

DEATH OF THE RAT

William McMurray

Copyright 2011 by William McMurray

Smashwords Edition

"How now! A rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead! "

Hamlet, Act III, Scene iv, 23.

The sun's first rays gently brushed the parapets and pinnacles of Essex University's mock gothic towers as Mr. Jackson Nicholas, lately director of the Board of Regents, and since the untimely demise of his predecessor, Acting Principal of the University, stepped from his car. He had an early meeting to convene, the last he hoped of the seemingly interminable wrangles to select his successor in office. Perhaps he owed it to the Institution to allow the other Regents to convince him to stay on as Principal, to provide some stability and sense to the place, and end the constant bickering among the Selection Committee. For he had brought an air of authority to his role, he reflected with some pride. Another year or so of his influence would bring the more fractious academic elements into line. He frowned as one of these, in fact the most awkward member of the Governing Council of the Faculty and its representative on the Committee to Select the Principal, Professor John Antwhistle, appeared at the entrance to Morton Hall and ostentatiously held the door open for him. He grudgingly muttered his thanks, and pressed on down to the Board Room, at whose entrance he stopped abruptly. The Professor, bringing up the rear, caught sight of the object which had caused the Acting-Principal's lean, rodent-like face to turn pale: dangling from the lintel on a length of cord was a large, white rat; it was quite dead, and from its broken neck depended a small cardboard placard with the words - YOU'RE NEXT.

CHAPTER ONE

A knot of a dozen students surrounded Janet Gordon at the foot of the science amphi-theatre, while the remainder of the two hundred or so students in her third year Cell Biology class were noisily departing after the lecture. The aficionados with questions or arguments pursued her as she collected notes, transparencies, slides, and other pedagogical impedimenta to make way for the next class. They spilled out into the hall-way to escape the incoming tide for Physics 250, and carried on the discussion in fits and starts with students peeling off from the group as their points were satisfied. Finally they were reduced to Janet and one morose-looking male.

"Well, Leonard, what is it this time?" she asked, trying to keep the edge of exasperation from showing. Leonard was a two-timer, a recidivist, something of a hopeless case. His performance last year in Biology 333 was so abysmal Janet could not forbear to submit a number beside the letter grade-F. She had, in fact, been tempted to submit DNW (did not write) to the Registrar since Leonard's final exam paper could only barely be construed as a written response to the questions. Now he was back for another go, to Janet's aggravation and mystification.

"I only wanted to observe," he began, "that everything's so much clearer now. You have helped my understanding so much. And last summer's reading of course."

"That's very satisfying for you then," Janet replied, warming somewhat though irritated by the boy's obvious attempt to flatter her.

"Oh yes! You see I got off to a bad start last year with Professor A. He didn't take the time to explain like you do. "And then," he went on as Janet tried to disentangle herself and walked along the hall, "he wouldn't take time out of class to help us stupider students."

Professor A would not have put up with this syncophantic dribble either, thought Janet to herself. Leonard was in actuality the major problem Janet had inherited upon taking over John Antwhistle's usual first term portion of the course while he was occupied with the Selection Committee. Her old mentor was a superb teacher she knew from her own experience, and Leonard had proven no better in second term than first last year. She put on a burst of speed as they reached the staircase.

"See you on Wednesday," shouted Leonard as she took the stairs two at a time, muttering to herself about the dubious practice of permitting students to repeat their failed studies. There was little prospect for Leonard in science, or at least in biology. Perhaps she should try to counsel him to switch into psychology or politics. Janet swung out of the stairwell on the fourth floor, head down, and collided with the other subject of the discussion. As if to make matters worse her victim commenced to apologize for the accident.

"Habitual fault of mine my dear. Only exercise I get these days, leaping before looking I'm afraid. Clobbered the Dean the other day, spilled his coffee down his pants. Bought him another cup to atone, however. Lucky he wears brown," and they tried to unscramble Janet's notes from the contents of her Professor's file that now lay strewn together on the floor.

"Bring the whole mess into my office and we'll sort it out over a cup of coffee," he offered. "I promise not to repeat my stunt with the Dean!" Janet gathered up the jumble of papers and followed, in some embarrassment.

"Ah, good old Biol. 333!" exclaimed John Antwhistle picking up one of her overhead transparencies. I have to take some responsibility for lumbering you with this after all. And here's part of the reason," he continued, brandishing an agenda labelled 'PRIVATE/CONFIDENTIAL - COMMITTEE TO SELECT THE PRINCIPAL'.

