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?”