“What! - let you go and have you spread the news around?” said the thin-lipped man scornfully. “It’s bad enough to have you interfering and messing up our plans without running the risk of letting you go.”
“Well, if you don’t, the others will come snooping round to see what’s happened to me,” said Fatty triumphantly. “I’ve already arranged for them to come and find out what’s happened if I’m not at home this morning.”
“I see,” said the thin-lipped man. He spoke quickly to the other man in a language Fatty could not follow. The red-faced man nodded. The thin-lipped man turned to Fatty.
“You will write a note to the others to say that you have discovered something wonderful here, and are guarding it, and will they all come to the garden as soon as possible,” he said.
“Oh! - and I suppose you think that you can catch them too when they come, and lock them up till you’ve finished whatever secret business you are on!” said Fatty.
“Exactly,” said the man. “We think it would be better to hold you all prisoner here till we have finished our affairs. Then you can tell what you like.”
“Well, if you think I shall write a letter that will bring my friends into your hands, you’re jolly well mistaken!” said Fatty hotly. “I’m not such a coward as that!”
“Are you not?” said the thin-lipped man, and he looked at Fatty so strangely that the boy trembled. What would this horrible man do to him if he refused to write the note? Fatty didn’t dare to think.
He tried to stare back bravely at the man, but it was difficult. Fatty wished desperately he had not gone into this midnight venture so light-heartedly. He longed for old Buster. But perhaps it was as well that Buster was not there. These men might kick him and misuse him cruelly.
“We shall lock you up,” said the thin-lipped man. “We have to go in a little while, but we shall come back soon. You will write this note whilst we are gone. If it is not done by the time we come back, there will be trouble for you, bad trouble - trouble you will not forget all the rest of your life.”
Fatty’s spirits went up a little when he heard he was to be locked up. He might be able to escape if so! He had a folded newspaper in his pocket. He was sure he could use his trick of getting out of a locked room all right. Then his high spirits sank again.
“We will lock you in this so-comfortable room,” said the red-faced man. “And we will give you paper and pen and ink. You will write a nice, excited note that will bring your friends here quickly. You can throw it out of the window.”
Fatty knew he could never escape from the secret room. A thick carpet ran right to the door. There was no space beneath the edge of the door to slip a key. None at all. He would be a real prisoner. He could not even escape down the tree because the window was so heavily barred.
The thin-lipped man placed a sheet of notepaper on a table, and laid beside it a pen and a little ink-stand.
“There you are,” he said. “You will write this note in your own way and sign it. What is your name?”
“Frederick Trotteville,” said Fatty gloomily.
“You are called Freddie, then, are you not?” said the thin-lipped man. “You will sign your letter ‘Freddie,’ and when your friends come into the garden, I will fling your note from the window - but you will not speak to them.”
The red-faced man looked at his watch. “We must go,” he said. “It is time. Everything is ready here. We will get the rest of these interfering kids and lock them up till we have finished. It won’t hurt them to starve for a day or two in an empty room!”
They went out of the room. Fatty heard the key turn in the lock. He was a prisoner. He stared gloomily at the shut door. It was his own fault that he was in this fix. But he wasn’t going to get the others into it too - no, not even if those men beat him black and blue!
The Secret Message
Fatty heard the footsteps of the men clattering down the uncarpeted stairs. He heard the front door close quietly. He heard the sound of a car starting up. The men had gone.
He tried the door. It was locked all right. He went to the window. It was pitch-dark outside. He opened the window and felt the bars. They were too close together for him to slip out between them. He was indeed a prisoner.
He went and sat down again, shivering. Fright and the winter’s chill made him shake all over. He saw the electric fire and decided to put it on. He might as well be warm, anyway!
He sat down once more and gazed gloomily at the sheet of notepaper. What a bad detective he was, to allow himself to be caught like this! It was terribly careless. The others would never admire him again.
“Well, I shan’t write that letter, anyway,” thought the boy, but he trembled to think what his punishment might be if he didn’t.
Then an idea came to him. It was really brilliant. He sat and thought about it for a while. Yes - it would work if only the others were bright enough to catch on to the idea too!
