Mr. Goon, the village policeman, was in a very bad temper. He sat at his desk, and stared at three pieces of paper there, spread out before him. Beside them were three cheap envelopes.On each sheet of paper separate words were pasted in uneven lines. “They’re all words cut out of some newspaper,” said Mr. Goon. “So’s the writer’s handwriting wouldn’t give him away, I suppose! And what nonsense they make—look at this one now—‘turn him out of the ivies!’ What does that mean, I’d like to know. And this one—‘ask smith what his real name is.’ Who’s Smith?”He stared at the last piece of paper, “call yourself a policeman? better go and see smith.”“Gah!” said Mr. Goon. “Better put them all into the waste-paper basket!” He took one of the envelopes and looked at it. It was a very cheap one, square in shape, and on each one was pasted two words only.

I do wish old Fatty would buck up and come back from wherever he’s staying,” said Bets. “We’ve had almost a week of the holidays without him already—such a waste!”“He’s coming back today,” said Pip, passing a post-card across the breakfast-table to his young sister. “Here’s a card from him. Three cheers!”Bets read the card out loud. “Back tomorrow by bus from Warling. Meet me at bus stop if you can. What about a nice juicy mystery? I feel just about ready for one. Fatty.”“A nice juicy what?” said her mother, puzzled.“Mystery,” said Bets, her eyes shining. “You know how something always seems to happen when Fatty’s about, Mother—there was the mystery of the Pantomime cat—and the mystery of the Vanished Prince—and . . .”Her father groaned. “Look, Bets—I’m tired of all these adventures and strange happenings that seem to pop up whenever your friend Frederick is about. Just try and steer clear of any trouble these holidays. I was hoping that Frederick was staying away for a nice long time.”“I wish you wouldn’t call him Frederick, Daddy,” said Bets. “It does sound so silly.”“I should have thought that Frederick was a much better name for a boy in his teens, than the absurd name of Fatty,” said her father. “I wonder Frederick allows people to call him by that old nickname now.”“But Fatty is fat, and the name suits him,” said Pip. “Anyway I don’t think my nickname is very suitable for me now that I’m a bit older. Why can’t I be called by my proper name of Philip, instead of Pip?”

‘I’m going to buy some Easter eggs,’ said Pip, at breakfast-time. ‘Are you coming too, Bets? Then we might go and call on old Fatty.’‘Oh yes—let’s!’ said Bets. ‘I’ve only seen him once since he came back from school, and then he was with Mrs. Trotteville and we couldn’t say much.’‘We’ll call in and tell Larry and Daisy to come too,’ said Pip. ‘We might go and have buns and coffee at the dairy. Mother, do you want anything in the village?’‘No—unless you like to buy yourself an alarm clock,’ said Mrs. Hilton, buttering her toast. Pip stared.‘What for?’ he said. ‘I’ve got a watch.’Bets giggled. ‘You mean he might get up in time for breakfast then, Mother!’ she said.‘Ha! Funny joke,’ said Pip. ‘Anyway, no alarm clock would wake me if I’m really asleep. Besides, Mother—I’ve only just come back from a very, very hard term’s work, and as for the exams last week, well I bet you wouldn’t get top marks any more than I shall. I’ve not slept well for weeks, worrying about my marks.’‘I suppose that means that you’ll be somewhere near the bottom again,’ said Pip’s father, putting down his morning paper for a moment. ‘Well, we shall know the worst in a few days’ time when your report comes.’

“Bets—don’t gobble your porridge like that!” said Mrs. Hilton. “There’s no hurry, surely!”“Well, there is, Mother,” said Bets. “I’ve got to go and meet Fatty’s train this morning. Have you forgotten that he’s coming home today?”“But he’s not arriving till the middle of the morning, is he?” said her mother. “There’s plenty of time. Please don’t gobble like that.”“I expect Bets wants to go and lay a red carpet down for Fatty, and get a band to play to welcome him,” said her brother Pip, with a grin. “That’s what you’re in a hurry about, aren’t you, Bets? Got to go and round up the band and see that all their instruments are polished!”“Don’t be so silly,” said Bets, crossly, and tried to kick him under the table. He dodged his legs out of the way and she kicked her father’s ankle instead. He put down his paper and glared.“Oh, Dad—I’m sorry!” said Bets. “Please I’m very sorry. I meant to kick Pip. You see . . .”“Any more of this kind of behaviour at breakfast-time and you can both go out of the room,” said Mr. Hilton, and raised his paper again, leaning it against the big milk-jug. There was a dead silence for a minute or two except for the sound of spoons in the porridge bowls.

One afternoon four children and a dog walked into the little railway station at Peterswood. The dog ran about happily, his tail wagging all the time.‘Better put Buster on the lead,’ said Pip. ‘We’re early, and two or three trains may come through. Here, Buster—come to heel, old boy!’The little Scottie trotted up, his tail wagging nineteen to the dozen. He gave a few short barks.‘Yes, I know you’re longing to see Fatty,’ said Pip, bending over him to clip on his lead. ‘So are we all! Hey, keep still!’‘Hang on to him—here comes a train!’ said Larry. ‘It’s going right through.’Buster stood his ground bravely until the train gave a piercing whistle as it tore through the station—then he tried to scuttle under a wooden seat and dragged Pip after him. He sat down with his back to the train and trembled. That awful whistle!‘It made me jump!’ said Bets. ‘Cheer up, Buster—Fatty will soon be here. We’ve loved having you while Fatty’s been away, and you’ve been Very Very Good!’‘Even Mother likes you!’ said Pip, patting him. ‘Though she didn’t a bit want us to keep you while Fatty was in Switzerland!’‘I can’t think why Fatty had to go off to Switzerland for a whole fortnight, and be away all Christmas time,’ complained Bets.‘Well, he had to go with his parents,’ said Daisy. ‘I expect he had a jolly good time in all that snow.’