So, to Mrs. Trotteville’s enormous surprise, Mr. Goon was announced and came ponderously into her drawing-room.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” said Mr. Goon. “I just came to ask a few questions of that foreign boy you’ve got here.”
Mrs. Trotteville looked as if she thought Mr. Goon had gone mad. “What boy?” she said. “We’ve got no foreign boy here at all. There’s only my son, Frederick.”
Mr. Goon looked at her disbelievingly. “Well, I see him come in to your front gate just half a minute ago!” he said
“Really?” said Mrs. Trotteville, in astonishment. “I’ll see if Frederick is in and ask him.” she called Fatty. “Frederick! Are you in? oh, you are! Well, come here a minute, will you?”
“Hallo, Mr. Goon!” said Fatty, coming into the room. “You seem to be following me about this afternoon, don’t you.”
“None of your sauce, now,” said Mr. Goon, beginning to feel he couldn’t keep his temper much longer. “Where’s that foreign-looking chap that I see coming in here a minute ago?”
Fatty wrinkled his forehead and looked in a puzzled manner at Mr. Goon. “Foreign-looking chap? I don’t know who you mean. Mother, have we got any foreign-looking chaps here?”
“Of course not. Don’t be silly, Frederick,” said his mother. “I wondered if a friend of yours had come to call.”
“There’s nobody here but me,” said Fatty truthfully. “No other boy, I mean. Mr. Goon, do you think you need glasses? There was that letter you thought was different - and now you keep seeing foreign-looking boys.”