is no need to tell me, sir, that what was wrote was all wicked lies. I had Miss Partridgeâs word for thatâand indeed I would have known it for myself. You arenât that type of gentleman, sir, that I well know, and you an invalid and all. Wicked untruthful lies it was, but all the same I says to Beatrice as sheâd better leave because you know what talk is, sir. No smoke without fire, thatâs what people say. And a girl canât be too careful. And besides the girl herself felt bashful like after what had been written, so I says, âQuite right,â to Beatrice when she said she wasnât coming up here again, though Iâm sure we both regretted the inconvenience being suchââ
Unable to find her way out of this sentence, Mrs. Baker took a deep breath and began again.
âAnd that, I hoped, would be the end of any nasty talk. But now George, down at the garage, him what Beatrice is going with, heâs got one of them. Saying awful things about our Beatrice, and howsheâs going on with Fred Ledbetterâs Tomâand I can assure you, sir, the girl has been no more than civil to him and passing the time of day so to speak.â
My head was now reeling under this new complication of Mr. Ledbetterâs Tom.
âLet me get this straight,â I said. âBeatriceâsâerâyoung man has had an anonymous letter making accusations about her and another young man?â
âThatâs right, sir, and not nicely put at allâhorrible words used, and it drove young George mad with rage, it did, and he came round and told Beatrice he wasnât going to put up with that sort of thing from her, and he wasnât going to have her go behind his back with other chapsâand she says itâs all a lieâand he says no smoke without fire, he says, and rushes off being hot-like in his temper, and Beatrice she took on ever so, poor girl, and I said Iâll put my hat on and come straight up to you, sir.â
Mrs. Baker paused and looked at me expectantly, like a dog waiting for reward after doing a particularly clever trick.
âBut why come to me?â I demanded.
âI understood, sir, that youâd had one of these nasty letters yourself, and I thought, sir, that being a London gentleman, youâd know what to do about them.â
âIf I were you,â I said, âI should go to the police. This sort of thing ought to be stopped.â
Mrs. Baker looked deeply shocked.
âOh, no, sir. I couldnât go to the police.â
âWhy not?â
âIâve never been mixed up with the police, sir. None of us ever have.â
âProbably not. But the police are the only people who can deal with this sort of thing. Itâs their business.â
âGo to Bert Rundle?â
Bert Rundle was the constable, I knew.
âThereâs a sergeant, or an inspector, surely, at the police station.â
âMe, go into the police station?â
Mrs. Bakerâs voice expressed reproach and incredulity. I began to feel annoyed.
âThatâs the only advice I can give you.â
Mrs. Baker was silent, obviously quite unconvinced. She said wistfully and earnestly:
âThese letters ought to be stopped, sir, they did ought to be stopped. Thereâll be mischief done sooner or later.â
âIt seems to me there is mischief done now,â I said.
âI meant violence, sir. These young fellows, they get violent in their feelingsâand so do the older ones.â
I asked:
âAre a good many of these letters going about?â
Mrs. Baker nodded.
âItâs getting worse and worse, sir. Mr. and Mrs. Beadle at the Blue Boarâvery happy theyâve always beenâand now these letters comes and it sets him thinking thingsâthings that arenât so, sir.â
I leaned forward:
âMrs. Baker,â I said, âhave you any idea, any idea at all, who is writing these