“All right, sir,” said Danny. “We’ll get £20, somehow—won’t we, boys?—’cos we’ve promised to.”

They were rather silent as they walked home. And yet they felt sure something would turn up to enable them to keep their promise. As they parted they promised each other to think out a good idea, and never to give up till they had earned enough money for the window.

. . . . . . . .

The next day Danny had a bright idea. It was this: that the Pack should start wastepaper collecting. “I’ve been doing sums all the morning,” said Danny, “and I’ve found out that we could get £20 in seven months if we worked hard. Of course it would take all our Saturdays.”

“I suppose you are going round with your baby’s pram,” said Freckles. Danny punched his head for him, and then explained proudly that the Scoutmaster had promised the use of the trek cart. At that the Pack gave a howl of delight, and the waste-paper scheme was passed unanimously by the council. The £20 began to seem more possible now; and the Pack meant to do its best.

. . . . . . . .

It was a month later that something happened which set Danny’s detective’s heart beating fast with hope and excitement. The Pack had been slaving hard at waste paper, and had already collected and sold £3 worth. Danny, tired with the day’s work, was leaning against his garden gate in the cool of the evening when his old friend, the village policeman, sauntered up.

“Hello, Danny the Detective,” he said, “come and have a look at my old sow—she’s got a litter of ten little ’uns, born this morning.” Danny loved baby pigs, and so he went with Mr. Bates at once. But as soon as Mr. Bates had him in his own yard, and out of earshot of other people, he forgot about the pigs, and turned to Danny with a solemn look on his face. “I want a conversation with you, private-like,” he said. “I’m going to tell you something, if you’ll promise never to speak a word to any other folks about it.” “I promise on my honour as a Wolf Cub,” said Danny. “Go ahead, guv’nor.” “Well,” said Mr. Bates, “you done good work with them German spies last autumn. You’ve got a proper detective’s brain, you have. I want you just to keep your eyes on Mr. Bulky, him what goes round tuning up the rich folks’ pianers. I don’t say as how I have anything at all against him at present, but I don’t like the looks of him. Don’t you say a word, but just you keep your eyes open, and poke about, careful-like, round his place, and let me know if you find out something. I’m afraid to say anything at the police station, for fear he finds out he’s being watched. So I says to myself, ‘I’ll put Danny the Detective on his tracks.’”

II
THE SUSPECTED PERSON

Mr. Bulky was a man with a fat, pale face and shifty little eyes. He bicycled about all over the neighbourhood with a small black bag, and tuned the pianos in the big houses. When he was not out tuning pianos he would always be found either playing pieces by Mendelssohn in his front parlour, or attending to his famous prize fowls. These he was very proud of, and would often travel to distant parts of the country with a hen in a basket to exhibit her at some poultry show. He even went to the Continent, sometimes, to buy poultry and pigeons. No one in Dutton liked him. He had lived there only about five years. His sister, a very stout person, called Miss Bulky, kept house for him. He had a large cottage on the outskirts of Dutton. And now Mr. Bates, the policeman, suspected him, and had put Danny on his track! Danny, of course, was delighted. For one thing, it was an honour to have a policeman ask his help like that. But most of all he was pleased because he had begun to thirst for another adventure, and he was afraid, having had such a glorious one before, it could never be his luck to have another. “Poke about his place careful-like,” the policeman had said. But Danny found it no easy job. If you crept up at the back of the house, all the horrid hens in the long runs began cackling (like the geese on the Capitol), and if you went up by the front, a beastly mongrel suddenly leapt out of his kennel with a yell, and made a row like several dog fights. This brought Miss Bulky out of the house, looking as fearsome as “Mrs. Bung,” of the Happy Family Cards.