Out Of The Past by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online Page B

crisply,
    “You surprise me.”
    “Do I? Well, to continue. It is now proposed that there should be a Life of my father. I only had a few hundreds out of his estate, and I think it is fair that I should have a share of any profits on the book—especially as the papers without which it cannot be written are in my possession. Some of them are very interesting. There is, for instance, a batch of letters which would make any biography a best seller. Esther did not know of their existence, and she is upset at the idea of their being published. I suppose some such difficulty is bound to arise over any Life. If the personal element is left out, the thing is as dry as dust, and nobody will read it. If you show the man as he was, somebody’s feelings are bound to be hurt.”
    “And you propose to sacrifice Esther’s?”
    “I don’t want to in the least. I am, in fact, prepared to sacrifice my own advantage. I could publish this correspondence myself. There are about a hundred and fifty letters. I could, I daresay, produce quite a readable Life. But the letters would do the trick on their own—they are of a highly personal and romantic nature. I say I could do this, but for Esther’s sake I don’t want to—do try and believe that. I am very fond of her and I don’t want to hurt her. But I’m in a difficult position. If I can produce a certain sum of money I can secure a partnership in an excellent going concern run by the chap I’ve been working with for the last three years. Other things being equal, he would like to give me the chance, but he must have the money. It’s a question of purchasing a larger ranch, and if I can’t raise the amount, he’ll have to take in someone who can. If Esther will enable me to avail myself of this chance, I shall be only too glad not to distress her by publishing those letters.”
    Adela Castleton said, “Blackmail!”
    He drew on his cigarette.
    “I don’t think there is any point in using words like that. Wiser not to, you know. Especially for you.”
    “And why for me?”
    The breeze from the sea had a sudden chill as she spoke.
    “Can’t you guess?”
    “No. How should I?”
    He said in his agreeable voice,
    “The correspondence I mentioned consists of letters which passed between my father and a young girl who had become infatuated with him. She begins it. He replies in the manner of an older man writing to an over-enthusiastic girl—he is pleased and flattered, but there is a certain restraint. He has known her since she was a child, he sees her often. The tone of the letters changes, gets warmer. Presently they are writing every day. Before long they are lovers.”
    The cold seemed to have got into Adela Castleton—she was stiff with it. Her lips would hardly move. She forced them into difficult speech.
    “You can’t—publish—letters like that—”
    “I don’t know about can’t, but I would much rather not. You don’t ask me who the girl was.”
    “I am not—interested.”
    “You don’t think so? Perhaps not. But I am going to tell you. The letters are signed, ‘Irene.’ ” She turned and went from him without a word.
    CHAPTER 6
    He made no haste to follow her. He had given her plenty to think about. Let it sink in and it would do the trick all right. He thought she would go to almost any possible length rather than allow her sister’s letters to be published. There were plenty of people who would remember Irene’s beauty, and her sudden tragic death. These people were Adela’s friends— and enemies. She was of the type that makes enemies. The story of an attack of cramp while swimming out too far would be blown sky high. That final letter would finish it— “We can’t go on like this. I am taking the only way out. I can’t go on living without you.” That must have been written on the very day she was drowned. A newspaper cutting was folded inside the envelope, and a photograph of the Penderel Field portrait. A lovely creature, as beautiful