“Teddy Davis is what they call in Temple Gurney a wrong ‘un,” said Jude more seriously. “He was setting traps for animals up at the East Wood. Clawed traps: highly illegal and the cruelest traps of all.”

Nat shuddered.

“Granddad was in the woods one night last summer,” continued Jude, “when he heard screaming: Rabbits scream terribly when they’re hurt. He caught Davis red-handed. Since then he steers clear of him. Granddad was worried you would blame him if you knew.”

Nat managed a smile. “Sounds as though old Teddy ‘The Tiger’ deserved more than a few clips ‘round the ear ‘ole.”

“Don’t worry.” Jude smiled back. “He’ll soon tire of you. The less you take the bait, the less fun it’ll be for them.”

Nat nodded, not entirely convinced. “I’m going to have another look for Woody,” he said. “You might as well enjoy the rest of the show.”

“He won’t have gone back to the Tates’,” said Jude. “Anyway, they’re gone now; sold the place. Left yesterday, apparently. Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to help you look for Woody?”

Nat shook his head firmly. “No, no, I’ll be fine!” he said, forcing a laugh.

Jude gave him a concerned look. “Well, if you’re sure …”

“Positive,” said Nat hastily. “Go on. He might even have gone back to Camellia Lane; you know how smart he is.”

Jude ruffled his hair. “It’ll be all right, Nat, really it will.”

Nat had a feeling his mum was saying that to make herself feel better, but at least she wasn’t going to try to help him find Woody, who Nat hoped was still nearby — with any luck looking like a gangly white dog again.

As soon as Jude had gone back toward the stage area, Woody stepped out from the bushes, smiling weakly. The shock of the last hour was beginning to wear off, and Nat was relieved and delighted to see Woody again, whatever shape he was in. To his surprise he found he didn’t want to go home yet.

“There you are!” cried Nat excitedly. “Come on. We might as well make the most of you being on two legs.”

But Woody was rooted to the spot. His nostrils were flaring in and out at an alarming rate and disgusting strings of saliva drizzled onto his shirt.

“What’s wrong?” asked Nat in alarm. “You’re not on the turn again, are you?”

“What’s that?” asked Woody, his eyes glazed.

“What’s what?” asked Nat.

“That smell!” said Woody, as if in a trance. “It’s a-woooonderful!”

Nat sniffed the air. Then he grinned. “That’d be the hot dogs.”

“I want hot dogs!” said Woody. “Can we? Now?”

“C’mon.” Nat grinned.