I can only assume that the whole population of Didding under Lively had gone on holiday or had caught the chicken pox. There was no other reason I could think of why the captain of their local cricket team would invite me and Joe to play for them in the Sunday league, especially so late in the season.

I must add before anyone gets the silly idea that me and Joe have become renowned cricketers or had been doing anything so unsporting as practising, we are talking here eighth division cricket, not first.

The call came via Tub, who it seems is actually related to someone who lives in Didding under Lively. Having said that however, even he had to look it up on the map before he could tell us where it was.

Still I could see no good reason for agreeing to play for such an obscure team, in a place I had never heard of and I said so. It was while I was putting my foot down saying that under no circumstances was I going to play, that Tub mentioned Betty Harrison.

It seems that she had suggested that we might play for the team and the message was that she would be ever so grateful if we did. As soon as the swine said this in front of Joe I knew I was doomed.

Joe had been trying to impress Betty for weeks so that he could ask her out to the duck watchers dance at the end of July. Any reluctance on his part to play cricket again quickly evaporated and he used the wretched rooks nest ploy on me to force me to agree.

The rooks nest ploy was a favour Joe once did for me by helping build a photographic hide at the top of some very high beach trees, this was so I could photograph the rooks for a photographic exhibition. It was not an easy job and took us many weeks to complete, since then he has used this favour to get me to agree a number things against my better judgement. Agreeing to this cricket match was certainly against my better judgement, perhaps not my better judgement, I just a feeling that his time we wouldn't be so lucky and might have to convince people that we actually knew something about cricket.

It all sounded innocent enough, a days cricket in a small county village, good food and plenty of beer. What I could not understand was why Betty wanted us to play for Didding under Lively, she lived in the village Treading by the Water. I suspected she was trying to sabotage the opposing team rather then be impressed by Joes athletic ability.

We decided to bicycle to Didding as it was not far and the weather forecast for the day had been good. After half an hour of pedalling we had left any sort of main road and were cycling down some rather narrow lanes for what seemed miles. We began to think that we had perhaps missed the village when we saw the small spire of a very and I mean very, small church. We stopped outside the church and indeed the notice board indicated that we were not lost as the sign read, St Biggles, Didding under Lively. We looked around but could not see much, so we stood on top of the church wall and looked to see where the rest of the village was, someone seemed to have stolen it. All we could see was two cottages and the roof of large house.

" Not much of a village." said Joe.

" There must be more to it than this." I said. " A village this small couldn't muster up a couple of umpires let alone a whole cricket team."

" Lets try the big house." suggested Joe.

We peddled up the lane round a corner then up the drive of the big house. Parking our bicycle against a stone statue of Bacchus we knocked at the front door.

I was expecting the house to be empty or at best owned by an old lady who was stone deaf. Much to my surprise the door was almost immediately opened by a large strapping lad dressed all in white.

" Ah you must be the professionals." he said.

The expression of horror that spread over Joe and my face must have been something to behold, both our mouths dropped open in unison as suddenly we wondered what we had been dropped into this time. The lad started laughing.

" Come on in, I'm only joking." said the lad. " In a village like this we think our selves lucky if people turn up, let alone any one who can actually play cricket."

" You gave me a nasty shock there." said Joe.

" The names Tony Williams I'm the team captain." said Tony. " Let's go and meet the rest of the team."

We went in the front door and down a large hall, at the end of the hall we entered a spacious kitchen where allot of people were milling about drinking coco and eating sausage rolls. Everyone was dressed in various types of whitish things, all that is except one rather large, might I say almost round gentleman, who was as they say in the pink. I do not mean he had nothing on, I mean he was wearing a bright red hunting jacket a yellow waistcoat and jodhpurs.

Tony introduced us to the gentleman who was a Mr Brown, he was the umpire for today's match. Mr Brown smiled and explained that he wore the pinks so every one could see him as he did not want to be mistaken for a player.

Well it was certainly different, it seemed that sometimes some of the players are a bit short sighted. I whispered to Tony asking if Mr Browns outfit upset the bowlers, he whispered back that it would not make much difference to their bowlers if a zeppelin landed on the pitch.

That news was a bit of a relief for me and Joe.

