It was a game involving much woo-hoo-ing and groaning and rolling over and over. Soon all the children were reduced to tears of mirth. Mrs. Trotteville sent up to say that if anybody was ill they were to go down and tell her, but if they were just playing, would they please go out into the garden, down to the very bottom.
‘Oooh. I didn’t know your mother was back,’ said Pip, who had really let himself go. ‘We’d better stop. What an awful game this is, Fatty.’
‘I say - it’s almost half-past six!’ said Larry. ‘If you’re going to post that letter, you’d better go, young Pip. Brush yourself down, for goodness sake. You look awful.’
‘Gah!’ said Pip, remembering Mr. Goon’s last exclamation. He brushed himself down, and re-tied his tie. ‘Come on, Bets,’ he said. ‘Well, so long, you others - we’ll tell you Gladys’s address tomorrow, and then we’ll go and see her and examine our first clue - the “nonnimus” letter!’
He ran down the path with Bets. Fatty leaned out of the window of his den and yelled, ‘Oy! You’re a fine detective! You’ve forgotten the letter!’
‘So I have!’ said Pip and tore back for it. Fatty dropped it down. Pip caught it and ran off again. He and Bets tore to the pillar-box at the corner and were just in time to catch the postman emptying the letters from the inside.
‘One more!’ said Pip. ‘Thanks, postman! Come on, Bets. We’ll try out your book-idea as soon as we get home.’
DISAPPOINTMENT FOR PIP AND BETS
Bets flew to find the book that Gladys had lent her, as soon as she got home. She found it at once. It was an old school prize, called The Little Saint. Bets had been rather bored with it. ‘The Little Saint’ had been a girl much too good to be true. Bets preferred to read about naughty, lively children.
She wrapped the book up carefully, and then went down to say good-night to her mother. Mrs. Hilton was reading in the drawing-room.