The Big Six: A Novel

  “No harm in that anyways,” said Joe.

  So, while Dorothea wrote, Dick and Tom had a pleasant messy time in Mrs. Barrable’s bathroom and the Death and Glories cleaned out their cabin, scrubbed their decks, overhauled their ropes, hoisted their sail to dry, made a neat stow of it, and washed down their topsides. The old ship was looking smarter than anyone would have thought possible and her crew were cheerful once again when Tom, Dick and Dorothea came along to say that the photographs had come out very well and that it was time to put a new coat of paint on the chimney ready for the villain’s paws.

  “Don’t you get any paint on our clean cabin-top,” said Joe.

  “You leave me alone,” said Pete.

  Once again scouts were posted in the road, at the mouth of the dyke, among the osier bushes, at the gate of Mr. Farland’s garden, to make sure that nobody, no matter who, should have any idea of what was being done, while Pete used the last of Tom’s paint in putting a new thin coat all over the chimney.

  “There weren’t but just enough,” he said when the painting was done and the sentinels were admiring his work. “We’ll have to get another tin if we have to do it again tomorrow.”

  “We won’t,” said Dorothea. “He’s in just as much of a hurry as we are. He’s wondering why you haven’t been summoned already, and he’s thinking that if something doesn’t happen soon he’ll have to start all over again.”

  They stared at her.

  “Do you know him?” said Joe wonderingly.

  “I’m thinking his thoughts,” said Dorothea.

  “But it isn’t a book, Dot,” said Dick.

  “It’s the same thing,” said Dorothea.

  “Come along now,” said Tom. “Let’s get away. And you mustn’t be back here till after dark.”

  “They’d better go for a walk through the village,” said Dorothea. “So that everybody’ll know there’s a chance of finding nobody at the ship.” She had a last look at the Death and Glory. “What about the curtains?” she said. “Better have them closed, so that he can’t look in through the windows and simply has to feel the chimney.”

  The orange curtains were pulled across the windows. Joe locked the cabin door and put the key in his pocket. Everything was ready. The detectives left the Wilderness and went back along the river bank to Scotland Yard.

  They heard voices in the garden and found Mrs. Dudgeon sitting on the lawn by the river, and playing with “our baby” who was crawling on the grass.

  “Well,” said Mrs. Dudgeon, “and how are the Big Six getting on? An arrest to be expected shortly?”

  “We think so,” said Dorothea. “There’s going to be a tremendous new clue tonight.”

  “You seem very sure about it.”

  “Dot is,” said Tom.

  Just then a pair-oared boat passed by going up the river, rowed by George Owdon and his friend.

  “They’ve borrowed the Towzers’ boat,” said Tom.

  “I wonder they aren’t in bed,” said Mrs. Dudgeon. “Mr. Tedder says they’re out night after night watching for any more boats to be cast off. And those Towzer boys. I wonder if they’ve got any clues too.”

  “George Owdon think we done it,” said Joe.

  “So do a lot of people unfortunately,” said Mrs. Dudgeon. “But I’m sure they’re all wrong. If only they could find out who took those shackles.”

  “That’s just what we’re doing,” said Tom, and stopped.

  Dorothea looked at him and at Mrs. Dudgeon and then at the others. “We’d better tell her,” she said. “Only it’s terrifically important that she mustn’t tell anybody else.”

  “Don’t tell me if you don’t want to,” said Mrs. Dudgeon. “Tom, take care! Don’t let him crawl so near the edge. We don’t want him falling in before he’s had time to grow webbed feet. How soon do you think he’ll be big enough to let into your club?”

  “There won’t be any club,” said Tom, “if things don’t clear up. The Potter Heigham member’s been made to resign, and the one at Acle, and the one at Wroxham…. Everybody’s resigned except us.”

  “This is what we’re doing,” said Dorothea, and told about the painting of the chimney and of how last night it had not worked only because Mr. Tedder had been hanging about at dusk wanting to see the Death and Glories.

