Mystery of the Spiteful Letters

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Authors: Enid Blyton
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spots me. I don’t want him to know I’m returning his letters!’
    It wasn’t long before Fatty was wearing his disguise, complete with freckles, red eyebrows and hair. He set his telegraph-boy’s cap on his head.
    ‘So long!’ he said, and disappeared. He padded off to Mr. Goon’s, and soon saw, by the darkness of his parlour, that he was not yet back. So he waited about, until he remembered that there was a darts match at the local inn, and guessed Mr. Goon would be there, throwing a dart or two.
    His guess was right. Mr. Goon walked out of the inn in about ten minutes’ time, feeling delighted with himself because he had come out second in the match. Fatty padded behind him for a little way, then ran across the road, got in front of Mr. Goon, came across again at a corner, walked towards the policeman and bumped violently into him.
    ‘Hey!’ said the policeman, all his breath knocked out of him. ‘Hey! Look where you’re going now.’ He flashed his torch and saw the red-headed telegraph-boy.
    ‘Sorry, sir, I do beg your pardon,’ said Fatty earnestly. ‘Have I hurt you? Always seem to be damaging you, don’t I, sir? Sorry, sir.’
    Mr. Goon set his helmet straight. Fatty’s apologies soothed him. ‘All right, my boy, all right,’ he said.
    ‘Good-night, sir, thank you, sir,’ said Fatty and disappeared. But he hadn’t gone more than three steps before he came running back again, holding out a package.
    ‘Oh, Mr. Goon, sir, did you drop these, sir? Or has somebody else dropped them?’
    Mr. Goon stared at the package and his eyes bulged. ‘Them letters!’ he said. ‘I didn’t take them out with me, that I do know!’
    ‘I expect they belong to somebody else then,’ said Fatty. ‘I’ll inquire.’
    ‘Hey, no you don’t!’ said Mr. Goon, making a grab at the package. ‘They’re my property. I must have brought them out unbeknowing-like. Dropped them when you bumped into me, shouldn’t wonder. Good thing you found them, young man. They’re valuable evidence, they are. Property of the Law.’
    ‘I hope you won’t drop them again, then, sir,’ said Fatty earnestly. ‘Good-night, sir.’
    He vanished. Mr. Goon went home in a thoughtful frame of mind, pondering how he could possibly have taken out the package of letters and dropped them. He felt sure he hadn’t taken them out - but if not, how could he have dropped them?
    ‘Me memory’s going,’ he said mournfully. ‘It’s a mercy one of them kids didn’t pick them letters up. I won’t let that there Frederick Trotteville set eyes on them. Not if I know it!’

CHAPTER X
    ON THE BUS TO SHEEPSALE
     
    There was nothing more to be done until Monday morning. The children felt impatient, but they couldn’t hurry the coming of Monday, or of the bus either.
    Fatty had entered a few notes under his heading of Clues. He had put down all about the anonymous letters, and the post-marks, and had also pinned to the page the tracings he had made of the printed capital letters.
    ‘I will now write up the case as far as we’ve gone with it,’ he said. ‘That’s what the police do - and all good detectives too, as far as I can see. Sort of clears your mind, you see. Sometimes you get awfully good ideas when you read what you’ve written.’
    Every one read what Fatty wrote, and they thought it was excellent. But unfortunately nobody had any good ideas after reading it. Still, the bus passengers to Sheepsale might provide further clues.
    The five children couldn’t help feeling rather excited on Monday morning. Larry and Daisy got rather a shock when their mother said she wanted them to go shopping for her - but when she heard that they were going to Sheepsale market she said they could buy the things for her there. So that was all right.
    They met at the bus stopping-place ten minutes before the bus went, in case Fatty had any last-minute instructions for them. He had!
    ‘Look and see where the passengers are sitting when the bus comes up,’ he said. ‘And each of you sit beside one if you can, and begin

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