The family agreed, Mo saying rather bitterly that it would make a change from cleaning the cottage and adding that Mrs Ransome had said the farm would be open both on Saturday and Sunday, unless it rained.

News of the sale had aroused interest in other quarters, too. Cyril Huxtable, demobbed and back in Liverpool, had been considerably heartened when he had walked straight into a fellow selling the Echo, someone with whom he had been on drinking terms, and the other man had stared for a moment and then looked away. Cyril had known himself unrecognised. The next day, he saw a man in the uniform of a naval rating, a man he had once known well, and the man’s eyes had slid over him without a trace of recognition, increasing Cyril’s sense that he almost was, in truth, Ernie Beaver.

So it was with a light heart that he set out for Mrs Rathbone’s house. He would not try to enter the place in broad daylight, of course, but a little reconnaissance never did any harm, and might stand him in good stead when the time came to make his move. When he reached the house he padded softly round the side and knocked firmly on the back door. It was locked, and when he examined the nearest window he realised that the whole place was positively sealed shut. No one was going to get in without using force.

But just as he was about to leave the property he noticed a note pinned to the front door, and as he conned it a smile spread across his unlovely countenance. The note said that the house was to be offered for sale, but that the furniture would be taken to a nearby farm where a market would be taking place the following weekend, and anyone interested might put in an offer for anything which took their fancy.

Cyril had heard of these sales, and reflected that his luck had clearly changed at last, and for the better. He and his mother could visit the sale, find the dressing table, buy it . . . and then unlock that drawer by fair means or foul and make off with the jewellery, and no one any the wiser. After all, them jewels is naturally mine, since I’m the only feller what knows where they are, he told himself. So all in all, Cyril me laddo, you’re on to a winner, and soon Ma and meself will be in clover!

When Saturday dawned the weather seemed set fair, and Sam, Glenys and Mo arrived at the farm in good time. They were able to buy two respectable single beds and a rather ancient brass double, but realised that it would be necessary to come back the following day with a hired van to carry their purchases home. Sam had got chatting to one of the policemen on duty at the market, who had mentioned that his brother-in-law had a small removals business in Ruthin, and they had agreed to get a van from him. Mo wondered aloud why two scuffers had come to the sale, and Sam explained that thieves as well as genuine customers frequented such places.