_In these circumstances, you will surely appreciate the extreme desirability of your seeing the other Miss Townshend without delay, explaining to her the position, and, if possible, inducing her to come to London at once. Indeed, in my opinion, her production alone can now snuff this matter out._ _Yours faithfully,_ _F. S. Maple._ Virgil fell upon the telephone. After a maddening delay— “Is that Mr. Maple?” he said. “Speaking,” said a brusque voice. “I’m Virgil Pardoner.” “Yes?” “The name isn’t _Jane_. It’s _June_.” “Ah. I thought Mr. Forsyth said ‘June,’ but I wanted to see what you said. That’s splendid. She’s altered your letter, of course—changed the ‘u’ into ‘a.’ That was easy. And now we _have_ got her—tight. All you’ve got to do is to trot out Miss _June_ Townshend and, if she has any letters of yours—she probably has—to see that she brings them with her. There’s a train at——” “She hasn’t,” yelled Virgil. “She hasn’t. I know she hasn’t.” “Oh, but she may. Lots of women promise to destroy——” “She can’t. I never wrote any. There’s—_there’s no such woman_.” “No such _what_?” cried Maple. “Woman,” said Virgil, calmly. Now that the murder was out, he felt much better. “You know. Female of man. June Townshend is a creation of my lightning brain. I also invented Stoughbridge, or whatever the rotten place is, complete with Rectory. I pictured an old-world garden, with a hammock and croquet-nets. Oh, and a bamboo cake-stand. June was there, feeding the aspodestras with crumbs of rock-cake. The letter, I may say, was written to substantiate the fantasy. It was a beautiful piece of prose. . . .” There was a long silence. Presently— “Are you serious?” said Maple. “I mean, d’you mean what you say?” “Absolutely.” “Well, this is a facer,” said Maple. “Of course, I’ll do what I can, but you’ve disarmed me. If the thing’s to be kept quiet it looks as if that beautiful piece of prose——” “Will prove extremely expensive?” said Virgil, cheerfully. “Exactly.” “An action for breach of promise couldn’t succeed?” “Good heavens, no. But she’ll be a nuisance.” “Let her,” said Virgil. “I won’t pay a blinkin’ cent.” “But what will Miss Vulliamy say?” “That,” said Virgil sweetly, “remains to be seen. I may tell you I wrote the letter under duress. _She made me do it._ Of course, if she likes to buy my literature back, she’s at liberty to do so. She’s plenty of money—or can have. Besides, it’ld be a pretty compliment. So please do nothing for me. And just acknowledge these instructions, will you? Before you lunch. I’ld like her to know the worst this afternoon.” “Very good,” said Maple, laughing. “I’ll dictate a letter at once.” _Private._ _Dear Mr. Pardoner_,