Mystery of the Invisible Thief by Enid Blyton

which was wide open. An old woman, sitting in a rocking-chair, peered at them from a corner of the room inside.
    “What do you want?” she asked, in a cracked old voice.
    “We’re so sorry,” said Larry, politely. “Our ball went into your garden. May we get it?”
    “Yes,” said the old woman, beginning to rock herself. “And just tell me if the milkman’s been, will you? If he has, the milk bottle will be outside. And did you see the baker down the lane?”
    “No, we didn’t,” said Pip. “There is a bottle out here on the step. Shall I bring it in?”
    “Yes, thank you kindly,” said the old woman. “Put it in the larder, there’s a good lad. That baker! He gets later every day! I hope I haven’t missed him. I fall asleep, you know. I might not have heard him.”
    Larry looked round the little cottage. He saw a big sou’wester hanging on a nail, and an enormous oilskin below it. Aha! Somebody big lived here, that was certain.
    “What a big oilskin!” he said to the old woman. “Giant-size!”
    “Ah, that’s my son’s,” said the old woman, rocking away hard. “He’s a big man, he is - but kind and gentle - just like a big dog, I always say.”
    Pip had pricked up his ears too, by this time. “He must be enormous,” he said. “Whatever size shoes does he wear? Sixteens!”
    The old lady gave a cackle of laughter. “Go on with you! Sixteens! Look over there, on that shelf - those are my son’s boots - there’s a surprise for you!”
    It was a surprise - for the shoes were no more than size sevens, about Larry’s own size! The boys looked at them in astonishment.
    “Does he really only wear size seven?” said Larry. “What small feet he has for such a big man.”
    “Yes. Small feet and small hands - that’s what my family always have,” said the old woman, showing her own misshapen but small feet and hands. Pip looked at Larry. Rodways was definitely ruled out. The thief didn’t live here!
    Someone came up the path and called in. “Granma! Baker-boy here!”
    “Gosh - it’s that awful little peacock of a baker again!” said Pip, in disgust. “We can’t seem to get rid of him.”
    “One loaf as usual, baker!” called the old lady. “Put it in my pan for me.”
    The baker put down his basket, took a loaf, and strutted in. He saw the two boys, and smiled amiably. “Here we are again! Come to see old Granma?”
    He flung the bread into the pan in the larder and strutted out again. He picked up his basket and went off, whistling, turning out his feet like a duck.
    “Now you go and look for your ball,” said the old woman, settling herself comfortably. “I can go to sleep now I know the milk and bread have come.”
    They went out, found their ball, and Larry threw it out into the road. There was an angry shout.
    “Now then, you there! What are you doing, throwing your ball at me?”
    Mr Goon’s angry red face appeared over the hedge. The boys gasped in surprise. “Golly - did it hit you, Mr Goon?” said Pip, with much concern. “We didn’t know you were there.”
    “Now look here - what are you here for?” demanded Mr Goon. “Everywhere I go you’re there before me. What are you playing at?”
    “Ball,” said Larry, picking up the ball and aiming it at Pip. It missed him, struck the wall, bounced back, and struck Mr Goon on the helmet. He turned a beetroot colour, and the boys fled.
    “Toads!” muttered Mr Goon, mopping his hot neck. “Toads! Anyone would think this was their case! Anyone would think they were running the whole show. Under my feet the whole time. Gah!”
    He strode up the path to the front door. But the old lady had now gone fast asleep, and did not waken even when Mr Goon spoke to her loudly. He saw the oilskin on the peg, and the same thought occurred to him, as he occurred to the two boys. Big oilskin - Big man - Big feet - The thief!
    He crept in and began to look round. He fell over a shovel and the old woman awoke in a hurry. She saw Mr Goon and screamed.
    “Help! Help! Robbers! Thieves! Help, I say!”
    Mr Goon was scared. He