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considered. Tawny Owl felt he had produced an effect and he was much gratified.
    ‘We don’t know ,’ admitted Fox. ‘But everything points to it.’
    ‘Adder was quite clear about it as soon as I told him,’ Whistler remarked.
    ‘Adder?’ Owl scoffed. ‘Adder? What would he know about it?’
    ‘Its very size, as Whistler describes it, must be a sufficient clue.’ Squirrel said. ‘And it’s an animal that’s quite new to us.’
    ‘Just how big was it, Whistler?’ Tawny Owl demanded, enjoying his position as the cautious dissenter.
    The heron tried to give as vivid an impression as he could of the powerful body, the shape of the head – even the eyes. ‘They had a cold gleam in them,’ he said, ‘just as you would expect to see in the eyes of a calculating, ruthless killer.’
    ‘Stuff and nonsense,’ Tawny Owl returned. ‘There’s a lot of your imagination gone into that description, Whistler. They don’t sound a bit like the eyes I saw in my tree. It’s certainly not the same beast.’
    Tawny Owl had caused quite a stir, which is what he had intended. Were there two powerful strange animals roaming the Park? The animals started chattering all at once in a nervous way so that it was quite impossible for Whistler to make himself heard. Fox tried to think constructively, but that was impossible too.
    Vixen said to him quietly, ‘At least none of us is immediately threatened. We’ve got the time to thinkmore about it, but now’s not the right moment.’
    ‘Just so,’ agreed Fox, and they indicated to the heron that they were returning to their den.
    ‘Someone should tell Badger your news,’ Weasel said to Whistler. ‘No one should be kept in the dark.’ He ran off towards Badger’s set.
    Leveret mentioned that Toad was not present, but Whistler thought it likely that he might be found near the stream.
    ‘And that takes care of everyone,’ he summarized. He had no more to add and flew back to his usual haunt, though with the necessary circumspection.
    Tawny Owl found himself surrounded by a miscellany of birds who bombarded him with questions about his experience with the Beast. He did not much relish this position, now that his close companions had gone on their way. It was daytime, he was sleepy, and he was never very comfortable in the company of a host of songbirds who sometimes chose to mock him during his periods of inaction in the daylight. Whilst he was trying in vain to disentangle himself, Weasel arrived at the entrance to Badger’s home.
    The first thing he noticed as he went in was the sound of voices. Badger lived alone and Weasel wondered to whom he was talking.
    A voice, very like poor Mole’s, was distinguishable. Weasel paused some way down the tunnel to listen to the conversation.
    ‘You don’t know how happy you’ve made me,’ next came the gruff sound of Badger’s voice. ‘I really had given you up for lost.’
    ‘But, you see, Badger, you’re getting muddled,’ said the Mole-like voice.
    ‘Muddled?’ Badger repeated. ‘Oh yes, at my age – Isuppose you’re right. I expect I do get muddled. But what does all that matter? What’s important to me is that my dear old friend has come back. I have been rather lonely, Mole. Now we can have our cosy little talks again just like we always did. And I –’
    ‘No, no,’ the shriller voice interrupted. ‘I’m not who you think. Oh dear. What can I say?’
    Weasel detected a tone of helplessness in this voice and he began to put two and two together. He went on towards Badger’s sleeping chamber. It was very dark deep inside the set so he could not see either of the other animals. He hurriedly announced himself.
    ‘Oh! Weasel,’ said Badger. ‘What brings you here?’ He did not wait for an answer but went on immediately with unmistakable excitement: ‘This is a wonderful moment. Mole has returned! We’ve just been —’
    A wail from the animal cut him short. It was a sound Mole had never been heard to make