"The Committee of No Return. All hope abandon etc," he continued, filing the papers randomly in their manila folder. Coffee with the added luxury of cream, sugar, and chocolate-coated biscuits appeared on a tray produced by Miss Rachel Grinley. The latter glowered at Janet with a flinty countenance. Miss Grinley was of the 'old school' and felt no encroachment upon her feminist rights to deliver the coffee for her Department Head and distinguished visitors: she drew the line at junior faculty members.

"How is Bob Hayes working in with your group by the way?" enquired the Professor.

"He lost a fair amount of time in the move. But we are getting along fine now," Janet replied, munching on a biscuit. This collaboration was certainly developing better than previous ill-fated work with Dr. Karl Elster.

"Also, Bob has been a great help to me in sorting out Karl's work for posthumous publication. I still find it hard to be objective you know," she went on apologetically.

"Yes, it is a delicate point. I'm glad young Hayes is proving helpful at it. And let me know if I can help."

"When we have a reasonable draft put together I'll get you to look it over, give us your opinion of whether we are presenting it fairly, that is if you agree?" she concluded quizzically. John Antwhistle had been reading and judiciously slashing her efforts at publication for so long that Jane began to wonder if and when he would tell her to cease bothering him about it. So long as he would bear it she would continue to count on his editorial assistance. As editor of three scientific journals and author of a dozen reviews and monographs, he possessed an instinct for clarity in expression and ruthlessly suppressed any additions of unnecessary verbiage or unwarranted speculations. John Antwhistle indicated his willingness to continue in the role of literary critic, and passed the biscuits.

"I wonder," he ruminated sadly, "how many members of faculty are aware of the decadence and corruption in the governance of this wretched institution."

"If you refer to the junior faculty, who have been pretty much excluded from any meaningful part in the University's affairs, I am sure that few would be shocked, but most would be indifferent," Janet responded quietly.

"Too true!" chuckled the Professor, roused from his despondency by this bit of cynicism. "Nonetheless, I believe it's time that someone leaked a story on the political machinations in Morton Hall for the Faculty Review column of our friend, Archaeopteryx." The last-named was the nom de plume of a presumed junior faculty member who had been anonymously making disclosures of autocratic practices in the administration, and advocating increased representative government at the University, in a regular column of the weekly faculty newspaper .

"If one heeds the portents, some of the more radical reformers may have progressed beyond the point of public protest," he went on, relating the circumstances of the threat earlier that morning. "Poor old Jackson, the rat! He did not quite know whether to take it as an outrageous undergraduate prank, or a serious menace to his survival. At one point he considered calling in the police, until his colleagues among the Regents reminded him of the publicity that would create."

"He has a tendency to settle all student unrest by force," Janet reminded him, citing incidents of unruly conduct at residence parties and football games. "He has already added a dozen new security men to campus police to protect us. Why didn't he call in his own Captain Marvel?"

"I daresay he did after the meeting broke up in disarray. Selection Committee adjourned rather abruptly, which was one blessing at least! Nicholas and his tame Regents couldn't push through his agenda with all the confusion."

"What I don't understand about all this selection business," mused Janet, "is the delay. Surely if Nicholas controls the Regents, and they make up the majority on the committee \--" John Antwhistle nodded in the affirmative. "then why hasn't he simply pushed through his own choice? How long has your committee been meeting?"

"Since Spring."

"And now it's late September! What, if you don't mind my asking, has been going on?"

"Of course, my dear, I do not mind your asking. As a faculty member among many of this great institution who has been long in the dark concerning the corridors of power, you have every right to wonder. For my part I have been sworn to confidentiality concerning names of the illustrious candidates. So my response must be couched in general terms, and must go no further, at this stage anyway," he whispered conspiratorially. "Let's first recapitulate the events. That's on the public record at least."

"Right," nodded Janet helping herself to another cookie, and surreptitiously peeking at her watch. She would be lucky to get her experiment started before lunch-time at this rate.

"Our lamented Principal dies at the height of summer. The Regents hastily convene and, against all reason, name their own chairman as Acting-Principal. Excuse promulgated; to have somebody who is already conversant with our fiscal affairs as interim chief administrative officer. True reason; to neutralize our Dean, who might have promoted academic interests and brought more faculty into the selection process. Later on in the Fall, with no show of urgency, the Regents announce the formation of a Committee to Select the Principal, composed mainly of themselves."

"This was what led to that stormy session of the Governing Council of the Faculty?"

