‘It’s a quarter to one,’ said Fatty. ‘I vote we go and have some lunch now. Come on. It looks a nice little place like a dairy and cake shop mixed.’

It was a nice little place - shining and spotless, with a plump woman in a vast white apron to serve them and beam at them.

Yes, she could do two boiled eggs apiece and some plates of bread and butter, and some of her own bottled gooseberries if they liked, with a jug of cream. And she’d made some new buns, would they like some?

‘This is just the kind of meal I like,’ said Bets, as the eggs arrived, all brown and smooth and warm. ‘I like it much better than meat. Oh - is that strawberry jam, how lovely!’

‘I thought you might like some with the bread and butter, after you’ve had your eggs,’ said the plump woman, smiling at them all. ‘They’re my own growing, the strawberries.’

‘I think,’ said Daisy, battering with her spoon at her egg, ‘I think that there can’t be anything nicer than to keep your own hens and ducks, and grow your own fruit and vegetables, and do your own bottling, and pickling, and jamming. When I’m grown-up I’m not going to get a job in an office and write dreary letters, or things like that - I’m going to keep a little house and have my own birds and animals and make all kinds of delicious food like this!’

‘In that case,’ said Larry, ‘I shall come and live with you, Daisy - especially if you make jam like this!’

‘I’ll come too,’ said both Fatty and Pip at once.

‘Oh - wouldn’t it be lovely if we could all live together, and have lovely meals like this, and solve mysteries for the rest of our lives!’ said Bets fervently.

Everybody laughed. Bets always took things they said so seriously.

‘Well, I can’t say we’ve made much headway at solving this one!’ said Fatty, beginning his second egg. ‘All right, Buster, old fellow, we’ll get you a meal too when we’ve finished. Be patient!’

Fatty paid the smiling woman for the meal when they had finished. The others wanted to pay their share, but hadn’t enough money. ‘We’ll take it out of our money-boxes when we get home,’ said Larry. ‘And give it to you, Fatty.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Fatty. ‘Now let’s go and watch them clearing up the market. Then we’d better inquire about our bus.’

They spent a lovely time watching the market folk packing up their unsold goods, taking away the birds and animals bought and sold, talking, laughing, and clapping one another on the back. Mrs. Jolly was there, talking to her sister, and she called to them.

‘Don’t you miss that bus back now! There’s only two more today, and the last one goes too late for you!’

‘Golly! We forgot to look up the bus-time,’ said Fatty, and ran to a bus time-table to look. ‘We’ve only got three minutes!’ he said. ‘Come on, we must run for it!’

They caught the bus with about half a minute to spare. But to Fatty’s deep disappointment the driver and conductor were different. Apparently the morning and afternoon buses were manned by different men.

‘Blow!’ said Fatty, sitting down at the front. ‘I call this a real waste of a day!’

‘Oh Fatty - how can you say that?’ said Daisy, who had enjoyed every single minute of it. ‘Why, it’s been the nicest day we’ve had these hols!’

‘I daresay,’ said Fatty. ‘But if you remember, we came up here to try and get a bit further forward in our Mystery - and all we’ve done is to have a jolly good time, and not find out anything at all. A good day for five children - but a poor day for the Find-Outers - and Dog!’

 

ANOTHER OF THOSE LETTERS

 

Next day the children felt rather dull after their exciting time at the market. They met in Pip’s playroom, and Fatty seemed rather gloomy.

‘I wish we could find out if anyone has had an anonymous letter this Tuesday,’ he said. ‘But I don’t see how we can. Old Clear-Orf is in a much better position than we are - such a thing would probably be reported to him at once!’

‘Well - never mind about the letters today,’ said Pip. ‘My mother’s out - so if you want to play that woo-hoo-colly-wobbles game, we can.’

‘Won’t Mrs. Moon object?’ asked Fatty.

‘I shouldn’t think she’d hear, away down in the kitchen,’ said Pip. ‘Anyway, we don’t need to bother about her!’

They were just beginning their extremely hilarious game, when a knock came at the playroom door and Mrs. Moon stuck her head in. The children looked at her, expecting a complaint.

But she hadn’t come to complain. ‘Master Philip, I’ve got to run down to the shops,’ she said. ‘The butcher hasn’t sent me my kidneys this morning. Will you answer the telephone whilst I’m gone, and listen for the milkman?’

‘But isn’t Mrs. Cockles here?’ asked Pip. ‘She always comes on Tuesdays, doesn’t she?’

‘She does, usually,’ said Mrs. Moon. ‘But she hasn’t turned up yet, so I’m all on me own. I won’t be above ten minutes gone - but I must get my kidneys.’

She disappeared. The children giggled. ‘I hope the butcher hands her her kidneys all right,’ said Larry. ‘I shouldn’t like to be without mine!’

‘Idiot!’ said Daisy. ‘Come on now - we can really let ourselves go, now the house is empty!’

In the middle of all the hullabaloo, Pip heard a noise. He sat up, trying to push Fatty off him.

‘Listen - is that the telephone?’ he asked.

It was. Goodness knows how long the bell had been ringing! ‘I’ll go, if you like,’ said Fatty, who knew that Pip hated answering the telephone. ‘It’s probably from the butcher to say he’s sending Mrs. Moon’s kidneys!’

He ran downstairs. He lifted the telephone receiver and spoke into it. ‘Hallo!’

‘’Allo!’ said a voice. ‘Can I speak to Mrs. Hilton, please?’

‘She’s out,’ said Fatty.

‘Oh. Well, is Mrs. Moon there?’ said the voice. ‘It’s Mrs. Cockles speaking.’

‘Oh, Mrs. Cockles, this is Frederick Trotteville here, answering the phone for Philip Hilton,’ said Fatty. ‘Mrs. Moon has just gone down to - er - fetch her kidneys. Can I give her a message when she comes back?’

‘Oh yes, Master Frederick, please,’ said Mrs. Cockles. ‘Tell her, I’m that sorry I can’t come today - but my sister’s upset and I’ve had to go round to her. Tell Mrs. Moon she’s had one of them there letters. She’ll know what I mean.’

Fatty at once pricked up his ears. ‘One of them there letters!’ That could only mean one thing surely - that the wicked letter-writer had been busy again as usual, and had sent a letter to somebody else - Mrs. Cockles’s sister this time. His brain worked quickly.

‘Mrs. Cockles, I’m so sorry to hear that,’ he said in a rather pompous, grown-up tone. ‘Very sorry indeed. So upsetting, those anonymous letters, aren’t they?’

‘Oh - you’ve heard about them then,’ said Mrs. Cockles. ‘Yes, right down wicked they are. Upset folks properly they do. And to think as my pore innocent sister should have had one of them. Mrs. Moon will be sorry to hear that - not that she ever had much time for my pore sister, they never did get on, but Mrs. Moon she knows how it upsets people to get one of these here nonnimus letters, and she’ll understand why I’ve got to be with my pore sister this day instead of coming to help as I usually do...’

This was all said without Mrs. Cockles taking a single breath, and Fatty felt slightly dazed. He felt that if he didn’t interrupt, Mrs. Cockles might quite well go on for another ten minutes.

‘Mrs. Cockles, do you think your sister would let me see the letter?’ he asked. ‘I’m - er - very interested in these things - and, as you perhaps know, I am quite good at solving mysteries, and...’

‘Yes, I’ve heard how you found Lady Candling’s cat for her, and found the real guilty person too,’ said Mrs. Cockles. ‘You come round to my sister’s if you like, and she’ll show you the letter. She lives at 9, Willow Lane. I’ll be there. And give my regrets to Mrs. Moon and say I’ll be along on Thursday for sure.’