“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.”