"You can stay here till you tell me what you did with that cigarette, see?" he yelled. "I'll lock you up till you do. Now then—are you going to tell me?"
The old chap had turned sulky. He knew nothing of any cigarette, he hadn't been sitting on the bench, he didn't know what the bad-tempered policeman was talking about. So he sulked and said nothing at all, which made Goon madder than ever.
"Right!" said Goon at last, getting up. "I'll talk to you some more tomorrow."
He went home and changed into his uniform. Then he decided to go and see "that boy Larry" and ask him if he, too, had noticed the man giving the old fellow a cigarette that afternoon. Mr. Goon couldn't help being puzzled by the old chap's firm denials of any knowledge of a cigarette. But Larry must have seen the gift, and would bear witness to it.
But Larry was out. "Try at the Hilton's," said Larry's mother. "Oh, I do hope the children haven't been misbehaving themselves, Mr. Goon."
"Er no—for a wonder, no, Mam," said Mr. Goon, and went off majestically.
He arrived at Pip's just as the children were escorting Fatty, still disguised as the old man, out of the front gate. Fatty stared at Goon, and Goon stared back disbelievingly. What! Hadn't he just locked that old man up? And here he was again, free, and walking about! Mr. Goon began to feel as if he was in a peculiarly unpleasant dream.
"Er—good evening, Mr. Goon," said Larry. Mr. Goon took no notice of him.
"Here, you!" he said, grabbing at Fatty's arm. "How did you get out? Haven't I just locked you up? What are things a-coming to, I'd like to know! Here I've just locked you up and I meet you walking into me, bold as brass!"
Mr. Goon looked so amazed and disbelieving that Fatty badly wanted to laugh. He was at a loss to know what to say.