Free Mystery of the Spiteful Letters by Enid Blyton Page A

be that sour-faced man with the twitching nose,’ said Daisy to herself. She had nothing much to do because it was no use tackling Mr. Goon and talking to him. It was plain that he could not be the writer of the letters. So she watched the others getting to work, and listened with much interest, though the rattling of the bus made her miss a little of the conversation.
    ‘Good morning, Miss Trimble,’ Daisy heard Larry say politely. ‘I haven’t seen you for some time. Are you going to the market too? We thought we’d like to go today.’
    ‘Oh, it’s a pretty sight,’ said Miss Trimble, setting her glasses firmly on her nose. They were always falling off, for they were pince-nez, with no side-pieces to hold them behind her ears. Bets loved to count how many times they fell off. What with watching the man with the twitching nose and Miss Trimble’s glasses, Bets quite forgot to talk to Mrs. Jolly, who was taking up most of the seat she and Bets was sitting on.
    ‘Have you often been to Sheepsale market?’ asked Larry.
    ‘No, not very often,’ said Miss Trimble. ‘How is your dear mother, Laurence?’
    ‘She’s quite well,’ said Larry. ‘Er - how is your mother, Miss Tremble? I remember seeing her once next door.’
    ‘Ah, my dear mother isn’t too well,’ said Miss Trimble. ‘And if you don’t mind, Laurence dear, my name is Trimble, not Tremble. I think I have told you that before.’
    ‘Sorry. I keep forgetting,’ said Larry. ‘Er - does your mother live at Sheepsale, Miss Trem - er Trimble? Do you often go and see her?’
    ‘She lives just outside Sheepsale,’ said Miss Trimble, pleased at Larry’s interest in her mother. ‘Dear Lady Candling lets me go every Monday to see her, you know - such a help. I do all the old lady’s shopping for the week then.’
    ‘Do you always catch this bus?’ asked Larry, wondering if by any conceivable chance Miss Trimble could be the wicked letter-writer.
    ‘If I can,’ said Miss Trimble. ‘The next one is not till after lunch you know.’
    Larry turned and winked at Fatty. He didn’t think that Miss Trimble was the guilty person, but at any rate she must be put down as a suspect. But her next words made him change his mind completely.
    ‘It was such a nuisance,’ said Miss Trimble. ‘I lost the bus last week, and wasted half my day!’
    Well! That put Miss Trimble right out of the question, because certainly the letter-writer had posted the letter to poor Gladys the Monday before - and if Miss Trimble had missed the bus, she couldn’t have been in Sheepsale at the right time for posting!
    Larry decided that he couldn’t get any more out of Miss Trimble that would be any use and looked out of the window. Bets seemed to be getting on well with Mrs. Jolly now. He couldn’t hear what she was saying, but he could see that she was busy chattering.
    Bets was getting on like a house on fire! Mrs. Jolly greeted her warmly and asked after her mother and father, and how the garden was, and had they still got that kitchen cat that was such a good hunter. And Bets answered all her questions, keeping an interested eye on Miss Trimble’s glasses, which had already fallen off twice, and on the sour-faced man’s twitching nose.
    It was not until she saw how earnestly Fatty was trying to make the sour-faced man talk to him that she suddenly realized that she too ought to find out a few things from Mrs. Jolly. Whether, for instance, she always caught this bus!
    ‘Are you going to the market, Mrs. Jolly?’ she asked.
    ‘Yes, that I am!’ said Mrs. Jolly. ‘I always buy my butter and eggs from my sister there. You should go to her stall too, Miss Bets, and tell her you know me. She’ll give you over-weight in butter then and maybe a brown egg for yourself!’
    ‘She sounds awfully kind - just like you’ said Bets.
    Mrs. Jolly was pleased and laughed her hearty laugh. ‘Oh, you’ve got a soft tongue, haven’t you?’ she said. Bets was surprised. She thought all tongues must surely be soft.
    She looked at Mrs. Jolly,