‘The money, George,’ she said. ‘Where did you put it? She told me you hadn’t hid it in the house, but I reckon she lied to me, or they couldn’t have lived all this time with him out of work. They must have got at it. Where did you put it, my son?’ He stared at her with affected stupidity. ‘What money?’ ‘Fifty pounds. Out of my box. I guessed it was you that had it. That’s why I didn’t dare tell the police.’ He laughed. ‘Good old woman! I knew you wouldn’t. You’re a good mother. I’ll say that for you.’ ‘Then you can give it back to me. Give it to me, my son.’ His cunning returned to him. ‘I’ve lost it, mother. Every penny. It’s gone.’ ‘Gone? Fifty pounds? You couldn’t lose it, George.’ ‘You try backing horses, and you’ll see,’ he said. ‘Racing, too!’ she cried. ‘Oh, George, George! It was all I had.’ ‘Well, you’ve got me, mother,’ he said. ‘What more do you want? It’s no good crying over spilt milk.’ She came to his arms, weakly sobbing, and clung to him. ‘Now don’t go crying all over me,’ he said thickly. ‘Loose me! I’m going.’ ‘George, you mustn’t go, dear. You’re not fit.’ ‘I tell you I’m going. Leave hold of me!’ ‘George!’ ‘Do you say I’m drunk? I’ll show you if I’m drunk!’ Still she clung to him. He gave her a push and she went over into the hearth with a clatter of fire-irons. The old man began to wail in a high-pitched voice: ‘Help! Help!’ ‘Shut your damned mouth, you!’ said George. He blundered out into the bar, knocking against the end of the counter and bringing down a tray of glasses with a crash. A freakish idea seized him. He took the key from the door and locked it on the outside. He shook with laughter at the joke. A young moon sank slowly over the misty woodland. He stopped in the middle of the road and solemnly turned over the packet of banknotes in his pocket for luck. Drunk? Not he! He was sharp enough to think of everything. He turned his uncertain steps toward Wolfpits. Before him, with half an hour in hand, old Drew went pounding along the same road as fast as his rheumatic knees would let him. He reached Wolfpits breathless and knocked violently at Mary’s kitchen door. She was upstairs, putting the children to bed. Morgan was tucked in already, and Gladys was having her hair brushed. Panic seized Mary when she heard the old man’s knock. Those rapid blows seemed to her to herald catastrophe. She ran downstairs and came to the door with an ashen face. ‘Hey, missus,’ Drew panted. ‘Be Abner in there with ’ee?’ ‘No, he’s not back yet,’ she said, relieved. Then, as a new fear chilled her: ‘Isn’t he at the Pentre?’ ‘Most like he be,’ said Drew, slowly regaining his breath and leaning on the doorpost. ‘I’ve been a driving they bullocks to Llandwlas station.’ She looked at the clock. It was a little earlier than Abner’s usual hour of return. ‘Better wait if you want him. Take a seat, Mr Drew. He’ll be back in a few minutes.’