"I've got it!" he said. "Here you are. Put the paper out flat on the wooden table. That's right. Now I'll run the iron over it."

He ran the warm iron over the spread-out bit of paper. Then he lifted it off and looked at the message. "There's another one coming up, look—between the lines of the other!" squealed Daisy, in excitement. "Iron it again, Pip, quick! Oh, this is too thrilling for words!" Pip ironed the paper again—and this time another message showed up very clearly indeed. The words came up, looking a queer grey-brown colour, and began to fade almost as soon as the children had made them out.

"Tell Number 3. Waxworks, Tuesday, nine pm.—Number 5."

"Golly!" said Pip. "Look at that! Tell Number 3—that must be one of the gang. And Number 5 must be another."

"Waxworks, Tuesday, nine p.m." said Fatty, and his eyes gleamed. "So that's one of their meeting-places. Down in the Waxworks Hall, where all those figures are. Now we know something!"

"We really do," said Bets. "What are they meeting about, Fatty?"

"I don't know—but I shall find out," said Fatty. "Because—I shall be there on Tuesday night!"

In Mr. Goon's Clutches.

The children were full of excitement when they heard Fatty say this. "What! Go down to the Waxworks, and attend the gang meeting!" said Larry. "You wouldn't dare! You'd be discovered, however well you hid yourself!"

"It's the only way of finding out who all the gang are," said Fatty. "I shall see them, hear them talk and plan—my word, this is a bit of luck!"

"No wonder Goon wanted to get hold of that cigarette from the old man," said Daisy. "He would give anything to have this message!"

"He'll wonder what the old chap's done with it!" said Fatty, with a grin. "He'll have searched him from top to toe—but he won't have found that cigarette!"

They talked excitedly for some time and then Fatty said he really must go home and get out of his hot, smelly old-man clothes. The others walked down to the gate with him, leaving an angry Buster tied up in the summer-house.

Meanwhile Mr. Goon had had a most disappointing time. He had found no cigarette at all on the old man. He was angry and puzzled, and he shouted at the old fellow, getting redder and redder in the face.

"You can stay here till you tell me what you did with that cigarette, see?" he yelled. "I'll lock you up till you do. Now then—are you going to tell me?"

The old chap had turned sulky. He knew nothing of any cigarette, he hadn't been sitting on the bench, he didn't know what the bad-tempered policeman was talking about. So he sulked and said nothing at all, which made Goon madder than ever.

"Right!" said Goon at last, getting up. "I'll talk to you some more tomorrow."

He went home and changed into his uniform. Then he decided to go and see "that boy Larry" and ask him if he, too, had noticed the man giving the old fellow a cigarette that afternoon. Mr. Goon couldn't help being puzzled by the old chap's firm denials of any knowledge of a cigarette. But Larry must have seen the gift, and would bear witness to it.

But Larry was out. "Try at the Hilton's," said Larry's mother. "Oh, I do hope the children haven't been misbehaving themselves, Mr. Goon."

"Er no—for a wonder, no, Mam," said Mr. Goon, and went off majestically.

He arrived at Pip's just as the children were escorting Fatty, still disguised as the old man, out of the front gate. Fatty stared at Goon, and Goon stared back disbelievingly. What! Hadn't he just locked that old man up? And here he was again, free, and walking about! Mr. Goon began to feel as if he was in a peculiarly unpleasant dream.

"Er—good evening, Mr. Goon," said Larry. Mr. Goon took no notice of him.

"Here, you!" he said, grabbing at Fatty's arm. "How did you get out? Haven't I just locked you up? What are things a-coming to, I'd like to know! Here I've just locked you up and I meet you walking into me, bold as brass!"

Mr. Goon looked so amazed and disbelieving that Fatty badly wanted to laugh. He was at a loss to know what to say.

"Wassat? " he said at last, putting his hand behind his ear.

That was too much for Mr. Goon. He caught hold of Fatty's collar and marched him quickly up the lane.

"You've been ‘wassating' me long enough!" said the annoyed Mr. Goon. "I don't know how you got out—but I do know you're going in again—and this time I'll lock the door on you meself! And there you'll stay 'till you see sense if it takes you a month!"

Fatty didn't like this at all. He debated whether or not to let Mr. Goon into the secret of his disguise. But before he had made up his mind, he was at the police-station. Mr. Goon was unlocking a door, and Fatty was being pushed into the dark, narrow little room behind.

And in it was the real old man! He stared at Fatty and Fatty stared at him. The old chap let out a howl. He was beginning to feel he must be mad. Why, here was himself staring at him! What was happening?

Mr. Goon heard the howl and looked into the room—and then he saw the two old men! Exactly alike. As like as peas in a pod. Mr. Goon sat down heavily on a chair and mopped his forehead with a big handkerchief. He felt dazed. What with vanishing cigarettes, men that got locked up and then got out—and now two old men exactly alike—well, Mr. Goon began to feel that he must be lying asleep and dreaming in his own bed at home, and he fervently hoped that he would soon wake up.

"Lemme get out of here!" said the real old man, and tried to push past Mr. Goon. But the policeman caught hold of him. He wasn't going to have any more disappearings. He was Going to Get to the Bottom of Things.

Fatty saw that things had gone far enough, and he did not like the thought of his parents knowing that he was locked up at the police-station. So he spoke to Mr. Goon in his ordinary voice, and gave the poor man another terrible shock.

"Mr. Goon! I'm not really an old man. I'm Frederick Trotteville."

Mr. Goon's mouth fell open. He gulped once or twice, staring at Fatty as if he couldn't believe his eyes. Fatty twitched off his beard, and then Mr. Goon did indeed see that it was Fatty. He dragged him out of the dark little room, slammed and locked the door, and took Fatty into an office.

"Now you just tell me the meaning of all this here!” he said.

"Well," said Fatty, "it's a long story, but I'll tell you everything, Mr. Goon," and he launched into the tale of all that the Find-Outers had done, and how he had disguised himself as the old man, and sat there to trap a message from the gang.

"What about that cigarette?" said Mr. Goon when he had got his breath back a bit. "What about that? That's a most important thing!"

"Is it really?" said Fatty, in pretended surprise. "Well, we imdid the cigarette, of course, Mr. Goon, and inside we found nothing of importance at all, really—just a silly grocery list. We were terribly disappointed."

Fatty did not mean to tell Mr. Goon what he and the others had discovered in the message—the few lines in secret ink. No, he would keep that to himself, and go to the meeting on Tuesday night, and see what he could find out. He wanted to solve the Mystery, he, Fatty, the Chief of the Find-Outers. He did not stop to think whether it was dangerous or not.

Mr. Goon grabbed hold of the message. He spread it out. He frowned. He read it through two or three times. "Must be a code," he said. "I'll look up my code-book. You leave this to me."

"Er—well—I'll be going now," said Fatty, after watching Mr. Goon frowning at the list of groceries for a few minutes.

"If you hadn't given me this here bit of paper, I'd have locked you up," said Mr. Goon. "Interfering with the Law. That's what you're always doing, you five kids. Ho, yes, I know you think you've got a fine friend in Inspector Jenks, but one of these days you'll find he's fed up with you, see? And I'll get my promotion and be a Big Noise, and then just you look out!"