He was so deep in thought that he didn’t look where he was going, and he almost ran over a dog. It yelped so loudly with fright that Fatty, much concerned, got off his bicycle to comfort it.
‘What you doing to make that dog yelp like that!’ said a harsh voice suddenly, and Fatty looked up, startled, to see Mr. Goon standing over him.
‘Nothing, sir,’ stammered Fatty, pretending to be scared of the policeman. A curious look came into Mr. Goon’s eyes - so curious that Fatty began to feel really scared.
Mr. Goon was gazing at Fatty’s red wig. He looked at Fatty’s messenger-boy hat. He looked very hard indeed. Another red-headed boy! Why, the village seemed full of them!
‘You come-alonga me!’ he said suddenly, and clutched hold of Fatty’s arm. ‘I want to ask you a few questions, see? You just come-alonga me!’
‘I’ve done nothing,’ said Fatty, pretending to be a frightened messenger-boy. ‘You let me go, sir. I ain’t done nothing.’
‘Then you don’t need to be scared,’ said Mr. Goon. He took firm hold of Fatty’s arm and led him down the street to his own small house. He pushed him inside, and took him upstairs to a small box-room, littered with rubbish of all kinds.
‘I’ve been looking for red-headed boys all morning!’ said Mr. Goon grimly. ‘And I haven’t found the ones I want. But maybe you’ll do instead! Now you just sit here, and wait for me to come up and question you. I’m tired of red-headed boys, I am - butting in and out - picking up letters and delivering letters and parcels - and disappearing into thin air. Ho yes, I’m getting a bit tired of these here red-headed boys!’
He went out, shut the door and locked it. He clumped downstairs, and Fatty heard him using the telephone though he couldn’t hear what he said.
Fatty looked round quickly. It was no use trying to get out of the window, for it looked on to the High Street and heaps of people would see him trying to escape that way and give the alarm.