Mystery of the Strange Messages Read Free

happened. We're completely in the dark."
    "Oh no, you're not," said Goon, and took the four notes
from his pocket, each in their envelopes. He handed them to Fatty, who slid the
notes out of their envelopes, one by one, and read them out loud.
    "Here's the first note. All it says is 'Ask Smith what his
real name is.' And here's the second. 'Turn him out of the Ivies.' And this one
says 'Call yourself a policeman? Go and see Smith!' And the last one says
'You'll be sorry if you don't go and see Smith!' Well—what queer notes! Look,
all of you—they're not even handwritten!"
    He passed them round. "Whoever wrote them cut the words out
of newspapers—and then pasted them on the sheets of writing-paper," said
Larry. 'That's a common trick with people who don't want their writing
recognized."
    "This is really rather peculiar," said Fatty, most interested.
"Who's Smith? And where is the house called •The Ivies'?"
    "Don't know one," said Daisy. "But there's 'The
Poplars'—it's in our road."
    "Gah!" said Mr. Goon, aggravated to hear "The
Poplars" suggested once more. Nobody took any notice of him.
    "And there's "The Firs'," said Bets, "and The
Chestnuts'. But I can't think of any house called The Ivies'."
    "And this Mr. Smith," said Fatty, staring at one of the
notes. "Why should he have to be turned out of the
    Ivies, wherever it is? And why should Mr. Goon ask him what his real name is? It must be someone going under a false name for some purpose. Most
peculiar."
    "It really sounds like a mystery!" said Pip,
hopefully, "We haven't had one this hols. This is exciting."
    "And the notes were put into a peg-bag—and on a
coal-shovel—and stuck to the dustbin," said Fatty, frowning. "Isn't
that what you said, Mr. Goon? Where was the fourth one?"
    "You know
that as well as I do," growled the policeman. "It came through the
letter-box. My daily woman, Mrs. Hicks, found them all. And when she told me
that the butcher-boy arrived this morning at the same time as the last
note—well, I guessed who was at the bottom of all this."
    "Well, as I wasn't that butcher-boy, why don't you go
and question the real butcher-boy," said Fatty. "Or shall I?
This is jolly interesting, Mr. Goon. I think there's something behind all
this!"
    "So do I. You are, Master Frederick Trotteville!"
said Mr. Goon. "Now don't you keep telling me it wasn't you. I know you
well enough by now. You'll come to a bad end, you will—telling me fibs like
this!"
    "I think we'll bring this meeting to an end," said
Fatty, "I never tell lies, Mr. Goon, never. You ought to know that by now.
I've had my jokes, yes—and played a good many tricks. But I—do— not— tell lies! Here—take the letters,
and get your bicycle."
    Mr. Goon rose up majestically from his arm-chair. He took the
letters from Fatty and then threw them violently on the floor.
    "You can have them back!" he said, "You sent them,
and you can keep them. But mind you—if one
more of those notes arrives at my police-station, I go straight to
Superintendent Jenks and report the whole lot."
    "I really do think you'd better do that anyhow," said
Fatty. "There may be something serious behind all this, you know.
You've got a bee in your bonnet about me—
    I don't know a thing about these anonymous letters. Now please
go."
    "Why didn't you have the envelopes and the writing-paper
inside tested for finger-prints, Mr. Goon?" said Pip, suddenly. "Then
you'd have known if Fatty's were there, or not. You could have taken his too,
to prove it."
    "As it is, we've-all handled the notes, and must have messed
up any finger-prints that were there already." said Fatty. "Blow!"
    "Finger-prints! Bah!" said Goon. "You'd be clever
enough to wear gloves if you sent anonymous notes, Master Frederick
Trotteville. Well, I've said my say, and I'm going. But just you mind my words— one more note, and you'll get into such
trouble that you'll wish you'd never been born. And I should burn that
butcher-boy rig-out of yours, if I were