"Well, I don't like him," Peter said in her straightforward and honest way, "and I never have, and I still can't see why he should want to come and stay at Clun at this time of the year. I'll believe him when he proves himself but I feel certain that he's up to something very mysterious and I shall watch him as much as I possibly can. Perhaps he'll be the beginning of another big adventure for us?... What do you think, Jon?"

Jon shrugged. "I'm beginning to think with you, Peter. He's a very odd bloke."

After some more talk David got up.

"I don't know about you lot but I'm tired. I wish you'd all go away and by breakfast time I hope I'll have thought of a way for us to watch him without him knowing... or perhaps somebody else could get an idea? Good night, all."

When Peter got back to her own room she felt strangely wide-awake. The few hours' sleep she had enjoyed before the meeting in the boys' room had freshened her and now her mind was so active that she would have liked to have gone on talking. But Penny was asleep in a few minutes and no company at all, so she tossed and turned on her pillow thinking again of all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

Suddenly there was a new sound in the night. Far, far away she heard the faint, pulsating throb of the engine of a car. As soon as she sat up the silence of the night surged back again so that she wondered if her ears or brain were playing tricks. Then it came again and now it was nearer and there was a whine in the pulse of the heavy engine which told her that the car was coming up a hill. Or was it a car? She listened intently, as the sound became muffled again and then burst into new life. Now she could hear the rumble of heavy wheels coming rapidly closer, and suddenly she was sure of what she would see if she went to the window.

She was out of bed in a trice, and pushed up the window. The noise of the approaching engine was louder now and echoing back from the houses built close to Clun's little bridge. Peter leaned far out so that the bitter cold struck through her pyjamas and started her teeth chattering. Then a great lorry with only two small, dimmed headlights swung round into the main street. It was travelling dangerously fast but even as the red tail-light swung out of sight round the corner she had recognized the van as the one she had met on the day she rode to Clun. But one thing was different. She was quite, quite certain that this time the lettering on the side of the van read "Thompsons of Manchester."