Read Online Mystery of the Missing Man by Enid Blyton - Free Book Online

Bert.”
    “Does he travel with the Fair?” asked Fatty.
    “How do I know?” said the man, turning to another customer. “Ask him yourself.”
    Fatty didn’t want to. He decided that it would be best to go to the Fair the next morning, when there would be fewer people, and try to get into conversation with the clown when he wasn’t so busy. He might find him out of his clown-costume then, and without his paint.
    “Come on, Daisy,” he said, seeing that she didn’t like her tea. “Pour it away. I only wanted to get it to make an excuse to ask the man about that clown.”
    “I know,” said Daisy. “Look, let’s go into the shooting-range and look round there.”
    They went in, passing an old woman sitting on a chair, who tried to sell them tickets, and watched some young men shooting at ping-pong balls that bobbed up and down on little jets of water. Daisy nudged Fatty and nodded towards a man who had just come in, and was taking over from the boy who had been handing out the rifles.
    Fatty was startled. At first sight the man looked very like the photograph of the escaped prisoner - sharp eyes, dark brows, thick dark hair. He was burnt very brown, and looked a thoroughgoing man-of-the-Fair.
    Fatty pushed Daisy outside. “It isn’t the fellow we’re looking for,” he said, regretfully. “There’s no scar above his mouth - at first I thought his sunburn might have been painted on to hide it - but it isn’t.”
    “And his hands weren’t knobbly,” said Daisy. “I looked at them specially. They’re smooth - almost like a woman’s hands.”
    “Anyway - if he was the fellow we want, he wouldn’t go about openly like that with no disguise,” said Fatty. “It’s just a fluke that he’s like him. We can wash him out.”
    “Let’s just look into the shooting-range once more,” said Daisy. They went back to it, passing the old woman sitting on a chair outside. She called to them in a cracked voice. “Take a shot, young sir, take a shot!”
    “No, thanks,” said Fatty, and looked in at the shooting-tent again. No - the man there was definitely too young to be the escaped prisoner, and, as Daisy said, his hands were very smooth. Fatty knew from experience that while it was possible to alter and disguise a face very easily, it was exceedingly difficult to disguise hands.
    “Spare a copper, young miss,” said the cracked voice of the old woman. Daisy looked down and pitied the poor old creature. Her face was screwed-up and full of wrinkles, though her eyes were still lively. She had a filthy shawl pulled over her head, and her skinny bony hands clutched the roll of tickets.
    Daisy nudged Fatty as they went by. “What a pity that man in there didn’t have knobbly hands like that old woman!” she said. “We’d really have thought he might have been the man we want!”
    “We shall get knobbly hands on the brain soon,” said Fatty. “Let’s go and find the others. But I say, look - DO look, Daisy!”
    Daisy looked where Fatty nodded, and saw a fat red-faced man watching the swings. He had a red moustache and a little red beard. He wore no collar, but a dirty blue muffer instead, and a blue cap pulled right down over his forehead. His tweed coat was too tight for him, and his grey flannel trousers a little too short. Altogether he was a figure of fun, and passers-by laughed when they saw him.
    “Do you know who that is?” said Fatty in a low voice to Daisy. She shook her head.
    “Oh, Daisy, Daisy - you’ll never make a detective!” said Fatty, disappointed. And then Daisy gave a little squeal and turned laughing eyes on Fatty.
    “Sh!” said Fatty, warningly, and guided Daisy away to a distant corner, where she laughed loud and long.
    “Oh, Fatty - it was Mr. Goon in disguise!” she giggled. “Oh, do let’s find the others and see if they’ve spotted him. Oh dear - why does he make himself so very very conspicuous! Fancy trailing a Suspect in that get-up - he’d be noticed at once! Oh, that red moustache!”
    They saw the others in the distance and ran to