Mystery of the Invisible Thief (16 page)

Well Done, Fatty!

“Twit!” said Mr Goon, and half-rose from his chair in amazement. The Inspector looked on, unmoving. All the children gaped, except Fatty, of course. Buster flew out at Twit barking.

“Down, Buster. Back under my chair,” ordered Fatty, and Buster subsided.

Twit looked round in surprise and alarm. “Here! What’s all this?” he said. “I’ve got my work to do.”

“Sit down,” said the Inspector. “We want you here for a few minutes.”

“What for?” blustered Twit. “Here, Mr Goon, what’s all this about?”

But Goon didn’t know. He sat stolidly and said nothing. He wasn’t going to get himself into any trouble by appearing to be friendly with Twit!

“Twit,” said Fatty, “I’ve got you in here for reasons of my own. Put your basket down - that’s right. Take off the cloth.”

Twit sullenly took off the cloth. Loaves of bread were piled in the basket. Another cloth lay beneath them.

“Take out the loaves and put them on the table,” said Fatty. “And the cloth under them too.”

“Now what’s all this?” said Twit, again, looking scared. “I’ve got my work to do, I tell you. I’m not messing about with my loaves.”

“Do as you’re told, Twit,” said the Inspector.

Twit immediately took out his loaves and laid them on the table. Then he took out the cloth beneath them. Fatty looked into the bottom of the basket. He silently took out four things that lay closely packed there - two large boots and two large gloves!

He set them on the table. Twit collapsed on a chair and began to tremble.

“This is how he managed to go about, carrying the boots and gloves, ready for any chance he might have for a little robbery!” said Fatty. “He never knew what afternoon he might find an easy chance - perhaps nobody in the house except a sleepy maid or mistress - which, as we know, he did find.”

Fatty picked up one of the boots and turned it over. He showed the Inspector the rubber heel. “I expect, sir, you took a drawing of the footprint on the beds at Norton House,” he said, “or Tonks did - and so you will see that the rubber heels on these boots and in your drawing are the same. That’s proof that the thief wore these boots that Twit has in his basket.”

Fatty turned to the trembling Twit. “Will you give me your notebook - the one you put down any orders or telephone calls in?” he said. Twit scowled, but put his hand into his pocket and brought out a little pad of cheap paper.

Fatty took it. Then he spoke to Goon. “Have you got those two scraps of paper on you, Mr Goon?”

Mr Goon had. He produced them. Fatty compared them, and the warning note too, with the paper on the pad. The paper was exactly the same, cheap, thin and with a fluffy surface.

“Those two scraps of paper you found at Norton House, sir, were bits that Twit had made notes on to remind him of the amount of bread to leave - two loaves for Frinton Lea, and one loaf for Rodways. He apparently makes notes of his orders, and slips them into his basket to remind him. The wind must have blown them out in the garden at Norton House.”

“Gah!” breathed Goon, again, staring at the pad of paper and the notes. “I never thought of that - orders for loaves!”

“Nor did I,” confessed Fatty. “Not until I began to piece all the clues together properly and found that they added up to the same person - Twit here!”

“Wait a minute,” said Larry. “How do you explain the thing that puzzled us so tremendously in the Norton House robbery - how did the thief - Twit, that is - come downstairs without being seen by Jinny.”

“That was easy,” said Fatty. “He simply squeezed himself out of that little window in the boxroom, and slid down the pipe to the ground. He’s small enough to do that without much difficulty.”

“Yes - but wait, Fatty - that window was shut when I and Tonks went round the house,” said the Inspector. “He couldn’t have escaped through there, and shut it and fastened it from the outside - balanced on the pipe!”

“He didn’t shut it then,” said Fatty with a grin. “He simply shinned down the pipe, ran to where he had thrown the stolen goods, stuffed them in his basket under the cloth, slipped off the big boots that he had put on over his own small ones - and then went as bold as brass to the back-door - appearing there as Twit the baker!”

“And when he went upstairs to look for the thief with Jinny, he carefully shut and fastened the little window he had escaped from!” said Larry suddenly seeing it all. “Gosh, that was smart. He was the thief - and he came indoors after the robbery and pretended to hunt all round for the robber - and we all thought he was so brave!”

“Gah!” said Goon, looking balefully at Twit. “Think yourself clever, don’t you? Stuffing everybody up with lies - making yourself out a hero, too - looking for a thief who was standing in your own shoes!”

“He certainly pulled wool over everyone’s eyes,” said Fatty. “It was a pretty little trick, and needed quite a lot of boldness and quick thinking. It’s a pity he doesn’t put his brains to better use.”

“Fatty - what about that funny, roundish mark - the one with crisscross lines?” asked Bets. “Was that a clue too?”

“Yes,” said Fatty, with a grin. “Come out for a minute and I’ll show you what made that mark. I could have kicked myself for not thinking of it before!”

