II

Craddock came away from his interview with Phillipa Haymes feelingangry and baffled.

“Obstinate as a mule,” he said to himself angrily.

He was fairly sure that Phillipa was lying, but he hadn’t succeeded inbreaking down her obstinate denials.

He wished he knew a little more about ex-Captain Haymes. His informa-tion was meagre. An unsatisfactory Army record, but nothing to suggestthat Haymes was likely to turn criminal.

And anyway Haymes didn’t fit in with the oiled door.

Someone in the house had done that, or someone with easy access to it.

He stood looking up the staircase, and suddenly he wondered what Juliahad been doing up in the attic. An attic, he thought, was an unlikely placefor the fastidious Julia to visit.

What had she been doing up there?

He ran lightly up to the first floor. There was no one about. He openedthe door out of which Julia had come and went up the narrow stairs to theattic.

There were trunks there, old suitcases, various broken articles of fur-niture, a chair with a leg off, a broken china lamp, part of an old dinnerservice.

He turned to the trunks and opened the lid of one.

Clothes. Old-fashioned, quite good-quality women’s clothes. Clothes be-longing, he supposed, to Miss Blacklock, or to her sister who had died.

He opened another trunk.

Curtains.

He passed to a small attaché-case. It had papers in it and letters. Veryold letters, yellowed with time.

He looked at the outside of the case which had the initials C.L.B. on it.

He deduced correctly that it had belonged to Letitia’s sister Charlotte. Heunfolded one of the letters. It began

Dearest Charlotte.

Yesterday Belle felt well enough to go for a picnic. R.G. alsotook a day off. The Asvogel flotation has gone splendidly,R.G. is terribly pleased about it. The Preference shares areat a premium.

He skipped the rest and looked at the signature:

Your loving sister, Letitia.

He picked up another.

Darling Charlotte.

I wish you would sometimes make up your mind to seepeople. You do exaggerate, you know. It isn’t nearly as badas you think. And people really don’t mind things likethat. It’s not the disfigurement you think it is.

He nodded his head. He remembered Belle Goedler saying that Char-lotte Blacklock had a disfigurement or deformity of some kind. Letitia had,in the end, resigned her job, to go and look after her sister. These lettersall breathed the anxious spirit of her affection and love for an invalid. Shehad written her sister, apparently, long accounts of everyday happenings,of any little detail that she thought might interest the sick girl. And Char-lotte had kept these letters. Occasionally odd snapshots had been en-closed.

Excitement suddenly flooded Craddock’s mind. Here, it might be, hewould find a clue. In these letters there would be written down things thatLetitia Blacklock herself had long forgotten. Here was a faithful picture ofthe past and somewhere amongst it, there might be a clue that would helphim to identify the unknown. Photographs, too. There might, just possibly,be a photograph of Sonia Goedler here that the person who had taken theother photos out of the album did not know about.

Inspector Craddock packed the letters up again, carefully, closed thecase, and started down the stairs.

Letitia Blacklock, standing on the landing below, looked at him inamazement.

“Was that you up in the attic? I heard footsteps. I couldn’t imagine who—”

“Miss Blacklock, I have found some letters here, written by you to yoursister Charlotte many years ago. Will you allow me to take them away andread them?”

She flushed angrily.

“Must you do a thing like that? Why? What good can they be to you?”

“They might give me a picture of Sonia Goedler, of her character—theremay be some allusion—some incident—that will help.”

“They are private letters, Inspector.”

“I know.”

“I suppose you will take them anyway … You have the power to do so, Isuppose, or you can easily get it. Take them—take them! But you’ll findvery little about Sonia. She married and went away only a year or twoafter I began to work for Randall Goedler.”

Craddock said obstinately:

“There may be something.” He added, “We’ve got to try everything. I as-sure you the danger is very real.”

She said, biting her lips:

“I know. Bunny is dead—from taking an aspirin tablet that was meantfor me. It may be Patrick, or Julia, or Phillipa, or Mitzi next—somebodyyoung with their life in front of them. Somebody who drinks a glass ofwine that is poured out for me, or eats a chocolate that is sent to me. Oh!

take the letters—take them away. And afterwards burn them. They don’tmean anything to anyone but me and Charlotte. It’s all over—gone—past.

Nobody remembers now….”

Her hand went up to the choker of false pearls she was wearing. Cad-dock thought how incongruous it looked with her tweed coat and skirt.

She said again:

“Take the letters.”