‘No, I should think not,’ said Bets, taking her turn at making a remark. ‘You’re not a bit like that.’
Miss Trimble was so pleased with this remark of Bets that she smiled, wrinkled her nose, and her glasses fell off.
‘That’s three times,’ said Bets. Miss Trimble put back her glasses and did not look quite so pleased. She couldn’t bear Bets to count like that.
‘We’d better be going,’ said Fatty. Then a thought struck him. ‘I suppose there aren’t any other Monday regulars on that bus, Miss Tremble - Trimble, I mean!’
‘You seem very interested in that bus!’ said Miss Trimble. ‘Well, let me think. There’s always old Nosey, of course. I don’t know why he didn’t go yesterday. He always goes up to the market.’
‘Old Nosey? Whoever is he?’ asked Fatty.
‘Oh, he’s the old fellow who lives with his wife in the caravan at the end of Rectory Field,’ said Miss Trimble. ‘Maybe you’ve never seen him.’
‘Oh yes, I have! Now I remember!’ said Fatty. ‘He’s a little stooping fellow, with a hooked nose and a droopy little moustache, who goes about muttering to himself.
‘He’s called Nosey because he’s so curious about everyone,’ said Miss Trimble. ‘The things he wants to know! How old my mother is - and how old I am too - and what Lady Candling does with her old clothes - and how much the gardener gets in wages. I don’t wonder people call him Old Nosey.’
Fatty looked round at the others. It sounded as if old Nosey, too, might be the letter-writer. He might be a bit daft and write the letters in a sort of spiteful fun. Fatty remembered a boy at his school who had loved to find out the weak spots in the others, and tease them about them. It was quite likely that Old Nosey was the letter-writer!
‘And then, of course, there’s always Mrs. Moon, your cook, Pip,’ said Miss Trimble, rather surprisingly. ‘She always has Mondays off to go and see to her old mother, just like me - and I usually see her every single Monday. But I didn’t see her yesterday.’
‘Well, you see, our housemaid, Gladys, has gone away for a few days,’ explained Pip. ‘And so I suppose Mother couldn’t let Mrs. Moon off for the day. Yes - now I think of it - Mrs. Moon does go off on Mondays.’
‘Any one else a regular passenger on the bus?’ asked Larry.
‘No, nobody,’ said Miss Trimble. ‘You do seem interested in that bus. But I’m sure you didn’t come in here to ask me about that Monday morning bus, now did you? What did you come to ask?’
The children had forgotten what reason they were going to give! Bets remembered just in time.
‘Oh - we were going to ask if you’d seen our cat!’ she said.
‘So that’s what you came in for!’ said Miss Trimble. ‘No - I’m afraid I haven’t seen your cat. It’s that big black one, isn’t it? I shouldn’t think you need to worry about him! He can look after himself all right.’
‘I’ve no doubt he’s indoors sitting by the fire this very minute,’ said Pip, quite truthfully. ‘Well, we must go, Miss Tremble.’
‘Trimble, dear boy, not Tremble,’ said Miss Trimble, her glasses falling off again. ‘I simply cannot imagine why you keep making that mistake. Any one would think I was like an aspen leaf, all of a tremble!’
The children laughed politely at this small joke, said good-bye and went. They said nothing at all till they were safely in Pip’s playroom with the door shut. Then they looked at one another in excitement.
‘Well! Three more really fine Suspects!’ said Fatty, opening his notebook. ‘Would you believe it? I think there’s no doubt that one of them is the letter-writer.’
‘Not Mrs. Moon,’ said Bets. ‘She was so kind to Gladys. Gladys said so. She couldn’t be mean to her and kind to her as well.’
‘I suppose not,’ said Fatty. ‘But all the same she’s going down on our list. Now then - Miss Tittle-Tattle.’
The others laughed. ‘Miss Tittle, not Tittle-Tattle!’ said Pip.
