A harsh laugh came out of Goff. 'Is that it?' he asked rudely.

Mr. Kettle unlocked his car door and opened it for Arnold 'Yes,' he said, half-surprised because he'd thought he was going to say more. 'Yes, I suppose that is it.'

He couldn't see the dog anywhere. 'Arnie!' he called out sharply. He'd had this problem before, the dog slinking silent away, clearly not at ease, whimpering sometimes.

He hadn't gone far this time, though. Mr. Kettle found him pressed into the churchyard wall, ears down flat, panting with anxiety. 'All right, Arn, we're leaving now,' Mr. Kettle said patting him – his coat felt lank and plastered down, as if he was the first dog ever to sweat. This was it with a dowser's dog – he'd pick up on the things his master was after and, being a dog and closer to these matters anyway, his response would be stronger.

Slipping his hand under Arnold's collar, Mr. Kettle led him back to the car and saw Goff standing there quite still in his white suit and his Panama hat, like an out-of-season snowman.

'Mr. Kettle,' Goff took a steep breath. 'Perhaps I ought, explain. This place… I mean, look around… it's remote, half-forgotten, run-down. For centuries its people lived from the land, right? But now agriculture's in decline, it doesn't provide extra jobs any more, and there's nothing here to replace it. This town's in deep shit, Mr. Kettle.'

Mr. Kettle couldn't argue with that; he didn't say anything. Watched Max Goff spread his hands, Messiah-style.

'And yet, in prehistory, this was obviously a sacred place,' Goff said. 'We have this network of megalithic sites – a dozen or so standing stones, suggestions of a circle or a henge. And the Tump, of course. Strong indications that this was a major focus of the Earth Force. A centre of terrestrial energy, yeah? Do you see any signs of that energy now?'