Mystery of the Vanished Prince (14 page)

“Twins?” said Fatty at once. “How old are they?”

“Don’t know,” said Rollo. “Just babies. They came to stay with my aunt when my Mum was ill.”

“What, here?” said Fatty, munching away. “I shouldn’t have thought there was room for all of you in the caravan.”

“They was only here a day,” said Rollo. “Then my aunt got a caravan up on the School Camp Field and had them there.”

Fatty went on munching solidly, but his eyes suddenly gleamed in his dirty face. Aha! He was on the track now all right! So the aunt was the woman in the caravan - and Rollo’s twin brother and sister were the twins in the pram!

“Let me see - Marge and Bert are the twins, aren’t they?” said Fatty. Rollo nodded.

“That’s right. You know the family all right, don’t you! There’s Alf, George, Reenie, Pam, Doris, Millie, Reg, Bob, Doreen - and Marge and Bert.”

“And you’re the one they chucked out, are you?” said Fatty, gazing at the jam-tarts and wondering if he dared to tackle one.

“Ere! Oo said I was chucked out!” said Rollo indignantly. “What do you suppose Old Man Tallery picked me out of the lot for? I’ll tell you. Because I can act, and because I’ve got brains, and because I’m jolly useful to him!”

“I bet you’re nothing but a nuisance to him, a dirty little rascal like you!” said Fatty, trying to rouse Rollo into telling him a lot more things. Rollo rose to the bait at once. He scowled.

“I’m going to tell you something, Mister,” he said to Fatty. “I can act anything, I can. I can be a boy leading a blind fellow - that’s one way Old Man Tallery and me get money - and I can be a nice kid going shopping with my aunt, and slipping things up my sleeve when Aunt’s talking to the shop-girl - and I can even be a Prince!”

Fatty jumped. A prince! Now what did he mean by that? Fatty turned and stared at the gipsy boy, who looked back impudently at him.

“Ah, that made you stare!” said Rollo, triumphantly. “I bet you don’t believe it, Mister.”

“No, I don’t,” said Fatty, hoping to lead the boy on and on. His mind was in a whirl. A prince? What did it all mean?

“I thought you wouldn’t believe me!” said Rollo. “Well - I’ve said too much. I’d better not say any more.”

“That’s because you’ve got nothing to say,” said Fatty, promptly. “You’re making up a lot of tales and you know it. Prince my foot! Dirty little rascal like you a prince! What do you take me for?”

The boy glared at him. Then he looked all round as if afraid that someone might overhear. “Look here,” he said, “do you remember the fuss in the papers about that Prince being kidnapped. Prince Bonga-Bonga or something. Well, I was him!”

“Go and tell that fairytale to the twins!” said Fatty, scornfully, but inwardly very excited. “There’s a real Prince Bongawah, who belongs to a real kingdom called Tetarua - I’ve seen photographs of him.”

“Well, I tell you, I was him!” persisted the boy, angry that Fatty wouldn’t believe him.

“Really? Well maybe you’ll tell me how you were kidnapped then, and how you got away, and were taken here,” said Fatty, sarcastically.

“Easy,” said the boy. “I wasn’t kidnapped. I just had to stay a few days at the camp, see, and pretend to be the Prince and just talk gibberish - and then on a certain night I had to creep through the hedge, find my aunt’s caravan and hide there. You’ll never guess how I got away though!”

Fatty thought he could make a very good guess indeed, but he pretended to be quite bewildered.

“My word - this is a tale and a half!” he said. “Do you really mean to say you did all that? Well then - how did you get away?”

“My aunt took the bottom boards out of the twins’ double-pram, and I curled myself up in the space there,” said Rollo, grinning. “And she sat the twins down on top of me. They didn’t half yell!”

“And then she wheeled you back here,” said Fatty, as if overcome with admiration. “Well, you are a one, Rollo! I didn’t believe a word at first, but I do now. You’re a marvel!”

Rollo blossomed out at once at this unexpected praise. He leaned over to Fatty and whispered. “I could tell you something else if I wanted to!” he said. “I could tell you where the real Prince is! The coppers would give a lot to know what I know, I can tell you! Not half they wouldn’t!”

Fatty Rides Home

Fatty was so astonished that he couldn’t say a word! He gazed speechlessly at Rollo and Rollo grinned delightedly.

“You’re a friend of my uncle’s Old Man Tallery, so it won’t matter telling you all this,” he said, suddenly struck by the fact that he had been telling a lot of secrets! “But don’t you let on to him that I told you.”

