He made a grab at Fatty. Fatty was startled and let out a yell. He tried to run up the stairs, and dragged Mr. Smellie behind him for a few steps. The old man had got his strength back again by now, and, filled with anger at the sight of what he thought was yet another thief, he clung to Fatty like a limpet. The boy went up a few more steps, with Mr., Smellie almost tearing the coat off his back.

Then Fatty stumbled and sat down heavily on a stair about half-way to the top of the flight. Mr. Smellie fell on top of Mm, almost squashing the boy flat.

"Ow-wow!" yelled poor Fatty. "Get off! You're hurting me!"

Miss Miggle dropped the glass she was holding and rushed into the hall. What in the wide world could be going on? Was the whole house full of robbers? She was just in time to see Fatty wriggle out from under Mr. Smellie and roll down the stairs to the bottom, with many bumps and loud groans.

She saw at once that he was only a boy, and she spoke to him severely.

"What's the meaning of this? How dare you come into some one else's house? What's your name and where do you live?"

Fatty decided to be very upset and hurt. Miss Miggle was a very kind soul, and perhaps she would let him off if she thought he was nothing but a bad little boy out on an escapade.

So Fatty lifted up his voice and howled. Larry heard him, and wondered whatever could be happening. He banged at the locked door, adding to the noise and commotion. Miss Miggle looked quite bewildered.

"He's locked my friend into a room upstairs," howled Fatty. "I was just going up to rescue him when Mr. Smellie caught me and pummelled me and threw me down the stairs. Oh, I'm covered with bruises! What my mother will say when she sees them I really don't know. She'll have Mr. Smellie up for injuring a child! She'll call in the police!"

"Now you can't possibly be bruised yet," said Miss Miggle. "I'm sure such a kind old man as Mr. Smellie wouldn't throw you down the stairs. Don't be a naughty little story-teller!"

"I'm not, I'm not!" said Fatty, pretending to weep. "I'm covered with bruises. Look — here — and here — and there — and there! Oh, fetch a doctor, fetch a doctor!"

To Miss Miggle's extreme astonishment and to Mr. Smellie's horror, the boy in the hall was really and truly covered with the most terrifying purple, green and yellow bruises. They stared at Fatty as he showed them his curious markings. It did not occur to either of them that the boy had had them for one or two days already.

"Mr. Smellie!" said Miss Miggle, in a most reproachful tone. "Just look at the poor child! How could you knock a little boy about like that? What His parents will say I really do not dare to think."

Mr. Smellie was simply horrified when he thought that he had been the cause of Fatty's awful bruises. He swallowed hard once or twice, and stared at Fatty. "Better put something on the bruises," he suggested at last.

"I'll do that whilst you phone for the police," said Miss Miggle, remembering the other robbers whom she still supposed were locked up in the box-room above.

But Mr. Smellie didn't seem to want to phone for the police now. He looked a bit sheepish, and said, "Well, Miss Miggle, perhaps it would be better to ask the boys for an explanation of their curious behaviour in my house before I call in the police."

"Will you let my friend out, please?" said Fatty. "We didn't come here to rob you. It was only a joke, really. Let's call it quits, shall we? If you don't say anything to the police, we won't tell our mothers — and I won't show my bruises."

Mr. Smellie cleared his throat. Miss Miggle looked at him. "So the robbers and thieves were only two small boys!" she said. "Dear, dear! Why didn't you call me! I could have settled the matter without all this noise and commotion and throwing down the stairs!"

"I didn't throw him down the stairs," said Mr. Smellie, going up to let Larry out of the box-room. Very soon Larry was down in the hall with Fatty, and Mr. Smellie took them both into his study. Miss Miggle came in with some stuff to put on Fatty's bruises. Larry looked most astonished but didn't say a word.

"Dear, dear, I never in my life saw such dreadful braises on any child!" said Miss Miggle, dabbing each, bruise with the stuff from her bottle.

"I'm a wonderful bruiser," began Fatty. "I once had a bruise shaped exactly like a church-bell."

"What were you two boys doing in my house tonight?" said Mr. Smellie sharply. He didn't want to hear any history of bruises. Larry and Fatty were silent. They really didn't know what to say.

"You'll have to tell him that," said Miss Miggle. "You didn't come in here for any good purpose, I'll be bound. Now be good boys and own up."

Still the boys were silent. Mr. Smellie suddenly lost his temper. "Unless you tell me what you came here for I will hand you over to the police!" he said.

"Well, I don't know what they'll say when they see all my bruises," said Fatty.

"I've an idea those bruises were made before tonight!" said Mr. Smellie, getting sharper and sharper. "I know what yellow means in a braise, if Miss Miggle doesn't!"

The boys said nothing. "Name and addresses?" barked Mr. Smellie, getting out a pen. "I'll see your parents as well as the police."

The idea of their fathers and mothers knowing that they had been caught wandering about some one else's house at night was much more alarming than having in the police. Larry suddenly surrendered.

"We came to bring back a shoe we took this morning," he said in a low voice. Both Miss Miggle and Mr. Smellie stared as if they thought Larry had gone mad.

"A shoe," said Mr. Smellie at last. "Why a shoe? And why only one! What are you talking about?"

"We were looking for a shoe that fitted a footprint," said Larry desperately.

This was even more puzzling to the two listeners. Mr. Smellie tapped his pen impatiently on his desk. "Explain properly," he said. "I give you one minute. At the end of that time I telephone the police and also your parents, if you haven't given me a full and proper explanation of your most extraordinary conduct."

"It's no use," said Fatty to Larry. "We'll have to tell him the real reason, even if it does warn him and put him on his guard."

"What are you talking about?" said Miss Miggle, who was getting more and more astonished.

"Put me on my guard!" said Mr. Smellie. "What do you mean? Really, I began to think that you two boys are completely mad."

"We're not," said Larry sulkily. "But we happen to know something about you, Mr. Smellie. We know that you were in Mr. Hick's house on the evening of the fire."

The effect of these words was most astonishing. Mr. Smellie dropped his pen on the floor and sprang to his feet His glasses fell off His nose, and His beard shook and quivered. Miss Miggle looked immensely surprised.

"You "mere there, weren't you?" said Larry. "Somebody saw you. They told us."

"Who told you?" spluttered Mr. Smellie.

"Horace Peeks saw you.," said Larry. "He was in the house himself that evening., getting some of His things before Mr. Hick came back — and he saw you. How will you explain that to the police?"

"Oh, Mr. Smellie, sir., what were you doing down there that evening?" cried poor Miss Miggle, at once thinking that her employer might possibly have fired the cottage.

Mr. Smellie sat down and put His glasses on his nose again. "Miggle," he said, "I see that you suspect me of firing Mr. Hick's workroom. How you can think such a thing after serving me all these years, and knowing that I cannot even kill a fly, I don't know!"

"Well, why did you go there, then?" asked Miss Miggle. "You'd better tell me, sir. I'll look after you, whatever you've done!"

"I don't need any looking after," said Mr. Smellie, with some sharpness. "All I went down to Mr. Hick's for was to get the papers I had forgotten to bring away with me after my quarrel with the fellow that morning. I certainly went into His house — but I did not go near the workroom. I got my papers — and here they are on the table. I showed them to this boy and His sister this very morning!"