And Eddy’s letters.
“Here . . .” He produced the half-crown, handed it over. “It’s everything I’ve got in the world. Please, Polly, I’m starving as it is, don’t tell the constables.”
“An ‘alf a crown?” she screeched. “A mis’rable ‘alf crown? Bleedin’ little sod! You come from a fine ‘ouse, you did, wiv rich men givin’ it to you, what do you mean by givin’ me nuffink but a miserly ‘alf crown!”
“It’s all I’ve got!” he cried, desperate. “They took everything else away! Even most of my clothes!” A harsh, half-strangled laugh broke loose. “Look at my face, Polly! That’s what they gave me as a going away present!”
“Copper’s’ll give you worse’n bruises an’ a blacked eye, luv!” She jerked around and started to stalk away. “Constable!”
Morgan clutched at her arm. “Wait!”
She paused. “Well?”
He licked his lips. They were all he had . . . but if this drunken whore sent him to prison, what good would Eddy’s letters do him? And he didn’t have to give them all to her. “I’ve got one thing. One valuable thing.”
“What’s ‘at?” She narrowed her eyes.
“Letters . . .”
“Letters? What sort of fool d’you tyke me for?”
“They’re valuable letters! Worth a lot of money!”
The narrow-eyed stare sharpened. “What sort o’ letters ‘ave you got, Morgan, that’d be worth any money?”
He licked his lips once more. “Love letters,” he whispered. “From someone important. They’re in his handwriting, on his personal stationery, and he’s signed them with his own name. Talks about everything he did to me when he visited me in that house, everything he planned to do on his next visit. They’re worth a fortune, Polly. I’ll share them with you. He’s going to give me a lot of money to get them back, a lot of money, Polly. Tomorrow night, he’s going to buy back the first one, I’ll give you some of the money—“