By now even the last rays of the lingering Midsummer sun had disappeared and the city around us assumed a more sinister aspect as dark shadows spread across every doorway and turned each sheltered alleyway into a darkened tunnel, cold and sinister. Cocooned in the warmth of Jones' car I felt safely insulated from the darkness beyond the window glass but I knew that feeling of safety could not last for soon we would arrive at the hiding place of Langton's last treasure.

Sure enough, a few short minutes later we drew up under the pale light of a streetlamp close to the place where the Templar had told us he had buried the jar of rare oils.

One by one we filed out of the C23 cars and onto the street, Heather, who knew the area best, directed us to our objective, a small park located in the city's urban heart.

At this point Sergeant Jones came to the fore, energised by the possibility of action. The beam of his powerful torch cut through the darkness, caressing the terrain with a finger of white light and causing strange shadows to jolt and dance at the edge of the illumination. Following Jones we made our way through the neat flower beds of the park onto a wide green swath of grass, over to one side Heather pointed out a small mound crowned by a dark cluster of trees – this had to be our objective.

While the others made their way up to the mound Hammer and I hung back. I don't know what motivated the detective's caution but I was finding that mundane cluster of trees disturbing. Was it an accident the way their roots seemed to reach down and block my fellow agents while they probed the hidden heart of that ancient mound and were those high branches really moving in such a light wind, or did some other force animate them. I could not say and do not want to know.

Moments dragged by as C23's finest continued their search, the distant howling of dogs adding to the tension . . . finally one of the agents gave a cry; he had found what we sought. With straining muscles the treasure was prised free of its centuries' old resting-place. In bright torchlight we examined what we had found. It appeared to be a sturdy wooden box, bound with iron bands and a heavy lock. A moment's application of force sprung the ancient container open and a glance into the interior told us that we now had what we needed, for the third treasure was now in our possession. Furthermore Langton had obviously desired to protect his treasure from his Fey lover, for he had placed an ornate cross, (taken from a Byzantine Church in some long ago raid) on top of the jar of oils, thus preventing the Faeries from touching the contents of the box.

With all of the treasures now in our possession we began to feel confident that we could succeed in the tasks that now awaited us, opening the Trod and freeing Mr. J and Langton from the grasp of the Fair Folk. Our confidence was shattered when the disruptive sound of the sergeant's mobile intruded into the stillness of that warm night.

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