‘Well - well, sir - he did say as he’s seen them all,’ stammered poor Mrs. Lamb, frightened out of her life. ‘So I thought there wouldn’t be much harm. I only showed him the envelope though, Mr. Goon, sir.’
Mr. Goon turned his frog-like gaze on to Fatty. ‘What’s that mean - that you’ve seen all the letters?’ he demanded. ‘They’ve been in my possession - never out of it for a minute. What you mean - you’ve seen them all?’
‘I must have been dreaming,’ answered Fatty, in an amiable voice. This was the voice that drove poor Mr. Goon to fury. He snorted.
‘You’re telling untruths,’ he said. ‘Yes, you know you are. Them letters haven’t been out of my possession, not for one minute!’
‘Haven’t they really?’ said Fatty. ‘Well, I couldn’t have seen them then.’
‘Unless you know more about them than you make out!’ said Mr. Goon, darkly and mysteriously, suddenly remembering how he had seen Fatty post a letter at Sheepsale the morning before. ‘Ho, you’re a deep one, you are - never know what your game is, I don’t! I wouldn’t put anything past you, Master Frederick Trotteville!’
‘Thank you, Mr. Theophilus Goon,’ said Fatty, and grinned. Mr. Goon longed to box his ears. Then he suddenly remembered that those letters had been out of his possession once - that time when he had apparently dropped them in the road, after colliding with the red-haired telegraph-boy. He stared suspiciously at Fatty.
‘That telegraph-boy your friend?’ he asked suddenly. Fatty looked mildly surprised.
‘What telegraph-boy?’ he asked.
‘That red-haired fellow with the freckles,’ said Mr. Goon.