sabbatical and engaged in private research.'
'I see,' said Mr Makeweight, and made a note on his pad.
'And what makes it so much more embarrassing,' said Frensic, 'is that at one time I did have lodgings in De Frytville Avenue.'
Mr Makeweight made a note of that too. 'Extraordinary,' he said, 'quite extraordinary. The resemblance would seem to be almost exact. I think, Professor Facit, in fact I do more, I know that...provided of course that you haven't committed any of these unnatural acts...I take it you have never kept a Pekinese...no. Well as I say, provided you haven't and indeed even if you have, I can tell you now that you have grounds for taking action against the author and publishers of this disgraceful novel. I should estimate the damages to be in the region of...well to tell the truth I shouldn't be at all surprised if they don't constitute a record in the history of libel actions.'
'Oh dear,' said Frensic, feigning a mixture of anxiety and avarice, 'I was rather hoping it might be possible to avoid a court case. The publicity, you understand.'
Mr Makeweight quite understood. 'We'll just have to see how the publishers respond,' he said. 'Corkadales aren't a wealthy firm of course but they'll be insured against libel.'
'I hope that doesn't mean the author won't have to...'
'Oh he'll pay all right, Professor Facit. Over the years. The insurance company will see to that. A more deliberate case of malicious libel I have never come across.'
'Someone told me that the author, Mr Piper, has made a fortune out of the book in America,' said Frensic.
'In that case I think he will have to part with it,' said Mr Makeweight.
'And if you could expedite the matter I would be most grateful. My appointment at Wabash...'
Mr Makeweight assured him that he would put the matter in hand at once and Frensic, having given his address as the Randolph Hotel, Oxford, left the office well pleased. Mr Cadwalladine was about to get the shock of his life.
So was Geoffrey Corkadale. Frensic had only just returned to Lanyard Lane and was divesting himself of the disgusting sandals and the tropical suit when the phone rang. Geoffrey was in a state bordering on hysteria. Frensic held the phone away from his ear and listened to a torrent of abuse.
'My dear Geoffrey,' he said when the publisher ran out of epithets. 'What have I done to deserve this outburst?'
'Done?' yelled Corkadale. 'Done? You've done for this firm for one thing. You and that damnable Piper...'
'De mortuis nil nisi...' Frensic began.
'And what about the bloody living?' screamed Geoffrey. 'And don't tell me he didn't speak ill of this Professor Facit knowing full well that the swine was alive because...'
'What swine?' said Frensic.
'Professor Facit. The man in the book who did those awful things...'
'Wasn't he the character with satyriasis who...'
'Was?' bawled Geoffrey. 'Was? The bloody maniac is.'
'Is what?' said Frensic.
'Is! Is! The man's alive and he's filing a libel action against us.'
'Dear me. How very unfortunate.'
'Unfortunate? It's catastrophic. He's gone to Ridley, Coverup, Makeweight and...'
'Oh no,' said Frensic, 'but they're absolute rogues.'
'Rogues? They're bloodsuckers. Leeches. They'd get blood out of a stone and with all this filth in the book about Professor Facit they've got a watertight case. They're dunning us for millions. We're finished. We'll never...'
