It all started on a sunny morning in the quiet village of Willowbank.
George Butterbean, a ten-year-old boy with wild hair and a big imagination, was busy doing something very serious—counting his biscuits.
“One, two, three… fifteen and a half,” he muttered, staring at the broken biscuit in the tin.
George loved two things more than anything else: detective stories and biscuits. He believed he was the best biscuit-protector in all of England.
But that morning, something terrible had happened.
“My chocolate biscuits are missing!” George yelled so loudly that three pigeons fell off the roof.
His mother, Mrs. Butterbean, peeked into the kitchen and said, “Maybe you ate them yourself, dear.”
George shook his head. “I never eat biscuits without writing it down in my Biscuit Diary!”
Indeed, under his pillow was a red diary titled The Official Biscuit Log – Classified.
He had a list of every biscuit he had ever eaten.
“Someone has stolen them,” George whispered. “It’s time to become… Detective Butterbean!”
He put on his cardboard detective hat, grabbed a magnifying glass (actually a jam jar lid), and marched out of the house.
His best friend, Ellie Thistle, was feeding a goose in her garden.
“Ellie! There’s been a robbery,” George said, looking very serious. “This is bigger than the Great Sandwich Vanishing of last Tuesday.”
Ellie gasped. “Your biscuits?! Oh no! This is war.”
They created a secret detective team: B.R.A.T.S. – Biscuit Robbery and Theft Squad.
Their first suspect: Mr. Pickle, the mailman who whistled too much and smelled like sardines.
“He always has crumbs on his shirt,” whispered George.
They followed Mr. Pickle around the village.
He did suspicious things like sneeze five times and trip over a cat. But sadly, he did not steal any biscuits.
“False alarm,” said Ellie, crossing Mr. Pickle’s name off the list.
“Next suspect—Grandma Mabel,” said George.
“Your grandma?”
“She loves chocolate,” said George. “And she has very loose morals around cookies.”
They tiptoed into Grandma Mabel’s garden. A chicken named Brenda squawked at them.
Inside the house, they found something shocking.
“Look!” George pointed.
On the kitchen table sat a plate of chocolate biscuits.
“Thief!” he shouted.
Just then, Grandma Mabel came in, wearing sunglasses and singing a song about pickles.
“Oh hello, darlings,” she said. “Would you like some biscuits? I baked them this morning.”
George examined the biscuits. “Different brand. Not mine.”
“I use extra cocoa and a secret ingredient—love,” Grandma Mabel winked.
They took one biscuit for “research purposes” and left, their cheeks covered in crumbs.
“I think we’re getting close,” said Ellie.
They returned to George’s house and found something shocking.
The back door was open.
George gasped. “The biscuit thief might have returned!”
They crept into the kitchen.
There were muddy footprints on the floor… and biscuit crumbs!
“Look!” Ellie pointed. “That’s not human!”
The footprints were small… and webbed.
“A duck?” George whispered.
They ran outside and followed the crumbs. They led across the field, past Mr. Pickle (still sneezing), and into the old shed near the pond.
Inside, they found the truth.
A gang of ducks sat in a circle, happily eating biscuits.
“Quack!” said the biggest duck, who wore a bottle cap like a crown.
“My biscuits!” cried George. “The ducks are the thieves!”
Ellie stared at them. “Wait… Is that your school tie?”
One duck was wearing George’s red school tie like a superhero cape.
“These are fashion-forward criminals,” said Ellie.
Just then, a biscuit rolled toward George.
The crown-wearing duck quacked again… and gave George a tiny, polite bow.
George blinked. “Wait… are they giving the biscuits back?”
The ducks waddled forward and returned the stolen biscuits—well, most of them. A few were clearly half-eaten.
“I think they only wanted to borrow them,” said Ellie.
“Borrow? These are biscuits, not library books!” said George.
Still, George looked at the ducks’ happy faces. One was even doing a dance.
“I suppose we can forgive them,” George said. “But only if they agree to be part of our detective team.”
The ducks quacked excitedly.
And so, the B.R.A.T.S. became the first ever detective group with two children, a goose (Brenda had joined too), and four ducks.
They even made uniforms out of napkins and shoelaces.
From that day, George always left a few biscuits by the pond. In return, the ducks helped him watch over the village.
“No biscuit will ever be stolen again,” George said proudly.
Then he stepped on a banana peel and fell into a bush.
“Detective Butterbean,” Ellie said, laughing, “you might need new shoes.”
