Mystery of the Pantomime Cat by Enid Blyton Page A

this in. Some of it they already knew, but it
sounded much more exciting and real to hear it from the lips of the manager
himself. They didn't like him—he looked bad-tempered and mean. They could quite
well imagine that he would have a lot of enemies who would like to pay him back
for some spiteful thing he had said or done to them.
    "I suppose the police are on the job all right," said
Pip, taking a duster and beginning to rub up the spokes of the wheels.
    "Oh yes. That constable—what's his name—Goon—has been
practically living here this week-end—interviewing every one. He's got
poor Boysie so scared that I don't think he really knows what he's saying now.
He shouts at him till Boysie bursts into tears."
    "Beast," muttered Pip, and the manager looked at him in
surprise.
    "Oh, I don't know. If Boysie did it, he's got to get it out of
him somehow. Anyway, it doesn't hurt
    him to be yelled at—only way to get things into his thick head
sometimes!"
    The bicycle was finished now, and shone brightly. The manager ran
it into a shed. "Well, that's done," he said. "Sorry I can't
give you your tickets now. You'll get them easily enough this afternoon. There
are never many people on Mondays."
    The boys went off, delighted at all they had learnt. To get the
whole story from the manager himself was simply marvellous. Now they knew as
much as Goon did! It was certainly very, very mysterious. The Pantomime Cat had taken the drugged cup of tea to the manager—and if he hadn't put the
sleeping-draught into it himself, he must have known who had done it—must even
have let them in. He might even have watched whilst the thief took down the
mirror and robbed the safe. Things looked very black for Boysie. Larry and Pip
could quite well imagine how Goon must have shouted and yelled at him to try
and make him tell the name of the robber.
    "Come on—it's a quarter to twelve. Let's get back," said
Larry, who was bursting to tell his news. "I wonder how the girls have got
on. They had an easy job, really. And so had Fatty—just got to pump Pippin, and
that's all."
    "I like this detecting business, don't you?" said Larry,
as they cycled up the road. "Of course it's more difficult for us than for
Goon or Pippin—all they've got to do is to go to any one they like and ask
questions, knowing that the people must answer the police—and they can
go into any house they like and snoop round—but we can't."
    "No, we can't. But on the other hand, we can perhaps pick up
little bits of news that people might not tell Goon," said Pip. "Look
out—there's Goon!"
    So it was—a frowning and majestic Goon, riding
    his bicycle, and looking very important. He called out to them as
he came near.
    "Where’s that fat boy? You tell him if I see him again this
morning I'll go and complain to his parents. Poking his Nose where he's not
wanted! Where is he?"
    "I don't know," said Pip and Larry together, and
grinned. What could Fatty have been doing now?
    "You don't know! Gah! I bet you know where he's hiding, ready
to pick Pippin's brains again. Does he think he's on this Case, too? Well, he's
not. I'm in charge of this. You tell him that!"
    And with that Mr. Goon sailed off, leaving Larry and Pip full of
curiosity to know what in the world Fatty had been doing now!
    More News-and a very Fat Face.
    Fatty had had rather a hectic morning. He had biked down to the
road where Goon lived, and had looked into the front room of the police cottage
as he passed by. Only Pippin was there. Good.
    Fatty leaned his bicycle against the little wall in front of the
house, leaving Buster on guard. He then went down the front path, and knocked
on the window of the room where Pippin was sitting, laboriously making out
reports on this and that.
    Pippin looked up and grinned. He opened the door to Fatty and took
the boy into the front room.
    "Any news?" said Fatty.
    "Well," said Pippin, "there's a report on the safe
and the mirror—about fingerprints. Not a single one to be