Dorothy Sayers - The Documents in the Case

‘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 neighhour’ood, sir, and they’ll tell you Mrs Cutts is a lawful maried 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 wi’ch 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 effected.

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 “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.’