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  “It was Archie!” gasped Ginger.

  “Course it wasn’t Archie,” said William. “Archie’s at that job in Fellminster. We saw him pass the window this mornin’ on his way to the station an’ he doesn’t get back till after five.”

  “Who is it, then?” said Ginger.

  “It’s his double or his twin brother,” said William. “It’s all turnin’ out a jolly sight more complicated than what I thought it was at first. There’s a detective called Sherlock Holmes in one of those books of Robert’s an’ he said, “we’re in deeper waters than I had thought, Watson.” I’m goin’ to be that one. He was jolly clever. You can be Watson. He jus’ asked questions an’ said: “Excellent, Holmes”, an’ things like that.”

  “Well, I’m jolly well not goin’ to be him, then,” said Ginger, who occasionally rebelled against William’s leadership.

  “You can make s’gestions same as he did,” conceded William, “but they gen’rally turned out wrong.”

  “I bet mine won’t,” said Ginger. “Anyway, Archie hasn’t got a twin brother.”

  “How d’you know he hasn’t?”

  “He’d have talked about it if he had.”

  “He prob’ly doesn’t know,” said William. “He was prob’ly stolen away at birth. Gosh! We jolly well are in deep waters, Watson.”

  “Well, what’s he doin’ in Archie’s cottage?” said Ginger.

  “That’s what we’ve got to find out,” said William. “Listen, I’ve got an idea. There’s some money comin’ to Archie that p’raps Archie doesn’t know anythin’ about an’ this villain—he’s either his twin brother or his double—is plottin’ to murder Archie an’ come into the money ’stead of him. It’s prob’ly a gang. They’ll put Archie out of the way, then this twin brother or double’ll come into the money an’ they’ll share it out We were jolly lucky to get away without him seein’ us. He’d have murdered us straight off if he’d seen us. In all those books of Robert’s they always murder the ones that know too much.”

  “Gosh, it’s gettin’ a bit dangerous,” said Ginger. “An’ I don’t know that there’s anythin’ we can do about it now.”

  “Yes, there is,” said William. “We’ve got to find out if Archie knows anythin’ about this money that’s comin’ to him or this twin brother or double. We won’t frighten him but we’ll sort of put him on his guard. It’s gettin’ jolly near the chapter where the murders start, so we’ve got to be careful.”

  “I bet Archie won’t take any notice of us,” said Ginger.

  And Ginger was right. Archie, emerging from the station barrier again, glared ferociously at the two boys who again stood waiting for him.

  “I wish you boys wouldn’t haunt me like this,” he said irritably. “I’m tired after a day’s work and I haven’t the patience to put up with it. What do you want now?”

  Again they took their places on either side of him and began to accompany him down the road.

  “You know this money you’re comin’ into, Archie?” said William with an elaborate attempt at nonchalance.

  “Don’t talk such nonsense,” said Archie. “I’m not coming into any money.”

  William exchanged a meaning glance with Ginger.

  They walked on for a few moments in silence, then William, in the same casual nonchalant fashion, remarked, “You remember that twin brother of yours that was stolen away at birth, Archie?”

  “I’m not going to answer any more of your ridiculous questions,” snapped Archie.

  William exchanged another meaning glance with Ginger. Again the trio walked on for some moments in silence. Then William returned to the attack.

  “Funny things, doubles, aren’t they, Archie?” he said. “I ’spect you’ve got one, haven’t you?”

  Archie ignored the question.

  “I think you’d better be jolly careful about this double of yours, Archie,” continued William. “He may seem all right but I bet he’s diff’rent from what he seems. I bet he’s after this money that’s comin’ to you an’ that you don’t know anythin’ about an’—”

  Archie turned on them like something at bay.

  “Clear off, both of you!” be said, “I’m sick and tired of listening to your nonsense.”

  They turned and walked slowly away. William shook his head mournfully.

  “You can see he’s got somethin’ on his mind,” he said, “an’ I bet it’s this double. I think it’s a double, not a twin brother. I bet Archie knows more about it than what he makes out he does. Poor Archie! I bet he doesn’t know which way to turn—up to his neck in this sea of crime with his head in the jaws of death.”

