Mystery of the Strange Bundle by Enid Blyton Page B

dressing-gown. It was hanging in a tall cupboard. It was dirty - but it was also messed up with hay and straw - strands stuck out here and there. Where had Mr. Fellows been in his dressing-gown? Fatty thought rapidly, as he shut the cupboard door.
    “He didn’t go to stay with a friend, he hid somewhere for the rest of that night, and all day yesterday - because he didn’t want to be found in his night-clothes - questions would be asked! He hid in a barn or in a haystack or rick - and crept home in the middle of last night. I bet the watchmen were surprised to see him again, if they spotted him. Gosh, they’d think my Uncle Horatious had been out again!”
    The angry voices downstairs had stopped. There was the sound of a window being slammed shut. Fatty dropped down on his hands and knees and began calling.
    “Puss, puss, where are you? Kitty, kitty!”
    A voice came up the stairs. “What are you doing up there? Come down at once!”
    “Sorry,” said Fatty, appearing at the top of the stairs. “The kitten’s run away.”
    “It’s down here,” said Mr. Fellows. He still looked very angry. “You clear off now. Thanks for seeing to the kitten. I’ve ticked that interfering policeman off, and he’s gone. I’ve a good mind to report him.”
    “I should, sir,” said Fatty earnestly.
    “I think he must be mad,” said Mr. Fellows, lighting a cigarette and pacing nervously up and down. “Talking about dogs and pigs and aunties.”
    Fatty wanted to laugh. He glanced round, and decided that there really wasn’t any more to get out of Mr. Fellows, or to hunt for in the house. He had done very nicely!
    “Well, goodbye, sir - and I hope the kitten will be all right now,” said Fatty. “Sorry to intrude and all that. Fancy you not having a burglar in after all!”
    “Well, I didn’t,” snapped Mr. Fellows. “Clear out now. I want some peace!”
    Fatty cleared out, whistling softly. A most interesting interview - and how nice to find that all his ideas had been right. Those muddy slippers! My word, if Goon once got into the house and did a bit of snooping he would find a few things to interest him too!
    Mr. Goon was lying in wait for Fatty. He emerged from behind a tree as Fatty turned down the road to go to Larry’s.
    “Ho!” said Mr. Goon, his face purple. “Ho!” He seemed quite unable to say anything else for the moment.
    “Ho to you,” said Fatty politely. “Many Hoes!”
    Mr. Goon went a deeper purple. “So you’re his friend, are you?” he said, in a choking voice. “That’s a bit of news, that is!”
    “I’m so glad,” said Fatty, politely, trying to edge past.
    “Do you know what you are?” said Mr. Goon, losing the rest of his temper with a rush. “You’re a Pest! A Toad! But I’ve sent in my report, see - and you’ll be sorry!”
    “I don’t see why,” said Fatty. “I do hope you’ve put in the kitten, the dog, and the pig - not forgetting Auntie.”
    “There wasn’t any Auntie,” shouted Mr. Goon. “He just wanted his Auntie! Gah! What with you and Kenton and that fellow up yonder, my life’s not worth living.”
    “No. It’s a poor sort of life,” agreed Fatty, suddenly seeing Larry and Daisy out of the corner of his eye in Larry’s front garden. He hoped and prayed they had got Buster with them, and would have the sense to let him out of the gate.
    “I suppose you think I don’t know it was you muddling those night-watchmen last night?” began Goon again, going off on a new track, with a new grievance. “Your Uncle Horace! Pah!”
    “My Uncle Horatious,” corrected Fatty. “Don’t muddle up my uncles, please.”
    Mr. Goon advanced on him, ready to tear Fatty limb from limb. Never had he felt so angry in his life. Poor Mr. Goon - he was muddled and bewildered and so exasperated that he didn’t know which way to turn!
    “Wuff! Wuff-Wuff!”
    With a delighted volley of barks, Buster suddenly shot out of Larry’s front gate at sixty miles an hour. He was thrilled to see Fatty, and equally thrilled to see Mr. Goon, though for rather a different