he had long sensed injustice in the distinctions drawn between ordinary wage-earners and those self-employed . by the time his monthly salary arrived , the inland revenue had already taken their share , and there were precious few reductions in tax save for wives , children , life-insurances or any of the other normal encumbrances which Cecil had so far avoided . he read the film star &apos;s sorry story and frowned at the provisions of schedule D taxation which not only allowed her to claim relief on the most unlikely purchases , but also postponed demanding the tax until her financial year was ended , audited and agreed by the Inspector . the process could , and often did take several years . at one point the astute Miss Cheesecake had claimed tax relief on the purchase of several mink coats which , it seemed , were necessary to further her career . alternatively , it was reported , she tearfully claimed that the warm coats were heating appliances and therefore susceptible to a depreciation tax allowance as plant and machinery . the Commissioners of inland revenue wisely refrained from asking how she paid for the mink coats but demanded a receipt instead . between all the interested parties , the final agreement had been delayed long enough for Miss Cheesecake to spend all the money which by rights should have been reserved for her tax . discounting one chinchilla jacket , a Rolls-Royce and a Sussex manor house , all three of which were in her husband &apos;s name , she now declared herself bankrupt . the train drew into another station and Cecil , with a further six stops to go , was left almost alone in the coach . he fumed as he recollected the long correspondence he had had with the inland revenue in an effort to obtain tax relief for a jacket used solely in the office . if the jacket is a condition of your employment , the Inspector had written , it may qualify for relief . Cecil snorted aloud . so long as he did his job satisfactorily , Frask and Kitsell Ltd could hardly have cared less if he wore even a bikini in the office . in fact , the previous summer , his girl comptometer operator had done so . it led to no end of a muddle with the figures . then there was that long wrangle with the inland revenue over travelling expenses . the journey from Bank to Norbiton took a large slice out of Cecil &apos;s surplus spending power . he had tried to obtain tax relief for that too , only to be told that journeys from home to work did not qualify for relief . so Cecil had pursued the matter on the grounds that he took his work home and , for a week or more , he took a bundle of record-cards each night in the hope that a passing Inspector might see it . the final word , as always , came from the inland revenue who fell back once more upon the condition of employment clause . again Cecil glared at Miss Cheesecake who was not only allowed travelling expenses but was also allowed to buy herself a Rolls-Royce on the tax . no wonder she could not pay up ; one half of her money seemed to have gone into purchases designed to defray the tax incurred by the other half which was , in any case , earmarked for normal living expenses such as publicity parties , beauty treatment and frequent foreign holidays to the right places . the train drew to a halt . Cecil &apos;s sole companion , the parcel-laden housewife , staggered to the door and prepared to alight . Madam ! he called after her . you &apos;ve left your briefcase . his public duty performed , he pointed at the seat opposite without making any effort to hand it to her . the housewife turned a baleful eye and gazed at him over a large hat-box which , to judge from the Bond Street label , had taken a large bite out of her husband &apos;s taxable income . it &apos;s not mine . I was n&apos;t sitting there . she blinked disdainfully at him and stepped out . it was a new briefcase , and as the train jogged along the shiny clasp twinkled invitingly at Cecil . he wondered what it contained . probably the remains of someone &apos;s lunch or a few secret files . he smiled at his own joke . of course , it might be holding wads of five pound notes earned on the black market , if there was still such a thing as a black market . it might be a shady cash deal though , specially designed to avoid passing through the books . perhaps the case belonged to one of those fellows who were organising those girls who operated from cars . there could be a lot of money in the call-girl racket , and not many expenses either , just a telephone , some wear and tear on the girls and a change of address from time to time . the briefcase must be crammed with money . Cecil realised that four minutes of solitary running time separated him from the next stop , his home station and , after an unnecessary glance around , he stepped across the car and tried to open the briefcase . it was locked . eager fingers felt bulky contents and when he shook the case there was a rustling thud of wads of paper . cor ! he muttered aloud , there &apos;s five thousand at least . he felt in his jacket pocket and pulled out a key ring . in succession he tried his own briefcase key , a suitcase key and a device designed to lock typewriters . Cecil searched in his pockets once more and came up with two paper-clips . after a few seconds of twisting , he roughly thrust a bent wire loop into the lock and waggled it around vigorously . there was a click and the briefcase opened . Cecil thrust an eager hand inside , his fingers groping after wads of five pound notes . they closed on a single bundle and , fumbling with nervous excitement , he pulled it out . his eye rested on a wad of stiff white paper printed on one side . old fashioned fivers ! he muttered again , and tried to recall if they were still legal tender . surely the Govr and Compa of the Bank of England would never break their promise to pay on rude demand , let alone on polite request . Cecil frowned in disappointment as he focussed upon the printing to find no