As you can imagine, with so many children at the camp we shall require adult helpers. It is for this reason that I am writing to ask you (1) whether you wish your child to attend the camp, and (2) whether you are prepared to come along yourself as a helper for the weekend. If you can see your way to doing that, I am sure that you will have a good time, and I hasten to point out that adult helpers will not be required to sleep under canvas but will be accommodated in the very pleasant bunkhouse rooms which the Association maintains at the Bonaly site.

Bertie let the letter drop to the floor. His hands were shaking. He closed his eyes, in sorrow, in resignation. His mother would want to come as a helper – of course she would.

27. Forgery Exposed

When Bertie returned to the kitchen in response to his mother’s call that supper was ready, he was holding the newly re-sealed envelope in trembling hands. Noticing, with relief, that his father was in the room, already seated at the table, he approached him shyly and handed over the letter.

‘It says this is for my parent or guardian,’ he muttered. ‘I think that’s you, isn’t it, Daddy?’

Irene looked up sharply. ‘And me, Bertie,’ she said. ‘In fact, when a letter is addressed to the parent or guardian, it usually means that it’s for the mummy. Just for future reference.’

Stuart threw her a glance. ‘Not always,’ he said, mildly. ‘Sometimes, perhaps, but not always.’

Irene, who had been stirring a pot of soup, put down her spoon and crossed the room to her husband’s side. Reaching out, she took the still-unopened letter from his hands. Stuart raised an eyebrow, but did nothing.

Bertie watched, his heart sinking. ‘I don’t think it’s important,’ he said quickly. ‘Maybe Daddy can read it later.’ It was all he could say; he knew that there was little point, though, in trying to forfend what now seemed inevitable.

Irene picked up a table knife and slit open the envelope. ‘Now let’s see what this is all about,’ she said.

Bertie sat down at the table. He put his hands about his head, but watched his mother between his fingers. Her expression, he noted, was changing, from one of mild irritation to one of puzzlement. He closed his eyes; he could not bear to see his efforts at forgery so publicly uncovered.

Bertie had changed the terms of the letter. Using the treasured fountain pen that had been sent to him by a distant relative on his last birthday (his sixth), he had carefully changed the text of Akela’s letter by the insertion of a certain number of negatives and by making a number of other subtle changes.