'Shin up that tree Julian and tell us what you can see!', screams Anne, snagging her loose knit cardigan on a gorse bush. 'Let me help with you that, Anne...' whispers George, softly taking Anne's arm, holding it still as she carefully uhooks Anne's caught thread. 'Crikey!' exclaims Dick, as two swarthy proles approach Kirrin Island's rickety pontoon, 'They look like they mean business, Julian. I don't want them to get their dirty, rough hands on our treasure!'. 'No' says Julian slowly, as he carefully opens the oilskin he's been carrying over his shoulder to reveal a loaded shotgun. 'No, my muddy-brained friend, nor do I...'