of the simplest things. I surmounted the balcony—I cannot say quite how I managed it, but suddenly it seemed a great deal easier—and found myself standing face to face with the late Lady Gorey. Her face was a rictus of rage such as I have never witnessed, but luckily enough, her hands were still occupied with Miss Basilio's throat. It was a simple matter to tear the mechanical apparatus from her chest, thus allowing her corporeal flesh to dissolve back into the stuff of spirits. I opened the bottle, praying it had not some hairline fracture, but all was well. The late Lady Gorey was compelled by her very nature to enter it, and once there, be trapped. Miss Basilio lay throttled senseless upon the ground, but her bosom still heaved, so I felt she would survive. The gentleman went off to fetch a constable, and I found myself much relieved by his absence. Since we had never met before this episode, it reassures me that we will never meet again. Had it not been for his constant interference, I might have resolved this event much faster, and with fewer of Miss Basilio’s inhalations lost. There is more to this tale than has been told. When it comes out in the papers, I fear I shall have to sneak my perusal, as it is almost certain to be sordid and the sort of reading material with which my uncle prefers I not soil my mind.