find, and he now had a very varied collection which weighed down the pocket of his coat considerably. He took them all out.
Most patiently and methodically Fatty tried first one key and then another in the lock of the little cupboard, and to his delight, and also his surprise, one key did manage to unlock the door!
Inside was a small book, a kind of notebook, and entered in it were numbers and names, nothing else at all. It seemed very dull to Fatty.
“Perhaps Inspector Jenks may like to have a look at it,” he thought, and he pocketed the little book and locked the cupboard door again. “We shall soon be reporting this mystery to him, and he may like to have all the bits of evidence we can find.”
He sat down on the sofa again. He no longer felt excited, but very sleepy. He looked at his watch. It was quarter past one! Gracious! he had been a long time in Milton House.
“I’ll just have a bit of a rest on this comfy sofa,” said Fatty, and curled himself up. In half a minute he was sound asleep. What a mistake that was!
A Bad Time for Fatty
Fatty slept soundly. His adventure had tired him. The couch was extremely comfortable, and although there was no warmth in the room, the rugs were thick and cosy. Fatty lay there dreaming of the time when he would be an even more important detective than the famous Sherlock Holmes.
He did not hear the sound of a car about half-past four in the early morning. The wheels slid silently over the snow, and came to a stop outside Milton House.
Fatty did not hear people walking up the drive. Nor did he hear a latch-key being put into the lock of the front door. He heard no voices, no footsteps, but the old empty house suddenly echoed to them.
Fatty slept on peacefully. He was warm and comfortable. He did not even wake up when some one opened the door of the secret room and came in.
Nobody saw him at first. A man crossed to the window and carefully drew the thick curtains across before switching on the light. Not a crack of light could be seen from outside once the window curtains were drawn.
Another man came into the room - and he gave a cry of surprise. “Look here!”
He pointed to the couch, where Fatty still slept as peacefully as Goldilocks had slept in the Little Bear’s bed long ago!
The two men stared in the utmost astonishment at Fatty. His curly wig of black hair, his big black eyebrows, and the awful teeth made him a peculiar sight.
“Who is he? And what’s he doing here?” said one of the men, amazed and angry. He shook Fatty roughly by the shoulder.
The boy woke up and opened his eyes under the shaggy eyebrows. In a trice he knew where he was, and realized that he had fallen asleep in the secret room - and now he was caught! A little shiver of fear went down his back. The men did not look either friendly or pleased.
“What are you doing here?” said the bigger fellow of the two, a ruddy-faced man with eyes that stuck out like Mr. Goon’s, and a short black beard. The other man was short, and had a round white face with black button-eyes and the thinnest lips Fatty had ever seen.
The boy sat up and stared at the two men. He really didn’t know what to say.
“Haven’t you a tongue in your head?” demanded the red-faced man. “What are you doing on our premises?”
Fatty decided to pretend he was French again.
“Je ne comprends pas,” he said, meaning that he didn’t understand.
But unfortunately one of the men spoke French and he rattled off a long and most alarming sentence in French, which Fatty couldn’t understand at all.
Fatty then decided he wouldn’t be French; he would speak the nonsense language that he and the others sometimes spoke together when they wanted to mystify any one.
“Tibbletooky-fickle-farmery-toppy-swick,” he said quite solemnly.
The men looked puzzled. “What language is that?” said the red-faced man to his companion. He shook his head.
“Speak French,” he commanded Fatty.
“Spikky-tarly-yondle-fitty-toomar,” answered Fatty at once.
“Never heard a language like that before,” said the red-faced man. “The boy looks foreign enough. Wonder where he comes from. We’ll have to find out how he got here.” He turned to Fatty again, and addressed him first in English and then in French, then in German, and then in a fourth language Fatty had never heard.
“Spikky-tarly-yondle,” said Fatty, and waggled his hands about just like his French master at school.
The pale-faced man spoke to his companion. “I believe he’s foxing,” he said in a low voice that Fatty could not hear. “He’s just pretending. I’ll soon make him talk his own language. Watch me.”
He suddenly bent over Fatty, took hold of his left arm, dragged it behind him and twisted it. Fatty let out an agonized yell. “Let go, you beast! You’re hurting me!”
“Aha!” said the pale-faced man. “So you can talk English, can you? Very interesting. Now - what about talking a little more, and telling us who you are and how you came here.”
Fatty nursed his twisted arm, feeling rather alarmed. He was very angry with himself for falling asleep and getting so easily caught. He looked sulkily at the man and said nothing.
“Ah! - he wants a little more coaxing,” said the pale-faced man, smiling with his thin lips and showing long yellow teeth. “Shall we twist your other arm, boy?”
He took hold of Fatty’s right arm. Fatty decided to talk. He wouldn’t give much away more than he could help.
“Don’t you touch me,” he said. “I’m a poor homeless fellow, and I’m doing no harm sleeping here.”
“How did you get in?” said the red-faced man.
“Through the coal-hole,” said Fatty.
“Aha” said the man, and the thin-lipped one pursed up his mouth so that his lips completely vanished.
He looked very hard and cruel, Fatty thought.
“Does any one else know you’re here?” said the red-faced man.
“How do I know?” said Fatty. “If any one had seen me getting down the coal-hole they’d know I was here. But if they didn’t see me, how would they know?”
“He is evading the question,” said the thin-lipped man. “We can only make him talk properly by giving him much pain. We will do so. A little beating first, I think.”
Fatty felt afraid. He was quite sure that this man would go to any lengths to get what be wanted to know. He stared sulkily at him.
Quite suddenly, without any warning, the thin-lipped man dealt Fatty a terrific blow on his right ear. Then, before the boy could recover, he dealt him another blow, this time on his left ear. Fatty gasped. Bright stars danced in front of his eyes, and he blinked.
When the stars went, and the boy could see again, he gazed in fear at the thin-lipped man, who was now smiling a horrible smile.
“I think you will talk now?” he said to Fatty. “I can do other things if you prefer.”
Fatty was very frightened now. He felt that he would rather give away the whale mystery than have any more blows. After all, he wouldn’t be harming the other Find-Outers, and he knew they would be only too glad for him to save himself from harm or injury. This was just very, very bad luck.
“All right. I’ll talk,” said Fatty, with a gulp. “There’s not much to tell you, though.”
“How did you find out this room?” demanded the red-faced man.
“By accident,” said Fatty. “A friend of mine climbed that tree outside, and looked in and saw this room.”
“How many know about it?” rapped out the thin-lipped man.
