Mr. Goon's mouth opened and shut like a goldfish. He simply couldn't believe his ears.

"But, sir—we got the thieves red-handed. And the one that escaped was only the one on guard in the garden, sir. He hadn't anything to do with the thieving. It was the three upstairs who did that—and we've got them."

"Yes, you've got them, and that was a very good bit of work, as I said," said the Inspector. "But I'm afraid, Goon, that one of the upstairs thieves, when he knew the game was up, simply threw the pearls out of the window to the man below. He must have pocketed them, and then, when he was arrested, struggled so violently that he managed to escape—with the pearls. Pity, isn't it?"

Mr. Goon was most dismayed. True, they had got three of the gang—but the pearls were gone. He had waited to catch the men red-handed—and actually let them take the pearls, because he felt so certain he could get them back, when the men were arrested—and now, after all, the robbery had been successful. One of the gang had got them, and would no doubt get rid of them in double quick time.

"It's—it's most unfortunate, sir," said poor Mr. Goon.

"Well—let's hear your tale," said the Inspector. "You only had time to send in a very short report—what's all this about posing as a waxwork?"

Mr. Goon was proud of this bit, and he related it all in full to the interested Inspector. But when he came to the part where he had sneezed, and the men had caught Fatty, instead of himself, Inspector Jenks sat up straight.

"Do you mean to tell me that Frederick Trotteville was there?" he said. "Posing too? What as?"

"Napoleon, sir," said Goon. "Interfering as usual. That boy can't keep his nose out of things, he can't. Well sir, when the men had gone to do the robbery, I crept out after them, and I went to the telephone box and..."

"Wait a bit, wait a bit," said the Inspector. "What happened to Frederick?"

"Him? Oh well—nothing much," said Goon, trying to gloss over this bit as quickly as possible. "They just tied him up a bit, sir, and chucked him into a cupboard. They didn't hurt him. Of course, if they'd started any rough stuff with him, I'd have gone for them, sir."

"Of course," said the Inspector gravely. "Well I suppose you went and untied him and let him out of the cupboard before you rushed off to telephone."

Mr. Goon went rather red. "Well, sir—to tell you the truth, sir, I didn't think I had the time—and also, sir, it was a dangerous business last night, and I didn't think that boy ought to be mixed up in it. He's a terror for getting into the middle of things, sir, that boy is, and ..."

"Goon," said the Inspector, and the policeman stopped abruptly and looked at his superior. He was looking very grave. "Goon. Do you mean to say you left the boy tied up in a locked cupboard? I can hardly believe it of you. What time did you let him out?"

Mr. Goon swallowed nervously. "I went back, sir, about midnight—and I unlocked the cupboard door, sir—and—and the cupboard was empty."

"Good heavens!" said the Inspector, startled. "Do you know what had happened to Frederick? "

"No, sir," said Mr. Goon. The Inspector reached out for one of his five telephones.

"I must ring his home to see if he is all right," he said.

Mr. Goon looked more downcast than ever. "He's—well, he seems to have vanished, sir," he said. The Inspector put down the telephone, and stared at Mr. Goon.

"Vanished! What do you mean? This is very serious indeed."

"Well, Sir—all I know is that the other kids—the ones he's always with—they keep on asking me if I know where their friend is," said Mr. Goon desperately. "And if they don't know—well, he might be anywhere!"

"I must look into the matter at once," said the Inspector. "I'll get into touch with his parents. Now finish your story quickly, so that I can get on to this matter of Frederick Trotteville at once."

So poor Mr. Goon had to cut short his wonderful story, and blurt out quickly the rest of the night's happenings. He felt very down in the mouth as he cycled back home. The pearls had gone after all! What a blow! And now this wretched boy had disappeared, and there would be no end of a fuss about him. Privately Mr. Goon thought it would be a very good thing if Fatty disappeared for good. Oh, why hadn't he let him out of that cupboard last night? He had known that he ought to—but it had seemed such a very good way of paying out that interfering boy!

Where could Fatty be? Mr. Goon pondered the matter deeply as he turned into the village street. Had the escaped thief gone back to the Hall, and taken Fatty prisoner, meaning to hold him up for ransom, or something? Mr. Goon went cold at the thought. If such a thing happened, he would be held up to scorn by every one for not having freed Fatty when he could.

He was so deep in thought that he did not see a small dog run at his bicycle. He wobbled, and fell off, landing with a bump on the road. The dog flew round him in delight, barking lustily.

"Clear-orf!" shouted Mr. Goon angrily, and suddenly recognized Buster. "Will you clear-orf!"

He looked round to see who was in charge of Buster—and his mouth fell wide open. He was so astonished mat he couldn't get up, but went on sitting down in the road, with Buster making little darts at him.

Fatty was standing there, grinning down at him. Fatty! Mr. Goon stared at him. Here he'd been reporting to the Inspector that Fatty had vanished—and the Inspector had gone all hot and bothered about it—and now here was that same boy, grinning down at him, large as life and twice as natural.

"Where've you been?" said Mr. Goon at last, feebly pushing Buster away.

"Home," said Fatty. "Why?"

"Home?" said Mr. Goon. "You've been at home? Why, the others kept asking me where you were, see? And I reported your disappearance to the Inspector. He's going to start searching for you."

"But Mr. Goon—why?" asked Fatty innocently. "I'm here. And I got home all right last night, too. All the same, it was jolly mean of you to leave me in that cupboard. I shan't forget that in a hurry."

Mr. Goon got up. "How did you get out of that there cupboard?" he asked. "All tied up you were, too. Do you mean to say you untied yourself, and unlocked that cupboard and got out all by yourself?"

"You never know, do you?" said Fatty. "Well so long, Mr. Goon—and do telephone the Inspector to tell him not to start searching for me. I'll be at home if he wants me!"

He went off with! Buster, and poor Mr. Goon was left to cycle home, his head spinning. "That boy! First he's locked up, then he disappears, then he comes back again—and nobody knows how or when or why." Mr. Goon couldn't make head or tail of it.

He didn't enjoy ringing up the Inspector and reporting that he had just met Fatty.

"But where had he been?" said the Inspector, puzzled. "Where was he last night?"

"Er—at home, sir," said poor Mr. Goon. "It was the other children put me off, sir—asking me if I knew where he was, and all that, sir."

The Inspector put down his receiver with an impatient click. Really, Goon was too idiotic at times! The Inspector sat looking at his telephone, thinking deeply. He had had reports from all kinds of people about this Case—but not from one person, who appeared to know quite a lot about it—and that was Master Frederick Trotteville! .The Inspector made another telephone call. Fatty answered it.

"I want you to cycle over here this morning and answer a few questions, Frederick," said the Inspector. "Come straight along now."

So, with Buster in his basket, Fatty rode off to the next town, wondering a little fearfully what the inspector wanted to know. Would he think he had been mixing himself up in this Mystery a bit too much? He had warned the Find-Outers not to get mixed up, because it might be dangerous.