Mystery of the Strange Messages (8 page)

"Well, I dunno!" said Ern, bewildered. "If
I
didn't see anyone, and Mrs. Hicks didn't either, there couldn't have
been
anybody.
Unless he was invisible!"

"Now don't you cheek me." said Mr. Goon. "Invisible
indeed! I don't suppose Mrs. Hicks would see anything under her nose except
tea-leaves, and ..."

"Don't you sauce
me!
" said Mrs. Hicks, annoyed.

"And as for Ern, here, he must have been reading one of those
comics of his!" said Goon. "Ern—speak the truth.
you weren't watching!
"

"I was, Uncle, I was," said poor Ern, retreating as his
uncle came forward towards him. "I do honest work. You paid me to watch,
and I do watch when I'm up there. I tell you nobody came into that garden since
you sent me upstairs."

Goon aimed his hand at him, but Ern ducked and the policeman's
fingers caught the edge of a table. He danced round in pain. Ern tore out of
the house at top speed. He snatched up his bicycle and rode off on it. He
wouldn't stay with his uncle one more hour! Disbelieving him like that! Trying
to cuff him when he'd done nothing wrong! Mrs. Hicks hadn't seen anyone. Well,
if
she
hadn't, how could
he
have seen anybody!

Mr. Goon tore open the square envelope, then saw Mrs. Hicks
staring open-mouthed, and stamped back into his office. The note was in
message-form again, made with cut-out letters as before. Goon read it. It was
even more puzzling that the others.

"When you see Smith, say
secrets
to him. Then watch him show his heels."

"Gah!" said Mr. Goon, in disgust. "What's it all
mean?
Secrets,
now! What secrets? All right, I'll say 'secrets' to this
Mr. Smith at Haylings Nursery when I see him! I'm getting tired of this. That
boy Ern! Sitting upstairs like that and letting the fellow who writes these
notes come and put one on the window-sill under his very nose—and I paid him
five shillings!"

He was just going out again to get his bicycle when he stopped.
Hadn't he better telephone to that fat boy and say another note had arrived—and
tell him how badly Ern had behaved? Right down dishonest of Ern

it was, to take his five shillings, and then not do his job. And
most ungrateful too.

So Goon telephoned to a rather surprised Fatty and told him about
the new letter, and what it contained. Fatty noted it down at once "When
you see Smith, say
secrets
to
him. Then watch him show his heels."

Goon went on to tell about Ern, and how he had failed to spot
anyone coming into the garden with the note. "Reading his comics, that's
what he was doing, instead of paying attention to his job, as he was paid to
do," grumbled Goon. "Can't let Ern get away with behaviour like that,
you know—taking money for what he doesn't do. You'd better let me have that
five bob back."

"Sorry, Mr. Goon, but you paid Era for what he'd
already
done,
not for what he was
going
to do," said Fatty. "That five
shillings is Ern's. What are you going to do now? Go to see Smith and
Harris?"

"Yes," said Goon. "But about that five bob. If
Ernie comes up to you, you tell him I want half-a-crown back, see?"

Fatty put down the receiver, cutting off any more remarks from the
angry Goon. He felt sorry that Ern had failed to see anyone coming into the
garden with another note—in full daylight too. The messenger certainly had a
nerve to do a thing like that!

He heard the sound of a bicycle bell outside in the drive and
looked out of the window. It was Ern, panting with his exertions to reach
Fatty's house at the first possible moment.

"Hallo, Ern," said Fatty. "Your uncle's just been
on the phone. I hear there's another anonymous note—put on the window-sill
under everyone's nose, apparently. How on earth was it that you didn't spot
whoever brought it? Apparently it happened while you were supposed to be
watching."

"I
was
watching," said Ern, indignantly.
"You told me to do my job honestly, and I did. I tell you, Fatty, as

soon as Uncle sent me upstairs to watch, I sat at my window and
glued my eyes on the yard. I did. really. I saw some bread dropping into the
yard, and I guessed it was Mrs. Hicks throwing some out to the birds. She says
the note wasn't on the window-sill when she threw out the bread."

