The door closed and the men were gone. Mr. Goon heard the sound of a car starting up. He thought it would be safe to step down into the hall, and he stood there, looking round, feeling extremely pleased with himself.

Fatty was struggling hard in the cupboard. He had read books that told him the best way to wriggle free of bonds, but, except that he had managed to get his mouth away from the handkerchief, he wasn't having much luck with his hands and feet! He did all the things the books had advised him to, but it was no good. He couldn't get his hands free.

In his struggles, he fell against Napoleon, and that gentleman over-balanced, and struck his head against the back of the cupboard. He then rolled on to Fatty, who yelled.

Mr. Goon, about to open the door to go out, heard the yell. He paused. He didn't mean to set Fatty free. Not he! That boy had got what he deserved, at last, and he, Mr. Goon, wasn't going to rob him of it. No—let him stay in the cupboard and think about things. Maybe he'd think it was best not to interfere with the Law again.

But when Napoleon fell with such a crash, Mr. Goon felt a stirring of his conscience. Suppose that boy was being suffocated? Suppose that handkerchief stopped his breathing? Suppose he'd wriggled about, and fallen and hurt himself? He was a friend of the Inspector's, wasn't he, though goodness knew why the Inspector should bother himself with a boy like that. Still. ...

Mr. Goon thought he might spare half a minute to investigate. But he wasn't going to unlock that cupboard. No, not he! He wasn't going to have that there boy rushing out on him, all untied, and playing some more of his tricks. No, Fatty was safer locked up in a cupboard.

So Mr. Goon went cautiously to the cupboard and knocked smartly on the door. Fatty's struggles ceased at once.

"Who's that?"

"Mr. Goon," said the policeman.

"Thank goodness!" said Fatty fervently. "Unlock the door and untie me, Mr. Goon. We've work to do! Have those men gone?"

Mr. Goon snorted. Did this fat boy really think he was going to let him help him! After he had deliberately not told him about that secret message, too!

"You're all right in there," said Mr. Goon, "you don't want to come messing about with thieves and robbers, you don't!"

Fatty couldn't believe his ears. Did Mr. Goon really mean he was going to leave him there, in the cupboard, when all the fun was going on? He wriggled about in agony at the thought, and spoke beseechingly.

"Mr. Goon! Be a sport! Unlock the door and let me out!"

"Why should I?" demanded Mr. Goon. "Did you tell me about that secret message? No, you didn't. And I know your parents wouldn't want you mixed up in this business tonight, see? They'll thank me for leaving you here. I'll come and get you later, when we've done all the arresting and everything."

Fatty was desperate. To think of Goon doing it all, whilst he was shut up in this smelly cupboard!

"Mr. Goon! Don't be mean. It was your sneeze gave the show away—and instead of catching you, they caught me. It's not fair."

Mr. Goon laughed. It was rather a nasty laugh. Fatty's heart sank when he heard it. He knew then that the policeman meant to leave him where he was. He could make all kinds of excuses for it—that he hadn't time to free Fatty—that he meant to come back almost at once—anything would do. Blow Mr. Goon!

"Well—see you later," said Mr. Goon, and he walked over to the door. Fatty groaned. Now he would have to stay in the cupboard till the fun was over. It was too bad. After all his fine plans, too! What would Inspector Jenks say? He would be very pleased with Goon, who certainly had used his brains in this Mystery, and worked hard on it.

Poor Fatty I He lay in the cupboard in great discomfort, with rope biting into his wrists and ankles. It was all Goon's fault. What did he want to go and sneeze like that for, and give the game away? He had come out of it very well himself—but he had messed everything up for poor old Fatty.

Suddenly Fatty heard a slight sound and he pricked his ears up. It sounded like the window opening. Was there somebody coming in? Was one of the gang coming back?

Then Fatty heard a low voice—a voice he knew very well indeed.

"Fatty! Are you here anywhere? Fatty!"

It was Larry! Fatty's heart beat for joy and he struggled to a sitting position in the cupboard. "Larry! I'm locked up in the cupboard where we put Napoleon! Let me out I Quick, let me out!”

Larry rushed over to the cupboard. The key was still in the lock. He turned it and the door opened. And there was poor Fatty, still wrapped up in the curtain.

"Fatty! What's happened?" cried Larry. "Are you hurt?"

"Not a bit—except that my wrists and ankles are aching with the rope round them," said Fatty. "Got a knife, Larry? Cut the rope."

Larry cut the ropes, and soon Fatty was unwrapping himself from the curtain. He tossed it into a corner with the cut ropes. He took off Napoleon's uniform, and put on his own clothes. Then he shut and locked the cupboard door.

"Oh Larry!” he said, "wasn't I glad to hear your voice! But don't let's talk here. Let's get back home, quick!"

"My people think I'm in bed," said Larry. "I'll come to your house, if you like. Your people won't be there, will they? Come on."

"Right. Well tell about everything when we get back," said Fatty.

They made their way back over the fields as fast as they could, though poor Fatty's ankles were painfully swollen now, through being so tightly bound. They soon got to Fatty's house and let themselves in cautiously. They went up to his room and Fatty flung himself on the bed, rubbing his ankles ruefully.

"Larry! How did you manage to come back and rescue me?" he asked. "I'd have been there for hours, if you hadn't. That beast Goon wouldn't let me out. Now—you tell me your story first."

"There isn't really anything to tell," said Larry. "I went back home and told Daisy all we'd done. And then, about half-past nine, when I was in bed, Pip turned up, and threw stones at my window."

"Whatever for? " said Fatty.

"Well, Bets sent him," said Larry. "Pip said she was awfully upset, and wouldn't go to sleep, and kept crying and saying she knew you had got into danger. You know the silly feelings Bets gets sometimes. She's only a baby."

"So Pip, thinking it would be fun to hear how you'd got on, dressing me up as Napoleon, told Bets he'd go round and see you," said Fatty. "It would make Bets feel better, and be a bit of excitement for old Pip. I see that—but what made you come along down to the Waxwork Hall?"

"I don't exactly know," said Larry. "You know, once before Bets got the idea that you were in danger, and it turned out she was right. And I just thought—well, I thought it might be a good idea if I slipped down to the Waxwork Hall and jusit had a snoop round to see what was happening."

"Golly! I'm glad Bets had one of her feelings," said Fatty thankfully. "And I'm glad you came down, Larry, old boy."

"So am I," said Larry. "When I got there, the Hall was in darkness and there was nobody about at all. So I opened that window, got in, and called your name. That's all."

There was a silence. Fatty suddenly looked extremely gloomy. "What's up?" said Larry. "You haven't told me what happened yet—or why you got locked up. Were you discovered after all?"

Fatty began his tale. Larry listened in astonishment. So Goon had been there too! When Fatty came to Goon's sneeze, and related how he, Fatty, had been caught because of it, and not Goon, Larry was most sympathetic.

"Poor old Fatty! So Goon got all the information, left you there, the beast, and has gone to do the arresting and reporting. Quite a busy evening for him!"