Larry watched them go, feeling rather scared, for he still thought it was Fatty that Mr. Goon had got. He had the fright of his life when he suddenly saw another old man peering out from under a bush at him!
"Larry! Have they gone?" said this old man, in Fatty's voice. Larry almost jumped out of his skin.
"Fatty! I thought it was you that Goon was taking away! Golly, I'm glad it wasn't."
Fatty came out from under the bush. "The real old man happened to come walking up here just as I was hurrying to get away from Goon!" said Fatty, with a grin. "So I hopped in at this gate and hid, and Goon grabbed the old fellow and ordered him to give up the cigarette he hadn't got. Phew! That was a jolly narrow shave!"
"Fatty! Is there a message in that cigarette?" said Larry eagerly. "Can we find out? I saw that fellow give you one. I watched him for a long time. So did Goon."
"Let's go to Pip's," said Fatty. "We're safer there than anywhere, because his garden is so big. Don't walk with me. Go in front, and when you come to a corner, whistle if you want to warn me."
Larry walked on in front. He did not whistle at any corners, because there seemed to be nobody about in Peterswood at all that hot September afternoon. In ten minutes Fatty was safely in Pip's summer-house. He did not strip off his old clothes, because he had no others to change into. He waited there whilst Larry went off to collect the others, and he hoped that no grown-ups would think of poking their noses into the summer-house that afternoon. They would not be pleased to find a dirty old tramp there!
Fatty longed to examine the cigarette and see what was inside it. But he waited patiently till the others came tearing up the path, pouring into the little summer-house with excited faces.
"Fatty! Larry's told us all about it! What's the message? Is there one in the cigarette? Have you looked?"
"Of course not. I waited for you all," said Fatty. He took the cigarette from his pocket. It was rather a stout, fat one. It had tobacco at each end—but when Fatty had scraped out as much tobacco as he could, he found that the middle of the cigarette was not made of tobacco at all—but was stuffed with a tight roll of paper!
"Oh!" said Bets, almost too excited to breathe. "A secret message! Oh, Fatty!"
Fatty unrolled the paper. He flattened it with his hand. The five of them leaned over it, their breaths hot against one another's cheeks. Buster tried in vain to see what all the excitement was about, but for once in a way nobody took the slightest notice of him!
The message proved to be very puzzling and disappointing. All it said was:
"One tin black boot-polish. One pound rice. One pound tea. Two pounds syrup. One bag flour."
"Why! It's only a grocery list!" said Daisy. "Just like Mother often gives me and Larry when we go shopping for her. Whatever does it mean, Fatty?"
"I don't know," said Fatty. "It must mean something. I hope it's not in a secret code."
"What's a secret code?" asked Bets.
"Oh, a way of writing messages so that only the persons receiving them know what they mean," said Fatty. "But somehow I don't think this is a code. After all, that old man had got to read it and understand it, and I'm quite sure he hasn't brains enough to understand a code."
"Then could there be another message, but written in secret ink?" said Pip suddenly. "You know how you taught us to write secret messages, in between the lines of an ordinary letter, don't you, Fatty? Well, could there be a message written between these lines, in secret ink?"
"Yes, there could," said Fatty. "And that's what I think we shall find I Good for you, Pip. Can you go and get a warm iron? If we run it over the paper, the secret message will show up."
Pip ran off. Gladys was actually ironing in the kitchen, and though she was very surprised to think that Pip should want to borrow the warm iron to take into the garden for a minute, she let him. He came tearing up to the summer-house with it in his hand.
"I've got it!" he said. "Here you are. Put the paper out flat on the wooden table. That's right. Now I'll run the iron over it."
He ran the warm iron over the spread-out bit of paper. Then he lifted it off and looked at the message. "There's another one coming up, look—between the lines of the other!" squealed Daisy, in excitement. "Iron it again, Pip, quick! Oh, this is too thrilling for words!" Pip ironed the paper again—and this time another message showed up very clearly indeed. The words came up, looking a queer grey-brown colour, and began to fade almost as soon as the children had made them out.
"Tell Number 3. Waxworks, Tuesday, nine pm.—Number 5."
"Golly!" said Pip. "Look at that! Tell Number 3—that must be one of the gang. And Number 5 must be another."
"Waxworks, Tuesday, nine p.m." said Fatty, and his eyes gleamed. "So that's one of their meeting-places. Down in the Waxworks Hall, where all those figures are. Now we know something!"
"We really do," said Bets. "What are they meeting about, Fatty?"
"I don't know—but I shall find out," said Fatty. "Because—I shall be there on Tuesday night!"
In Mr. Goon's Clutches.
The children were full of excitement when they heard Fatty say this. "What! Go down to the Waxworks, and attend the gang meeting!" said Larry. "You wouldn't dare! You'd be discovered, however well you hid yourself!"
"It's the only way of finding out who all the gang are," said Fatty. "I shall see them, hear them talk and plan—my word, this is a bit of luck!"
"No wonder Goon wanted to get hold of that cigarette from the old man," said Daisy. "He would give anything to have this message!"
"He'll wonder what the old chap's done with it!" said Fatty, with a grin. "He'll have searched him from top to toe—but he won't have found that cigarette!"
They talked excitedly for some time and then Fatty said he really must go home and get out of his hot, smelly old-man clothes. The others walked down to the gate with him, leaving an angry Buster tied up in the summer-house.
Meanwhile Mr. Goon had had a most disappointing time. He had found no cigarette at all on the old man. He was angry and puzzled, and he shouted at the old fellow, getting redder and redder in the face.
"You can stay here till you tell me what you did with that cigarette, see?" he yelled. "I'll lock you up till you do. Now then—are you going to tell me?"
The old chap had turned sulky. He knew nothing of any cigarette, he hadn't been sitting on the bench, he didn't know what the bad-tempered policeman was talking about. So he sulked and said nothing at all, which made Goon madder than ever.
"Right!" said Goon at last, getting up. "I'll talk to you some more tomorrow."
He went home and changed into his uniform. Then he decided to go and see "that boy Larry" and ask him if he, too, had noticed the man giving the old fellow a cigarette that afternoon. Mr. Goon couldn't help being puzzled by the old chap's firm denials of any knowledge of a cigarette. But Larry must have seen the gift, and would bear witness to it.
But Larry was out. "Try at the Hilton's," said Larry's mother. "Oh, I do hope the children haven't been misbehaving themselves, Mr. Goon."
"Er no—for a wonder, no, Mam," said Mr. Goon, and went off majestically.
He arrived at Pip's just as the children were escorting Fatty, still disguised as the old man, out of the front gate. Fatty stared at Goon, and Goon stared back disbelievingly. What! Hadn't he just locked that old man up? And here he was again, free, and walking about! Mr. Goon began to feel as if he was in a peculiarly unpleasant dream.
"Er—good evening, Mr. Goon," said Larry. Mr. Goon took no notice of him.
"Here, you!" he said, grabbing at Fatty's arm. "How did you get out? Haven't I just locked you up? What are things a-coming to, I'd like to know! Here I've just locked you up and I meet you walking into me, bold as brass!"