Joe had been telling Mr Brown about our bicycle and how we had cycled here from town. Mr Brown said that he used to cycle into town but he had not done it for many years now, they do not build bicycles as strong as they used to in the old days, he confided in us.

Tony pulled us away from Mr Brown before he started telling us his war stories, we were given a mug of coco and a sausage roll then introduced to the rest of the team. They were an odd bunch ranging from a milkmaid, yes a milkmaid, to the local doctor.

One rather healthy looking chap stood out rather against this background of misfits and he some how looked familiar.

Joe ask him if we had met before as we eventually got round to being introduced to him. The chap smiled and told us we had not exactly been formally introduced but had sort of passed in the night, he introduced himself as Harrison, Roger Harrison. Joe exclaimed before he could stop himself.

"Not Betty Harrisons brother."

"The one and only." declared Roger.

Curious I ask why Roger was playing there as he should be playing for Treading by the Water where he lives. Rumour had it he was quite a good player.

He explained that he normally did but in the lower cricket leagues if a teams was a bit short of players the opposing team offers players to make up the numbers. There would hardly be any matches if they did not have this arrangement. We were it seems actually playing Treading in the Water today.

I told Roger the Treading side must be pretty good if they can spare a good player like him, but it seemed it was the done thing to be sporting about it and give your best player. We thought that was is jolly sporting and told Roger that we had previously had suspicions we were being used to sabotage the team rather than help it. He almost laughed and then told us we were, that having made the sporting gesture with the first player, if the team needs any more players they are always given a couple of idiots.

" Thanks alot." I said.

" Well you know what I mean." said Roger.

" And I thought I was going to impress Betty with my playing." said Joe.

" Unless I'm very much mistaken." said Roger. " I don't think you have to do much more impressing on Betty."

" You mean." said Joe.

" Let's just say don't book anything for Saturday night." said Roger.

Joe perked up at this news and with him in such good spirits I could well imagine there might be some fancy batting today from Joe.

Suddenly the room went dark as a large horse box drew up outside the window. Everyone went out the back door into the yard where the lorry was parked. The rear door of the horse box was opened, the rear ramp lowered and out came the opposing team along with about a dozen spectators including, much to the delight of Joe, Betty.

I ask our captain if the lorry was going to take us to the cricket pitch. We had not noticed the pitch as we had cycled through the village and I wondered where about we were actually playing. The captain gave me another of those rather odd looks, he pointed with a finger at a large hay stack.

I looked hard for a piece of flat green beautifully mown grass with a pavilion near by. All I could see however were cows, sheep, several fields of cabbages and a Water Buffalo. Yes a Water Buffalo, I just did not have the courage to ask the captain about that.

Everyone started heading toward the haystack. Was I missing something here. We all arrived at the gate by the haystack and there, yes it was hidden by the haystack, was a field. With sheep in it.

I dare not ask the captain anything else so I ask a short plump lady who I thought would be the least likely one to take offence at my question, where is the cricket pitch I whispered.

She told me this was it, she must have seen the half hidden look of dismay in my face because she the added that they were only a very small club.

I simply sighed 'sheep'. She told me not to worry as they clear them off before we started playing, she said in a manner that seemed to indicate that this made it completely acceptable. The sheep keep the grass short you see they do not loose as many balls if they graze it a bit, it gets terribly long this time of year you know.

I was going to ask if they had heard about mowers and rollers but thought that I had better just keep quiet for the rest of the day. I had the honour of being opening bat along with Roger, Betty's brother. I stood at the crease, or the place where the crease would have been had there been one, and faced the bowler. The bowler was a rather frail looking man with very thick glasses which magnified his eyes and made him look like a frog.

I could see now why the umpire wore his bright red jacket, it gave the half blind bowlers something to aim at. The bowler bowled with a arm action I had never before, the ball bounced on the soft grass halfway down the pitch loosing most of its speed doing so, this allowed me to play a beautiful stroke to silly mid on. I ran quickly to the other end only to find Roger strolling slowly towards me.

" Not so fast." said Roger as we reached each other. " Its convention that we don't run in these matches."

" Pardon." I said.

