away, you! Now what’s he doing here? Has that boy Frederick Trotteville been messing about up here, now?’

‘Nobody’s been here this morning but you,’ said Gladys. ‘Oh, Mr. Goon, don’t kick at the dog like that. He wasn’t doing much harm.’

It was quite plain that Buster meant to get a nip if he could. Fatty, feeling most annoyed at having to show himself, was forced to cycle out and yell to Buster.

‘Hey, Buster! Come here, sir!’

Mr. Goon turned and gave Fatty a look that might have cowed a lion if Fatty had been a lion. But, being Fatty, he didn’t turn a hair.

‘Why, Mr. Goon!’ he said, taking off his cap in a most aggravatingly polite manner, ‘fancy seeing you here! Come for a little bike-ride too? Lovely day, isn’t it?’

Mr. Goon almost exploded. ‘Now what are you a-doing of here?’ he demanded. ‘You tell me that, see?’

‘All I’m a-doing of at the moment is having a nice bike-ride,’ answered Fatty cheerfully. ‘What are you a-doing of, Mr. Goon? Having a ginger-beer? I see there’s a card in the window. I think I’ll have something to drink myself. It’s a jolly hot day.’

And, to the other children’s delight, and Mr. Goon’s annoyance, Fatty strolled up the little front path and entered the door. Inside was a small table at which people could sit down to have their lemonade. Fatty sat down.

‘You clear-orf out of here,’ ordered Mr. Goon. ‘I’m here on business, see? And I’m not having busy-bodies like you interfering. I know what you’ve come here for - snooping around - trying to find clues, and making nuisances of yourselves.’

‘Oh, that reminds me,’ said Fatty, beginning to feel in his pockets with a serious look, ‘didn’t we say we’d swap clues, Mr. Goon? Now where did I put that...’

‘If you bring out that there white rat again I’ll skin you alive!’ boomed Mr. Goon, whose fingers were itching to box Fatty’s ears.

‘That white rat wasn’t a clue after all,’ said Fatty gravely. ‘I made a mistake. That must have been a clue in another case I’m working on. Wait a bit - ah, this may be a clue!’

He fished a clothes-peg out of his pocket and looked at it solemnly. Mr. Goon, quite beside himself with rage, snatched at it, threw it down on the floor, and jumped on it! Then, looking as if he was going to burst, he took his bicycle by the handle-bars, and turned to Gladys and the other woman.

‘Now don’t you forget what I’ve said. And you let me hear as soon as anything else happens. Don’t talk to nobody at all about this here case - them’s my strict orders!’

He rode off, trying to look dignified, but unfortunately Buster flew after him, jumping up at his pedalling feet, so that poor Mr. Goon wobbled dreadfully. As soon as he had gone the children crowded up to Fatty, laughing.

‘Oh, Fatty! How can you! One of these days old Clear-Orf will kill you!’

Gladys and her aunt had been listening and watching in surprise. Bets ran to Gladys and took her hand.

‘Gladys! I was sorry you left! Do come back soon! Look, I’ve brought you something!’

The sharp-nosed aunt made an impatient noise. ‘I’ll never get to the shops this morning!’ she said. ‘I’m going right away now, Gladys. See and get the dinner on in good time - and mind you heed what the policeman said.’

Much to the children’s relief, she put on an old hat and scarf, and disappeared down the lane, walking quickly. They were glad to see her go, for she looked rather bad-tempered. They crowded round Gladys, who smiled and seemed very pleased to see them.

‘Gladys! We know something made you unhappy,’ said little Bets, and pressed a bag of sweets in the girl’s hand. ‘We’ve come to say we’re sorry and we’ve brought a few little things for you. And please, please come back!’

Gladys seemed rather overcome. She took them all into the little front-room and poured out some glasses of ginger-beer for them.

‘It’s right down kind of you,’ she said, in a tearful voice. ‘Things aren’t too easy - and my aunt isn’t too pleased to have me back. But I couldn’t go on living in Peterswood when I knew that - that - that...’

‘That what? ’ asked Fatty gently.

‘I’m not supposed to talk about it,’ said Gladys.

‘Well - we’re only children. It can’t matter talking to us,’ said Bets. ‘We all like you, Gladys. You tell us. Why, you never know, we might be able to help you!’

‘There’s nobody can help me,’ said Gladys, and a tear ran down her cheek. She began to undo the little things the children had brought her - sweets, chocolate, a little brooch with G on, and two small hankies. She seemed very touched.

