"What's exciting about Wm?" he said. "Who is he? Oh—Napoleon. What was he? Some sort of soldier? "
"Don't you know?” said Bets, in astonishment. "Didn't you learn history at school?"
"I've never been to school," said the red-headed boy. "I belong to the Fair, and us kids hardly ever go to school unless we have to. We move about from place to place, you see, and before we're popped into some school, we've moved on again. I can read, but I can't write."
"Why are you in the Waxwork Show?" asked Fatty. "Does this hall belong to the Fair people?"
"Oh no—they've only hired it," said the boy. "The Waxworks belong to my uncle. He's the fellow that runs the Hoopla. I used to help him with that, but now I have to do the Waxworks, and it's jolly dull."
Fatty wondered if any of the Fair people were in the gang of thieves. It seemed very likely. Well, he would know on Tuesday night.
The children went and studied other figures carefully too, so that the red-headed boy wouldn't get suspicious about their sudden interest in Napoleon. They had a good look at the wax figure of the policeman as well. He really did look a bit like Mr. Goon! There he stood, on the second step, not far from Napoleon, his helmet on perfectly straight, the strap round the chin, and the belt a little tight.
The red-headed boy disappeared out-of-doors for a minute. Fatty at once went back to Napoleon and studied the clothes well, to make sure that he could take them off the wax figure fairly easily.
"Hope they're not stuck on in any way," he said to the others anxiously. Daisy pulled at them.
"Oh no," she said. "They are put on just like ours—and look, the trousers are held by braces. You'll be all right, Fatty. But you'll have to be here long before nine, or you'll never have time to undress yourself and Napoleon and then dress yourself up again."