" Its not always easy to find the ball in a field like this so its a way of compensating for the difficulty in fielding." said Roger.

" Are there any more little conventions I should know about." I said.

" You'll pick them up as we go along." he said.

A few runs later I was facing the bowler again this time the ball went to bounce only a couple of feet in front of me. I stood forward and swung the bat determined to get a four, there was no sound of ball on bat, I looked round to see if the ball had got past me. The wickets were still standing, the wicket keeper was still crouching down and the umpire was still staring down the pitch. I moved forward a couple of paces and there was the ball wedged neatly behind l large tuft of grass. I picked it out and threw it back to the bowler.

" No ball." shouted the umpire. I was the only real cricketing expression I heard all day.

Three and a half runs later. I do not think I want go into the half run business, it is something that only sounds reasonable when you are standing in the middle of a field with restless sheep wandering about in it. Anyway I was about to make my best shot of the afternoon, Lily the milkmaid from Dowudderington Farm was bowling underarm from the tractor end, a slow ball came all the way down the pitch without touching the ground. I moved out and hit it perfectly, it went straight between two fielders and toward the boundary. It would have made it as well if a hare had not suddenly popped up out of nowhere and got clouted on the back of the head with the ball. Everyone converged on the position of the hare, which was declared dead. It was decided that it should be a prise for the winning team and I was congratulated on my batting. I did not mind so much about the rabbet but I did mind not get credited with any runs.

The next ball the milkmaid bowled me out. I suppose a joke about a maiden over could be fitted in somewhere here but my joke capacity was getting rather low by this time. It must have been the slowest game of cricket I have ever known and cricket is not exactly noted for being fast anyway. I was even looking at the sky hoping that perhaps it might rain, but of course when you want a little black cloud. The afternoon dragged on.

The only incident that occurred to liven up the afternoon came when it was Mrs McGovern turn to bat. She was a rather elderly lady who had been playing all afternoon in a large full length Victorian skirt. I couldn't possibly see how she was going to cope batting and running up and down in that voluminous skirt. I soon found out. She laid the bat down in front of the wicket, went up to the umpire unfastened her skirt, stepped out of it and handed it to him. He duly put it over his arm and she went back to the wicket wearing only long frilly bloomers. I was going to laugh out loud but was glad I did not, because on looking round no one else was taking any notice, except Joe, who was at the other side of the field laying face down in the long grass obviously trying to stifle hysterics.

It was an odd sort of afternoon, I think one could get to like this sort of cricket given time. It did not have any of that tension about who was winning or even whose side was batting or bowling. It was all very leisurely.

I have never before had someone come up to me and hand me a cup of tea while I have been fielding, I was not even on the outer edge of the pitch, I was fielding on inner slip. Scoring was not very difficult, the away team won by four runs, twenty five to twenty one. In fact it was twenty one and a half but the scores are rounded down to the nearest whole number for the record book. The record book had a good recipe for mushroom soup at the bottom of last weeks score.

Suddenly the game was over, everybody started trooping back towards the gate near the haystack and the sheep reclaimed their field.

" Are you sure this is for real." said Joe joining me as I brought up the rear of the line of players heading back to the house.

" I don't think so." I said.

We arrived back in the large kitchen where there was a very big silver bowl of something hot in the middle of the table. I was ladled a mug full and took a large drink, it was very warming and welcome as we had been getting a bit cold towards the end of the match. I do not know what the drink was it was certainly not tea but it was at least seventy percent alcohol

Looking around now that everyone was together I began to suspect that me and Joe had been taking this game too seriously, we were both covered in grass stains and dirt while everyone else seemed to have remained immaculate. After a couple more mugs of being warmed I looked round for Tony Williams the captain.

I found him and told him we had enjoyed the game and would be going now as we had got a long ride back. He told us we could not go yet as we had to have some food it was already prepared.

" Food." said Joe coming over to join me. " Did hear someone mention food."

" We can't send you off without a spot of tea." said Tony. " And there's the entertainment."

" Entertainment." I said.

Tony told us to follow as he went out of the kitchen, everyone started to follow, we went down the hall where he opened a pair of big double doors that lead into large dining room. Inside was a huge table with candle sticks, silver servers, napkins, everything, it was laid for a banquet. I had thought that when the captain mentioned a spot of tea he had meant sandwiches and a cup of coco.