"I think it was the fine hand of Dean Owens that brought that about," the Professor responded. "Brash as they were, the Regents couldn't exclude the Dean entirely from the Selection Committee. When Dr. Owens proposed that they balance their committee with some faculty, student, staff representation they just voted him down. It was in response to that you may recall, that Governing Council sent a unanimous demand for a substantial voice in choosing the Principal. And it took much public pressure, outraged letters and columns by Archaeopteryx and prolonged negotiations before it was agreed to add two senior faculty members, plus the Dean."

"But no students."

"Definitely not! Not to be trusted," nodded the Professor solemnly. "Even junior faculty, not to be trusted. Must be ossified antiquities, Department Heads at least, to qualify. That's, of course, how yours truly and old Professor Tupperman of Classics became the standard-bearers."

"So the balance is?"

"Five to three. Four Regents, plus their esteemed chairman. Then Owens, Tupperman, myself. They insisted on meeting when my morning classes were already scheduled, hoping to increase the odds further, no doubt. So you are indirectly striking a blow for faculty autonomy! With any luck we will be finished with it soon and I can, take Biology 333 off your hands."

"Don't you worry about that," Janet reassured him. "Apart from Leonard I'm quite enjoying it."

"That dud is back to haunt us again!" roared the Professor in anguish. "Perhaps I would prefer to stay with the Selection Committee after all."

"So your Committee has made no progress this summer?"

"That's true. I think that was also part of the plan. What with one person or another being off on vacation we could rarely get a quorum. You know that Jackson loves the pomp and power of office so much , I believe he is trying to extend his Acting-Principalship. "

A peremptory rap on the door followed by the appearance of Miss Grinley in the doorway terminated the discussion. She handed the Professor a sealed envelope.

"A gentleman wants to see you. Seems quite urgent," she added. Janet got up to leave as the Professor read the note with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Yes, I'll see him in a moment." Then as Miss Grinley departed to the outer office, "Janet, speaking of Bob Hayes, as we were a moment or so ago, I've invited him and Margot for dinner tomorrow. Can you join us?"

Janet accepted the invitation and made way for the Professor's visitor. On passing through the office she made note of the well-dressed young man in waiting. Too well-dressed to be a member of faculty, she thought, but he didn't have the expectant look of a salesman either. Janet hurried down the hall to her lab. Maybe she would get the experiment on before noon after all.

The Water-Hole was already fairly crowded with students when Janet arrived with several of her young protogés to cool off with a soft drink. Much against her better judgement she had allowed herself to be talked into taking on the task of coaching the women's tennis team at Essex U, and she had just spent an hour on the courts with several groups of aspirants for the team. In her own time as an undergraduate, Janet had managed to get into the finals twice, and had helped to bring the women's team trophy in intercollege competition to Essex University. Dorothy Miller, her old coach, had been ailing physically of late, and argued compellingly that Janet had a debt to repay as sole member of the championship team still associated with the University. Though she had reservations about her coaching skills and the time commitment that would intrude upon her other duties, Janet had to admit to herself that her contacts with these keen young athletes reminded her pleasantly of her own student days when she was playing up to form. Like teaching and graduate supervision, it was one of those aspects of university life that tended to preserve one, Peter Pan-like, in perpetual sophomorism. She took her charges to one of the large picnic-style tables near the river-bank as the setting sun cast a ruddy reflection upon the surface of the Essex River.

Names of last year's team, Adams, Chang, LeBlanc, were familiar to Janet. The holdovers had performed rather well last Fall, though not well enough to prevail at the championship finals. Now there was a crop of unfamiliar names of newcomers hoping to fill gaps left by graduating team members, Metcalfe, Tanigawa, Bennett, Nicholas. The first two had not played tournament tennis before; the last two had considerable competitive experience, and after a brief inquiry the names rang a bell in each case. Diane Bennett was not in the same league as her younger sister, Stacy, who had held the Women's National Title for the past two years. Possibly Diane was trading on the reputation of her illustrious sister but she had put only a half-hearted effort into the tryouts. Judy Nicholas, on the other hand, was the scrambler of the group, chasing down every ball in the rallies, as if to prove that she would make the team by effort rather than as the daughter of the University's Acting Principal. The two girls sat opposite Janet now, Judy flushed and perspiring, Diane elegant and composed. The latter's appearance, a reminder of her languid approach to the game, brought a surge of irritation to Janet.

"You know that we have to cut down to four players for the the invitational next weekend," she announced in a level tone.

"Well, I'm doubtful about my ankle," offered Penny Adams, top 'A' player from last season.

