At David's denial, the stranger seemed to notice him for the first time, and was now staring intensely at him with bright, piercing eyes. David observed that the man was short and thick-set, with remarkably long arms.

Suddenly David shivered. He felt angry and oddly afraid, and wanted to be with the others. He turned his back and ran through the rain alone.

"The car's here, David," said Mrs. Morton, "but we can't get the luggage on for a minute. It's too wet. What did the funny old man want?"

From under the barrow, Macbeth began to growl, and they looked up to see the stranger in the doorway. Mary grabbed the dog's lead and held on with all her strength as the man called out to the porter:

"Hi, you! Have you telephoned about my parcel? I must have it. When is the next train?"

"No more trains tonight, mister," said the old porter with a grin. "Better ask station-master if you want to telephone."

Scowling and muttering to himself, the man rudely looked the Mortons up and down before striding out into the rain. A few minutes later they heard the noise of a motor-cycle.

Somehow they got the luggage stowed away - some on the roof, some on the back and some on the front seat with John.

At last they started on the last stage of their journey.

The climbing road twisted and turned for another mile before the trees thinned out, and they rushed out to the crest of a long hill. Ahead was rolling country with their road threading its way like a ribbon into the distance. But before David had time to exclaim old John braked and turned sharp right into a lane flanked again by trees.

"Are we nearly there?" he asked.

"Just through the wood, son, and you'll see Witchend."

The rain had stopped now and the clouds were breaking in the west above the rolling grandeur of the Long Mynd. To their left the mountain sloped abruptly away to its southern extremity. To their right it stretched hard across a skyline aflame with the scarlet and gold of the setting sun.

"Please stop for a minute," said Mrs. Morton. "Where's Witchend? Show us..."

Old John pointed ahead.

"There's her smoke. See the larch wood down the side of the hill like a black wedge? Look again at the corner of the wood and you'll see a patch of grey - that's the side of the house, and I see her smoke against the trees. But we'll be moving, and I'll have you home in five minutes."

They rushed down the hill and pulled up as some cows straggled across the lane into a farmyard. A man in khaki raised his hand in a cheery salute to them as they crawled past.