Herbert Wesley’s dog came running through the wood, carrying something that stank. Herbert shooed him away and so he came to me, generously dropping a long-dead rabbit at my feet.

It was the parting of the ways for Milly and me. I felt anxious for her. “Milly, do you want to come with me and Mr. Wesley, and take our chance that there’ll be someone by the three poplars to give us a lift into Wakefield?”

She shook her head. “I’ll just say I looked for you in the wood, which is true, and then I got lost. The housekeeper will tell me off, that’s all. I’ll cry if I have to.”

“Thank you, Milly. I won’t forget this.”

Herbert Wesley reminded her of the way out of the wood, and she left.

There was no knowing whether Alec had managed to commandeer a vehicle, but I had a feeling my companion would be willing to walk me to Wakefield if necessary. Though that might mean sliding into a ditch each time a car came along the road, in case someone was looking for us.

We walked along a broad path, the trees so close on either side that I could feel darkness falling.

“Nearly there,” Herbert said.

Somewhere in the wood behind us, I heard a police whistle. “Keep going,” I said. Having illegal possession of just such a whistle myself I would not take the chance on the sound we heard coming from a legitimate source. In any case, I preferred that Benjie Brockman and Raynor not find out where I was from anyone. Benjie or Raynor would be capable of persuading a bobby that I was to be taken back to Thorpefield for my own good.

We reached a clearing, where three tall poplars stood. Just beyond the clearing was a laundry van. “Where did that come from?”

Herbert Wesley was no wiser than I on the matter.

“Let’s just make sure it’s the right driver at the wheel, before you go hopping in.”

The driver at the wheel was Philip Goodchild. He got out.

“Hello, Kate.”

“Hello, PH.”

I shook hands with Herbert. “Thank you, Mr. Wesley. I won’t forget your kindness.”

Philip opened the back door. “If you get in there, no one’ll see you.”

I climbed into the back of the van. It was full of laundry bags. A face peered out through the bags. Alec Taylor.

“Alec’s coming with us,” Philip said. “This van has to go back to the laundry. It broke down and I fixed it and now I’m testing it as I take it back.”

“Right.” I climbed in before the explanation lengthened.

It would have been comfortable sitting among laundry bags, except that it was bag wash, that comes back to its customers damp and ready for hanging, and there was a lot of it.