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.”