Mrs. Jolly went off to the market to find her sister. The children watched her go.
‘Well, neither Miss Trimble nor Mrs. Jolly have posted letters,’ said Fatty. ‘That lets those two out. Ah - here comes the artist girl.’
The girl smiled at them and went on. Then she suddenly turned back. ‘I see you’ve found the post-office!’ she called. ‘I’m so glad! How silly of me never to have noticed it when I pass it every single Monday. But that’s just like me!’
‘She’s not the one, either,’ said Pip, as she disappeared in the direction of the market. ‘I didn’t think she was. She was too nice.’
The vicar disappeared too, without coming in their direction at all. Now only Mr. Goon and the sour-faced man were left. Mr. Goon stared at Fatty, and Fatty raised his eyebrows and smiled sweetly.
‘Anything I can do for you, Mr. Goon?’
‘What you hanging about here for?’ said the policeman. ‘Funny thing I can’t seem to get rid of you children. Always hanging on my tail, you are.’
‘We were thinking the same thing about you too,’ said Fatty. He watched the sour-faced man, who was standing nearby at the kerb, still reading his paper about dogs and horses. Fatty wondered if he wanted to post a letter, but was waiting till the children and Mr. Goon had gone. Or was he really waiting for his brother, as he had said?
‘There’s the sweet-shop over the road,’ said Fatty, in a low voice, popping his letter into the post-box. ‘Let’s go over there and buy something. We can keep a watch on the post-box all the time. Then if dear old Clear-Orf or the sour-faced fellow are bursting to post letters, they can do it without feeling that we are watching!’
So they all crossed to the sweet-shop and went in. Larry and Daisy started an argument about whether to buy peppermints or toffees, and Fatty watched the post-office carefully through the glass door. He could see, but could not be seen, for it was dark in the little shop.