  Mrs. Dudgeon listened to the end. “I don’t want to throw cold water on it,” she said at last. “But don’t you think the thief will want those shackles for himself? Don’t you think he just put that bundle down your chimney to throw suspicion on you so that he can safely keep the others or get rid of them somewhere else? I shouldn’t be surprised if he has sold them in Yarmouth by now. I don’t quite see why you should think he’ll make you a present of another lot.”

  There was silence for a moment. Then Pete turned to Tom.

  “An extra coat or two don’t hurt,” he said. “That paint ain’t really wasted.”

  But Dorothea held her ground. “We don’t think he stole them to sell them,” she said. “We think it’s all part of a deep plot. Why did he bicycle to Ranworth to put those boats adrift just the night they were there?”

  “That may be a different person,” said Mrs. Dudgeon.

  Dorothea shook her head.

  “There’s no harm in laying your trap anyway,” said Mrs. Dudgeon. “Real detectives lay dozens that don’t come off and then the one that does makes all the others worth while. But don’t put all your hopes on this one. There’s another thing too. If he’s the sort of person you think he is he must know what a lot of you there are. How are you going to let him know the coast is clear?”

  “We’ve thought of that,” said Tom. “I say, you don’t want anything at the post office or Roy’s? We’re going to walk up there so that the whole village knows there’s a good chance of nobody being in the Wilderness.”

  “Let me think,” said Mrs. Dudgeon. “Why, yes. You can get me a two shilling book of stamps, and how would you like to have pears after supper? That’ll give you two shops to go into.”

  “Well done, Mother,” said Tom.

  “Splendid,” said Dorothea. “That’s just the thing. So that if the villain sees us he’ll never guess we’re showing ourselves on purpose.”

  “You’ll find my purse in my bag,” said Mrs. Dudgeon. “On the dining-room table.”

  “We got money,” said Bill.

  Mrs. Dudgeon looked at him for a moment and then laughed.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” she said. “But I’ve got plenty too.”

  “How many pears?” said Tom.

  “Better get a dozen,” said his mother.

  *

  The mothers of the Death and Glories had been right about the feeling in the village. Tom, Dick and Dorothea could have gone to the shops and nobody would have noticed them. It was very different when they were with Joe, Bill and Pete. People hanging out washing in their gardens stopped to look at them. People sweeping their lawns leaned on their brushes and gravely watched them go by. Old ladies gossiping together pointed them out to each other and turned to have a better sight of them. Long before they came to the shops and the staithe the three small boys were red in the face and staring so defiantly at anybody who looked at them that it was not surprising that they heard one old lady say that they had the look of hardened criminals already. It was quite clear that news of the Potter Heigham shackles had got about and that the whole village had made up its mind that the Death and Glories were the thieves.

  There was busy chatter going on in the Post Office when the six Coots filed in. Talk stopped dead. The old post-mistress gave Tom his book of stamps without a word. Nobody spoke in the shop till the Coots had gone out, when they heard the chatter burst out again behind their backs.

  “Drat ’em!” said Pete. “Drat ’em! Drat ’em! They all think we done it.”

  “Well, you didn’t,” said Dorothea. “So they’re all wrong.”

  But that, though true, was small comfort.

  It was th
e same thing at the greengrocer’s. Old Mrs. Halliday looked severely at the Death and Glories, opened her mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it and pretended that the three small boys were not in the shop. She pursed her lips, put the pears in a bag and handed them to Tom as if he too was a criminal and she wished to have as little to do with him as possible.

  “Gosh!” said Tom when they got outside.

  “I think it’s perfectly horrid,” said Dorothea.

  “Let’s get out of this,” said Bill.

  “Oh, but we mustn’t,” said Dorothea. “Not till we’ve made sure everybody knows we’re not at the Death and Glory.”

  “But how will they know we aren’t going straight back there?”

  “They won’t. The villain will think he’s got a chance and he’ll go and feel the chimney to make sure. Won’t he Dick?”

  Dick was thinking of something else. He was the only one of the six who was enjoying the walk, because, as usual, his mind was far away. “I wish I knew how they photograph fingerprints,” he said. “It’s got something to do with powder … very fine powder….” And then, as he slowly realized that Dorothea had asked him a question, he said, “Sorry. I didn’t hear what you were saying.” For the first time on that walk, they all laughed.

