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By Root 381 0

down to his task. Benton, who had flatly refused to go to bed, dozed in the sun, nominally on R.T. watch, listening out for the Brig's next message. Mike had always enjoyed making notices; he took great pride in his skill at lettering. Several times he had to forcibly remind himself of the serious nature of the legend on the poster he was making. Firstly, he referred to the extraordinary events of the night before. These, he informed the village, were being investigated. Secondly, he issued a solemn warning in big black capitals, of the heat barrier. Thirdly, he suggested that all adults (defined as being over eighteen, a perhaps unwarranted assumption) should foregather in the village hall at five o'clock that evening, there to hear some sort of explanation of what was going on, insofar as that were possible, and agree some plan of action. As he was putting a final flourish on the last letter, smiling to himself at Benton 's snores, Miss Hawthorne returned.

During the short time she had been away she had contrived to have a bath, change her clothes, re-braid her hair, feed Grimalkin, her familiar tabby cat with a remarkably handsome shirt front, and breakfast sumptuously on muesli and dandelion coffee. As soon as she saw what Mike had been doing, she went off into peals of laughter, braying so heartily that the Sergeant leaped to his feet, ready for instant action. Mike was momentarily cut to the quick, until he realised that it was neither the matter nor the manner of his masterpiece which was the occasion of her merriment, but rather the fact that he contemplated putting it up at all.

'My dear good man,' she gasped, 'it's obvious that you've never lived in a village.'

Mike had to agree that she was right.

'If you had,' she went on, 'you'd never have wasted you time. You're a stranger, you see, a foreigner, and so they'll be suspicious of anything you do, especially anything that smacks of giving orders, dear boy! And how do you suppose Lily Watts is going to react to your playing fast and loose with the village hall like that?'

Benton snorted with suppressed mirth.

'Lily Watts?' Mike said weakly.

'Lily Warts is the letting committee of the hall.'

'The... er... chairman?'

'No, no. She is the committee. Nobody would dare plan a function without her approval.'

'But surely... this is an emergency.'

'You've got to convince them of the fact.'

Mike was at a loss. 'All right then, Miss Hawthorne,' he said in desperation. 'You tell me what I should do.'

Miss Hawthorne thought for a moment. 'Well,' she said, 'your only hope of getting that notice accepted would be to get it signed by somebody with a position in the community, the Vicar, say, though that's out of the question, of course, wretched man... or Mr. Groom, our village constable... or best of all, the chairman of the Parish Council.'

Mike sighed. 'And who's the chairman of the Parish Council?'

'Why the Squire, of course, Mr. Winstanley. Have you any transport? It's quite a walk up Box Hill.'

'Only the helicopter, I'm afraid.'

'Much too ostentatious, Mr. Yates. We'll borrow a bicycle for you.'

And so it turned out. Bert dug out an ancient single-gear sit-up-and-beg machine of uncertain vintage and as Mike wobbled unsteadily off after Miss Hawthorne, Bert set off on foot in the other direction straight to the Vicarage, to report this latest development to Mr. Magister.

The Squire had a headache. He had noticed before the odd coincidence that these migraines of his often came in the morning after a long evening at 'The Cloven Hoof'. 'All that stimulatin' conversation, too much for the old nerves. Always was a sensitive child...' The front door bell rang and jangled furiously between the Squire's ears. As the effect subsided, leaving the normal dull throb, the door opened and his housekeeper appeared.

'It's that Miss Hawthorne, sir. And a Mr. Yates.'

'I'm not in, Mrs. Anstey, I'm out. I'm ill. I'm dying, woman!'

'There you are, Squire.'

The Squire groaned. Only Miss Iawthorne would barge in like that without so much as a by-your-leave.

'I am not well,