  “Well, we jus’ can’t do more than we’ve done,” said Ginger, who was beginning to tire of the situation. “I don’t see it’s any good goin’ to his cottage again, anyway.”

  But Archie’s cottage held by now an irresistible fascination for William.

  “Yes, we’ll go tomorrow,” he said, adding darkly, “an’ let’s hope we won’t be too late.”

  The next afternoon they approached the cottage more cautiously than ever, crawling from bush to bush and even making their way on all fours over the sparse little lawn. No sound came from within the cottage. Growing bolder, they looked in at all the windows. Every room was empty of human occupancy.

  “Gosh!” said William. “I b’lieve we are too late.” He stiffened suddenly. “Listen! I can hear someone in the garage. Let’s go ’n’ see.”

  They went to the ramshackle shed used by Archie as a garage. The door was closed but, applying their ears to it, they heard curious sounds—a wheezing sound, a strange grunting sound.

  “It’s him,” whispered William. “It’s the double. I’m goin’ to lock the door ’n’ capture him.”

  A bar with a padlock hung across the door.

  William rammed it into place and closed the padlock. The sounds inside the garage continued.

  “Well, we’ve got him captured,” said William. “That’s a jolly important thing to’ve done. Now let’s go into the cottage an’ see if we can find some clues.”

  The cottage afforded an easy entrance. The back door stood invitingly open. They entered and went from room to room. No one was there . . . but on the table in his studio lay Archie’s attache case.

  “I’m goin’ to open it,” said William. “There might be a clue in it.”

  He opened it and gave a gasp. Inside, neatly folded, was Archie’s city suit.

  “Gosh!” he said. “That’s a clue all right. This double’s murdered Archie an’ he’s put this clue in here to drop in a river or somewhere. He prob’ly pulled the suit off him an’ dragged him to the garage to murder him. I bet he was murderin’ him in the garage when we heard those funny noises. Come on Ginger! Quick! Let’s go ’n’ listen again.”

  They ran to the garage and listened again. The garage was now as silent as the cottage.

  “Yes, I’m afraid we’re too late,” said William. “Pity we locked the door, ’cause we’ve not got the key to unlock it. We’ve got to get help now, Ginger. We’ve got to get someone to unlock that shed an’ find out what’s happened. Come on!”

  They ran out to the road. The road was empty except for Ethel, tripping lightly along on her way to the village.

  “Come quick, Ethel!” panted William. “Archie’s been murdered.”

  “What?” screamed Ethel.

  “He’s been murdered,” repeated William.

  “He can’t have been. He’s in Fellminster.”

  “He’s not,” said William. “He’s in the garage.”

  The three hastened to Archie’s garage and stood looking at the padlocked door. No sounds came from within. It was Ethel who discovered the key hanging from a nail by the side of the shed. She unlocked the padlock and flung open the door. For a moment it seemed as if William’s forebodings were justified. Archie reclined in the back of the car with his eyes shut. But at the sound of the opening door he started up and at the sight of Ethel his thin face
radiated joy and surprise.

  “Oh, Ethel!” he said.

  “What on earth is all this, Archie?” said Ethel. “I thought you were in Fellminster.”

  “Oh, Ethel!” said Archie, scrambling out of the car. “I’ll make a clean breast of it. I’ve been longing to . . . I lost that job in Fellminster at the end of a week, but I was too proud to tell you and I went on going up to Fellminster in those awful clothes and I used to change into my ordinary clothes and a raincoat and a hat that came right down over my face in a sort of outhouse just outside Fellminster and I came back here by foot and through the woods and across the field and no one ever spotted me and I’d spend the day messing about here and then I’d go back by the same way, with my suit in my attache case and change into it and come back by the 5.25. I was going to spend this afternoon seeing to the car and pumping up the tyres, but the pump leaked and I couldn’t get any air in however hard I tried and I thought I’d have a bit of a rest, so I got into the back of the car and dozed off. I dreamed that I was taking you out in the car again and then I woke and found you here.”