  They walked, from mere habit, out on the staithe and were stared at in a very unfriendly way by two of the boatmen outside Jonnatt’s shed. They came on George Owdon and his friend tying up their rowing skiff.

  “Tom and his young friends,” they heard George Owdon say in a loud whisper.

  “Had I better stay and watch the boat?” asked the friend.

  “They won’t dare to cast her off here now that we’ve seen them,” said George, and they saw him put two extra half hitches on his painter when he had already made his boat fast.

  “We’ll be back before dark anyway,” said the friend.

  “Even them beasts!” said Pete, as the Coots, not letting it be seen that they had heard, strolled on their way.

  They made a leisurely round of the busier parts of the village and then, sure that everybody would know that they had left the Death and Glory, went slowly back to the Doctor’s house where they found high tea nearly ready for them.

  “You know,” said Mrs. Dudgeon as they came in. “I’ve been thinking over all you told me about these shackles and I was going to ask you to tell my husband too, but he’s just telephoned to say he has to stay in Norwich for an operation and he won’t be back till very late.”

  “We couldn’t have told him,” said Dorothea. “Not till we’ve got the proofs.”

  “It isn’t only proofs that count,” said Mrs. Dudgeon. “I think perhaps if he had heard of that plan of yours it might have helped to make him a little doubtful about the evidence of Mr. Tedder.”

  “Mother!” exclaimed Tom. “You don’t mean he’s really thinking Tedder’s right.”

  “Well, I did hear him say that Mr. Tedder was putting up a pretty good case…. But, of course,” she added hurriedly, “he hasn’t heard your side.”

  “It’s all right,” said Dorothea. “I’m sure it’ll be all right after tonight.”

  “Well,” said Mrs. Dudgeon, “I’m sure I hope the villainous fly will walk into your spider’s parlour.”

  “He will,” said Dorothea. “We’ve been all round the village and if he’s there he must know by now that he’s invited.”

  “It isn’t so much what you say,” said Mrs. Dudgeon. “But I’d like my husband to hear the way you say it…. And now let’s forget all about it. Even detectives forget their work sometimes. It’s only doctors who never can. Come along in now and let’s see who of the Big Six has got the best appetite.”

  *

  In about two minutes everybody was sitting round the table in the doctor’s dining-room, stowing away bacon and eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms. The talk had wandered far away from Scotland Yard to the mountains of the north, prospecting for gold and pigeons that carried daily messages home from a mining camp. Dorothea was telling about their adventures in the lakes and how they had thought they had found gold but it had turned out to be copper. Dick was explaining how they had made their own charcoal. Tom kept asking questions about the boats on the lake. Joe and Bill and Pete were asking about the birds. Dorothea told them about the hawk that had tried to get one of the pigeons. “Marsh harrier likely,” said Joe. Dick said, “No. It was a kestrel,” and told them there were lots of water-hens up there, but no great flocks of coots, and no spoonbills, but plenty of herons and kingfishers, and no harriers but buzzards flying round the crags. “Crags?” said Joe, and Dorothea explained. “What about beardies?” asked Pete, and on hearing that there were no bearded tits in the Lake Country said he reckoned they were better off here.

  They drank their tea, made a huge apple tart look sorry for itself, and finished up with the pears. Time flew on. “Our baby” was taken upstairs to bed, and Mrs. Dudgeon suggested that they should play darts, at which game Joe was much the best and Dick the worst, though he was quicker than the others in calculating what numbers to aim at. Then, in the dusk, they went out into the garden, half hoping to hear a noise in the Wilderness, and yet knowing that it would have to be a loud noise if they were to hear it, and that the villain, if he were there, would be doing his best to make no noise at all.

  “Let’s scout along and see,” said Pete.

  “And scare him off,” said Joe scornfully.

  “We mustn’t go anywhere near till we have to,” said Dorothea and they went into Scotland Yard and lit a lantern and sat there, and wished Joe had his white rat with him.