“No, I won’t,” said Fatty. “He’s not here, anyway. Where is he?”

“Well, he thinks I don’t know, but I do,” said Rollo. “He’s down in Raylingham Marshes. I heard him and Bent Joe talking when they didn’t know I was near.”

“Is that where the Prince is - the real Prince?” asked Fatty.

Rollo grew suddenly cautious. “Here - I’m telling you too much. What’s come over me! You just forget what I said about the Prince, see? I don’t know where he is.”

“You said you did just now,” said Fatty.

“Well, maybe I do and maybe I don’t,” said Rollo. “Anyway I’m not telling you.”

“Right,” said Fatty. “Why should I want to know anyway? But what beats me is why you had to dress up as the Prince and then run away and make people think you were kidnapped. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Well, it ought to,” said Rollo, rudely. “But maybe your brains want a bit of polishing-up.”

“Go on!” said Fatty. “You and your cheek! I don’t say I’m as bright as you are, by a long chalk. I could think a hundred years and not see why all this was done!”

“Well, you look here,” said Rollo, really enjoying himself. “There’s a Prince that some one wants to get rid of, see - so that he shan’t have the throne. Got that?”

“Yes,” said Fatty, humbly.

“But it would be jolly difficult to kidnap him and get him out of the country before his disappearance was discovered, wouldn’t it?” said Rollo. “So all that happened was that when he was sent down to the School Camps by car, the chauffeur stopped at an arranged place, the Prince was whisked away in another car - and I popped into the first car, all dressed up posh like the Prince!”

Fatty suddenly saw light. So that was the how and the why and the where! Someone wanted the Prince out of the way, but didn’t want the kidnapping to be discovered till he had had time to get the boy away somewhere - and with the chauffeur in the plot, it was easy! Exchange boys on the journey down - let the second boy stay a few days in the camp, and behave as if he were the real Prince - and then creep away to his convenient aunt, and disappear with the twins in the double-pram! No one would ever think the woman had anything to do with the second “kidnapping,” which, to all intents and purposes, was the first and only kidnapping. Nobody guessed about the genuine kidnapping.

“What a plan!” said Fatty, in a tone of deepest admiration. “Old Man Tallery is a whole lot cleverer than I thought he was. My word, next time I meet him I’ll ask him to let me come in on his next job. There must be a lot of money in these things.”

“There is,” said Rollo, boasting hard now. “I reckon he’ll clear a good thousand pounds. I’m going to have fifty for myself, for my part in playing the Prince.”

“My word - you’ll be rich!” said Fatty. “How did you like being a Prince? Didn’t you ever forget your part?”

“No. It was easy,” said Rollo. “My face was as dark as the Prince’s, and we was both little fellows, and I didn’t have to speak any English - only nonsense. But when one of the Big Fellows - the ones who arranged all this, you know - came down to see how I was getting on, and insisted on having the State Umbrella up, I didn’t like that. I felt a fool. All the boys yelled at me.”

“Did you enjoy being a Prince?” Fatty asked him.

“Not so bad,” said Rollo. “I slept in pyjamas for the first time in my life - lovely silk they were, all blue and gold, with buttons to match. My aunt was told to burn the pyjamas as soon as I got here, and she did, in case any one saw them. But she kept the buttons and sewed them on a blouse. She didn’t like throwing those away, they were too good.”

Fatty couldn’t help thinking what a good thing it was that Rollo’s aunt had been thrifty over the buttons! If she hadn’t sewn them on her blouse, if she hadn’t washed it and hung it on the line, Pip would never have spotted the buttons, and he, Fatty would never have got on to the well-hidden trail!

“I suppose Old Man Tallery helped to arrange everything,” said Fatty. “He’s cute, isn’t he, your uncle?”

“No flies on him,” said Rollo, proudly. “He’s a card, he is. I quite enjoyed being a Prince, but when they wanted me to go swimming, I didn’t half kick up a fuss. Thc way they talked about me not wanting to wash, too. Wash, wash, wash, clean your teeth! Many a time I wanted to talk back at those kids up at camp. I did say a few things in English - but I was a bit afraid of giving myself away if I lost my temper.”

“Of course,” said Fatty. “Well, you seem to have done very well. I don’t believe any one suspected you weren’t the real Prince. Are you like him to look at?”

“Near enough,” said Rollo. “He wasn’t anything special to look at and neither am I. I was a bit scared of some one who knew the Prince coming down to see me, but nobody did.”

