Bookweirder by Paul Glennon

was silent and still for a moment, adjusting the scope for a better look before announcing, “That’s our man, all right. Send the signal.”
    Within moments they were in motion. Norman and George hurried down the Rook’s spiral staircase and sprinted across the lawn in the shadow of a low stone wall. The border collie, Nelson, bounded silently ahead of them. Summoned by Norman’s signal, Pippa and Gordon were letting themselves out the kitchen door. Norman and George caught up to Nelson at the forest’s edge.
    George drew the spyglass from his coat and confirmed that their quarry had not moved from his spot at the end of the forest path. “He’s setting a trap,” George told Norman as they watched and waited for the Cooks to come into view. “But he’s falling into ours,” he added dramatically.
    He handed the telescope to Norman and crouched down to set up the flashlight on the ground, fixing it on an angle behind the wall so that when they flicked it on, the light would just clear the top of the stones.
    Through the telescope Norman watched the progress of the poacher. From the dark silhouette he looked like the man from London, but it was impossible to know for sure. Pivoting to the side Norman trained the telescope on the two smaller figures of the Cooks creeping along the path.
    “Okay,” Norman murmured, “Gordon and Pippa are behind him now on the main path.”
    George waited, crouched down on the ground, and stared grimly into the dark like an action hero.
    “George,” Norman whispered more loudly.
    George raised his head sharply and flicked on his flashlight. Its beam shone upwards on an angle over the stone wall. In unison George and Norman leapt onto the wall and shouted in the deepest voices they could muster:
    “You there, stop!”
    Nelson backed them up with a frenzy of barking.
    The poacher turned and stared towards them. With the flashlight lighting them up from behind, he could not see their faces. He could not tell that they were only kids. Standing on the wall, and with the light elongating their shadows, they appeared much taller than they were.
    The poacher froze for a moment, staring back at his pursuers. It was him, all right—the man from Dodgeworth’s. Norman gritted his teeth. This was the man who had Malcolm. The poacher seemed to regain his senses, turned and ducked clumsily into the woods.
    Norman and George gave chase. They could hear the big man crashing heavily along the path up ahead. Nelson made sure that their pursuit was noisy. They wanted the intruder to know they were after him. The plan depended on driving him towards their trap. Norman hoped that Pippa and Gordon had been quick enough to get in position ahead of them on the trail.
    Up ahead there was a fork in the trail. They needed the poacher to take the right turn. Pippa and Gordon were supposed to make sure of that.
    “Nearly there,” George said huskily, almost out of breath. “The fork is at that big oak.” They kept running. Where were Pippa and Gordon? If they didn’t spring their surprise soon, the poacher might take the left fork and escape.
    The beams of four flashlights suddenly snapped on up ahead to the left. The silhouette of the poacher froze. Perhaps he was calculating his odds. Was he better to face the four new pursuers who had cut him off, or the two with a dog behind him?
    Norman aimed the beam of his flashlight directly at their quarry’s face. It was him, all right. The same bristly bald head, the same mean, squinting eyes, the same ragged red bandana. The poacher blinked back angrily into the light, then made his decision, careening down the right fork.
    The four children set off in combined pursuit. The trail narrowed, angling down the side of a ridge, forcing them to run in single file. Soon they were all hurtling down the ridge as fast as they could. Norman could hear the ragged breathing of Gordon Cookbehind him. Up ahead, George had stopped shouting encouragement, saving his breath