"I am Mr. Morrison's girlfriend and have been living with him for five years. Last march, I came to Paris with my friend. During a previous short stay I had found rented commodation at the address 17 rue Beautreillis, third floor, right hand side. My boyfriend was a writer but mostly he lived on a personal fortune.

Before living at rue Beautreillis, my boyfrined and I lived for three weeks at the Hôtel de Nice, rue des Beaux arts, I think, and while we were there my friend was sick, he was complaining of difficulty in breathing and he also had coughing fits at night. I called a doctor to the hotel who prescribed pills for asthma but my friend didn't like to see doctors and never looked after himself seriously.

(I cannot say precisely who the doctor was, and I didn't keep the prescription. During a previous stay in London, my friend had already experienced the same problems.)

Last night I had dinner with my friend... I am not explaining myself proprely - I didn't have dinner last night, my friend went out to a restaurant on his own, probably in the area. When my friend came back from the restaurant, we both went to the cinema to see the film Death Valley. The cinema is beside the Metro Station Le Pelletier, I think it's called Action Lafayette. We came back from the cinema around 1:00am, I did the dishes and my friend watched an amateur film from a projector. My friend looked in good health, he seemed very happy. However, I have to say, my friend never used to complain, it wasn't in his nature. We then listened to records; I should say that the record player is in the bedroom and we were both listening to the music lying on the bed. I think we went to sleep at 2:30am approximately, but I can't say exactly because the record player stops automatically.

(No, we didn't have any sexual intercourse last night.)

Round 3:30am I think, because there was not a clock in the bedroom and I didn't notice the time, I was woken by the noise my friend was making with his breathing. His breathing was noisy and I thought he was choking. It was noisy. I shook my friend, I slapped him a few times to wake him. I shook him and he woke up. I asked him what was wrong, I wanted to call a doctor. He got up, walked about in the bedroom and then told me he wanted to have a bath. He headed towards the bathroom and ran his bath. When he was in the bath he called me and said that he felt sick and felt like vomiting. On my way I picked up an orange coloured bowl. He vomited food into the bowl I was holding, I think there was blood in it. I emptied the contents then my friend vomited into the container again, only blood this time and then a third time blood clots. Each time I emptied the bowl down the wash basin of the bathroom, then I washed the bowl. My friend then told me he felt strange but he said, "I don't feel sick, don't call a doctor, I feel better. It's over!" He told me to "go to bed" and said that he was going to finish his bath and would join me in bed. At this time it appeared to me that my friend felt better because he had vomited and his colour had returned a bit. I went back to bed and I immediately fell asleep. I was reassured.

I don't know how long I slept. I awoke with a start and I saw that my friend wasn't lying next to me. I ran to the bathroom and saw that my friend was still in the bath, a little blood was running from his nostril. I shook my friend, thinking he would wake up. I thought he had fainted and was unconscious. I tried to get him out of the bath but I couldn't. Then I phoned up Mr. Ronay. He came with his girlfriend, Miss Agnes Demy, and they called, I think, the Fire Brigade or the Police.

(I live in the U.S.A. at the following address - 8216 Norton Avenue, Los Angeles, California. My sister lives at the same address and normally I live at my sister's. I am going to organize the funeral arrangements with Mr. Ronay's help.

Miss Courson does not speak French, so Mr. Ronay has been acting as an interpreter.)

(Signed),

Pamela Courson."