Govr , no Compa , in fact no five pound notes at all . he was holding a paper booklet , the top sheet of which bore , in large Baskerville type , the words metropolitan monotechnic Institute advanced accountancy course no 3 . he ruffled the sheets irritably and glowered at his own breach of social morality . there are few people who would not jump at an opportunity to rationalise away the theft of a briefcase full of illicit fivers , but to sell one &apos;s soul for a handful of lecture notes presented quite a different kettle of metaphysics . the train slowed down for Norbiton station and Cecil hastily repacked the briefcase . there was a hiss of opening doors and Cecil carried his conscience out upon the platform . he climbed the stairs , eager to unload the guilt-symbol upon the ticket-collector and then to emerge carrying his shame unseen , but burning , into the night . he reached the barrier and fumbled for his contract before thrusting the briefcase at the ticket-collector with the firm intention of playing the dutiful citizen retrieving lost property . before he could open his mouth , the collector stretched out a hand . watch your step there , sir ! your briefcase is hanging open . you &apos;ll have someone shoving their hot little hands inside . here , I &apos;ll do it . the collector pressed the twinkling catch home with a click . Cecil , irretrievably laden with both briefcase and conscience , stumbled away into the darkness . 2 . hello , Cecil . had a busy day ? his mother came into the hall as he opened the front door . he nodded irritably and , turning his back to her , contrived to slide the briefcase into hiding between the do-it-yourself cupboard and the polished brass fourteen-pounder shell-case which served respectively as coat cupboard and umbrella stand . you &apos;re later than usual , are n&apos;t you ? his mother tidied her grey hair in the hall-mirror they had once obtained as a free gift in exchange for the labels from half a hundredweight of Trunk and Greppes tannin-free tea . Cecil shook his head and hung up his raincoat and hat inside the cupboard . are n&apos;t you going to say hello ? his mother stood and faced him with a smile . I &apos;ve got some lamb chops for you this evening . hello , mother . he kissed her cheek perfunctorily . lamb chops , indeed . any letters come ? she grimaced . only the electric bill . it &apos;s up again . we &apos;ll have to go easy on the immersion heater next quarter . Cecil gritted his teeth and glowered at the inequity of Miss Cheesecake well-nigh bathing in tax-free champagne whilst he had to go easy on the immersion heater . what is it , Cecil ? do n&apos;t you feel well ? his mother asked solicitously . you do look tired . go and get yourself a drink . do n&apos;t fuss , mother ! I &apos;m quite well and no more tired than usual , and we finished the gin last week , you know that . Cecil stepped towards the dining room . I &apos;m sure you must be tired , his mother insisted . you &apos;re very irritable , anyway . I &apos;m not tired and I &apos;m not irritable . very well then . his mother nodded with understanding . you &apos;re not tired . nobody &apos;s tired . now just you run along upstairs and wash your hands whilst I get dinner ready . Cecil wriggled irritably under the misplaced management of a mother who had failed to realise that a son who is nearly bald is no longer a baby . he started to climb the stairs , stamping with unnecessary vigour upon the treads . and do n&apos;t wipe the dirt off on the towel like you did yesterday . your Auntie Edie &apos;s coming in for a cup of tea later and you know how she has a good look round everywhere . there was a tinkle and a thud from beside the coat cupboard . Cecil &apos;s mother turned around in time to see the briefcase collapse against the brass umbrella stand . well now ! she hurried towards it and picked it up . what have we here ? a new briefcase ! so that &apos;s what it &apos;s all about . Cecil halted in mid-step near the top of the stairs and clenched his fists . so that &apos;s what what &apos;s all about ? he hissed without turning round . she pointed to the briefcase . so that &apos;s why you are so irritable . you thought that I &apos;d think you &apos;d been extravagant . but I &apos;m not irritable ! he rushed down the stairs and , snatching the case , ran back upstairs with it . and I &apos;ve not been extravagant . naughty ! she called after him . mother knows her boy better than he does himself . she smiled at herself in the mirror and reflected how mothers always know their dear impulsive boys better than anyone - especially better than not so dear , not so impulsive daughters-in-law . her smile faded at the thought of female competition , but brightened again in the belief that her son was not cut out for that sort of nonsense . widowed mothers often expect their only sons to be very lone rangers . dinner was taken as usual before the television . Cecil &apos;s mother had arranged the receiver to face two armchairs by the fire . they sat uncomfortably hunched in mutual inclination , and ate at arm &apos;s length from a common occasional table placed opposite their adjacent knees . in the days when he had still a liking for cigarettes , Cecil had well-nigh proved the statistical relationship between them and lung cancer in an effort to obtain the table free by smoking his way into a collection of six hundred gift tokens . the flush of achievement had long passed and as Cecil sat , eyes on the television screen , not even the napkin tucked into his neck could prevent lamb-chop gravy from carelessly bespattering the table he had risked so much to obtain . mother and son gazed in fascination at the story , unfolding before their eyes , of corn cultivation in Capokoland . what time &apos;s the olde tyme dancing on ? she asked absently . my goodness , look at those women planting things , is n&apos;t it primitive ? about ten-o&apos;clock , I suppose , the olde tyme stuff . 