“And you say you know where they took the Prince?” said Fatty. “Haven’t they got him away from there yet?”

Rollo became secretive again. “I’m not telling that,” he said. “I don’t want to be skinned alive by my uncle, see? He doesn’t even know I heard where he’s gone to.”

Fatty decided that he couldn’t find out anything else from Rollo. He knew the whole plot now - very simple, very slickly carried out - the real kidnapping cleverly masked by the false one, so that the police were completely bamboozled, not looking for the Prince until some days after he had really been kidnapped!

Had the real Prince been spirited away yet? Would he ever be heard of again? There really was no time to be lost, if he was still being kept in hiding. Anything might happen to him at any time.

Raylingham Marshes. If Rollo’s uncle, Old Man Tallery was there, possibly the whole gang were there, the Prince too. Where were Raylingham Marshes? Fatty decided to look them up immediately he got home.

He got up to go. It was getting dark and only the Fair people were now left on the field. He had missed dinner - thank goodness his people were out, and wouldn’t know he wasn’t there. “Well, so long!” he said to Rollo. “I must be going.”

“Aren’t you going to wait and see my aunt?” said Rollo, who had taken quite a fancy to Fatty. “What did you say your name was?”

“Jack Smith,” said Fatty. “No, I can’t wait. Give her all the best from me, and say I’ll look in another time. She may not remember me, of course.”

“She jolly well won’t!” thought Fatty to himself, as he went to find his bicycle and ride home. “Blow! I haven’t got a lamp. I forgot I might be home after dark. Hope I don’t get caught by Old Goon!”

Fatty rode off quickly. His mind was working at top speed. What a plot! No wonder it had seemed such a peculiar mystery - there had been two kidnappings, but only one, the false one, was made known!

Raylingham Marshes. Was there a house in the marshes? Was the Prince hidden there? Had Rollo got the name right, or was he doing a little make-up on his own? He was talkative and boastful and conceited - some of what he said might quite well not be true. Fatty rode along so lost in thought that he was in Peterswood before he realized it.

He rode cautiously down the road. As he had no lights he was extra careful - but suddenly a dark figure stepped out from behind a tree, and said sharply.

“Here you! Stop! What you doing, riding without a light? Don’t you know it’s against the law?”

“Goon!” thought Fatty. “Just my luck!” He got off his bicycle, debating what to say and do.

Goon flashed his lantern at him, and saw what appeared to be a dirty tramp with a pack. Goon was suspicious at once.

“This your bike?” he asked sharply.

“Might be!” said the pedlar, insolently.

“Now you come alonga me,” began Goon, “and give a proper account of yourself. Riding withouta…”

“Here hold my bike for a minute while I do up my shoe,” said the pedlar, and shoved the bicycle at Goon. He had to catch it to save it from falling on top of him - and while he stood there holding it, Fatty was off like a streak of lightning!

“Oho! So that’s the way of things, is it?” said Goon. “He’s stolen this bike, that’s what he’s done.”

Goon mounted the bicycle and rode after the running figure. But it darted off down a path where cyclists were not allowed to ride, and Goon was beaten! He had no wish to ride a bicycle without lights down a path where cycling was forbidden! Ten to one, if he did, that fat boy would appear from somewhere and see him! Goon got off and wheeled it carefully back to his house. The bicycle seemed somehow vaguely familiar to him. He took it into his hall and had a good look at it. Then he got out his notebook and wrote down a full description.

“Full-size. Make - Atlas. Colour black with red line. Basket in front. No front lamp. In good condition.”

Then he wrote a full description of the man he had seen with it.

“Tramp. Cloth cap pulled down over face. Red scarf. Dirty jersey. Dirty flannel trousers. Earrings. Rude and insolent. I had to force him to give up bicycle, which I guessed was stolen. After a terrific struggle I got it, and the man ran off, scared.”

Just as he finished writing all this, the telephone bell rang and made him jump. He took up the receiver.

“Police here,” he said.

“Oh, Mr. Goon, is that you?” came Fatty’s voice at the other end. “So sorry to bother you - but I have to report to you that my bike’s been stolen. It’s gone. Not in the shed. Vanished. I’m afraid you’ll never find it or the thief, but I thought I’d better report it.”

“Details of your bike, please,” said Goon, in a most official voice.

“Right,” said Fatty. “Full-size, of course. It’s an Atlas, a rather nice one in good condition. It’s black with a red line, and there’s a basket in front. And…”