'What they want, then?' the fellow said, slapping the baseball bat into the palm of his hand.  At that point I heard Tyson barking.  Zeb and Boz promptly turned tail again and ran for the road; Tyson appeared, racing after them, but broke off the chase halfway up the drive as the men scrambled over the gate.  The dog barked in a perfunctory manner, then came swaggering across the lawn towards us, pausing only to collect a small rubber ball which at first I thought he'd swallowed but which proved to be lodged wetly between his massive jaws.  He joined us in the porch and dropped the ball at my feet.  I squatted on my haunches and Tyson let me chuckle him under his chin, snuffling.

'How you do that?' the young man asked, seemingly mystified.

'I have a way with animals,' I explained, stroking Tyson's back and smiling at the hound.

'You wot?' he said, his voice suddenly high.

'I have a way with animals,' I repeated, looking up at him.

'Oh,' he said.  He gave what could well have been a laugh. 'Right.' He patted Tyson on the head; the beast growled. 'Anyway,' he said. 'She's not here.'

'Who?  Morag?' I asked, rising carefully and keeping one hand on Tyson's back; I could feel the animal vibrating but there was no audible growl.

'Yeah; she's not here.'

'Oh dear.  Where- ?'

'She's gone.'

'Gone.  Really?  Well, she would be, wouldn't she?  I suppose… Wh- ?'

'To an elf farm.'

'Ha-ha; I didn't quite catch that… ?'

'She's gone to-'

At that point a telephone rang somewhere behind him.  He looked back into the hall, then at me, then at Tyson. 'Telephone,' he said, and swung the door until it was almost closed.  I heard him say, "Ullo?' then, 'Yeah, 'ullo, Mo,' and for a second I was filled with confusion, wondering what my Uncle Mo was doing phoning here, before I realised; it was probably Morag!

I glanced down at Tyson and smiled.  The dog growled.  I put one finger to the edge of the door and pushed very gently so that it appeared the door was being blown open by the breeze.  The young man was a couple of yards inside the hall, by a small table on which the telephone sat.  He still held the baseball bat.  He frowned at me.  I grinned vacuously, then stooped and picked up Tyson's rubber ball.  The ball was old and worn and porous; the beast's saliva felt cold and slimy as it oozed to the surface of the rubber toy.  I threw the ball out onto the lawn.  Tyson took off after it.

'Yeah, got it,' the young man was saying into the phone, and glanced down at a little cube of paper notelets by the side of the telephone. 'Fine.  No.  Yeah.  Na, no word,' he said, turning so that he had his back to me.  He lowered his voice. 'Yeah, actually there's somebody here just now, askin' for you…' I heard him say, as a panting noise and a hefty thud on the outside of my left thigh announced Tyson's return.  I kept my eyes on the young man as I went down on my haunches and retrieved the sodden ball.

'Can't…' the young man said.  He turned back to look at me. 'What you say your name was again?'

'Isis,' I said.

He turned back, hunching slightly.  'Isis,' I heard him say.  Next second he jerked straight.  'Wot?' he barked, sounding angry. 'You mean it's this one?  You mean it's this bastard 'ere; this one?'

I didn't like the look or the sound of this.  A plan I had been turning over tentatively at the back of my mind suddenly thrust itself to the fore and demanded an immediate Yes or No.

I didn't really have to think about it.  I decided the answer was Yes, and threw the soggy rubber ball into the hall.

The ball squelched on the carpet just behind the young man and bounced past him further down the hall; Tyson pounced in after it and shouldered the fellow out of the way, making him bang his leg into the telephone table.

'Aow, fack!' the young man said.  He recovered his balance by clunking the baseball bat against the wall.

The saliva-saturated ball rolled into a distant room; Tyson thundered after it. 'Call yer back!' the young man said, and threw down the phone.  Tyson skidded and disappeared from view.  There was an expensive-sounding crash from the room.  Tyson!' the young man yelled, sprinting after the hound.

'Tyson!  You cant!' he screamed, charging into the room and disappearing from view.  I slipped in through the door as more crashes and oaths resounded from the room concerned.  I had been hoping the young fellow would just put down the phone, thus giving me a chance to talk to Morag, assuming that had indeed been her calling, but the handset was back in its cradle.  I picked it up anyway, but heard only the dialling tone.

'You facker; come 'ere!' The hall floorboards shook to the sound of something like a sideboard falling over.  I looked at the little cube of notelets by the side of the phone, the one the young man had glanced at when he'd said, 'Yeah, got it', a minute or so earlier.  There was a telephone number written there.

I glanced down the hall, just as the young man appeared in the doorway, holding Tyson by his studded collar and waving the baseball bat at me.  His face looked somewhat florid.  Tyson had the ball clamped in his teeth and seemed pleased with himself. 'Right!' the young man yelled, jabbing the bat towards me. 'You; Ice, or whatever your fackin' name is; aht the ahse, now!'

I was already retreating.  Then the fellow added, 'And Mo says to stop boverin' her, or else, right?  You'll get a slap, you will.' He glanced down at Tyson, who seemed to have become vicariously upset as well by now and was glowering at me, growling sonorously.  The young man let go the beast's collar. 'Get the bint, my son.'

Bothering her?  I was thinking as Tyson dropped the ball and leaped towards me with a furious snarl.

Somehow I didn't think that my way with animals was going to prove effective this time.  I stepped back into the porch and swung the front door closed behind me.  Then I turned and ran.

I cut across the lawn to the drive; I heard the door open behind me and the young man yelling something; then all I could hear was barking.  Boz and Zeb stood at the gate, eyes wide; I got the impression as I raced up the drive that the two men were getting ready to help me over the gate. 'Out the way!' I yelled, waving one arm.  Thankfully, they moved, one to each side.  I got to the gate a second before Tyson and vaulted it cleanly, staggering as I landed but not falling.  Tyson could probably have jumped it too, but contented himself with slamming into the woodwork and making it shudder; he continued barking furiously.  The young man was charging up the drive, shouting and waving his baseball bat.

I gathered myself, looked from Zeb to Boz and nodded down the road. 'Race you to the station,' I panted.