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.