‘It’s kind of you,’ she said. ‘Goodness knows I want a bit of kindness now.’

‘Why?’ asked Daisy. ‘What’s happened? You tell us, Gladys. It will do you good to tell some one.’

‘Well - it’s like this,’ said Gladys. ‘There’s something wrong I once did that I’m ashamed of now, see? And I had to go into a Home to teach me right. It was a nice Home, and I liked it and I said I’d never do wrong again. Well, I left there and I got a job - with your mother, Master Pip, and wasn’t I happy working away there, and everybody treating me nice, and me forgetting all about

the bad days!’

‘Yes?’ said Fatty, as Gladys paused. ‘Go on, Gladys. Don’t stop.

‘Then - then...’ began Gladys again, and burst into tears. ‘Somebody sent me a letter, and said, “We know you’re a wrong-un, and you didn’t ought to be in a good place with decent people. Clear out or we’ll tell on you!” ’

‘What a shame!’ said Fatty. ‘Who sent the letter?’

‘I don’t know that,’ said Gladys. ‘It was all in printed letters. Well, I was that upset I broke down in front of Mrs. Moon, and she took the letter from me and read it, and said I should ought to go to your mother, Master Pip, and tell her - but I didn’t want to because I knew I’d lose my place. But she said, yes go, Mrs. Hilton would pot things right for me. So I went, but I was that upset I couldn’t speak a word.’

‘Poor old Gladys!’ said Daisy. ‘But I’m sure Pip’s mother was kind to you.’

‘Oh yes - and shocked at the cruel letter,’ said Gladys, wiping her eyes. ‘And she said I could have two or three days off and go to my aunt to pull myself together, like - and she’d make inquiries and find out who wrote that letter - and stop them talking about me, so’s I could have a chance. But my aunt wasn’t too pleased to see me!’

‘Why didn’t you go to your father and mother, Gladys?’ asked little Bets, who thought that surely they would have been the best friends for any girl of theirs who was unhappy.

‘I couldn’t,’ said Gladys, and looked so sad that the children felt quite scared.

‘Why - are they - are they - dead?’ asked Bets.

‘No. They’re - they’re in prison!’ said poor Gladys and wept again. ‘You see - they’ve always been dishonest folk - stealing and that - and they taught me to steal too. And the police got them, and when they found I was going into shops with my mother and taking things I didn’t ought, they took me away and put me into a Home. I didn’t know it was so wrong, you see - but now I do!’

The children were horrified that any one should have such bad parents. They stared at Gladys and tears ran down Bets’ cheeks. She took Gladys’s hand.

‘You’re good now, Gladys, aren’t you?’ said the little girl. ‘You don’t look bad. You’re good now.’

‘Yes - I’ve not done nothing wrong ever since,’ said poor Gladys. ‘Nor I never would now. They were so kind to me at the Home - you can’t think! And I promised the Matron there I’d always do my best wherever I was, and I was so glad when they sent me to your mother’s, Miss Bets. But there - they say your sins will always find you out! I guess I’ll never be able to keep a good job for long. Somebody will always put it round that I was a thief once, and that my parents are still in prison.’

‘Gladys - the person who wrote that letter and threatens to tell about you, is far, far wickeder than you’ve ever been!’ said Fatty earnestly. ‘It’s a shame!’

‘There was another girl in the home with me,’ said Gladys. ‘She’s with old Miss Garnett at Lacky Cottage in Peterswood. Well, she’s had one of them letters too - without any name at the bottom. But she doesn’t mind as much as I do. She didn’t give way like I did. But she met me and told me, that’s how I know. She didn’t tell nobody but me. And she don’t know either who wrote the letters.’

‘Did you tell Mr. Goon that?’ asked Fatty.

‘Oh yes,’ said Gladys. ‘And he went to see Molly straightaway. He says he’ll soon get to the bottom of it, and find out the mischief-maker. But it seems to me that the mischief is done now. I’ll never be able to face people in Peterswood again. I’ll always be afraid they know about me.’

‘Gladys, where is that letter?’ said Fatty. ‘Will you show it to me? It might be a most important clue.’

Gladys rummaged in her bag. Then she looked up. ‘No good me looking for it!’ she said. ‘I’ve given it to Mr. Goon, of course! He came to fetch it this morning. He’s got Molly’s letter too. He reckons he’ll be able to tell quite a lot from the writing and all!’

‘Blow!’ said Fatty, in deep disappointment. ‘There’s our one and only clue gone!’