They shoot out the Cafe door like a swarm of Jinglebees making for a tasty beach towel. On the Cafe roof, the Oragoths shriek, but no one looks up. Everyone’s eyes are fixed on the green safety of the jungle.

Tawny’s in the lead, pounding through the long, wet grass and trampling it flat. Monty, Marigold and Bunchy run behind him with the Sled, following the track he’s made for them. The Cafe blocks the wind, so it’s no use putting up the sail, but with Bunchy pushing while Marigold and Monty pull, the Sled skims along even faster than Monty had hoped.

All too soon there’s the beating of wings above them, and the terrible, whining cries of the Oragoths are ringing in their ears. But still they don’t look up. They just keep running till all of a sudden they’re hurtling into the shade of the jungle, where the Oragoths can’t follow.

‘Hoo!’ gasps Sir Wise.

‘I had no idea I could run so fast!’ pants Marigold.

‘Me neither,’ says Bunchy. ‘I suppose it helps to be scared to death.’

The jungle’s still wet and dripping after the night of heavy rain. Through the leafy branches that stretch over their heads they can see two huge shadows, circling in the grey sky.

‘We’d better move on,’ says Monty. ‘Let’s just hope they follow.’

So, on they go, deeper into the jungle. And, high above them, the Oragoths do follow.

‘Your plan’s working, Monty,’ Marigold whispers, glancing up. ‘I can hardly believe we fooled them! These clothes of Elvis Eager’s are much too big for me. So is the hat. And as for this awful, tickly moustache – ’ She rubs her nose and sneezes violently.

‘They’re seeing us from above, remember,’ says Monty. ‘And of course it helps that it’s cloudy. The sun’s bound to come out later, but maybe by then it won’t matter.’

It’s hard work hauling the Sled through the thick jungle, but after a while they come upon a well-worn track and walking gets easier.

‘It’s lucky we found this path, isn’t it?’ says Bunchy.

‘I’m not so sure,’ Monty whispers, and Tawny growls softly in agreement.

‘Too quiet,’ hoots Sir Wise from the Sled.

He’s right. The usual jungle sounds have died away. There are no bird calls, no scuttlings in the bushes.

‘I think we’d better keep quiet, too,’ Marigold breathes. ‘Something made this track, and uses it. It could be – ’

She breaks off with a little gasp. They’ve rounded a bend in the path. Ahead, there’s a dark cave. And drifting from the cave are a ghastly smell and the sound of deep, heavy breathing.

The awful truth strikes them all at once. They’re heading straight for the Hairy Horrible’s den!

‘Back?’ Sir Wise asks softly.

Monty looks up. The Oragoths are still flying above them, almost skimming the tops of the trees. They’re facing away from the Cafe. His plan’s working perfectly. He doesn’t want to turn back now.

He shakes his head, puts his finger to his lips, and moves on.

Slowly they tiptoe past the mouth of the cave. The Sled glides smoothly on the wet earth of the track. They’re almost safe when, without warning, Marigold sneezes, shattering the silence.

Everyone stops dead. The heavy breathing in the cave breaks off in a low, grumbling growl.