But Mo, standing at her father’s elbow, gave him a nudge. ‘Dad, I don’t know Ernie Beaver but I do know Cyril Huxtable, truly I do, and that’s who he is, and that fat old woman . . .’

Sam looked from Cyril to his mother, and smote his forehead. ‘You’re right, Mo; that’s the woman who came to the door when I was searching for you and Jimmy.’ He turned to the policeman. ‘There’s something very strange going on here,’ he said. ‘That woman is definitely Mrs Huxtable, which would seem to indicate . . .’

The fat old woman gave Sam a malevolent look. ‘It ain’t got nothin’ to do wi’ me,’ she said. She pointed dramatically at Mo. ‘As for that kid, she’s a real bad ’un, pilferin’, lyin’, gettin’ honest folk into trouble . . . why, she tied my son’s bootlaces together so he measured his length down the stairs. Ain’t that so, Cyril?’

Cyril was beginning to agree when he saw the trap yawning in front of him and tried desperately to unsay his mother’s words, but it was too late. The policeman did not move quickly enough, however, and Cyril was running before the man had so much as produced his handcuffs. Mrs Huxtable wept and wailed and used language seldom heard on the lips of a female, trying to prove that she had known nothing about the false identity which her son had acquired. ‘’Cos I ain’t gettin’ done for no murder,’ she whined, giving the policeman another reason for taking her straight to the cells.

‘Murder bein’ a word no scuffer can ignore,’ he said solemnly, clicking the handcuffs into place. ‘Come along now, and less of that language if you please.’

Mrs Huxtable had promptly begun to protest her innocence, condemning Cyril again without a moment’s hesitation. She had seemed quite content to blame her son for everything, and Sam, Glenys and Mo had watched with fascination as she was carried off in a black Maria, cursing freely.

Nain and Taid listened in astonishment to the story of this very odd example of a mother’s love, but when it was all told Taid nodded his grizzled head. ‘Sometimes we gets a sow which tries to eat her own babbies,’ he said. ‘We call her a rogue, and some other beast is give her piglets to rear. I reckon your Mrs Huxtable is a rogue, in every sense of the word.’

Cyril Huxtable had been nabbed down at the docks, trying to wheedle his way aboard a cargo boat bound for South America, and was now in custody and about to stand trial for the theft of Ernest Beaver’s identity, including the taking of his wages for several years. Mrs Huxtable was also in prison and would stay there for a long time, since not only had she aided and abetted her son in his fraud, but she had abused her position as carer of Sam Trewin’s children, stealing money and anything else she could lay her hands on meant for Jimmy and Mo, and interfering with His Majesty’s mail. Given her age, it was possible she would spend the rest of her life behind bars.