“Golly! We’ve found out something now!” said Fatty. “Pip, did you notice John Henry Smith’s address?”

“Of course.” said Pip importantly. “Didn’t you guess that’s why I offered to help to read the name?”

“I saw you push Miss Crump’s spectacle-case down the side of your chair,” said Daisy.

“Yes. But I put them on the table again before I went,” said Pip. “I got the address all right. It was 6, The Causeway, Limmering. And the telephone number was Limmering 021.”

“Jolly good, Pip,” said Fatty admiringly. “You made an awful blunder about the three thousand pounds, but you were certainly very smart afterwards. I couldn’t have done better myself.”

“You couldn’t have done so well!” said Bets, very proud of Pip. “I say - it’s all very queer, isn’t it? If Mr. Smith so badly wanted the house because his mother lived there, and because he was brought up there, why did he only furnish one room?”

“That room has a barred window,” said Fatty, thinking hard. “Maybe that was the nursery window in the days when he was there as a child - and perhaps that’s why he has taken that one room and furnished it - he may be a frightfully sentimental person. Though I admit it doesn’t sound a very good explanation. Still detectives have to think out every possible explanation.”

Nobody thought it was a good explanation.

“We’ll find out if a Mrs. Smith lived there in years gone by,” said Larry thoughtfully. “And if one of her children was called John. And if that room was the nursery.”

“Yes. We can do that,” said Fatty. “And we might find out if John Henry is still at Limmering.”

“Limmering is miles away!” said Larry. “We would never be allowed to go there.”

“Well, we’ve got the telephone number. We can telephone, silly,” said Fatty.

They got on their bikes and cycled away fast, for it was now getting dark.

“Whose turn is it to make inquiries now?” said Daisy. “I’ve done my share. I should think it’s Larry’s or Bets’.”

“How can we find out who lived at Milton House before?” said Larry. “Nobody will know!”

“Use your brains, fathead.” said Fatty. “There are lots of ways of finding out. I could tell you plenty. But you can jolly well think up some for yourself. A good detective would never be stumped by a simple thing like that. Pooh! - I could fine out in ten minutes.”

“You’re always so clever!” said Larry crossly.

“I can’t help that,” said Fatty. “Even as a baby I used to -”

“Oh, shut up!” said Pip and Larry, who never would allow Fatty to tell them of his wonderful babyhood.

Fatty looked offended. “Well,” he said, when they parted at Pip’s corner, “see you all tomorrow. You get the information we want, Larry, and report it.”

This sounded very official and important. Bets sighed happily. “It is nice to be solving such a dark mystery, isn’t it?” she said.

“Well - we haven’t got very far with it yet!” said Fatty, smiling at her. “And if old Buster hadn’t got into that fight, I doubt if we would have got so much out of Miss Crump.”

“Poor darling Buster,” said Bets, looking at the little Scottie as he sat patiently in Fatty’s bicycle basket. “Does your leg hurt?”

It didn’t, but Buster was not going to refuse any sympathy offered to him. He held out his bandaged leg and put on a miserable expression.

“He’s a humbug,” said Fatty, patting him. “Aren’t you, Buster? You enjoyed that fight, didn’t you - and all the fuss afterwards? And I bet you got in two or three jolly good bites yourself. Now you’ll expect to be spoilt the next few days all because of a bandage round your leg!”

“Well, I shall spoil him,” said Bets, and she kissed the top of his head. “I was terrified when I saw that big dog fighting him.”

“Poor little Bets!” said Fatty. “Well, what with Buster’s snarling and your howling, we managed to get right into Miss Crump’s house and get all the information we needed, and a lot more than we expected!”

They all said good-bye and cycled off to their homes, getting in just at tea-time, as dusk was falling. It was a cold December evening, and thoughts of a cheerful fire and a good tea were very welcome to all the Find-Outers!

Larry and Daisy discussed how to find out about John Henry Smith and his mother. They soon thought of quite a lot of ways.

“We could go to the next house and ask if Mrs. Smith lived there,” said Daisy. “Then they would say no, she lived at Milton House years ago, or something like that.”

“Or we could go and ask the village grocer,” said Larry. “He serves every one, and he would remember Mrs. Smith, I should think. We could ask the old man - he’s been here all his life.”

“We could even ask Mother,” said Daisy.

“Better not,” said Larry. “She would wonder whyever we suddenly wanted to know a thing like that.”

“We could ask at the post office too,” said Daisy. “They know everyone, because the postman delivers letters.”

“Oh - we could ask the postman!” said Larry, pleased. “Of course. He’s been postman here for years and years. He would be sure to know who used to live at Milton House.”

“Yes. That’s a good idea,” said Daisy. “We can easily ask him. How shall we do it? We can’t ask him straight out. I mean, it would seem a bit funny to say, ‘Did a John Henry Smith live with his mother at Milton House years ago?’ Wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Larry. “I’ll think out something tonight, and I’ll hang about tomorrow morning about eleven, when he delivers the second lot of letters.”

So, just before eleven the next morning, Larry and Daisy were swinging on their front gate, watching for old Sims the postman.

He came along as usual, disappearing into first one house and then another. Larry called to him as he came near:

“Hallo, Sims! Any letters for me?”

“No, Master Larry. Why, is it your birthday or something?” said Sims.

“Oh no!” said Larry. “Gracious! What a crowd of letters you have to deliver, Sims! Have you got to deliver all those by the second post? Do you have a completely empty bag by the time you get back to the post office?”

“Yes,” said Sims, “unless some one has addressed a letter wrong-like. Then, if I can’t find out where the person lives, I have to take it back. But I knows where most people lives!”

“I bet you can’t remember the names of all the people who have lived in Peterswood since you were postman!” said Larry cleverly.

“Oh, can’t I, now!” said Sims, stopping to lean on the gate. “Well, that’s one thing I can do! My old woman, she says I ain’t forgotten a single name. I can tell you who lived in your house afore you came. Yes, it was a Mrs. Hampden, it was, and mighty feared I was of coming every morning because of her two fierce dogs. And afore she had the house it was Captain Lacy. Nice old gentleman he was. And afore that -”

Larry didn’t want to hear any more about his own house. He interrupted old Sims.

“Sims, you have got a wonderful memory. You really have. Now - I’ll try and catch you out. Who lived at Milton House years ago?”

“Milton House? Ah, that’s an easy one, that is!” said Sims, brightening up. “Why, the three Misses Duncan lived there, so they did, and well I remember them too.”

“Duncan?” said Larry, astonished. “Are you sure? I thought somebody named Smith lived there.”

“No. There was never any one by name of Smith there,” said Sims, wrinkling his forehead. “I remember that house being built. It was built by Colonel Duncan for himself and his three daughters. What be their names now? Ah yes! - there was Miss Lucy and Miss Hannah and Miss Sarah. Real nice ladies they was, and they never married neither.”

“Did they live there long?” said Larry.

“Oh yes - they lived there till about six years ago,” said Sims. “The old gentleman died, and then two of the ladies died, and the last one she went and lived with her friend, she was that lonely.”