“Come on,” he said to the others. “Let’s go and play hide-and-seek somewhere else.”

“Yes - you clear orf!” said Mr. Goon majestically, feeling that he really had got the better of those interfering kids this time. “You just clear orf, see?”

The children went down the drive, watched Mr. Goon mount his bicycle and ride off, and then went down the lane to meet Fatty. Buster refused to come with them. Fatty had not released him from his trust, and he couldn’t leave the pullover!

“I wonder how Fatty’s got on,” said Pip. “I bet he won’t have got any keys!”

Fatty had gone back to the village, and had gone into the office of the bigger of the two house-agents. An elderly man sat at a desk. He looked up impatiently when Fatty came in.

“What do you want?” he said.

“Have you any secluded properties standing well back from the road?” asked Fatty in a smooth, dignified voice. “My aunt would like to hear of some. She wants a large house and garden, if possible on the outskirts of the village.”

“Well, you tell your aunt to ring me up or write to me,” said the elderly man, looking suspiciously over the tops of his large glasses. “Or give me her address and I’ll write to her.”

This didn’t suit Fatty at all. What would be the good of that!

“Well, she rather wanted me to take her some particulars today,” said Fatty. “Er - a house something like that one called Milton House might do for her.”

“What price house does she want?” asked the house-agent, still loohng suspiciously at Fatty. He didn’t like boys.

Fatty didn’t know what to say. He had a good deal of general knowledge, but the price of houses didn’t come into it. He hesitated.

“Well - about five hundred pounds,” he said boldly, thinking that that was such a lot of money surely it would buy a house like Milton House.

The house-agent gave a short bark of a laugh. “Go away!” he said. “Trying to have me on, aren’t you? Five hundred pounds indeed! Why, that would hardly buy a cottage these days. You go and tell your aunt she’d better spend her money on a doll’s house! And by the way, just give me your aunt’s address, will you?”

Fatty was equal to this, and at once gave a perfectly marvellous address, which the house-agent wrote down rather doubtfully.

“Er - perhaps you’d better give me her telephone number too,” said the man, hoping to catch Fatty out.

“Certainly,” said Fatty. “Whiskers 0000.”

Before the astonished agent could make any comment about this curious telephone number, Fatty had bade him a polite good-day and gone.

“Phew!” said Fatty to himself, as he sprinted down the road at top speed. “What a nasty suspicious fellow! Well - I didn’t get much information out of him about Milton House. I’d better try the other agent - and this time my dear aunt will have to spend five thousand pounds on a house.”

He marched into the other house-agents, and saw to his relief a boy sitting at a table. The boy did not look much older than himself, and was rather pale and pimply. In the ordinary way Fatty would have greeted him by saying, “Hallo, Pimples!” but this time he thought he had better not.

“Good morning,” said Fatty, putting on his deepest, most important voice.

“’Morning,” said Pimples. “What do you want?”

“Well - it’s not so much what l want as what my Aunt Alicia needs,” said Fatty. “She is desirous of - er - purchasing a property, a secluded property, at about - er - five thousand pounds.”

“Pom-pom-pom, aren’t we high and mighty!” said Pimples. “Who’s your aunt?”

“She’s my uncle’s wife,” said Fatty, and grinned. He took out a bag of big bull’s-eye humbugs and offered Pimples one. Pimples grinned back and took one.

“We aren’t used to people popping in and wanting to spend five thousand pounds on any property hereabouts,” said Pimples, grinning again. “But we’ve got plenty of empty houses if your aunt would like to choose one. There’s Elmhurst and Sunlands, and Cherry Tree and Burnham House, and -”

“Got any down Chestnut Lane?” asked Fatty, sucking his humbug. Chestnut Lane was the road in which Milton House was.

“Yes. House called Fairways,” said the boy, consulting a big book and putting his peppermint into his other cheek.

“What about Milton House?” said Fatty. “That’s empty too.”

“It’s not for sale,” said the boy.

“Whyever not?” asked Fatty, surprised.

“Because somebody’s bought it, fathead,” said Pimples. “It was on the market for four years, and somebody bought it about a year ago.”

“Oh!” said Fatty, puzzled. “Well, why haven’t they moved in?”

“How should I know?” said Pimples, crunching up his peppermint. “I say, where do you get these humbugs? They’re jolly good.”

“I got them in London the other day,” said Fatty. “Have another? Do you know when the new people are moving in?”

“No idea,” said Pimples. “Once a house is sold, my boss, Mr. Richards, doesn’t take any more interest in it. Don’t tell me your Aunt Alicia has fallen in love with that desolate old place!”

“Well - it might be just what she’s looking for,” said Fatty. “I wonder now - perhaps the people who bought it don’t like it after all - and might sell it to my aunt. Do you know their name and address?”

“Gosh! - you do seem keen on your aunt having that house,” said Pimples. “Wait a minute. I may be able to put my hand on the name. It’s in this book, I believe.”

Fatty waited whilst Pimples ran a dirty thumb down lists of names. He was very anxious to know the name and address of the person who had bought the house. He felt he must get hold of something, or the other Find-Outers wouldn’t think him very clever.

“Yes, here we are,” said Pimples at last. “Name of Crump. Miss Crump, Hillways, Little Minton - that’s quite near here, you know. Well, Miss Crump bought it, but why she didn’t live in it, goodness knows! She paid three thousand pounds for it.”

“Oh!” said Fatty. “Well - thanks awfully. I’ll get my aunt to go and see Miss Crump. Perhaps if she doesn’t want Milton House herself, she’ll be willing to sell it to my aunt.”

“So long!” said the boy, as Fatty got up to go. “Give my love to Aunt Alicia and tell her I wouldn’t mind a bit of her five thousand pounds.”

Fatty went. He was puzzled. Miss Crump didn’t sound at all mysterious. He could almost imagine what she looked like - a prim little old lady with a bun of hair at the back, high collars to her dresses, and skirts that swept the ground. She would probably have a cat or two.

Fatty took the road back to Milton House. Before he got there he met the other Find-Outers, looking rather woebegone.

“Oh - there’s Fatty!” cried Bets. “Fatty, how did you get on? Oh, Fatty, Clear-Orf found us and turned us out!”

“Golly! - did he really?” said Fatty, looking concerned. “That’s bad luck. We particularly didn’t want him snooping round about our mystery. If he really thinks we’re on to something, he’ll keep a watch on that house - and on us too now - and spoil things for us properly. Who was silly enough to get spotted by Clear-Orf?”

“Well - it was Buster who gave the game away,” said Larry. “It wasn’t really such a clever idea of yours to put him on guard by the gate, Fatty, because as soon as Clear-Orf came by, Buster nearly barked his head off. And of course Clear-Orf looked at him, knew he was your dog, and came in to see what you were doing. He found us, not you!”

“Blow!” said Fatty. “I never thought of Buster making Clear-Orf suspicious if he came by. I only thought of him warning you. Where is he?”

“Still sitting on your pullover, and he’ll be guarding it till tomorrow morning if you don’t go and get him,” said Larry. “He’s only got one thought in his doggy head now - to guard that pullover of yours.”