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

Immediately on the Inspector’s heels came three more men. The door was quietly shut. Then one of the men put handcuffs on the frightened Jarvis.

The Inspector went silently up the stairs followed by two of his men. They all wore rubber-soled shoes and made no sound at all. Right up to the top of the house they went, to a room where light came from the keyhole. It was the secret room.

The Inspector swung it open suddenly, his revolver in his hand. He said nothing at all. There were five men in the room, and they all leapt to their feet at once. One glance at the Inspector’s stern face, and they put up their hands.

Then the Inspector spoke, in quite an amiable voice, looking round the room.

“Ah! - got yourself a cosy little nest here, haven’t you? Pleased to see you again, Finnigan - or is your name John Henry Smith now? And you’re here too, I see, Lammerton - well, well, well, this is an unexpected pleasure, if I may say so!”

The two men spoken to scowled. One was the thin-lipped man, and the other was the red-faced man. The Inspector looked at the others.

One of them spoke eagerly. “I’m not in this Inspector! I didn’t know till tonight, when I was brought over here by plane, that there was any dirty work afoot.”

“Really?” said the Inspector disbelievingly. “You hadn’t got anything unusual in the way of antiques to sell, I suppose? Oh no - you don’t know anything about the theft of the priceless Chinese vases owned by the Belgian Count, I suppose? You are quite innocent!”

“And you!” he said, turning to another man, “you hadn’t anything to do with getting the valuable picture from the Paris gallery, had you? You don’t know anything about that, I’m sure! Well, well - I can only say it is unfortunate that such clever and notorious rogues as you should be found here, in a secret place, with equally well-known buyers of antiques, rogues too, known to be hand in glove with the same kind of fellows on the other side of the Atlantic!”

“The game’s up,” said the fifth man, in a sulky voice. “I always said this was a dangerous place to meet in.”

“It’s been all right up till now, hasn’t it?” said the Inspector. “A very nice quiet spot! A good place to meet and to plot - a good place even to store valuable goods until the hue and cry has died down, and you can take them over to America to sell. Barred windows to protect your goods and all! A good many police all over the world have been on the look-out for your clever gang for years. I am happy to think it will be broken up for a long time to come!”

The other men who had come up with Inspector Jenks moved into the room and deftly put handcuffs on each of the five sullen men.

“Any more of you?” inquired the Inspector. “We’ve got a fellow downstairs.”

“Find out for yourself,” said Lammerton viciously.

“We will,” said the Inspector. “There are men all round the house, as you will probably guess. A very proper precaution, as I am sure you will agree?”

The men scowled and said nothing. The Inspector gave a sharp order, and every one went out of the room. For a minute or two Inspector Jenks examined the secret room, his eyes sharp and shrewd. Then he went downstairs too.

The five men and Jarvis were lined up in the hall. One of the policemen had put a lantern on a ledge and the scene was lighted up. The five children at the gate, feeling certain that things were safe now, crept up to the door and looked in.

“Golly! “ said Larry, in awe. “Look at them all - what scoundrels they look! What are they, Fatty, do you think? Thieves? Spies? Or what?”

“They might be anything,” said Fatty, squinting in. “They look bad enough!”

Suddenly Fatty slipped and fell, making a slithering noise. At once the front door was flung open and a policeman looked out.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s only us,” said Fatty, grinning up into the beam thrown by the torch. “Hallo, Inspector - we just came to see the fun.”

“Then you’ve no right to,” said the Inspector. “There might have been shooting. Frederick, which of these men did you see most of?”

Fatty pointed to the thin-lipped man and the red-faced one. “Have you got them all?” he said. “What about the one I locked into the coal-cellar?”

The prisoners looked astonished. The thin-lipped man spoke sharply to Fatty.

“How did you get out of that locked room?”

“I don’t give my secrets away,” said Fatty. “Inspector, the one in the cellar makes seven. Shall we get him?”

“There’s nobody else.” said the thin-lipped man. “Only six of us.”

Another black figure loomed up in the darkness outside and a policeman came into the light.

“Sir,” he said to the Inspector, “there’s someone underground somewhere. I was standing on guard at the back there, and I kept hearing muffled shouts, but couldn’t make out where they came from.”

“That’s the fellow I locked in the coal-cellar!” said Fatty. “Let’s go and get him!”

“Come along, then,” said the Inspector, getting out his gun again. “You others keep back. Only Frederick is to come, to show me the way. You keep back when I open the cellar door, Frederick.”

Fatty proudly led the way to the cellar door, and produced the key from his pocket. From below came a violent voice, shouting and yelling, and now and again the sound of falling coal as poor Clear-Orf tried to find a way out.

The voice sounded vaguely familiar to Fatty as he gave the key to the Inspector to open the door. The Inspector put it in the lock and turned it.

“Come on out!” he roared. “Up the steps, man, and put your hands up!”

Some one came tumbling up the steps. It was poor Mr. Goon, without his helmet, which was lost somewhere in the coal, and as black as a negro. He stumbled out of the door, blinking in the bright torch-light shone on him by the Inspector. He was so dirty and black that neither Fatty nor the Inspector recognized him.

Mr. Goon was angry, afraid, and puzzled. He walked through the kitchen, with the Inspector prodding him from behind, and gaped to see the crowd of men in the hall. He also gaped to see the children there, opening and shutting his mouth like a goldfish.

Buster was the only one who recognized poor Mr. Goon. With a torrent of loud barks he flung himself joyfully at the ankles of his enemy.

“You clear-orf!” said Goon angrily, and kicked out at the dog. “What’s all this-ere?”

“It’s Clear-Orf!” cried all the Five Find-Outers in the greatest surprise.

“Goon!” said the Inspector, also in the utmost astonishment. “How did you - how is it - what has...” But the Inspector didn’t finish. Instead he burst out into such hearty laughter that the other members of the Squad grinned too.

“Well, Goon, this is an extraordinary meeting,” said the Inspector, eyeing the dirty, angry policeman with amusement. “I called at your place to find out if you knew anything about the goings-on here - but you were not there.”

“I were locked up in that filthy coal-cellar!” said Goon, and he glared at Fatty. “And that’s the one who locked me in! He wants watching, he does. He’s a Frenchy fellow, up to no good - in with the thieves, I don’t doubt - or whatever these fellows are you’ve caught. Wait till I get my hands on him!”

“Don’t you know me, Mr. Goon?” said Fatty, in his ordinary voice, and Mr. Goon jumped. He stared at the black curly wig, the big eyebrows, the sticking-out teeth - the face of that “Frenchy fellow,” not a doubt of it, but the voice was Fatty’s.

“I don’t think I want you to molest this helper of mine,” said the Inspector smoothly. “I’m surprised that a smart policeman like you, Goon, didn’t see through Master Frederick’s disguise!”