padlock it opened with a click. Serge had joined me. His curiosity had overridden his desire to make a quick getaway. We shot back the bolt, pulled open the heavy barn door and peered in. It was dark as a wolf's mouth in there. Just a soft glow of light from the barred window. Serge stepped over the threshold. 'Hello, it's only us. Come out, we won't hurt you.'
  Considering whoever was in there hadn't the faintest idea who we were, I doubted very much they'd be reassured. We stood listening, peering into the darkness. Finally, Serge lost patience. 'See, there's no one there. It was just one of the kids.'
  As he went to pull the barn door shut, there was a sudden rustle in the straw, a thump against the wood and a figure burst out, pushing past, almost knocking us over. It zigzagged across the yard, crouching low, hair bouncing round its shoulders leaving in its wake a distinctive whiff of unwashed body odour. We watched it leap a gate into a nearby field, run up towards some woodland and disappear from sight.
  We stood stunned. The only sound was the gentle cooing of pigeons in the rafters. 'Rude bugger,' said Serge. 'Not much of a conversationalist. I warned you not to interfere, Johnny.'
  'We ought to talk to the farmer,' I said. 'Find out what's going on. Why would anyone be locked in a barn like that?'
  'Like I said, it's none of our business,' said Serge.
  We got back in the van and drove across the deserted yard and out through the gates. 'I think we should let someone know about what's happened,' I said. 'Maybe call in at the nearest gendarmerie and tell them what we saw.'
  'You must be mad,' said Serge, shuddering. 'We never go to the gendarmes about anything⦠ever! Believe me, it's asking for trouble.'
  We had entered the main street of the nearest village and a 'GENDARMERIE' sign came into view. 'Pull up outside,' I said. 'I'm going to report it.'
  'I honestly don't think we should. It's madness to put your head above the parapet and draw attention to yourself.'
  'Look, there's been some poor devil been kept prisoner in a barn for God knows how long and now he's running free, half out of his mind. We ought to let the authorities know so they can do something about it.'
  Serge pulled into the kerb and turned off the engine. 'All right, if you put it like that. But don't forget who let him out. Be careful what you say. Some gendarmes can be right buggers.'
  We went through the iron gate, up a concrete path and stopped at the varnished wooden door. Serge looked scared. 'And don't forget to call them all m'sieu.' He pulled a face. 'They like that.'
  I pushed open the door and we went in. Inside was an open-plan office with a long, shiny-topped reception desk. A fat ginger cat was fast asleep on a pile of books at one end. We stood and waited, watching a young officer in shirtsleeves with cropped hair poring over some papers, marking crosses with a black Bic pen. It looked like he was filling in his lottery entry form. When I coughed he glanced up and slowly rose, marking a couple of final crosses as he did so. He came over with an expectant look on his face, snapping into official policeman mode.
  'Sorry to bother you, m'sieu,' I said, 'but we felt we ought to report something.' I looked at Serge and he gave me a sheepish smile. 'We were up at a local farm and we discovered something a bit peculiar.'
  'Oh, yes,' said the officer. 'What farm was that then?'
  I described as closely as I could how to get to the place. He looked mystified, as if he was having difficulty understanding me.
  'That accent. You're not from round here?' He said it like an accusation.
  'No, he's a rosbif,' chipped in Serge. 'From England.' He gave a little hysterical laugh. 'I can barely understand what he's on about myself sometimes.'
  The gendarme looked slightly irritated. 'What do you want
  Considering whoever was in there hadn't the faintest idea who we were, I doubted very much they'd be reassured. We stood listening, peering into the darkness. Finally, Serge lost patience. 'See, there's no one there. It was just one of the kids.'
  As he went to pull the barn door shut, there was a sudden rustle in the straw, a thump against the wood and a figure burst out, pushing past, almost knocking us over. It zigzagged across the yard, crouching low, hair bouncing round its shoulders leaving in its wake a distinctive whiff of unwashed body odour. We watched it leap a gate into a nearby field, run up towards some woodland and disappear from sight.
  We stood stunned. The only sound was the gentle cooing of pigeons in the rafters. 'Rude bugger,' said Serge. 'Not much of a conversationalist. I warned you not to interfere, Johnny.'
  'We ought to talk to the farmer,' I said. 'Find out what's going on. Why would anyone be locked in a barn like that?'
  'Like I said, it's none of our business,' said Serge.
  We got back in the van and drove across the deserted yard and out through the gates. 'I think we should let someone know about what's happened,' I said. 'Maybe call in at the nearest gendarmerie and tell them what we saw.'
  'You must be mad,' said Serge, shuddering. 'We never go to the gendarmes about anything⦠ever! Believe me, it's asking for trouble.'
  We had entered the main street of the nearest village and a 'GENDARMERIE' sign came into view. 'Pull up outside,' I said. 'I'm going to report it.'
  'I honestly don't think we should. It's madness to put your head above the parapet and draw attention to yourself.'
  'Look, there's been some poor devil been kept prisoner in a barn for God knows how long and now he's running free, half out of his mind. We ought to let the authorities know so they can do something about it.'
  Serge pulled into the kerb and turned off the engine. 'All right, if you put it like that. But don't forget who let him out. Be careful what you say. Some gendarmes can be right buggers.'
  We went through the iron gate, up a concrete path and stopped at the varnished wooden door. Serge looked scared. 'And don't forget to call them all m'sieu.' He pulled a face. 'They like that.'
  I pushed open the door and we went in. Inside was an open-plan office with a long, shiny-topped reception desk. A fat ginger cat was fast asleep on a pile of books at one end. We stood and waited, watching a young officer in shirtsleeves with cropped hair poring over some papers, marking crosses with a black Bic pen. It looked like he was filling in his lottery entry form. When I coughed he glanced up and slowly rose, marking a couple of final crosses as he did so. He came over with an expectant look on his face, snapping into official policeman mode.
  'Sorry to bother you, m'sieu,' I said, 'but we felt we ought to report something.' I looked at Serge and he gave me a sheepish smile. 'We were up at a local farm and we discovered something a bit peculiar.'
  'Oh, yes,' said the officer. 'What farm was that then?'
  I described as closely as I could how to get to the place. He looked mystified, as if he was having difficulty understanding me.
  'That accent. You're not from round here?' He said it like an accusation.
  'No, he's a rosbif,' chipped in Serge. 'From England.' He gave a little hysterical laugh. 'I can barely understand what he's on about myself sometimes.'
  The gendarme looked slightly irritated. 'What do you want
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