Mystery of the Invisible Thief by Enid Blyton Page A

stood up, and spoke pompously. “Now, madam, it’s only the police come to call. What size shoes does your son take?”
    This was too much for the old woman. She thought the policeman must be mad. She began to rock herself so violently that Mr Goon was sure the chair would fall over.
    He took one last look round and ran, followed by the old woman’s yells. He leapt on his bicycle and was off up the lane in a twinkling. Poor Mr Goon - he was no match for an angry old woman!
     

Mostly About Boots
     
    Fatty had gone off to find Colonel Cross’s house. It was a pleasant little place not far from the river. Sitting out in the garden was a big man with a white moustache and a very red face.
    Fatty studied him from the shelter of the hedge. He looked a bit fierce. In fact, very fierce. It was quite a good thing he was asleep, Fatty thought. Not only asleep, but snoring.
    Fatty looked at his feet. Enormous! The cobbler was right - the Colonel certainly wore size twelve or thirteen boots. Fatty thought he could see a rubber heel on one of them too. Goodness - suppose he had at last hit on the right person! But Colonel Cross didn’t look in the least like a thief or burglar. Anything but, thought Fatty.
    Fatty wished he had a small telescope or longsighted glasses so that he could look more closely at the rubber heel. He didn’t dare go crawling into the garden and look at the heels. The colonel was certainly very fast asleep, one leg crossed over the other - but he might be one of those light sleepers that woke very suddenly!
    The Colonel did wake suddenly. He gave an extra loud snore and woke himself up with a jump. He sat up, and wiped his face with a table-cloth of a handkerchief. He certainly was enormous. He suddenly caught sight of Fatty’s face over the hedge, and exploded.
    “Did you wake me up? What are you doing there? Speak up, man!”
    “I didn’t wake you, sir,” said Fatty, in a humble voice. “I was just looking at your feet.”
    “Bless us all - my feet? What for?” demanded the Colonel.
    “I was wishing you had an old pair of your boots to give me,” said Fatty, very humbly. “I’m an old tramp, sir, and tramping’s hard on the feet. Very hard, sir. And I’ve big feet, sir, and it’s hard to get boots to fit me - cast-off boots, I mean.”
    “Go round and ask my housekeeper,” said the colonel gruffly. “But see you do something in return if there’s an old pair to give you! Hrrrrrumph!”
    This was a wonderful noise - rather like a horse makes. Fatty stored it away for future use. Hrrrrrumph! Fine! He would startle the others with it one day.
    “Thank you, sir. I’ll chop up wood or do anything if I can have a pair of your boots!” he said.
    He left the hedge and went round to the back door. A kindly faced woman opened it.
    “Good day, Mam, the colonel says have you got a pair of his old boots for me,” asked Fatty, his hat in his hands, so that his straggly grey hair showed.
    “Another old soldier!” sighed the housekeeper. “There’s not a pair of boots - but there may be an old pair of shoes. And even so they’re not really worn-out yet! Dear me - the colonel only came back yesterday and here he is giving his things away as usual!”
    Fatty pricked up his ears. “Where has he been?” he asked.
    “Oh, India,” said the woman. “And now he’s home for the last time. Arrived by air yesterday.”
    “Ah,” thought Fatty, “then that rules out the colonel. Not that I really thought it could be him - he doesn’t look in the least like a burglar! Still, all suspects have to be examined, all clues have to be followed.”
    The woman came back with a pair of old shoes. They had rubber heels on. Fatty’s eyes gleamed when he saw them. The pattern of the heels looked extremely like the pattern he had drawn in his notebook! How peculiar!
    “Did you say you often give the colonel’s shoes away?” he asked.
    “Not only shoes - anything,” she said. “He’s fierce, you know, but he’s kind too - always handing out things to his old