  “Have you got your mouth organ?” asked Dorothea.

  “I got that,” said Joe, pulling it out of his pocket.

  “Why not play it?” said Dorothea. “That’ll encourage him if he’s passing in the road. He’ll know you’re here and he’ll guess the others may be. But he won’t be sure, and he’ll creep through the bushes….” As she spoke, without knowing it, her hand reached out to feel an imaginary chimney.

  “Here she go,” said Joe, and staring straight in front of him with glassy eyes, moved the mouth organ to and fro, holding it to his lips with both hands. “Daisy, Daisy, Give me your answer do” came from the instrument and set Mrs. Dudgeon smiling in the house and hoping at the same time that it would not wake “our baby” so that she would have to go out to Scotland Yard and stop it. But “our baby” took it for a lullaby and slept on, and in Scotland Yard Joe played his mouth organ till he had no more breath and no more tunes and the dusk outside had turned to dark.

  Mrs. Dudgeon came out at last and hurried Dick and Dorothea off home. “Mrs. Barrable will be wondering what we’ve done with you,” she said. “And William can’t be very good company.”

  “But ain’t you and Dick coming to see?” said Joe. “Let’s slip along now.”

  For a moment, Dorothea was tempted. Then, sadly but firmly, she made up her mind. “The longer you give him, the more chance,” she said.

  “You wouldn’t be able to do anything about it till the morning anyway,” said Mrs. Dudgeon. “And I expect you’ll be down here pretty early.”

  Dick and Dorothea went home. Tom and the Death and Glories stayed on at Scotland Yard. From time to time someone looked out to see that the dark was growing darker. Joe and Tom were putting an eye-splice in one end of a length of rope and a sailmaker’s whipping on the other, to make a new mainsheet for the Titmouse. Pete and Bill were looking at the pile of separate bits of paper on which Dorothea had made careful notes of each bit of evidence they had collected.

  “Wonderful how she do it,” said Bill.

  “Out of school too,” said Pete. “Even Tom couldn’t do it.”

  “Bet he could,” said Bill. “Tom, could you have write all that if that Dot not been here to do it?”

  “Not me,” said Tom cheerfully. “I say, Joe, get the twist out of your end.”

  “That eye-splice is all right,” said Joe, looking over
Tom’s work.

  “Those last tucks ought to be tighter,” said Tom.

  Steps sounded on the path outside.

  “Tom!”

  “Coming!” called Tom.

  “Bed-time,” said Mrs. Dudgeon coming to the door of Scotland Yard.

  “I’ll just run down to the Death and Glory,” said Tom.

  “In the morning,” said his mother. “I want you in bed before your father comes home.”

  “But what if Dick’s dodge has worked?” said Tom.

  “I don’t expect it has,” said Mrs. Dudgeon … “But … Well, if it has they can come back and let you know. I’d like to know too. Now, off you go, you three.”

  Tom blew out the lantern. In the dark outside, Pete tried his torch.

  “If there’s anything happen we can come back and tell Tom?” said Bill.

  “Didn’t you hear her?” said Joe.

  “Yes. You can come back. But don’t make too much noise if you do. Good night. Good night.”

  Tom and his mother went round the house and in, while the crew of the Death and Glory, using one torch to save the others, went to the drawbridge, crossed quietly into Mr. Farland’s garden, and made their way round his boathouse and so along the river bank. Cautiously, silently they crept towards their ship.

  *

  Three minutes later, they scrambled over the fence into the road and with all three torches blazing raced back to Dr. Dudgeon’s as hard as they could go.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  THE VILLAIN LEAVES HIS MARK

  THEY charged into Dr. Dudgeon’s gate and round the house. There was a light in the window of Tom’s room. Tom was not yet in bed.

  “Tom!” called Joe.

  “Coots for ever!” shouted Bill.

  Pete said nothing but pulled as hard as he could at the string that was hanging from the window.

  Tom put his head out.

  “Stop pulling,” he whispered. “You’re lugging my bed across the room. And don’t make such a row.”