The boy woke up and opened his eyes under the shaggy eyebrows. In a trice he knew where he was, and realized that he had fallen asleep in the secret room - and now he was caught! A little shiver of fear went down his back. The men did not look either friendly or pleased.
“What are you doing here?” said the bigger fellow of the two, a ruddy-faced man with eyes that stuck out like Mr. Goon’s, and a short black beard. The other man was short, and had a round white face with black button-eyes and the thinnest lips Fatty had ever seen.
The boy sat up and stared at the two men. He really didn’t know what to say.
“Haven’t you a tongue in your head?” demanded the red-faced man. “What are you doing on our premises?”
Fatty decided to pretend he was French again.
“Je ne comprends pas,” he said, meaning that he didn’t understand.
But unfortunately one of the men spoke French and he rattled off a long and most alarming sentence in French, which Fatty couldn’t understand at all.
Fatty then decided he wouldn’t be French; he would speak the nonsense language that he and the others sometimes spoke together when they wanted to mystify any one.
“Tibbletooky-fickle-farmery-toppy-swick,” he said quite solemnly.
The men looked puzzled. “What language is that?” said the red-faced man to his companion. He shook his head.