夜雨聆风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.”
