31 July, 1930

To Reginald Halifax, Esq.

Reggie old thing, how are you? Doing well? Splendid! Here’s hoping the practice in Chelsea is bustling as ever – full of surprise witnesses and flummoxed barristers and all that the penny dreadfuls have led me to believe.

Listen Reg, I’m writing because I’ve found myself in a bit of a spot. Eileen, my oldest wisp of a sister you know, has been going off her head about something all week and I’d not got a word out of her what the matter was; that is until Mira (that’s the other sister, the rounder one) comes bursting in with news. She reports that she is now jolly well a master-sleuth, which of course entailed that she frame me for arson whilst rummaging all through my eldest sister’s documents. (I now have a better understanding on why I was obliged to cower in the billiard room while Eileen delivered a tirade about responsibility with matches). But never fear, for it was among these documents that our intrepid inspector happened upon her first clue! Of course she hadn’t the foggiest idea what the thing was, so she’d come to consult with your truly, seeing as I pass for intelligent life on the occasion.

Well Reg, I read the thing over and near blew a gasket. Can you imagine? Of all the confounded nerve - Well, but I haven't told you of it yet. I’m in a state Reggie, really I am. I’ve been striding about and turning the thing over in my head for two days, so blessed infuriating it all is. To put it plainly-

Blackmail! Some deuce of a scoundrel has been demanding 3200 quid out of my poor sister. Of course it’s all clear now why she’s been near driven to distraction with worry. When I explained everything to Mira she let out a little shriek and asked who could stoop so low as to pilfer from the old family coffers. Well Reg, I have a pretty good idea who. This is the work of Walter, that curse of a groundskeeper who’s been leering about us all week like a ruddy barracuda and has not lifted a finger to keep the grounds.

But how can I be certain, you ask? Well, my dear Watson, as I explained to our good detective Mira, my first clue came from the fact that the rogue had signed his name at the bottom of the paper (poor as the handwriting might be – he has the penmanship of your average breakfast porridge.) I get the idea from the note that he’s been demanding the same payment from my (former) brother, William, and that he expected a continuation of payment, as such. The devil! That’s why the blasted scoundrel kept his job all these years, that’s where my brother’s fortune and happiness had been draining off to!

Well Reggie, you don’t have to bother yourself with what the blackmail’s about – the note explained right enough, but it’s all pure misconjecture and imaginings on the part of a twisted old groundskeeper. Paying him is of course out of the question. I would sack the man, I’d have him out on his ear in an instant, arrested for extortion, drawn and quartered even - Only here’s the thing though Reg: I really should not like word of this blackmail to get out. Even though there’s nothing behind it, it really puts something of a smear on the family name, don’t you think? People do talk.

So here’s what I’d like to do about Walter (aside from chucking the blighter off the ruddy cliff, you know). Could you possibly be a dear, Reg old fellow, and assist me in suing the trousers off the man? Lawsuits, restraining orders, the works? Perhaps even for some unrelated offence; a rogue like him is bound to have done something shady on the past, who am I to say he hasn’t? Maybe we could get him throw in for burglary, or jaywalking, or some rot. I don’t care what, only I don’t ever want to set eyes on the fellow again - if I do I really am likely to give him a good boxing about the ears. (It can at least be said that the man knows what’s good for him - ever since it all came out Walter has scarpered to some hole and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the fellow. Good riddance, I say.) Anyhow, I don’t know if a conviction of libel is enough to shut him up, but I think it’s a good start. If the evidence really is clear enough I should hope to get him chucked away in prison, or deported to some ghastly place like Siberia, or Liverpool.

Well let me know what you think of it all, and post haste old boy, if you don’t mind. The clock’s a-ticking and the nag of a situation irks me more by the day.

Sincerley,

Ashwin

P.S. About the races - Listen Reg, don’t think I’ve forgotten what I already owe you. I’ll need a touch more time to sort things out here– all caught up in this blackmail business and cataloging furniture and providing emotional support, you know? - and then of course I’ll pay it all in full. But you know your pal Ash is good for it. Have I ever let you down before? There’s the spirit! Chin up and carry on, old fellow. And do wire me back soon, things are in a state here.