“It’s quite likely that Jo made the whole story up about her father taking George away,” he groaned. “It doesn’t look as if they’ve been here at all.”

His torch flashed on to the wooden wall of the caravan, and Dick saw something that arrested his attention. Somebody had written something on the wall!

He looked more closely. “Julian! Isn’t that George’s writing? Look! What’s written there?”

Both boys bent towards the dirty wall. “Red Tower, Red Tower, Red Tower,” was written again and again, in very small writing.

“Red Tower!” said Dick. “What does that mean? Is it George’s writing?”

“Yes, I think so,” said Julian. “But why should she keep writing that? Do you suppose that’s where they have taken her to? She might have heard them saying something and scribbled it down quickly — just in case we found the caravan and examined it. Red Tower! It sounds queer.”

“It must be a house with a red tower, I should think,” said Dick. “Well — we’d better get back and tell the police now — and they’ll have to hunt for a red tower somewhere.”

Bitterly disappointed the boys went back to Anne. She scrambled out from under her bush as they came.

“George is not there,” said Dick. “She’s gone. But she has been there — we saw some scribbled writing on the wall of the caravan inside.”

“How do you know it’s hers?” said Anne.

“Well, she’s written “Red Tower” ever so many times, and the R’s and the T’s are just like hers,” said Dick. “We think she must have heard someone talking and say they were taking her to Red Tower, wherever it is. We’re going straight back to the police now. I wish we hadn’t trusted Jo. We’ve wasted such a lot of time.”

“Let’s have something to eat,” said Julian. “We won’t sit down. We’ll eat as we go. Come on.”

But somehow nobody wanted anything to eat. Anne said she felt sick. Julian was too worried to eat, and Dick was so anxious to go that he felt he couldn’t even wait to unpack sandwiches! So they started back down the path, following the wheel-ruts as before.

It suddenly grew very dark indeed, and on the leaves of the trees heavy rain fell with a loud, pattering sound. Thunder suddenly rolled.

Anne caught hold of Julian’s arm, startled. “Julian! It’s dangerous to be in a wood, isn’t it, in a storm? Oh, Julian, we’ll be struck by lightning.”

“No, we shan’t,” said Julian. “A wood’s no more dangerous than anywhere else. It’s sheltering under a lone tree somewhere that’s dangerous. Look — there’s a little clearing over there; we’ll go to that, if you like.”

But when they got to the little clearing the rain was falling down in such heavy torrents that Julian could see that they would immediately be soaked through. He hurried Anne to a clump of bushes, and they crouched underneath, waiting for the storm to pass.