“We’ve got ourselves a two-pot problem here,” he said. “Jenkins, bring us a second round of this excellent tea, will you? No thanks, we’re fine for chocolate biscuits. Have another, Captain?”

And then the uncomfortable theory struck him. He wriggled in his seat, trying to get his thoughts in an order he could present to the prisoner.

“Chocolate! Can we go over the kitbag inspection again? Can you bear it? Tell me again about the status of each man’s Christmas present.”

“Ah! Yes. Indeed! By this time five of us had eaten the entire contents of their tins. Each man had preserved the tin and put it to good use—keeping letters, sewing needles, the little pay we had. Which was never interfered with, I have to say. Everyone knew exactly how much the others had. Pay was sacrosanct.” He paused for a moment, lost in the past. “Only Sydney, I think I told you, had his preserved tin intact. For his adored mother. I had a premonition about Syd’s tin. It wasn’t in his kitbag when Oily and I were searching the cabin.

“Oily went to the outhouse where they were all waiting and asked him where it was. He took it out of his pocket eventually when Oily barked at him. He must have left it in the outhouse in the care of one of the other blokes when he was called in to be searched and retrieved it later. The others shrank away, staring, hostile. Oily was suddenly afraid that a situation he couldn’t handle was developing. Two against four, officers against the ranks. Sensibly, he ordered everyone back into the cabin and told me what the problem was. The rest stood around the walls, silent and mystified while I sat with Syd at the table. I made him put his tin on the table between us and asked him to open it.

“The kid said ‘No! I won’t!’ and burst into tears. I offered him one last chance before taking it from him. He still defended it, shouting that we knew it was for his old ma. Had we no shame? He’d always made a big fuss about keeping it intact, and even sneered at those of us he’d seen taking a bite or two of our bars. Though he’d very readily accepted a share of Herbert’s six bars when we’d celebrated. I had to inspect it. Feeling a crass heel, I seized the tin and prised off the lid. I realised it was coming off with surprising ease. I wasn’t the first to lift that lid!

“Inside were two bars of Fry’s chocolate remaining. Two! He’d been deceiving us about his single-mindedness and good intentions regarding his mother. He was acutely embarrassed at being caught out in front of his friends!”