They got chairs and sat down. They waited for a while, saying nothing. Fatty wondered why. Then he knew.

"Where's Number Three?" said one of the men impatiently. "He ought to be here. Didn't you warn him, Number Five?"

"Yes, I sent him a message," said another man. "In a cigarette I gave to old Johnny. He'll turn up soon."

They waited in silence again. One of the men pulled out a watch and looked at it.

"Can't wait any longer," he said. "The job's on tonight."

'Tonight?" said another man. "Where? All of us in it this time, or not?"

"All of us," said the first man. "Except Number Three, as he's not here. It's the Casfleton pearls tonight."

"Whew!" said two of the men. "Big stuff!"

"Very big," said the first man. "Now see here—these are the plans. You, Number Two, have got to drive the car, and you..."

Fatty and Mr. Goon watched and listened intently. Mr. Goon remembered not to breathe loudly, and as for Fatty, he was so excited that he hardly breathed at all. They heard all the details of the new robbery to be pulled off that night. But try as he would Fatty could not see clearly the face of any of the men at all.

He began to think hard. The men would soon be gone. Once they were gone he would get to the telephone and tell the Inspector all he knew—and the robbery could be stopped. Then he remembered Mr. Goon. Blow! Goon would be in charge of this, not Fatty.

Poor Mr. Goon was not feeling very happy just at that moment. He wanted to sneeze. He could feel it coming quite distinctly. He swallowed violently and wriggled his nose about. No—that sneeze meant to come. Whoooshooo!

It wasn't a very big sneeze, because Mr. Goon had tried most valiantly to stop it, and it came out in quite a gentlemanly manner. But it was enough to startle all the men, and Fatty too, almost out of their skins!

The men sprang to their feet at once, and looked all round the hall. "What was that? There's somebody here! Somebody spying on us!"

Fatty was suddenly frightened. The men's eyes gleamed under their hats, and he could hear a savage tone in the voice of the man who spoke. The boy kept absolutely still. Silly, idiotic old Goon, to give the game away like that!

"There's somebody here! Who is it? Show yourself!" shouted one of the men. Neither Goon nor Fatty made any movement, and all the wax figures stared stolidly at the group of men.

"It's creepy in here, with all those figures looking at us," said the first man. "But one of them's real! No doubt about that! Come on—well soon find out. I've got a torch."

Fatty's heart beat fast. He hoped and hoped that the men would find Goon before they found him. But most unfortunately Fatty was in the front row, and Goon wasn't.

One of the men had a powerful torch. He walked over to Nelson and flashed it in his face. Nelson stared unblinkingly in front of him. "He's wax all right," said the man, and passed to the next figure, a tall soldier. He flashed the torch in his face.

The soldier didn't make a movement at all. It was obvious that he was wax, for there was a little crack down one cheek, where he had once struck his face, when being carried from one place to another.

One after another the wax figures had the torch flashed into their faces, and one after another they stared unblinkingly past the man's head. Fatty began to tremble a little. Would he be able to stare without bunking too? He hoped so.

His turn came. The torch was flashed suddenly in his face, and the boy could not help a sudden blink. His eyes did it automatically, although he did his best not to. He hoped the man hadn't noticed. But there was something about Fatty's bright, shining, living eyes that caught the man's attention at once, as well as the bunk. He grabbed at Fatty's arm, and felt it to be warm and soft.

"Here he is!" he said. "Here's the spy. Standing here staring at us, listening to everything!"

Poor Fatty was dragged down off his steps and pulled into the middle of the hall. He was frightened, but he meant to put a bold face on it.

"Who are you?" said the first man, and shone his torch into Fatty's face.

"Napoleon," said Fatty, trying to brave things out. "Just doing it for a joke!"

"He's only a boy," said one of the men, pulling off Napoleon's hat. "How old are you? "

"Fourteen," said Fatty.

The men stared at him. "What are we going to do with him?" said one. "Can't take him off in the car with us—too risky. And we can't waste time dumping him anywhere, because if we're not on time with this job, we’ll fail. What he wants is a jolly good questioning and a good thrashing, and he'll get it—but not now. It's time we went."

"We'll be back here again tonight with the stuff," said another man. "Well tie him up, gag him, put him into the cupboard over there, and lock him in. He can't give the game away then. Well deal with him when we come back. He can't know anything about the job tonight, except what he's just heard, so he won't have warned any one."

"Right," said the other men, and then began a bad time for poor Fatty. He was rolled up in a curtain, with his hands and feet tied, and a big handkerchief was bound across his mouth. Then he was popped into the cupboard with Napoleon, and the door was shut and locked on him.

His only comfort was that Mr. Goon was still there, posing stolidly, quite unsuspected. As soon as the men had got away, Goon would surely come to his rescue and untie him. Then he, Fatty would be in at the last, after all.

He could hear nothing in the cupboard. He did not hear the men go out of the hall and lock the door. He did not see Goon wait on his step for a few moments and then relax and give a deep sigh. Mr. Goon had had a most surprising and unpleasant time himself from the moment he had sneezed to the moment the men had at last gone.

When he had sneezed, he had felt certain that the men would search the figures and find him. He had no idea at all, of course, that Fatty had been one of the figures too. When the boy had been found and hauled off his stand, Mr. Goon's eyes had almost fallen out of his head.

What—somebody else in the hall—somebody who must have been there when Mr. Goon himself had come in and changed places with the wax policeman? Who was it!

Mr. Goon recognized Fatty's voice as soon as the boy had spoken. He went purple with rage. That interfering boy again! So he, like Goon himself, had read the secret message—and he hadn't told the police. The bad, wicked ... well, words failed Mr. Goon as he stood there thinking about Fatty.

The policeman shook when he thought that the men would probably find him next. When they did not think of looking any further, his heart beat a little less fast. Well, serve that boy right, if he got caught! He deserved to! Keeping information from the police! Mr. Goon's face went red again.

He had been so very pleased with himself at thinking of this idea—posing as the wax policeman, and listening in to the gang and their plans. Well, he knew a lot now, he did—and if only those men would go off to the job and leave him alone, he'd soon do a spot of telephoning, and arrange to catch them all neatly—red-handed, too! Mr. Goon glowed when he thought of it.

But the men hadn't gone yet. They were tying up that fat boy—hadn't even given him a clip over the ear, as Mr. Goon would himself have very much liked to do. The policeman watched with pleased eyes the efficient way in which the men rolled Fatty up in the curtain, his hands and legs well and truly bound, and a handkerchief over his mouth. Ha! That was the way to treat people like Fatty!

Mr. Goon watched the men pop Fatty into the cupboard and turn the key on him. Good! Now that boy was properly out of the way. If only the men would go, Mr. Goon could step down and get busy. He smiled as he thought of how busy he would get. Inspector Jenks would be surprised at his news. Yes, and pleased, too.