I suspected we should be dressed up in dinner jackets or something as Tony sat me and Joe down at the head of the table. He told us this was only an informal little snack. I do not know what school of eating Tony had come from but my normal little snack does not usually start with hors d'oeuvres, soup and continue through five courses of exceptionally large servings. Even Joe was struggling by the time it got to the cheese board, I have never seen Joe take just one biscuit before.

I gave a glance out of the window and noticed that it was beginning to go dark. It struck me that if we did not leave soon we would be bicycling home in the dark on roads we did not know. I quickly finished my last glass of wine and was starting to make noises about going and how much we had enjoyed ourselves, when the there was a cheer at the other end of the table. The lady who had played in her bloomers, now well clad I might add in a completely new dress, was standing up and looking round with a half embarrassed smile.

" Well if you insist." she said.

Everyone made their way to the next room, this next room had a large number of easy chairs in it, I was handed a large glass as I entered, I sniffed at the contents, it was brandy. Everyone was making themselves comfortable in the chairs with the exception of the bloomers lady who had gone to stand next to a grand piano. The umpire, still in his read coat, sat at the piano and opened a peace of music. When he had found the peace he was looking for he nodded to the lady, she nodded back, the umpire then started to play and the lady began to sing.

There was no way I could interrupt the song, grab Joe and leave without seeming extremely rude, so I settled down into one of the chairs. We had a selection from Gilbert and Sulliven, a ballad about a lost lover and a rousing somewhat risqué little number about the misfortunes of keeping a goat.

We all clapped politely and using this break in the proceedings I decided we had better get up and make a move to go quickly before any more singing was started. My jumping up out of the chair however was mistaken for a sign that I was keen to play my part in the evenings entertainment. Everyone clapped and before I knew what was happening I was spun round and found my self standing next to the piano staring at twenty nine expectant faces.

It is one of those occasions where ones life rushes before your eyes. I must have lived a rather dull life or have rather peculiar memory recall, the only one thing that stood out in any detail from that sudden flash past of my life was the image of me trying to get a billy goat out of the Bassington women's hockey team changing room showers. I could still hear the screams ringing in my ears. I thought women hockey players were built of sterner stuff than to be bothered by a little goat, well big goat.

As the echoes of the screams died away in my imagination I realised this sudden second life experience had only lasted about half a second and I was still staring at twenty nine expectant faces. Luckily I had read some of my poetry at the women's institute the week before so had some material I could remember, any way there was no choice now so I started.

" Ordinary people." I just hoped that no one in the present audience would take offence. " Are coming all the time, to poke and pry and tell me things, I didn't want to know..."

At the end of my first rendering there was an enthusiastic round of applause and a call for more. With this boost to my ego and confidence I launched into a rendering of Twigs Pig, The London Train and The Little Chinese Restaurant.

Eventually running out of memory and breath I ended and was thanked profusely by the captains of both teams. Both for an entertaining evening and at least sparing everyone from the umpires stories of life in India during the war.

As I went to get another drink and sit down I glanced out the window and saw that it was pitch black outside. We all had a final toast to the winners, to the losers and to the East Grinsley Brass Band, then every got up to leave. There was a lot of milling around again with hats coats and cricket bags as every one got back into their own particular peace of transport home.

" Well looks as if we'll be cycling back in the dark." I said to the Tony as I put my bicycle clips on in the kitchen.

" It will be darker than you think." said Joe.

" Why's that." I said.

" We didn't being the lights." said Joe.

" Oh heck." I said.

Tony ask us if we were in a hurry to get back that night, we told him not especially, so he told us we could stay there over night and go back in the morning, he told us he had plenty of empty bedrooms and after todays exercise he was sure we must be too tired for a long cycle home. The British thing to do was protest a little but we were both too tired and so told him we would love to stay the night.

As the last tractor pulled out of the yard taking the remnants of the teams, the house was plunged into a beautiful calm silence. The housekeeper and young lad who had helped with the food had long since disappeared, so Tony, me and Joe were left alone in the warm kitchen.

