Until now, I have only told you about the claw marks.

Today, I will tell you about the creature who makes them.

Marlo Pine is a pine marten. He is fast, quiet, and very clever. He moves through Willowburrow like a thought — there and gone before you have finished having it. Most residents have never seen him directly. They have seen evidence. They have heard rumours. Mrs Partridge once caught a glimpse of something dark and quick above the Post Office roof and described it as “a very confident shadow.”

She was not wrong.

On the morning everything changed, Constable Badger had left his notebook on the bench outside the Post Office while he went inside to post a letter. It was a brief errand. Thirty seconds, perhaps forty. He had, he said later, no reason to expect trouble.

He had also left his notebook on the same bench every Tuesday for six years.

Marlo had been watching.

He dropped from the Post Office roof with barely a sound, landed on the bench in one smooth motion, and reached for the notebook.

He almost had it.

Pip and Whisker Ferret, who had been investigating a particularly interesting crack in the cobblestones three feet away, chose this exact moment to collide with each other over whose turn it was to investigate the crack.

The noise was considerable.

Marlo looked up.

The village looked at Marlo.

Robin Redbreast, who had been filming his Morning Update, swung his camera around.

"HE IS REAL," Robin announced, in a voice that carried to the next village. "MARLO PINE. HERE. NOW. THIS IS NOT A DRILL."

Constable Badger came out of the Post Office at considerable speed for a badger.

"STOP," he said, in his most official voice.

Marlo did not stop.