Three hours pass, and we find nothing. Not a single hint of anything stranger than a few missing tractors in the entire history of the village.
“Maybe we should go home,” I say, hot and very bothered. “Mum and dad are probably wondering where we are, anyway.”
“Hmm? What did you say, Em?” Ru says. His brow is creased, and his glasses are about to slip off his nose.
“I said,” I begin, but he’s already stopped listening. I bend down to have a look at the paper he’s reading. “What’s the matter?”
“Didn’t Mrs. Wrenshaw say she had every copy going right back to when it was founded?”
“I think so,” I reply. “What about it?”
“These dates, I think they’re off. I’ve been through all the papers dated before the end of World War II, and it looks as though there’s at least four missing, all consec