" Anyone want a coco before we go up." said Tony.

Tony made three mugs of coco and we sat around the big kitchen table drinking it and talking. The rest of Tony's family were all on holiday somewhere in Italy and Tony was in fact glad of the company for the night.

We borrowed pyjamas and towels from Tony, had a good wash, which we needed after our day rolling around in the sheep field and were the shown to our rooms.

I had been given a large bedroom at the back of the house, Joe had a room near mine at the end of the passage. It was an odd sensation when I switched off the light to get into bed, it was so quiet and still. I felt my way to the window and pushed the curtain open a little. Peering out through the glass all I could see was the faint outline of the sky against the distant trees, the moon was just trying to peek out from behind some heavy clouds.

The oddest thing was the fact that there were no other lights to be seen, no house lights no street lights, not even the glow of town lights in the distance, nothing. I had never been anywhere before where there was absolutely no sign of mans intrusion into the night.

I got into bed leaving the curtain half open, the moon who had won its battle with the clouds was shining on the window frame. I had left the window a little open because it was a hot night, the wind was blowing the curtain making a low swishing sound. The house was also making strange noises, I tried desperately not to listen to them but the more I tried not to hear things the more things I heard and the more things I heard the less sleepy I became.

I was laying in bed wide awake but with my eyes closed and my head under the bed covers when there was a creaking sound, very close, then a thud thud thud, then a bang, a scream and something heavy landed on the bed. I shot up like a bat out of hell.

" Arrrrrhh." I shouted. " Go away."

" Don't fret its only me." Joe was sprawled across my bed.

" What the hell are you doing here." I said, my heart was pounding like the base drum of a marching band doing overtime.

Joe had tripped over my cricket bat which I had left by my bed, he nursed a toe moaning that he thought it was broken. I told Joe it was my burglar trap but he only retorted that if any burglars came out to Didding under Lively they would be lost.

I ask Joe what he was doing here anyway, he said I was not out asleep anyway. I told him that did not make any difference, he cant come in and jump on top of me like that. Apparently he had been laying awake listening to all the noises.

He said the wanted me to go down to his room, I ask him why but he would not tell me. I made a move to put the light on but Joe stopped me saying I would ruin my night vision, without any further explanation Joe made his way to the door. I followed Joe as he felt his way along the corridor back to his room. He then went over to the window, the bottom half was wide open, I joined him at the open window.

The moon was a little higher in the night sky now leaving the clouds skulking along the horizon. The moon light lit up the field and houses of Didding under Lively. Joes room overlooked a courtyard with two large barns and rows of stables, beyond the stables was a small wood with very tall trees.

"Listen." said Joe.

I listened, there was nothing. Then suddenly a shrill whoooo came from somewhere near, then 'whoooooo' another hoot came from near the barn, I could see nothing until a silent shadow swept across the courtyard and landed on a tall post by one of the barns. There were several other hoots all slightly different.

They were barn owls, Joe had only spotted four but the different screeches indicated there were at least seven out there. Joe had been watching them for about an hour as he had never heard so many all together. As the moon was coming up we would be able to see them. That was why Joe got me up he knew I would not want to miss this.

For the next two hours we watched the owls. Joe had found a pair of opera glasses in a drawer and we used these to identify the birds then watched as they displayed to each other. By half past three in the morning the moon had made a complete ark in the sky and the courtyard outside was silent as the owls had gone away to hunt one by one.

" Well there's nothing for it now but to go to bed." said Joe.

I crept back down the passage back to my room and got into bed pulling the covers up over my head. There were no noises now, everything was asleep, even the house. All was silent, very silent, it was far too silent, now the silence was keeping me awake. I was beginning to get so annoyed I was almost about to scream at the silence and tell it to shut up when on owl began to hoot just outside my window. It was a nice owl, I fell asleep.

Suddenly I was wide awake, my head was still under the bed covers and there was the creaking sound, a thud thud thud, then a bang a scream and something heavy landed on the bed. I could not sit up because what ever it was had pinned me down under the covers.

" Arrrrrhh." I give a muffled shout under the covers. " Go away."

" Don't fret its only me."