“I’ll write an invisible letter on this sheet of paper, and I’ll write a letter in ink on it as well!” thought Fatty. “I bet Pip and the others will think of testing it for secret writing. Golly - what an idea this is! To write two letters on one sheet, one seen and the other unseen! I bet the men will never think of that!”
He looked at the sheet of paper. It was faintly ruled with lines. He could write his secret letter between the lines and the other letter on the lines! When the others tested it for secret writing, they would then be able to read his real letter easily.
Fatty’s hands shook with excitement. He might be able to do something startling now! He must think carefully what to write. The men who used this room were evil, and they used it as a meeting place for evil reasons. They must be stopped. They were evidently in the middle of some big affiair at the moment, and it was up to Fatty to stop them.
He took a rather squashy orange from his pocket. He looked round for a glass. There was one on the shelf. He squeezed his orange into it, then picked up the pen the men had left. The nib was clean and new.
Should he write the visible letter first, or the secret one? Fatty decided on the visible one, because it would be easier then to write the invisible one, as he could see where he had written the first letter.
He began:
“DEAR FIND-OUTERS - I have made a wonderful discovery, most awfully exciting. I can’t leave here, because I am guarding something - but I want to show you what it is. All of you come as soon as you can, and I will let you in when you knock. - Yours,
‘FREDDIE.’ ”
That seemed all right - just what the man had commanded him to write. But the others would smell a rat as soon as they saw the name “Freddie” at the bottom. He always signed himself Fatty in notes like this.
Then he set to work to write the letter in secret ink - or rather in orange juice.
“DEAR FIND-OUTERS” - he wrote - “Don’t take any notice of the visible letter. I’m a prisoner here. There’s some very dirty work going on; I don’t quite know what. Get hold of Inspector Jenks AT ONCE and tell him everything. He’ll know what to do. Don’t come near the place, any of you. - Yours ever,
‘FATTY.’ ”
That just took him to the bottom of the sheet. Not a trace of the secret writing was visible; only a few sentences of the inked writing were to be seen. Fatty felt pleased. Now, if only the others guessed there was a secret message and read it, things might be all right.
“Inspector Jenks will see to things,” thought Fatty, and it was comforting to think of the clever, powerful Inspector of Police, their very good friend, knowing about this curious affair. Fatty thought of him - his broad cheerful face, his courtesy, his tallness, his shrewdness.
It was now about six o’clock. Fatty yawned. He had had a poor night. He was hungry and tired, but warmer now. He curled himself up on the sofa again and slept.
He was awakened by the men coming into the room again. He sat up, blinking. Daylight now came in through the window.
The thin-lipped man saw the paper on the table and picked it up. He read the letter in silence and then handed it to the other man.
“This is all right,” he said. “We’ll bag all the silly little idiots, and give them a sharp lesson. Will they all come down to see where you are, boy?”
“I don’t know,” said Fatty. “No, probably not. Maybe just one or two of them.”
“Then they’re sure to take the letter to show the others, and bring them back here,” said the thin-lipped man. “We’ll keep a look-out for them. We’ll hide in the garden and catch the lot. Jarvis is downstairs now too. He can help.”
They opened some tins and had breakfast. They gave the hungry Fatty a small helping of ham sandwich, and he gobbled it up. They suddenly noticed his glass of yellow juice and one of them picked it up.
“What’s this?” he said, smelling it suspiciously. “Where did it come from?”
“It’s orange juice,” said Fatty, and he drank it up. “I had an orange with me and I squeezed it. I can’t help being thirsty, can I?”
He set down the glass. The men evidently thought no more of it but began to talk together in low voices, again using the language that Fatty did not understand. He was very bored. He wondered if one of the others would come soon. As soon as someone found he hadn’t got home, surely they would come and look for him! What were the Find-Outers doing?
They were all wondering how Fatty had got on that night. Bets was worried. She didn’t know why, but she really did feel anxious.
“I hope Fatty is all right,” she kept saying to Pip. “I do hope he is.”
“That’s about the twenty-third time you’ve said that!” said Pip crossly. “Of course he’s all right. Probably eating an enormous breakfast this very minute.”
Larry and Daisy called in at Pip’s soon after breakfast, looking cross.
