“If you think we’re going round asking every single person in this camp, you’re mistaken!” said Julian, angrily. “I don’t want to go to the police — we wanted to be friends with you fair-folk, not enemies. This is all very silly. If the caravans are stolen we’ve no other choice but to go to the police — and I don’t imagine you want them after you again! We know they were put on to you a few weeks back.”

“You know too much,” said the rubber-man, in a very surly voice. “Your caravans are not stolen. I will show you where they are.”

He came lightly down the steps of his caravan and walked in front of the two boys in the half-darkness. He went across the grassy hillside, making for where the children’s caravans had stood.

“Where are you taking us?” called Julian. “We know the vans are not there! Please don’t act the idiot — there’s been enough of that already.”

The man said nothing, but walked on. The boys and Timmy could do nothing but follow. Timmy was not happy. He kept up a continuous low growling, like far-off thunder. The rubber-man took not the slightest notice. Julian wondered idly if he didn’t fear dogs because they wouldn’t be able to bite rubber!

The man took them to the hedge that ran at one side of the field, beyond where the two caravans had stood. Julian began to feel exasperated. He knew perfectly well that the two vans had been taken down to the field-gate and out into the lane — then why was this fellow leading him in the opposite direction?

The rubber-man forced his way through the hedge, and the boys followed — and there, just the other side, two big, dark shapes loomed up in the twilight — the caravans!

“Well!” said Julian, taken aback. “What was the idea of putting the caravans here, in the next field?”

“Us-folk and you-folk don’t mix,” said the man. “We don’t like kids messing about. Three weeks ago we had a canary-man, with over a hundred canaries that gave a show with him — and some kids opened all the cages one night and set them loose.”

“Oh,” said Julian. “They’d die, of course, if they were set loose — they don’t know how to look for their own food. That was bad luck. But we don’t do things like that.”

“No kids allowed with us now,” said the rubber-man. “That’s why we put horses into your vans, took them down to the field-gate, and up into the next field — and here they are. We thought you’d be back in the daylight and would see them.”

“Well, it’s nice to find you can be chatty, all of a sudden,” said Julian. “Don’t growl any more, Timmy. It’s all right. We’ve found our vans!”

The rubber-man disappeared without another word. They heard him squeezing easily through the hedge. Julian took out the key to his caravan, went up the steps and opened the door. He rummaged about and found his torch. He switched it on and shone it round. Nothing had been disturbed.