I at once recognised them for genuine documents in my stepmother’s handwriting.
‘How many letters have you?’
‘Well there’s more than I ’ave ’ere. But them as I ’old in my ’and w’ich makes eight, countin’ them two, is the ones as ’ud interest anybody as wanted to know w’y a gentleman might die sudden.’
‘Are there any that say definitely how he died or what he died of?’
‘No,’ said Mrs Cutts. ‘I wouldn’t deceive a gentleman like you, sir. Tell the truth, likewise fair and square. Them eight letters, sir, is wot they calls excitements to murder, and would be so considered by any party as might ’appen to receive them. But as for saying in so many words “weed-killer” or “prussic acid”, I will not say as you will find them words in black and white.’
‘That, of course, detracts from their value,’ I said carelessly. ‘These letters are evidence of sad immorality, no doubt, Mrs Cutts, but it’s one thing to wish a person dead and another to kill him.’
‘There ain’t sech a great difference,’ said Mrs Cutts, a little shaken. ‘It says in the Bible — “ ’E that ’ateth ’is brother is a murderer,” now, don’t it, sir? And there’s some as sits on juries ’as the same way of thinkin’.’
‘Maybe,’ said I, ‘but all the same, it’s not proof.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said Mrs Cutts with dignity. ‘I wouldn’t contradict a gentleman. You ’and me them letters back, Archie. The gentleman don’t want ’em. Ef Mr Lathom ’ad any sense ’e’d burn the rubbishin’ stuff, and so I’ll tell ’im, clutterin’ up the place.’
‘I don’t say that, Mrs Cutts,’ said I, holding on to the letters. ‘They are of interest, but not of as much interest as I thought they might be. What value did you think of placing on them?’
‘To them as knew ’ow to use ’em’ — here Mrs Cutts appeared to size me up from head to toe — ‘letters like them might be worth a ’undred pounds apiece.’
‘Rubbish,’ said I. ‘I’ll give you fifty pounds for the lot, and that’s more than they’re worth.’
I put the two letters back on the table and flicked at them disdainfully.
‘Fifty pound!’ shrieked Mrs Cutts, ‘fifty pound! And me riskin’ losin’ a job as is worth more than that any day in recommendations and perks, not countin’ my money regular every week!’
She gathered the letters together and began to tie the packet up again.
‘Mr Lathom ’ud give five times that much to know as they wos safe,’ she added.
‘Not he,’ said I. ‘I doubt if he has as much as a hundred pounds in the world. Whereas, if your son likes to come round with me to my hotel, I can give him cash on the nail.’
‘No,’ said Mrs Cutts. ‘I can’t let them letters go. Supposin’ Mr Lathom wanted to read ’em and they wasn’t there.’
‘That’s your affair,’ said I. ‘If you don’t want to sell them, you can keep them. If I were you I’d put them back quickly where you found them, and say nothing to Mr Lathom about it. There’s such a thing as blackmail, you know, Mrs Cutts, and judges are pretty strict about it.’
Mrs Cutts laughed scornfully.
‘Blackmail! Nobody ain’t goin’ to charge theirselves with murder, and don’t you think it.’
‘There’s no murder there,’ said I. ‘Good-night.’
I rose to go. The woman let me get as far as the door and then came after me.
‘See ’ere, sir. You’re a gentleman, and I don’t want to be ’ard on a gentleman wot’s pore father ’as died sudden. Give me two ’undred pound, and I’ll let yer take copies of ’em and Archie shall go with you and bring ’em back.’
‘Copies don’t count so well in a court of law as originals,’ I said.
‘They could be swore to,’ said Mrs Cutts.
‘Not at this time of night,’ said I.
The youth Archie leaned across and whispered to his mother. She nodded and smiled her unpleasant smile.
‘See ’ere, sir, I’ll risk it. Archie shall bring you them letters to your ’otel in the mornin’ and you shall take copies and ’ave them swore to afore a lawyer. I dursn’t let you ’ave them, really I dursn’t, sir. I’m takin’ a sad risk as it is for a respectable woman.’
‘Very well,’ I replied. ‘But copies are only worth a hundred pounds to me at the very outside.’
‘You’re makin’ a very ’ard bargain, sir.’
‘It’s that or nothing,’ said I.
‘Well, sir, if you say so. I’ll send Archie round at ten o’clock, sir.’
I agreed to this and walked away, glad to get out. I lay awake all night, fancying that Mrs Cutts would go to Lathom in the interval and make better terms with him.
However, Archie was there with the letters in the morning as agreed, and I took him and them round to a solicitor’s where typed copies were made and sworn. I also made an affidavit that I recognised the writing of the originals as being in my stepmother’s handwriting. I then paid the lad the agreed hundred pounds in Treasury notes, and dismissed him.
I have entered into all these details in order that there should be no doubt as to the genuineness of these copies, and to make quite clear why I am unable at the moment to forward the originals.
It is true that I could probably have forced Archie into handing the letters over, since he had no right to them. But several reasons urged me to take the other course. First, I had no legal right to them either, and was not clear how my action might be looked upon by the police. Secondly, and this was more important, I could hardly hope that Lathom would not discover their absence, and, if he did, he might take fright and leave the country and thus add great difficulties to my task. It would take some weeks, perhaps, to collect all the evidence I needed, and by the time I was ready to set the law in action, he might hide himself very effectually. Thirdly, I did not wish to alienate Mrs Cutts. I foresaw that she might be very useful, not only in bringing me fresh letters, if any arrived that threw further light on the business, but also in keeping watch on Lathom’s movements. I suggested to Archie that there might be possibilities of further reward in the future, and cautioned him against alarming Lathom.
It is conceivable, however, that Mrs Cutts may consider it more advantageous to blackmail Lathom than to assist me. Up to the moment of writing, he is still living in Chelsea, and apparently feels himself safe. But for all I know, Mrs Cutts may have retained the letters and be blackmailing him on her own account. Or she may have delivered her warning, and he may have destroyed the letters and made himself (as he imagines) secure. In the latter case it will, of course, be impossible to produce the original documents in court, and then the certified copies will justify their existence.
Having obtained the evidence of the adultery, I now felt myself in a position to put pressure on Munting, and accordingly went round to see him again.
‘I perfectly appreciate,’ I said, ‘the reasons for your silence at our last interview. But if I tell you that I have in my hands independent proof that Lathom was Margaret Harrison’s lover, perhaps you will feel justified in assisting my inquiries.’
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘My dear man,’ he said, ‘if you have proof already, I don’t see what assistance you require. May I ask what you call proof? After all, one doesn’t make these accusations without sufficient grounds.’
‘I have got the letters written to Lathom by my stepmother,’ I said, ‘and they leave the matter in no doubt whatever.’
‘lndeed?’ said he. ‘Well, I won’t ask you where you got them from. Private detective work is not in my line. If you really believe that your father was driven to do away with himself, I am extremely sorry — but what can one do about it?’