  Ethel burst into a peal of laughter.

  “Archie, you are ridiculous . . . and I’m so glad about that stupid job.”

  “Oh, Ethel, I’ve been so miserable and worried. I thought I’d lost you for ever.”

  “Don’t be so absurd, Archie,” laughed Ethel.

  Ethel had missed Archie. Her other boy friends were attentive and correct, but she had missed Archie’s dog-like devotion and general idiocy.

  “Will you—will you let me take you out in the car again?” said Archie eagerly.

  “Of course,” said Ethel.

  She had missed Archie’s car, too. She had missed its gaiety, its irresponsibility, its high spirits, its gallant disregard of danger. The cars of her other boy friends were large and handsome but lacking in imagination, their horizons bounded on all sides by the narrow limits of the Highway Code.

  “Really, Ethel? Oh, when?”

  “There’s no time like the present, is there? I’m here and the car’s here and you’re here.”

  “Can Ginger an’ me come too?” said William.

  He was sorry not to have brought a desperate criminal to justice, but a ride in Archie’s car would compensate for that disappointment.

  Archie beamed at him, all his ill-humour gone.

  “Certainly, boys. Certainly,” he said.

  They scrambled into the back seat. Archie and Ethel took their seats in front

  The little car seemed glad to be released from confinement. It sprang out of the garage with an air of joyous abandon. It changed its mind and sprang back into the garage again, dived on to the lawn to inspect the tin bath, found its way by a miracle out of the gate; then, leaping, curvetting, bounding light-heartedly from side to side, it sped on its way down the road.

  Chapter 2 - William Takes the Lead

  William raised a blackened face from the smoking fire.

  “I think it’s cooked,” he said. “Come on. Let’s eat it.”

  The other Outlaws raised blackened faces and watched in happy anticipation as William withdrew the rusty saucepan from its nest of half-burnt twigs.

  Inside the saucepan were the smoked remains of a couple of sardines, three sausages, a handful of patent cat food, a dollop of custard, four pickled walnuts, the scraping of a tin of golden syrup, half a bottle of sour milk, a soupçon of Gentleman’s Relish, a dash of mouldy mint sauce, some cheese and bacon rinds and the tail end of a bottle of Henry father’s tonic—the whole blended and cooked by William. It formed a meal from which all four would have turned with loathing and disgust had it been offered them in their own homes, but they consumed it—sitting round the small clearing in the wood, eating in turn from the screw-top of an old stone jar that did service as a spoon—with undiluted pleasure.

  “Well, it was jolly good,” said William at last, scraping a bit of burnt cat food from the bottom of the saucepan and putting it into his mouth. “It was one of the best I’ve ever cooked!”

  “There were some funny tastes in it,” said Henry reminiscently, “but I liked them all.”

  “I think it would have been better without your father’s tonic,” said Douglas.

  “It was jolly good tonic,” said Henry. “The advertisement said it was, anyway. It said it would make a new man of him.”

  “Well, did it?”

  “He seemed the same to me,” said Henry.

  “Let’s try a bit of soda-water in the next lot,” said Ginger. “My father’s got a squirter an’ I could easily pinch a bit.”

  “A cipher,” said William. “I know ’em. My father used to have one. I did a smashing squirt with it once, right from the sideboard out of the window and on to the rose bed. I didn’t know my father was weedin’ the rose bed an’ he got it right in his ear. Gosh! He was mad.” He investigated the burnt fragments in the saucepan. “Hi, Jumble! Here’s a nice bit of cheese rind.”

  But Jumble, who was worrying a stick on the outskirts of the group, merely cocked an ear, thumped his tail apologetically on the ground and continued to worry his stick. Jumble was a dog who was willing to try anything once. He had tried William’s cooking once and found it enough.

  “I suppose he’s not hungry,” said William, putting the bit of cheese rind into his own mouth. “Can’t think why my mother makes such a fuss about cookin’. Seems easy enough to me. You jus’ put things into a saucepan an’ wait till they start smokin’ an’ then they’re cooked.”

