no one in particular. He almost felt like going back to the shop and asking for his money back. Thirty-five buns were thirty-five buns and it had taken him a long time to save that much money.
But when he got outside the front door Paddington hesitated. It seemed such a pity to waste his disguise, and even if Mrs Bird had seen through it, Mr Briggs, the foreman at the building site, might not. Paddington decided to have one more try. He might even pick up some more clues.
By the time he arrived at the new house he was feeling much more pleased with himself. Out of the corner of his eye he had noticed quite a number of people staring at him as he passed. And when he’d looked at them over the top of his glasses several of them had hurriedly crossed to the other side of the road.
He crept along outside the house until he heard voices. They seemed to be coming from an open window on the first floor and he distinctly recognised Mr Briggs’s voice among them. There was a ladder propped against the wall and Paddington clambered up the rungs until his head was level with the window-sill. Then he carefully peered over the edge.
Mr Briggs and his men were busy round a small stove making themselves a cup of tea. Paddington stared hard at Mr Briggs, who was in the act of pouring some water into the teapot, and then, after adjusting his beard, he blew a long blast on his police whistle.
There was a crash of breaking china as Mr Briggs jumped up. He pointed a trembling hand in the direction of the window.
“Cor!” he shouted. “Look! H’an apparition!” The others followed his gaze with open mouths. Paddington stayed just long enough to see four white faces staring at him and then he slid down the ladder on all four paws and hid behind a pile of bricks. Almost immediately there was the sound of excited voices at the window.
“Can’t see it now,” said a voice. “Must ’ave vanished.”
“Cor!” repeated Mr Briggs, mopping his brow with a spotted handkerchief. “Whatever it was, I don’t never want to see nothing like it again. Fair chilled me to the marrow it did!” With that he slammed the window shut and the voices died away.
From behind the pile of bricks Paddington could hardly believe his ears. He had never even dreamed that Mr Briggs and his men could be mixed up in the affair. And yet – he had definitely heard Mr Briggs say his marrow had been chilled.
After removing his beard and dark glasses, Paddington sat down behind the bricks and made several notes in his book with the invisible ink. Then he made his way slowly and thoughtfully in the direction of the grocer’s.
It had been a very good day’s detecting, and Paddington decided he would have to pay another visit to the building site when all was quiet.
It was midnight. All the household had long since gone to bed.
“You know,” said Mrs Brown, just as the clock was striking twelve, “it’s a funny thing, but I’m sure Paddington’s up to something.”
“There’s nothing funny in that,” replied Mr Brown sleepily. “He’s always up to something. What is it this time?”
“That’s just the trouble,” said Mrs Brown. “I don’t really know. But he was wandering around wearing a false beard this morning. He nearly startled poor Mrs Bird out of her wits. He’s been writing things in his notebook all the evening too, and do you know what?”
“No,” said Mr Brown, stifling a yawn. “What?”
“When I looked over his shoulder there was nothing there!”
“Oh well, bears will be bears,” said Mr Brown. He paused for a moment as he reached up to turn out the light. “That’s strange,” he said. “I could have sworn I heard a police whistle just then.”
“Nonsense, Henry,” said Mrs Brown. “You must be dreaming.”
Mr Brown shrugged his shoulders as he turned out the light. He was much too tired to argue. All the same he knew he had heard a whistle. But as he closed his eyes and prepared himself for sleep, it never crossed his mind that the cause of it might be Paddington.
Lots of things had been happening to Paddington since he’d crept out of the Browns’ house under cover of darkness and made his way round to the building site. So many things had happened, one after the other, that he almost wished he’d never decided to be a detective in the first place. He felt very glad when, in answer to several loud blasts on his whistle, a large black car drew up at the side of the road and two men in uniform got out.
“Hallo, hallo,” said the first of the men, looking hard at Paddington. “What’s going on here?”
Paddington pointed a paw dramatically in the direction of the new house. “I’ve captured a burglar!” he announced.
“A what?” asked the second policeman, peering at Paddington. He’d come across some very strange things in the course of duty, but he’d never been called out in the middle of the night by a young bear before. This one seemed to be wearing a long black beard and a duffle coat. It was most unusual.
“A burglar,” repeated Paddington. “I think he’s the one that took Mr Brown’s marrow!”
“Mr Brown’s marrow?” repeated the first policeman, looking rather dazed as he followed Paddington through his secret entrance into the house.
“That’s right,” said Paddington. “Now he’s got my marmalade sandwiches. I took a big parcel of them inside with me in case I got hungry while I was waiting.”
“Of course,” said the second policeman, trying to humour Paddington. “Marmalade sandwiches.” He tapped his forehead as he looked at his colleague. “And where is the burglar now – eating your sandwiches?”
“I expect so,” said Paddington. “I shut him in the room and I put a piece of wood under the door so that he couldn’t get out. I got my beard caught in one of the sandwiches – so I switched my torch on to take some of the hairs out of the marmalade and then it happened!”
“What happened?” chorused the policemen. They were finding it rather difficult to keep up with Paddington’s description of the course of events.
“I saw someone flashing a light outside the window,” explained Paddington, as patiently as he could. “Then I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, so I lay in wait.” He pointed towards a door at the top of the stairs. “He’s in there!”
Before either of the policemen could ask any more questions there came the sound of banging and a voice cried, “Let me out!”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed the first policeman. “There is someone in there.” He looked at Paddington with renewed respect. “Did you get a description, sir?”
“He was about eight feet tall,” said Paddington, recklessly, “and he sounded very cross when he found he couldn’t get out.”
“Hmm!” said the second policeman. “Well, we’ll soon see about that. Stand back!” With that he pulled the piece of wood from under the door and flung it open, shining his