I pushed my way out of the covers only to find Joe once again sprawled across my bed. I ask him what the hell he was doing here again, my heart was pounding like a big base drum. I told him if it was another owl I was going to thump him. It is worse than that whispered Joe allot worse. I warned Joe if he did not stop playing around, I raised my voice.

" Schhhhhh." whispered Joe. " Keep your voice down."

" Why." I asked.

" Were in trouble." said Joe.

" What trouble could possible crop up at this time in the morning." I queried.

" Especially trouble that requires schhhhh."

" This." said Joe pushing a newspaper under my nose.

" Well I can't read that in the dark what is it." I said.

Joe went over to the door and very quietly closed it, then put the light on. I picked the newspaper up from the bed cover, it was an old copy of The Times, three months old to be precise. It was a moment before I realised what Joe was in such a panic about. There on the front page was a picture of Tony, our host and the only other person in the house, above the picture in very large letters was the headline 'POLICE STILL LOOKING FOR PHYSIO KILLER' I gulped and looked at Joe. It could not be true, I rather shakily looked at Joe this was trouble.

The story below described how the killer had lured his victims to an old house and killed them in the middle of the night. He had killed ten so far and kept slipping through the police net even though they knew who he was. Reassuring words at the bottom of the article by police said that they will get him the next time he strikes.

" Next victims." I said.

" That looks like us." said Joe.

I ask Joe where he found the paper, apparently it was at the bottom of a draw in the dresser in his room, along with some blood stained clothes, wigs and false moustaches. Joe could not sleep and was rummaging about in the draw looking for something to read, he certainly found something.

It was not something you think a killer would leave laying around. Joe commented that they were odd these killers and that he probably kept press cuttings about all his murders. I began to wonder if he had put something in our coco last night, I had to admit I did not feel well, if he had I suppose we would not be here talking about it.

Joe pointed out that in the paper it said he was a knife man. You can not believe everything you read in papers I told him. Joe thought we should climb out the window and make our getaway now.

On considering it I thought that might be more dangerous than staying put, it was pitch black outside. He may have left the paper in Joes room so we would try just that and right now he was out there lurking behind some hedge. We decided to wait until its light, after all there are two of us and as long as we did not fall asleep we should be all right. Not that there was much chance of sleeping knowing there was a mass murderer creeping about the house.

We jammed two chairs and a table behind the door and both sat up in the bed. I see the England cricket team are all out for two hundred and eight. I said reading the back page of the paper out loud. Joe grabbed the paper stating that I was not going to sit there reading me three month old news to him. I ask him if he could think of anything better to do, he gave me the paper back. I continued reading the cricket.

" Botham got eighty four and was then caught in the slips." I read aloud.

" That hurts that." said Joe.

" What does." I said.

" Getting caught in the slips." said Joe.

" That jokes more than three months old." I said.

Dawn seemed to come very slowly and the Jokes got worse but eventually the suns watery light began to fill the room. I expected to hear a cock crow at dawn after all we were in the country surrounded by farms.

" It's probably been murdered in its sleep." muttered Joe.

Now it was light we wondered what to do, we both leaned out the open window and looked at the yard below in the cool morning light. It was a very long way down, there was no way we could climb down without breaking our necks. We could not stay locked in our room. It occurred to us that he did not know we know, perhaps we could bluff our way out and then make a dash for it on our bike. In fact there was no perhaps in it we had no choice, if he was still asleep we might be able to creep out without him noticing. It seemed like a good plan, we decided to try and creep down stairs with our shoes off.

We very quietly took our barricade away from the door and slowly opened the door, everything was very quiet. Very slowly we crept along the corridor to the main staircase, the floor boards creaked and groaned all the way along the passage generally doing their best to give us both a hart attack. We reached the top of the staircase and listened, all was quite at least I think it was all quiet all I could hear was the pounding of my hart.

If we had thought the floorboards in the passage were noisy you should have heard the staircase, perhaps it was our heightened state of tension but it sounded as if we were doing a clog dance down them.

When we the ground floor we raced across the hall and hid in an alcove while our stomachs caught up with us. I looked like we might make it, we had not heard any one yet, we may be lucky.

