“Well, there, sir. I wouldn’t go for to say sech a thing—nor yet for to deny it, ’uman nature bein’ that wicked as you can see for yourself any Sunday in the News of the World. But wot I says is, w’en persons is wicked enough to ’ave goin’s on be’ind a gentleman’s back, there’s no knowin’ wot may come of it, is there?”
“You said you had letters to show me.”
“Ah!” she nodded. “There’s good readin’ in letters sometimes, sir. There’s letters as would be worth ’undreds of pounds in a court of law, to some people as one might name.”
“Come, come, Mrs. Cutts,” said I, “very few letters are worth anything like that.”
“That’s not for me to judge, sir. If letters should turn out not to be worth nothin’, why, they’re easy destroyed, ain’t they, sir? There’s many a person I daresay wishes that ’e, or it might be she, sir, ’ad destroyed the letters wot they ’ad written. I was never one for writin’ letters myself. A word’s as good, and leaves nothin’ but air be’ind it, that’s wot I say. And them as leaves letters about casual-like, might often be grateful for a word of warnin’ from them as is wiser’n themselves.”
Her screwed-up eyes twinkled with consciousness of power.
“A word of warnin’ is soon given, and may be worth ’undreds. I ain’t got no call to press you, sir. I ain’t dependent on anybody, thank God.”
“Look here,” I said, briskly, “it’s no use beating about the bush. I must see these letters before I know what they’re worth to me. For all I know they’re not worth twopence.”
“Well, I ain’t unreasonable,” said the hag. “Fair and square is my motter. Ef I was to show you dockyments ter prove as your pa’s missis was sweet on my young gentleman there, would that be worth anything to you, sir?”
“That’s rather vague,” I fenced. “People may be fond of one another and no great harm done.”
“Wot may seem no ’arm to some may be great ’arm to a right-thinking person,” said Mrs. Cutts, unctuously. “You can ask all about this neighbour’ood, sir, and they’ll tell you Mrs. Cutts is a lawful married woman, as works ’ard and keeps ’erself to ’erself as the sayin’ is. Not but wot there’s a-many things as a ’ard-workin’ woman in these parts ’as to shet her eyes to, and can’t be blamed for wot is not ’er business. But there is limits, and w’en people is writin’ to people as isn’t their own lawful ’usbands about bein’ in the fambly way and about others as is their lawful ’usbands not ’avin’ the right to exist, and w’en them lawful ’usbands dies sudden not so very long arter, then wot I ses is, it might be worth while for them as is right-thinkin’ and ’ose place it is to interfere, to ’ave them there dockyments kep’ in a safe place.”
I tried not to let her see how deeply I was interested in these hints.
“This is all talk,” I said. “Show me the letters, and then we can get down to brass tacks.”
“Ah!” said Mrs. Cutts. “And supposin’ my young gentleman should come ’ome and look for them letters, as it might be tonight, wot a peck of trouble I might be in. Do right and shame the devil is my motter, but motters won’t feed a fambly o’ children when a ’ard-workin’ woman loses ’er job—now, will they, sir?”
I thought the time had come to lend an air of business to the bargain. I drew a five-pound note from my pocket, and let it crackle pleasantly between my fingers. Her eyelids twitched, but she said nothing.
“Before we go any further,” I said, “I must look at the letters and see that they are actually from the person you mention, and that they are of genuine interest to me. In the meanwhile, since I have put you to some trouble—”
I pushed the note towards her, but held my hand over it.
“Well,” she said, “I don’t mind lettin’ you ’ave a look. Looks breaks no bones, as the sayin’ is.” She fumbled in a remote pocket beneath her skirt and produced a small packet of papers.
“My eyes ain’t so good as they was,” she added, with sudden caution. “ ’Ere, Archie!”
The ferrety youth (who must have been listening at the door) answered the summons with suspicious promptness. I noticed that he had provided himself with a formidable-looking stick and immediately pushed my chair back against the wall. Mrs. Cutts slowly detached one letter from the bundle, and spread it out flat on the table, disengaging it from its folds with a well-licked thumb.
“W’ich one is this, Archie?”
The youth glanced sideways at the letter and replied:
“That’s the do-something-quick-one, Mother.”
“Ah! and w’ich is the one about the pore gentleman as was done in in a play?”
“ ’Ere you are, Mother.”
She slid the letters across to meet my hand. I released the note; she released the letters and the exchange was affected.
These were the letters numbered 43 and 44, and dated August 2nd and October 5th respectively, as above. If you will glance back to them, you will see that they offered valuable evidence.
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 ‘weedkiller’ or ‘prussic acid,’ I will not say as you will find them words in black