“We’ve got to catch the bus and take some things to one of our aunts,” said Daisy. “Isn’t it a bore - just when we wanted to hear if Fatty found out anything. You and Bets will have to see if he’s home, Pip.”
“He may come wandering down, if he’s at home,” said Pip. “Oh, you’ve got Buster with you! Well, I’ll take him back to Fatty’s for you, shall I?”
Pip’s mother wouldn’t let him go out till about twelve o’clock, as she had made up her mind that he and Bets were to tidy out their cupboards. This was a job Pip hated. It took ages. Grumbling loudly, he began to throw everything out on to the floor.
“Oh, Pip, let’s hurry up and finish this job,” begged Bets. “I can’t wait to find out if Fatty’s home all right.”
Buster fussed round, sniffing at everything that came out of the cupboards. He was upset and worried. His beloved master hadn’t fetched him from Larry’s the night before, and here was the morning and nobody had taken him back to Fatty yet. Not only that, but they apparently wouldn’t let him go by himself! He was so miserable that he limped even more badly than usual, though his leg was now quite healed.
At last the cupboards were finished and Pip and Bets were told they might go out in the snow. They put on hats and coats, whistled to Buster, and set off to Fatty’s.
They slipped in at his garden door and whistled the tune they always used as a signal to one another. There was no reply.
A maid popped her head out into the passage. “Oh!” she said, “I thought it was Master Frederick. He didn’t sleep here last night, the naughty boy. I suppose he stayed the night with you or Master Larry - but he ought to have told me. When is he coming back?”
This was a real shock to Pip and Bets. So Fatty hadn’t come back from Milton House? What had happened?
“Oh! - he’ll be back today I expect,” Pip said to the anxious maid. He dragged Bets out into the garden. She was crying.
“Don’t be so silly,” said Pip. “What’s the good of crying before you know what’s happened to Fatty?”
“I knew something had happened to him. I knew he was in danger, I did, I did,” wept poor Bets. “I want to go down to Milton House and see what’s happened.”
“Well, you won’t,” said Pip. “There may be danger. You look after Buster for me. I’ll go down myself.”
“I’ll come too,” said Bets bravely, wiping her eyes.
“No, you won’t,” said Pip firmly. “I’m not going to have you running into danger. You don’t like danger, anyway. So you be a good girl and take Buster home with you. I’ll be back as soon as I can - and maybe I’ll bring Fatty with me, so cheer up.”
Still crying, poor Bets went off with the puzzled Buster, who simply could not understand what had happened to Fatty. He seemed to have disappeared into thin air!
Pip was much more worried than he had let Bets see. He couldn’t help thinking that something serious must have happened. But what could it be? Fatty would surely never allow himself to be caught. He was far too clever.
Pip went over the hill and down Chestnut Lane. He came to the gate of Milton House. He gazed in cautiously. He could see more footprints, and there were new car-wheel prints.
He went round the hedge, slipped in at a gap, and found himself by the summer-house. Inside were the rugs Fatty had taken to keep himself warm. But there was no Fatty there.
He stepped cautiously into the garden, and one of the men, who was watching, saw him from a window. He had with him the sheet of notepaper on which Fatty had written the two letters.
The man bent down, so that he could not be seen, opened the window a crack at the bottom, gave a loud whistle to attract Pip’s attention, and then let the paper float out of the window.
Pip heard the whistle and looked up. To his enormous surprise he saw a sheet of paper floating out of one of the second-storey windows. Perhaps it was a message from Fatty.
The boy ran to where the paper dropped and picked it up. He recognized Fatty’s neat hand-writing at once. He read the note through, and his heart began to beat fast.
“Fatty’s on to something,” he thought. “He’s found some stolen jewels or something and he’s guarding them. He wants us all to be in it! I’ll run back to the others, and bring them back with me. What an adventure! Good old Fatty!”
He scampered off, his face bright. The man watched him go and was satisfied. That young idiot would soon bring the other children down with him, and then they could all be locked up safely before they gave the game away!
Fatty saw Pip too and began to have a few horrid doubts. Were the Find-Outers smart enough to guess there was a secret letter in between the lines of inked writing? Suppose they didn’t? He would have led them all into a trap!