She feels my pain: "My Dear watson, Am really sorry about what happend, i when read the mail tear rolling on my face ... . " But she fights back the tears long enough to ask me to call Mr. James again and arrange to send the money. She's a trouper, is Susan.
I agree to send the money and arrange with Mr. James to wire it via Western Union. I e-mail him a few hours later to say it is done (of course, I haven't sent a dime), but that, for some unknown reason I require him to verify his identity by e-mailing me a photo of himself holding up a sign saying "My heart belongs to Robbie Williams."
He tries to fob me off with a photo obviously cut out of a magazine (as is Susan's) and devoid of reference to Robbie. I refuse to send him the codes he needs to collect the cash and continue to refuse for two more weeks. Eventually, he sends me a photo — bearing a striking resemblance to the one he has already sent me — with the words "My heart belongs to Robbie Williams" scrawled across it.
Scambaiting can be fun, and you're probably doing some kind of public service (for tips, go to www.419eater.com). But remember that 419ers have been known to murder their correspondents, so never give out any information that can be traced back to you.
I guess I've wasted enough of Mr. James' time to prevent one person being scammed, so I leave it there. As one last present, I ask him to phone me. Sadly, I get my number mixed up with a premium-rate dog racing tips hotline. It costs ?1.50 (NT$97) a minute from the UK, so God knows what it costs from Lagos.
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