  “The Chinese eat birds’ nests,” said Henry with a modest air of erudition.

  “That’s a good idea,” said William with interest. “I’ve never tried ’em but I bet they’d taste all right. We’ll have one the nex’ feast we do. It ought to mix all right with other things. Most things do.”

  “French people eat snails,” said Ginger, who was sitting astride Douglas, pushing leaves down his neck.

  “I tried a snail once,” said William. “I didn’t like the taste of it—I think it’d been dead too long.” He put the saucepan and screw-top into the hole in the tree that they occupied during the intervals between his “feasts”.

  “When I’m grown up I’m goin’ to start a rest’rant an’ I’m goin’ to cook mixtures same as I do here an’ people can eat ’em sittin’ on the ground same as we do an’ I bet everyone’ll want to come to it. It’s tables an’ chairs an’ knives an’ forks that spoil ordinary grown-up meals. I bet I make my fortune an’ when I’ve made it I’m going to—”

  “Well, what’ll we do now?” said Ginger, knowing that William, once launched on the subject of his future careers, was not easy to check.

  William, brought back to reality, considered the question.

  “Lets go ’n’ see if we can find any of the Hubert Laneites,” he said at last. “It’s time we had another bash at ’em.”

  During the past week the feud between the Outlaws and the Hubert Laneites, never dormant for long, had flared up and given a new zest and excitement to life. The two sides were, on the whole, pretty evenly matched, Hubert and his friends making up in cunning what they lacked in courage and strength. Yesterday morning Hubert had sent a syringeful of soapy water (put out by Mr Lane for use against the green-fly on his roses) full into William’s face as he passed the gate, taking refuge behind a closed and bolted front door before William could rally his forces. Yesterday afternoon the Outlaws had met the Hubert Laneites in open warfare and put them to flight. The time was ripe for further hostilities.

  Douglas rose to his feet, precipitating Ginger on to the ground. Even Jumble dropped his half-worried stick and set off joyfully with his friends in search of the Hubert Laneites, carrying his bushy tail like a banner to battle.

  But an exhaustive search of the neighbourhood revealed no sign of Hubert or his followers. Their favourite haunts were empty and forsaken, the Lane house presented a closed front door and deserted garden.

  It was as they neared William’s house that the
amazing sight met their eyes—for there, issuing from the gate, they saw Mrs Lane—massive in flowered silk dress and feathered hat—and, by her side, the plump, smug figure of Hubert himself.

  “Gosh!” said William aghast. “She’s been to tell my mother about the bashin’ we gave him yesterday.”

  But the gracious smile that Mrs Lane bestowed on them as she passed them made the explanation unlikely. And Hubert himself smiled at them—a nauseating smile, oily, sly, full of malicious triumph. The Outlaws turned and stood watching the departing figures. Their mouths had dropped open in surprise, their brows were furrowed in perplexity.

  “Gosh! What are they after?” said Ginger. “Goin’ into your house, William! What have they been to your house for?”

  “I’ll find out,” said William grimly. “I’ll soon find out. P’raps the rest of you’d better go. My mother said you’d not got to come here today, anyway, ’cause she didn’t like us usin’ her new vegetable sieve prospectin’ for gold yesterday . . . It mus’ be about lunch time, so let’s meet at Ginger’s after lunch an’ I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “All right,” agreed the others.

  They wandered down the road, casting puzzled glances back at the Brown homestead, while William, mouth and brow set in lines of stern resolution, entered the front door and flung open the door of the sitting-room.

  Robert and Ethel were on the settee, studying a small account book. Mrs Brown was re-tying round her waist an apron that she had evidently taken off in honour of her visitors. The expressions they turned on William reflected something of his own disapproval.

  “Must you come banging into a room like that?” said Ethel.

  “What’s Hubert Lane an’ his mother been here for?” demanded William.

  “William, your face is black,“ said Mrs Brown. “What have you been doing?”

  “Cookin’,” said William shortly and repeated, “What’s Hubert Lane an’ his mother been here for?”