“Go round to the garage and help yourself to a likely looking car. Beat it to London and deliver that parcel at 17, Everdean Square. That’s Mr. Balderson’s private address. In exchange he’ll hand you a thousand pounds.”

“What? It’s not the memoirs? I understood that they’d been burnt.”

“What do you take me for?” demanded Anthony. “You don’t think I’d fall for a story like that, do you? I rang up the publishers at once, found out that the other was a fake call, and arranged accordingly. I made up a dummy package as I’d been directed to do. But I put the real package in the Manager’s safe and handed over the dummy. The memoirs have never been out of my possession.”

“Bully for you, my son,” said Jimmy.

“Oh, Anthony,” cried Virginia. “You’re not going to let them be published?”