I accepted the coffee from Helen and drank thirstily. My disengaged right hand rested on my knee; I felt something damp nuzzle against it and looked down to see Brock preparing to rest his furry body against my leg. He was not usually so demonstrative at this time of the day. I buttered a small square of toast and gave it to him. Britton caught my eye.

‘What exactly is the idea of having a badger about the house?’ he asked.

His question was friendly, but there was a note of disapproval in it. Helen came between us, and stroked Brock while he turned a wary eye towards her and finished off the buttered toast.

‘Dear old Brock,’ she said irrelevantly. ‘We’ve had him from a piglet.’

‘But it isn’t natural, is it?’ Britton asked. ‘They’re nocturnal creatures, for one thing. And their proper environment is wooded countryside.’

Piers had come in while he was speaking, and was standing just inside the door.

‘Cats are nocturnal, too,’ he said, ‘and also domestic. But I agree with you. I agree entirely. South Kensington is no place for a badger.’