Free Mystery of Holly Lane by Enid Blyton

and asking you what you’re doing. You can get it when Goon’s not there.”
    They all went home. Fatty was thinking hard. Why wouldn’t the old man say where he had hidden his money? It was silly of him, because he might have made a mistake when he hunted for it — it might quite well still be in the bungalow in some place he had forgotten.
    “Larry said that the old fellow was crawling about, feeling under the furniture, the day he went to clean the windows,” thought Fatty. “Why feel so much of the furniture? Did he sometimes put the money in one place and sometimes in another? Or perhaps he divided it up — it might be in notes — and put in several places. That’s quite likely. Well, it’s not a real mystery — only an ordinary robbery. Goon will soon find the robber. He’s only got to get a list of the people who visited the bungalow this morning, and weed them out”
    That afternoon Goon arrived at Fatty’s house. He asked for Fatty — and Jane showed him into the study.
    “That fat policeman wants you, Master Frederick,” said Jane, when she found Fatty. “I hope Buster hasn’t got into trouble again!”
    “Wuff,” said Buster, and danced round Jane. Fatty debated whether to take the little Scottie into the study with him or not. He thought he would. It might keep Goon in his place!
    So in marched Fatty, with Buster at his heels. Goon was standing at the window, frowning. He was feeling angry about a lot of things. He was angrier still when he felt Buster sniffing at his heels.
    “Come here, Buster,” said Fatty. “Oh, won’t you sit down, Mr. Goon? Anything I can do for you?”
    Goon swung round, eyeing Buster balefully. That dog! Had that tiresome Bert locked him up the shed the night before, or hadn’t he? He couldn’t get a word out of Bert now.
    Goon sat down heavily and took out his bulky notebook. “I’ve come about the robbery,” he said.
    “Well, Tm not guilty,” said Fatty, smoothly. “I do assure you I…”
    “I know you’re not guilty,” said Goon, looking as if he wished Fatty were. “What I want to know is — how did you come to be around there just when the old man was yelling blue murder?”
    “He wasn’t,” corrected Fatty. “He was yelling for the police.”
    “Pah!” said Goon. “You know what I mean. Seems a funny thing to me the way you kids are always about when anything happens. Snooping round. Prying. Interfering with the Law.”
    “If that’s all you’ve come to tell me you might as well say good-bye,” said Fatty, getting up. “I mean, I can easily bike over to the Superintendent this afternoon and tell him everything. I don’t want to interfere with the Law. I want to help it. We couldn’t help being there just at that moment. Well, good morning, Mr. Goon.”
    Goon looked extremely startled. “Now, you sit down,” he said, trying to speak pleasantly. “I’m only just saying what a remarkable thing it is that you always seem to be around when these things happen. Nothing wrong in saying that, is there?”
    “You mentioned something about snooping. And prying,” said Fatty.
    “Ah, well, I’m a bit upset-like,” said Mr. Goon, taking out an enormous handkerchief and wiping his forehead with it. “Let’s forget it. I don’t want to interview you, but the law’s the law. It’s the last thing I want to do today — see you again. But I’ve got to ask you a few questions seeing as you and the others were the first on the spot, so to speak.”
    “Ask away,” said Fatty, “but don’t be too verbose — I’ve got plenty to do.”
    Goon wondered what “verbose” meant — something rude, he’d be bound! He determined to look it up in the dictionary when he got back. Verbose!
    He began to ask Fatty a few routine questions.
    “What time had Fatty and the others been there? Anyone about? Anything disarranged in the living-room? What had the old man said?”
    Fatty answered shortly and truthfully, thankful that Goon had no suspicion that