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hastily into the nearest patch of vegetation. As he lay hidden his mind began to concentrate itself on a grand scheme.
    Some seasons ago, Adder had been the chief victor in a battle that the Farthing Wood animals had fought against some foxes. These had resented the animals establishinga new home for themselves in the Reserve. The snake had a weapon more telling than any of his friends possessed – the weapon of poison. He had used it before to rid them of a dangerous enemy. Now he began to entertain thoughts of doing so again – and with much more purpose. For the stranger who had come to dominate their lives was more powerful and dangerous than any fox. And, as long as it lived amongst them, it was a potential enemy of every animal in the Park. Adder had no way of knowing if his poison was sufficiently potent to immobilize such a big hunter. So there was only one way of finding out.
    The snake glided through the plant stems, intent on his secret pursuit. Surprise was everything. There was a patch of bare ground between the clumps of vegetation he needed to cross. But, once across it, the cover was thick and tangled again. He slid into the open. All was quiet. His head was about to enter the next mass of growth when the breath was driven from his body. A heavy weight came down in the centre of his back along his vertebrae. He was pressed against the hard ground so tightly that he was unable even to wriggle his tail. Adder was securely pinioned.

Whistler sped on, his great steel-grey wings beating rhythmically. He began to call as he neared Fox and Vixen’s earth.
    ‘News! News! Sensational news!’
    He made such a noise, and the noise was so unexpected from the normally dignified heron, that animals and birds came out of their burrows and holes and boughs, or stopped what they were doing, to look up at him. He hastened to land.
    Fox and Vixen were all agog and an indignant and sleepy Tawny Owl flew to a nearby perch to hear what all the unwarranted (in his opinion) commotion was about.
    ‘The Beast is seen!’ Whistler cried by way of a preliminary. ‘Drinking, as boldly and openly as you like, from the stream.’
    More animals and birds were gathering to listen. There was a chorus of demands to know what it was like, in voices of many varied pitches and registers. The heron waited for the hubbub to die down. He was familiar with the ginger cat belonging to the Warden and so this was the obvious comparison to make.
    ‘It was like,’ he told them, and at once there was a hushed silence, ‘a much larger version of the cat our Badger got to know so well.’
    Tawny Owl blinked his great eyes in disbelief.
    ‘The colouring was quite different,’ Whistler added. ‘But there was the same litheness of movement, the same suppleness, the same silent gait.’
    The owl prepared himself to give a sharp retort if Badger should start saying ‘I told you so.’ He looked around, but Badger was not in the throng. Owl was glad – but felt he would have to defend his own argument sooner or later.
    ‘Where did the creature come from?’ Fox wanted to know.
    ‘I didn’t observe its approach,’ replied Whistler. ‘It was already on the bank when I first saw it. Then it drank and made off towards the nearest cover – thankfully in a direction away from this part of the Park.’
    Friendly had been listening eagerly. He knew where Whistler preferred to fish and now at last he had the evidence that he needed. He did not wait to hear any more but ran off at once to round up his confederates.
    ‘So we’re dealing with a large, powerful cat,’ Fox summed up. ‘Well, it could be worse. But what kind of cat can it be? Certainly not a human’s pet. It’s something none of us have ever seen or heard about before.’
    ‘Excuse me,’ Tawny Owl interrupted in his pompous way. ‘Aren’t you jumping to conclusions, Fox? How do we know this is the animal that has been doing the killing?’
    There was a pause while his words were