"And after she threw it out, you still kept your eyes glued
on the yard below?" asked Fatty, doubtfully. "Didn't Mrs. Hicks see
anyone either?"

"No. No one. Well, if
she
had, I'd have seen him too. wouldn't
I?" said Ern, half-angry. "She was sitting opposite the window—she could
almost have reached out and touched it! Well, if
she
didn't see anyone,
how could
I
? I just don't understand it, Fatty. The note
must
have
been there when Mrs. Hicks threw out the bread—and she didn't see it—that's the
only explanation."

"I suppose it is," said Fatty. "There's something
really queer about it though, I can't just put my finger on it. Well, I expect
your uncle will cool down again, Ern. You can stay here for tea though, if you
like. I shouldn't think there's much point in your going back to do any more
watching—there isn't likely to be another note today!"

"Oh thanks, Fatty. I'd like to stay here." said Ern.
"Can I help you with anything?"

"Yes. I'm going to pack up some of the jumble to take to the
Village Hall some time," said Fatty. "You can help me with that. I
wonder how your uncle will get on with Smith and Harris. It's
possible
that
Smith may be the man mentioned in the notes. Well, we shall soon know."

Mr. Goon was not getting on very well in his afternoon's work. In
fact, he was having rather a bad time. He had arrived at the Nursery in a bad
temper, owing to Em's failure to spot the messenger who brought the last
anonymous note. He rode in at the gate at top speed and almost knocked down a
man coming up the path wheeling a barrow.

"Look where you're going!" shouted the man, as a

flower-pot crashed to the ground. Goon dismounted, and spoke in
his most official manner.

"[ want to see Smith and Harris."

"Well, you're speaking to half of them," said the man,
setting the barrow legs down on the path. "I'm Harris. What do you want?
I've got a licence for my dog, and one for my radio, and one for my van, and
..."

"I haven't come about licences," said Goon, with a
feeling that the man was making fun of him. "I want to see Mr.
Smith."

"Oh now—that's rather difficult," said Mr. Harris,
rubbing his chin, and making a rasping noise as he did so. "Yes, rather
difficult."

"Is he in the house?" said Mr. Goon, impatiently.
"Or out in the nursery gardens?"

"No, no. You won't find him there," said Mr. Harris, who
had taken a real dislike to the bumptious policeman. "I couldn't rightly
put my finger on him at the moment."

"Well, I
must
see him," said Goon. "It's
important. Don't put me off, please. Take me to him."

"Oh, I haven't time to do that," said Mr. Harris.
"It's too far to take you when I'm busy, like. I've only one man working
for me, and time's precious."

Mr. Goon began to feel exasperated. Where was this elusive Mr.
Smith? He decided to put a leading question.

"Is Mr. Smith his real name?" he asked, bluntly. Mr.
Harris looked very startled indeed. He stared at Mr. Goon and rasped his rough
chin again.

"Far as I know it is," he said. "Known him all my
life I have, and he always went by the name of Smith, since he was a tiddler. You
being funny?"

"No," said Mr. Goon, shortly, disappointed to hear that
Smith's name was apparently correct. "Er—can you tell me if this place was
ever called 'The Ivies'?"

"And why for should it be?" demanded Mr. Harris.
"It was Haylings Nursery when I bought it, and Hay-lings Nursery afore
that, and probably Haylings Nur
sery
afore you were born, Mr. Nosey Policeman. What's this about The Ivies?"

"Well—you've got ivy growing up the wall," said Mr.
Goon, beginning to feel very foolish, and wishing he had looked up how old the
Haylings Nursery was. "Now please—I want you to show me where Mr. Smith
is."

"All right. Seeing as you insist," said Mr. Harris, and
leaving his barrow on the path, he took Mr. Goon indoors. He led him to a big
round globe of the world, and swung it a little, so that South America came
into view. Mr. Harris then pointed to a town marked there.

"See that place Rio de Janeiro? Well,
that's
where he
is. Retired there twenty years ago, he did, and I carried on by myself—but I
still keep the old name going—Smith and Harris. You catch the next plane there,
Mister, and ask him if his name's Smith. He won't mind telling you."

