‘One that even the great detective, Mr. Frederick Sherlock Holmes Trotteville can’t solve either!’ said Larry.
‘Correct!’ said Fatty, with a sigh. ‘I almost - but not quite - give it up!’
Larry’s hat blew away and he got up to go and get it. ‘Blow!’ he said. ‘There’s old Clear-Orf again - cycling over the field-path. He’s seen me too. Hope he doesn’t come and make a row again. He’d like to eat you alive, Fatty, you’re so aggravating.’
‘Sit down quickly, in case he hasn’t seen you,’ said Daisy. ‘We don’t want him here.’
Larry sat down. They all watched the blue water flowing smoothly by. The moor-hens came back again, and a fish jumped at a fly. A very early swallow dipped down to the water. It was all very peaceful indeed.
‘I should think old Clear-Orf didn’t see me after all,’ said Larry. ‘Thank goodness. I think I’m going to sleep. There’s something very soothing about the gurgling of the water - a lovely, peaceful afternoon.’
Heavy breathing disturbed the peace, and clumsy footsteps came over the grass towards their bush. Mr. Goon appeared, his face a familiar purple. He carried a small sack in his hand, and looked extremely angry. He flung the little sack down fiercely.
‘More Clues, I suppose!’ he sneered. ‘More of your silly, childish jokes! White rats and match-boxes! Huh! Gah! What a set of children! And now these Clues - hidden nicely under a bush for me to find, I suppose? What do you think I am? A nitwit?’
The children were astonished at this outburst, and Bets was really alarmed. Fatty put out a quick hand on Buster’s collar, for the little Scottie had got his hackles up and was growling fiercely, showing all his teeth.
‘What’s up, Goon?’ said Fatty, in a sharp, rather grown-up voice.