Now, I must tell you about the Buckley Brothers.

They arrived on a Monday, which is the correct day to arrive if you intend to get things done. There were two of them — Bertram and Bill Buckley, beaver brothers — and between them they carried a bag of tools, a reel of measuring tape, and an expression of absolute professional confidence.

They had been commissioned to build the village green's new bench. The old one had given way the previous autumn, and Willowburrow had felt the loss ever since. There is something deeply important about a bench. It is where things are decided.

Pip and Whisker Ferret sat on the grass nearby, watching with great interest. They watched the measuring. They watched the sawing. They watched the fitting of each joint with silent reverence.

"Good bench," said Pip.

"Very good bench," agreed Whisker.

By afternoon it was done. Straight-backed, solid, with a gentle curve to the seat that invited sitting. Even Constable Bartholomew Badger gave it a professional nod of approval, which was more than he usually gave anything.

By Tuesday morning, it had tilted.

Not collapsed — merely tilted, at an angle that made sitting on the left side a somewhat adventurous experience. But to Robin Redbreast, this was quite enough.

"BREAKING," Robin announced from the chimney pot, feathers vibrating. "New bench DESTROYED. Ferrets seen at the scene. Willowburrow's infrastructure in PERIL. More at eleven."

Constable Badger arrived with his measuring tape and his Expression of Confirmed Suspicion. The ferrets were brought in for questioning.

"You were present," said Constable Badger.

"We were watching," said Pip.

"We sat on it once," said Whisker. "To test it."

"Circumstantial evidence," said Constable Badger, and wrote several things in his notebook.

I, Benji, looked at the tilting bench from a comfortable distance. The crack was in the back leg — the right one. And it ran upward. Something had landed on it, hard, from above. Something had used it as a launching point.

On the armrest: a faint smear of pine resin.

I looked up at the post box three feet away, and at the oak branch above it.