And with that he burst into such a roar of laughter that Goon was
almost deafened. Very angry at the joke played on him, the policeman departed,
looking as dignified as he could. But right to the end of the lane he could
hear Mr. Harris's delighted guffaws.

Why hadn't he let that fat boy interview Mr. Harris? It would have
done him good to have that silly joke played on
him.
Policemen should be
treated with more respect! Mr. Goon was Very Annoyed Indeed.

Fatty comes to a Full Stop.

Mr. Goon never told anyone all that had happened at Haylings
Nursery. When Fatty telephoned him that evening to ask if he had had any
success, Mr. Goon said very little.

"There is no Mr. Smith there now," he said. "He
left

the firm twenty years ago. It was a waste of my time to go there.
Is Ern with you, Master Frederick?"

"Yes. I'm just sending him back to you," said Fatty.
"He's been a great help to me this afternoon—nice of you to send him up,
Mr. Goon. Thanks very much."

Goon was astonished. Hadn't Ern told Fatty how angry he had been
with Ern, then—and that he had tried to hit him? Well, Ern could stay another
night with him. and then he could go home. He wasn't much good as a watcher,
and as for paying him another penny, he wasn't even going to
think
of
it!

Ern arrived, wondering how Goon was going to treat him. He sent
him out to have his supper with Mrs. Hicks in the kitchen. "Got some work
to do," he said, and Ern fled thankfully to the warm kitchen.

He sat down by the fire, and watched Mrs. Hicks making some
pastry. "Funny how neither of us saw that fellow, whoever he was, bringing
that note this afternoon," said Ern.

"Well, I wasn't really looking," said Mrs. Hicks.
"I was just sitting here with my teacup, reading the tea-leaves, like I
always do.
You
couldn't have been looking either, young man. You can
tell fibs to your uncle, if you like, but you needn't tell them to me. You just
wasn't looking!"

"Oooh, I
was,"
said Ern. "I tell you I never
took my eyes off that yard. Never once. When I'm paid to do a thing I do it,
see? And I never saw anyone—all I saw were the birds flying down to peck at the
bread you threw out."

"Oh—you saw me doing that, did you?" said Mrs. Hicks.
"Well, it's funny you didn't see who brought that note then, because he
must have come along just after that—as I was telling your uncle."

"He
couldn't
have come then," said Ern. "I
tell you I was watching all the time, Mrs. Hicks.
I'm
not making a
mistake, I know I'm not."

"Are you telling me that
I
am, then?" said Mrs.
Hicks.

looking so fierce that Ern felt quite alarmed. "You just be
careful of that tongue of yours, young Ern, else not a mite of supper do you
get."

Ern subsided, feeling puzzled. Everyone was cross with him just
now—but on the whole it was safer to sit with Mrs. Hicks in the kitchen rather
than with his uncle in the office. He wondered if Mrs. Hicks would like to hear
his "pome". It might put her into a better temper.

"I write poetry, Mrs. Hicks," he said.

"Well, I shouldn't think that's very difficult, is it?"
said Mrs. Hicks. "I'd write it meself if I had time."

This was rather damping. Ern tried again. "I'd like to know
what you think of my last pome," he said. "Can I say it to you?"

"If you like," said Mrs. Hicks, still rolling the pastry
vigorously. "Silly stuff really. I used to do reciting at school meself."

"But this is something I made up," said Ern. "At
least—I made up some of it, and a friend of mine made up the other half."
And with that he stood up and recited his verses—and Fatty's—about the
"Poor Old House". He didn't see Mr. Goon at the kitchen door,
standing amazed at Ern's recital. He almost jumped out of his skin when he
heard his uncle's voice at the end.

"Have you taken to poetry writing again, Ern?" said Mr.
Goon. "How many times have I told you it's a waste of time? Do you
remember that rude poem you wrote about me, once? Well,
I
haven't
forgotten it, see? And what's all that about 'The Ivies' in that poem? Don't
you go putting secret information like that into your poems. You give me that
notebook of yours and let me see what other poems you've got there."