Enid Blyton - Mystery #03 — The Mystery of the Secret Room

He tried the door. It was locked all right. He went to the window. It was pitch-dark outside. He opened the window and felt the bars. They were too close together for him to slip out between them. He was indeed a prisoner.

He went and sat down again, shivering. Fright and the winter’s chill made him shake all over. He saw the electric fire and decided to put it on. He might as well be warm, anyway!

He sat down once more and gazed gloomily at the sheet of notepaper. What a bad detective he was, to allow himself to be caught like this! It was terribly careless. The others would never admire him again.

“Well, I shan’t write that letter, anyway,” thought the boy, but he trembled to think what his punishment might be if he didn’t.

Then an idea came to him. It was really brilliant. He sat and thought about it for a while. Yes - it would work if only the others were bright enough to catch on to the idea too!

“I’ll write an invisible letter on this sheet of paper, and I’ll write a letter in ink on it as well!” thought Fatty. “I bet Pip and the others will think of testing it for secret writing. Golly - what an idea this is! To write two letters on one sheet, one seen and the other unseen! I bet the men will never think of that!”

He looked at the sheet of paper. It was faintly ruled with lines. He could write his secret letter between the lines and the other letter on the lines! When the others tested it for secret writing, they would then be able to read his real letter easily.

Fatty’s hands shook with excitement. He might be able to do something startling now! He must think carefully what to write. The men who used this room were evil, and they used it as a meeting place for evil reasons. They must be stopped. They were evidently in the middle of some big affiair at the moment, and it was up to Fatty to stop them.

He took a rather squashy orange from his pocket. He looked round for a glass. There was one on the shelf. He squeezed his orange into it, then picked up the pen the men had left. The nib was clean and new.

Should he write the visible letter first, or the secret one? Fatty decided on the visible one, because it would be easier then to write the invisible one, as he could see where he had written the first letter.

He began:

“DEAR FIND-OUTERS - I have made a wonderful discovery, most awfully exciting. I can’t leave here, because I am guarding something - but I want to show you what it is. All of you come as soon as you can, and I will let you in when you knock. - Yours,

‘FREDDIE.’ ”

That seemed all right - just what the man had commanded him to write. But the others would smell a rat as soon as they saw the name “Freddie” at the bottom. He always signed himself Fatty in notes like this.

Then he set to work to write the letter in secret ink - or rather in orange juice.

“DEAR FIND-OUTERS” - he wrote - “Don’t take any notice of the visible letter. I’m a prisoner here. There’s some very dirty work going on; I don’t quite know what. Get hold of Inspector Jenks AT ONCE and tell him everything. He’ll know what to do. Don’t come near the place, any of you. - Yours ever,

‘FATTY.’ ”

That just took him to the bottom of the sheet. Not a trace of the secret writing was visible; only a few sentences of the inked writing were to be seen. Fatty felt pleased. Now, if only the others guessed there was a secret message and read it, things might be all right.

“Inspector Jenks will see to things,” thought Fatty, and it was comforting to think of the clever, powerful Inspector of Police, their very good friend, knowing about this curious affair. Fatty thought of him - his broad cheerful face, his courtesy, his tallness, his shrewdness.

It was now about six o’clock. Fatty yawned. He had had a poor night. He was hungry and tired, but warmer now. He curled himself up on the sofa again and slept.

He was awakened by the men coming into the room again. He sat up, blinking. Daylight now came in through the window.

The thin-lipped man saw the paper on the table and picked it up. He read the letter in silence and then handed it to the other man.

“This is all right,” he said. “We’ll bag all the silly little idiots, and give them a sharp lesson. Will they all come down to see where you are, boy?”

“I don’t know,” said Fatty. “No, probably not. Maybe just one or two of them.”

“Then they’re sure to take the letter to show the others, and bring them back here,” said the thin-lipped man. “We’ll keep a look-out for them. We’ll hide in the garden and catch the lot. Jarvis is downstairs now too. He can help.”

They opened some tins and had breakfast. They gave the hungry Fatty a small helping of ham sandwich, and he gobbled it up. They suddenly noticed his glass of yellow juice and one of them picked it up.

“What’s this?” he said, smelling it suspiciously. “Where did it come from?”

“It’s orange juice,” said Fatty, and he drank it up. “I had an orange with me and I squeezed it. I can’t help being thirsty, can I?”

He set down the glass. The men evidently thought no more of it but began to talk together in low voices, again using the language that Fatty did not understand. He was very bored. He wondered if one of the others would come soon. As soon as someone found he hadn’t got home, surely they would come and look for him! What were the Find-Outers doing?

They were all wondering how Fatty had got on that night. Bets was worried. She didn’t know why, but she really did feel anxious.

“I hope Fatty is all right,” she kept saying to Pip. “I do hope he is.”

“That’s about the twenty-third time you’ve said that!” said Pip crossly. “Of course he’s all right. Probably eating an enormous breakfast this very minute.”

Larry and Daisy called in at Pip’s soon after breakfast, looking cross.

“We’ve got to catch the bus and take some things to one of our aunts,” said Daisy. “Isn’t it a bore - just when we wanted to hear if Fatty found out anything. You and Bets will have to see if he’s home, Pip.”

“He may come wandering down, if he’s at home,” said Pip. “Oh, you’ve got Buster with you! Well, I’ll take him back to Fatty’s for you, shall I?”

Pip’s mother wouldn’t let him go out till about twelve o’clock, as she had made up her mind that he and Bets were to tidy out their cupboards. This was a job Pip hated. It took ages. Grumbling loudly, he began to throw everything out on to the floor.

“Oh, Pip, let’s hurry up and finish this job,” begged Bets. “I can’t wait to find out if Fatty’s home all right.”

Buster fussed round, sniffing at everything that came out of the cupboards. He was upset and worried. His beloved master hadn’t fetched him from Larry’s the night before, and here was the morning and nobody had taken him back to Fatty yet. Not only that, but they apparently wouldn’t let him go by himself! He was so miserable that he limped even more badly than usual, though his leg was now quite healed.

At last the cupboards were finished and Pip and Bets were told they might go out in the snow. They put on hats and coats, whistled to Buster, and set off to Fatty’s.

They slipped in at his garden door and whistled the tune they always used as a signal to one another. There was no reply.

A maid popped her head out into the passage. “Oh!” she said, “I thought it was Master Frederick. He didn’t sleep here last night, the naughty boy. I suppose he stayed the night with you or Master Larry - but he ought to have told me. When is he coming back?”

This was a real shock to Pip and Bets. So Fatty hadn’t come back from Milton House? What had happened?

“Oh! - he’ll be back today I expect,” Pip said to the anxious maid. He dragged Bets out into the garden. She was crying.