They all crowded to the door except Twit who sat nervously picking at his finger-nails. Fatty carried the basket to the door. He set it down in a damp part of the path. Then he lifted it up again.

“Look! It’s left a mark of its round shape - and little crisscross basket-lines!” cried Daisy. “Oh, Fatty - how clever you are!”

“Golly - 1 saw that mark outside Rodways Cottage,” suddenly said Pip. “Larry, don’t you remember - when we were in that cottage with the old woman? The baker came, and left his basket outside to go and put the loaves in the pan. And after he had gone I noticed the mark his basket had left, and it reminded me of something - of course, it was the drawing in Fatty’s book!”

“That’s it,” said Fatty. “That mark was always left where a robbery was committed - because Twit had to stand his basket somewhere, and if he stood it on a dusty path or a damp place, the heavy basket always left a mark. That’s why we found those roundish marks at each robbery! If we’d guessed what they were we would soon have been on the track!”

They were now back in the room. Fatty replaced the loaves in the basket, wrapped up in their cloths.

“No wonder Twit was always so particular about putting cloths over his loaves to keep them clean,” he said. “They were very convenient for hiding whatever else he had there - not only the boots and gloves, but also anything he stole!”

“Quite smart,” said the Inspector. “Carried the things he needed for his robbery, as well as his loaves, and also had room for stolen goods too - all under an innocent white cloth. Where did you get all these bright ideas from, Twit?”

Twit said nothing, but gazed sullenly at his smartly-polished little boots, with their highly-polished gaiters.

“Where did you get the big boots from, Twit?” asked Fatty. “Oh, you don’t need to bother to answer. Your cousin, Miss Kay, runs the jumble sale, doesn’t she - and she had the boots given to her for it last year - and you saw them and took them. Goodness knows how many times you’ve carried those boots round in your basket, hoping to find a chance to wear them and play your big-footed trick!”

“I never stole them,” said Twit. “I paid for them.”

“Yes - you paid!” said Fatty. “Just so that everyone would think you were a kind, generous fellow, paying for jumble-sale boots that had been stolen! I heard all about it, and it made me wonder. It didn’t seem quite in keeping with what I knew of you.”

Mr Goon cleared his throat. “I take it you are certain this here fellow is the thief, sir?” he said to the Inspector.

“Well, what do you think of the evidence, Goon?” said the Inspector gravely. “You’ve been on the job too, haven’t you? You must have formed opinions of your own. No doubt you too suspected Twit.”

Mr Goon swallowed once or twice, wondering whether he dared to say yes, he had suspected Twit. But he caught Fatty’s eye on him, and decided he wouldn’t. He was afraid of Fatty and his sharp wits.

“Well, no, sir - I can’t say as I suspected the baker,” he said, “though I was coming to it. Master Trotteville got just one move ahead of me, sir. Bad luck on me! I’ve tried out all the dodges I learnt at the refresher course, sir - the disguises and all that… and…”

“Mr Goon! Have you really disguised yourself?” said Fatty, pretending to be amazed. “I say - you weren’t that dirty old tramp, were you? Well, if you were, you took me in properly!”

Goon glared at Fatty. That old tramp! Why, surely it was Fatty himself who had gone shuffling round in tramp’s clothes - yes, and eaten his lunch under Mr Goon’s very windows. Gah!

“Take Twit away, Goon,” said Inspector Jenks, getting up. “Arrange with him to find someone to take the bread round, or nobody will have tea this afternoon. Twit, I shall be seeing you later.”

Twit was marched out by Mr Goon, looking very small beside Goon’s burly figure. All his strut and cockiness were gone. He was no longer a little bantam of a man, peacocking about jauntily - he looked more like a small, woebegone sparrow.

Inspector Jenks beamed round, and Buster leapt up at him. “Very nice work, Find-Outers,” he said. “Very nice indeed. In fact, as my goddaughter, Hilary, would say - smashing! Now, what about a spot of ice-cream somewhere? I’m melting.”

“Oooh yes,” said Bets, hanging on to his arm. “I knew you’d say that, Inspector! I felt it coming!”

“My word - you’ll be as good as Fatty some day, guessing what people think and do!” said the Inspector. “Well, Frederick, I’m pleased with you - pleased with all of you. And I want to hear the whole story if you don’t mind - from beginning to end.”

So, over double-size ice-creams, he heard it with interest and delight.

“It’s a curious story, isn’t it?” said Fatty, when they had finished. “The story of a cocky little man who thought the world of himself - and was much too big for his boots!”.

Bets gave a laugh and had the last word. “Yes! So he had to get size twelve and wear those, Fatty - but they gave him away in the end.”

“They did,” said Fatty. “Well, that’s another mystery solved - and here’s to the next one! May it be the most difficult of all!”