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presence presaged no good. He cleared his throat and said, ‘What’s the trouble?’
    Gaydon said, ‘This is Mr Paul Billson. He appears to be disturbed about the article on his father which appeared in yesterday’s issue.’
    English looked at Billson and saw a rather nondescript man who, at that moment, was extremely agitated. His face was white and dull red spots burned in his cheeks as he said in a high voice, ‘It was nothing but outright libel. I demand a retraction and a public apology.’
    Gaydon said in a calming voice, ‘I’m sure that Mr English wrote the truth as he saw it. What do you say, Mike?’
    ‘Of course, you’re right,’ said English. ‘Every matter of fact was checked against the original court records and the contemporary newspaper reports.’
    ‘I’m not complaining about the facts,’ said Billson. ‘It’s the damned inferences about my father. I’ve never read anything so scurrilous in my life. If I don’t get a public apology I shall sue.’
    Gaydon glanced at English, then said smoothly, ‘It shouldn’t come to that, Mr Billson. I’m certain we can come to some arrangement or agreement satisfactory to all parties.’ He looked up as Harcourt entered the office and said with a slight air of relief, ‘This is Mr Harcourt of our legal department.’
    Rapidly he explained the point at issue, and Harcourt said, ‘Do you have a copy of the article?’
    He settled down to read the supplement which Gaydon produced and the office was uneasily quiet until he had finished. Gaydon tapped restlessly with his forefinger; English sat quite still, hoping that the film of sweat on his forehead didn’t show; Billson squirmed in his seat as the pressure within him built higher.
    After what seemed an interminable period Harcourt laid down the magazine. ‘What exactly are you complaining about, Mr Billson?’
    ‘Isn’t it evident?’ Billson demanded. ‘My father has been blackguarded in print. I demand an immediate apology or I sue.’ His finger stabbed at English. ‘I sue him and the newspaper.’
    ‘I see,’ said Harcourt thoughtfully. He leaned forward. ‘What do you believe happened to your father?’
    ‘His plane crashed,’ said Billson. ‘He was killed—that’s what I believe.’ He slammed his hand on the magazine. ‘This is just plain libel.’
    ‘I believe that you will be unable to sue,’ said Harcourt. ‘You can sue only if your own reputation is at stake. You see, it’s an established principle of law that a dead man cannot be libelled.’
    There was a moment of silence before Billson said incredulously, ‘But this man says my father is not dead.’
    ‘But you believe he is dead, and you would be bringing the case to court. It wouldn’t work, Mr Billson. You needn’t take my word for it, of course; you can ask your own solicitor. In fact, I strongly advise it.’
    ‘Are you telling me that any cheap journalist can drag my father’s name through the mud and get away with it?’ Billson was shaking with rage.
    Harcourt said gravely, ‘I should watch your words, Mr Billson, or the shoe may be on the other foot. Such intemperate language could lead you into trouble.’
    Billson knocked over his chair in getting to his feet. ‘I shall certainly take legal advice,’ he shouted, and glared at English. ‘I’ll have your hide, damn you!’
    The door slammed behind him.
    Harcourt picked up the magazine and flipped it to English’s article. He avoided looking directly at English, and said to Gaydon, ‘I suggest that if you intend to publish work of this nature in future you check with the legal department before publication and not after.’
    ‘Are we in the clear?’ asked Gaydon.
    ‘Legally—quite,’ said Harcourt, and added distastefully, ‘It’s not within my province to judge the moral aspect.’ He paused. ‘If the widow takes action it will be different, of course. There is a clear implication here that she joined with her husband in cheating the