‘I know, idiot,’ said Fatty. ‘But I think Tittle-Tattle suits her jolly well. Miss Tittle - old Nosey - and Mrs. Moon. We’re getting on. Now we’ll have plenty more inquiries to make.’
‘What inquiries?’ asked Pip.
‘Well - we must try and find out if Old Nosey, Miss Tittle, and Mrs. Moon were out early this morning,’ said Fatty. ‘That letter was pushed under Mrs. Lamb’s door at about half-past six. It was only just getting light then. If we can find out that any of those three were out early, we’ve got the right one!’
‘However are you going to find that out?’ said Larry. ‘I shouldn’t have thought even you were clever enough for that, Fatty!’
‘Well, I am!’ said Fatty. ‘And what’s more I’ll go and do it now - and come back and tell you all about it in an hour’s time!’
FATTY MAKES A FEW INQUIRIES
Fatty went off, whistling. The others watched him from the window. ‘I suppose he’s going to interview Old Nosey, Miss Tittle, and Mrs. Moon!’ said Pip. ‘He’s a wonder! Never turns a hair, no matter what he’s got to do.’
‘All the same, he won’t find Mrs. Moon an easy one to interview,’ said Larry. ‘She doesn’t seem to me to be in a very good temper today - because Mrs. Cockles hasn’t turned up, I suppose.’
An hour went by. It was a quarter to one. The children went to the window and watched for Fatty. He came cycling up the drive - but dear me, how different he looked! He had put on his red wig again, but with black eyebrows this time, and had reddened his face till it looked weather-beaten. He wore a dirty old suit and a butcher-boy apron round his waist!
But the children knew it was Fatty all right, by his whistle! He stopped under their window.
‘Anyone about?’ he said. ‘Shall I come up?’
‘It’s safe,’ said Pip, leaning out of the window. ‘Mrs. Moon’s in the back-yard.’
Fatty came up, looking a real, proper butcher-boy. It was amazing how he could alter even his expression when he was supposed to be somebody else. He took off his apron and wig, and looked a bit better.
‘Well - what have you found out?’ said Larry eagerly. ‘And why ever are you dressed like that?’
‘I’ve found out a lot,’ said Fatty. ‘But don’t know that I’m any further forward really! I’ll tell you everything. I’m dressed like this because it’s natural for a butcher-boy to hang about and gossip.’
He opened his notebook, and turned to the pages headed ‘SUSPECTS.’
‘Old Nosey,’ he began. ‘Old Nosey was up and about before half-past six this morning, with his dog, Lurcher. He left his caravan and went down Willow Lane, and into the village. He was back at eight o’clock.’
He turned over another page.
‘Miss Tittle,’ he said, ‘Miss Tittle was about with her dog at half-past six, as she is every single morning. She lives in a turning off Willow Street. She always wears an old red shawl in the mornings.’
‘Mrs. Moon,’ went on Fatty, turning over a page again. ‘Mrs. Moon was out this morning early, and was seen talking to Old Nosey. Well, there you are, Find-Outers. What do you make of that? Every one of our three Suspects could have popped that letter under the door!’
‘But, Fatty - however did you find out all this?’ said Bets, in great admiration. ‘You really are a most marvellous Find-Outer.’
‘Elementary, my dear Bets!’ said Fatty, putting his notebook down. ‘You know the field opposite Willow Lane? Well, old Dick the shepherd lives there in a little hut. I noticed him this morning. So all I had to do was to go and engage him in conversation, and ask him a few innocent questions - and out it all came! Old Dick was wide awake at five o’clock - always is - and he takes a great interest in the people that pass up and down by his field. They’re about all he has to see, except his sheep. He says Nosey’s always up and about at unearthly hours - a poacher most likely. He’s a gypsy anyway. And apparently Miss Tittle always takes her dog for a trot early in the morning. So there’s nothing unusual about that. He says he saw Mrs. Moon quite distinctly, and heard her voice too, talking to Old Nosey.’