Having caught our breath for a few minutes we headed down the hall for the kitchen where we could leave by the back door. We were assuming of course it was not locked, or at least the key was in the door. I slowly opened the kitchen door, Joe was close behind me, slowly we crept along the kitchen.

" Hello you two, you came down quietly." said Tony.

" Arhhhhhhh."

Both me and Joe leaped about three feet into the air, we landed facing Tony who had been leaning against the Arga cooker behind the kitchen door, he was about to crack some eggs into a frying pan.

To say he startled us would be a slight under statement. I tried to cover up saying we thought he was till asleep and did not want to disturb him. He ask if he could get us some breakfast. We erred a bit the declined saying we did not eat breakfast. He said we should not go without breakfast, turning round and waving a big carving knife at us. Joe and me backed away and stood at the other side of the large kitchen table, our eyes transfixed on the long blade of the knife. It is the most important meal of the day he want on.

Tony moved down the kitchen towards us waving the knife, we both shuffled round making sure as much of the big table as possible was between us and Tony. He suggested some coffee and put the knife down picked up a jar of coffee. We told him we did not drink in the morning either but rather too quickly.

Tony looked at us rather strangely saying he thought we were acting strange this morning, we slowly backed away and smiled, he gave us an excuse by asking of we did not sleep very well. I mumbled something about not really sleeping as there were some owls were hooting. He smiled saying there were plenty of those round there and that he supposed he had just got used to them.

Tony went back to the end of the kitchen near the stove, I nodded my head to Joe and looked towards the back door which was near to us now, one dash and we could be out.

" And ghosts." said Joe trying to keep the conversation going while we edged towards the door.

" There are no ghosts in this place." said Tony turning round to face us.

We froze in our tracks. Three more paces and we would be at the back door.

" Not like Sabella Hall." said Tony.

" Sabella Hall." I said.

" I don't suppose you went amateur dramatic societies new production at Flatuply village hall." said Tony.

" Slipped my mind." said Joe. " Meant to go."

Joe did not sound very convincing even to me. Tony smiled saying he bet we did not even know where Flatuply was, he was right of course. I admitted

it as we both took another half pace towards freedom.

Tony leant against the rail of the cooker and waved a big wooden spoon around as he told us about a part he had played in the amateur dramatic societies production of Sabella Hall. I seems he had played the part of a crazy killer who lived in Sabella Hall and lured victims there to bump off, it was a play about the revenge, all the people killed were involved in the death of this characters parents. It was a good play by all accounts and got good reviews in the local paper.

" A play." said Joe. " There wasn't by any chance a newspaper involved was there."

Apparently there was, it was part of the plot when one of the guests finds out who the killer is. Me and Joe stood there silently, feeling somewhat silly. Tony ask us how we know about that. We told Tony to guess.

Tony laughed, guessing correctly that we fond the paper in the props draw upstairs. He knew then why we were acting so funny. Tony chuckled away to himself then disappeared out of the kitchen into the hall.

" What do we do now." said Joe. " Make a dash for it."

" Some one is going potty around here and I suspect it's me." I said.

" It could be just a ploy and he's gone to get a gun." said Joe.

" And I could be the king of China." I said.

The door from the hall opened again, it was too late anyway, Tony came into the kitchen clutching a load of papers. Just in case we did not believe him he brought some papers and put them down on the table. There were some posters for the play, a script and a couple of programmes with Tony's picture in it, he was dressed as the killer of Sabella Hall. One of the photographs even had someone reading the very paper Joe had found.

We confessed we were a couple of idiots. Tony save our pride by saying we were not really as it was a very convincing paper, they had it printed especially, he thought he would have jumped to the same conclusion.

I told him if I was him I would get rid of that paper, we could have decided to overpower him and hand him in to the police. Tony had never thought of that because every one locally, of course, knew about the play.

" We had actually thought about tackling you and handing you in." said Joe.

" You didn't did you." said Tony looking rather alarmed.

" Not in the slightest." I said.

" That's right." said Joe. " Let the side down."

" There is just one thing I would like to clear up." I said. " If I'm not making too much of a presumption."

" What's that." said Tony.

" That offer of breakfast, is it still open I'm starving."