Free Mystery of the Spiteful Letters by Enid Blyton

to talk to him or her. You can find out a lot that way.’
    Bets looked alarmed. ‘But I shan’t know what to say!’ she said.
    ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Pip. ‘You can always open the conversation by saying, “Isn’t that a remarkably clever-looking boy over there?” and point to Fatty. That’s enough to get any one talking.’
    They all laughed. ‘It’s all right, Bets,’ said Fatty. ‘You can always say something simple, like “Can you tell me the time, please?” Or, “What is this village we’re passing now?” It’s easy to make people talk if you ask them to tell you something.’
    ‘Any other instructions, Sherlock Holmes?’ said Pip.
    ‘Yes - and this is most important,’ said Fatty. ‘We must watch carefully whether anybody posts a letter in Sheepsale - because if only one of the passengers does, that’s a pretty good pointer, isn’t it? The post-office is by the bus-stop there, so we can easily spot if any one catches the 11.45 post. We can hang around and see if any of the bus passengers posts a letter before that time, supposing they don’t go to the letter-box immediately. That’s a most important point.’
    ‘Here comes the bus,’ said Bets in excitement. ‘And look - there are quite a lot of people in it!’
    ‘Five!’ said Larry. ‘One for each of us. Oh gosh! One of them is old Clear-Orf!’
    ‘Blow!’ said Fatty. ‘So it is. Now whatever is he doing on the bus this morning? Has he got the same idea as we have, I wonder? If so, he’s brainier than I thought. Daisy, you sit by him. He’ll have a blue fit if I do and I know Buster will try to nibble his ankles all the time.’
    Daisy was not at all anxious to sit by Mr. Goon, but there was no time to argue. The bus stopped. The five children and Buster got in. Buster gave a yelp of joy when he smelt the policeman. Mr. Goon looked round in astonishment and annoyance.
    ‘Gah!’ he said, in tones of deep disgust. ‘You again! Now, what you doing on this bus today? Everywhere I go there’s you children traipsing along!’
    ‘We’re going to Sheepsale market, Mr. Goon,’ said Daisy politely, sitting beside him. ‘I hope you don’t mind. Are you going there too?’
    ‘That’s my business,’ said Mr. Goon, keeping a watchful eye on Buster, who was trying to reach his ankles, straining at his lead. ‘What the Law does is no concern of yours.’
    Daisy wondered for a wild moment if Mr. Goon could possibly be the anonymous letter-writer. After all, he knew the histories of everyone in the village. It was his business to. Then she knew it was a mad idea. But what a nuisance if Mr. Goon was on the same track as they were - sizing up the people in the bus, and going to watch for the one who posted the letter to catch the 11.45 post.
    Daisy glanced round at the other people in the bus. A Find-Outer was by each. Daisy knew two of the people there. One was Miss Trimble who was companion to Lady Candling, Pip’s next-door neighbour. Larry was sitting by her. Daisy felt certain Miss Trimble - or Tremble as the children called her, could have nothing to do with the case. She was far too timid and nervous.
    Then there was fat little Mrs. Jolly from the sweet-shop, kindness itself. No, it couldn’t possibly be her! Why, every one loved her, and she was exactly like her name. She was kind and generous to everyone, and she nodded and smiled at Daisy as she caught her eye. Daisy was certain that before the trip was ended she would be handing sweets out to all the children!
    Well, that was three out of the five passengers! That only left two possible ones. One was a thin, dark, sour-faced man, huddled up over a newspaper, with a pasty complexion, and a curious habit of twitching his nose like a rabbit every now and again.
    This fascinated Bets, who kept watching him. The other possible person was a young girl about eighteen, carrying sketching things. She had a sweet, open face, and very pretty curly hair. Daisy felt absolutely certain that she knew nothing whatever about the letters.
    ‘It must