"I know," Janet sympathized, "and I wouldn't want you to take a chance on it yet. That leaves Mary Chang and Helen LeBlanc for the 'A' doubles team." The statement seemed obvious to Janet and the other girls, yet she sensed a bristling of resentment from Diane. "Now for the 'B' team," she went on. "I want the other four of you out tomorrow for an hour. Six-thirty OK?" There was no demurral, but still the petulant expression on Diane's face. "We'll set up a couple of short-set round-robins. See how you all get on in a competitive atmosphere. Now let's finish this and get an early night."

Conversation around the table gradually wound down, the girls one by one, some in pairs, departing in the twilight. As she passed one of the tables in the gloom Janet heard a familiar voice hailing her, but it was not until she walked closer that she made out the fine features of Dr. A. McManus, Assistant Professor in the Philosophy Department.

"Come join us Jan," he called, then as she hesitated momentarily, "we don't have to consider the ethics of the situation! "

Janet sat down beside him with a chuckle. His last reference had been to their membership on a committee chosen by the Dean to examine the ethical acceptability of certain experimental projects in the University. The committee had met only once to establish its procedures for vetting protocols set out in investigators' grant applications. Jan had heard enough of Dr. McManus's comments to be favourably impressed with his good sense and trenchant humour. He proceeded to introduce her to his companion .

"Terrence O'Meara, Janet Gordon. Jan is in the Biology Department. Terry labours on Political Economy, Free Trade and such."

Janet studied her new acquaintance while reflecting that she now knew more of O'Meara's background than that of his introducer. Apart from the fact that Dr. McManus had revealed an interest in science as well as philosophy, she really knew little of his academic pursuits.

"What news from the frontiers of biology?" inquired McManus.

Janet still hadn't developed a stock series of answers to such questions from non-scientists. On some, albeit rare, occasions the questioner had a genuine interest to find an answer. Usually, however, the request was an unanswerable conversational gambit, and any serious attempt to provide an informative response would be received with the same dismay as a catalogue of ills would to the question, 'how are you'?

"Well, we have an acute shortage of frontiersmen at present, but we're keeping the wild animals at bay."

"Including wild men of the Administration, I hope."

"I wouldn't know. I don't have to contend with them personally."

"You sound indifferent to the problems of dealing with the tyranny of Morton Hall," interjected O'Meara acerbically. The fervour shone through his bearded mien; he could have been the incarnation of Parnell or other fire-brands of his homeland.

"I have enough problems dealing with students and cell cultures," Janet retorted. "Anyway, Professor Antwhistle seems to have matters in hand."

"One of the more reasonable and sagacious Department Heads," nodded McManus.

"Not a difficult thing to excel at, considering the gerontocracy he belongs to," snorted O'Meara.

"Well, thanks be that we managed to get him on the Selection Committee. Though I daresay he and the venerable Tupperman will be simply steam-rollered by the collective weight of the Regents."

"Don't forget about the Dean," Janet put in.

"So that's the way it breaks, 5 to 3?" snapped O'Meara. "Though I'm somewhat surprised that Dr. Owens would have the guts to defy the Regents. He must have some aspiration for senior office himself after all."

Janet blushed furiously at her indiscretion. If she were quoted in this connection it could not help but be traced back to her conversation with her Professor. And any attempt now to downplay her comment would only add weight to it. She made no further remarks on the subject. After a few non-committal statements she made her withdrawal in the gathering darkness, she hoped with a minimum of damage.

CHAPTER TWO

The following day dawned grey and drizzly. Janet cursed the slippery roadway as she pedalled her bike along the river path toward the tennis courts. As she arrived she noted that five of her team members were already rallying, the two 'A' team members playing singles, and Penny Adams setting up smashes for Metcalfe and Tanagawa. After another minute or so Judy Nicholas arrived, breathless and apologetic, but there was no sign of Diane. They hung about for a while, then Janet elected to proceed with the round-robin tourney of the 'B' members, Metcalfe and Tanagawa taking the first set, and Judy rallying with Janet to keep warm. It was an excellent occasion to evaluate the girl's game, Janet reflected. She made some mental notes of tips on her foot placement and racket preparation for later.

Meanwhile, the drizzle had let up, although the court surface was still damp favouring the big hitter Suzi Tanagawa, who proceeded to make short work of Liz Metcalfe. The latter then easily defeated Judy. The rankings had been settled accordingly when Diane Bennett drove up in her car.

"I thought the weather was too grim for us to play," she said with a smirk.

"Well, it's too bad, but we've decided the pairings for Saturday," replied Janet picking up her gear. "LeBlanc and Chang for the 'A' team, Tanagawa and Metcalfe for the 'B' team, Adams and Nicholas as standby players. You can come along as an additional standby after Judy, if you like, to join us, "she said to Diane. The latter turned away muttering inaudibly under her breath.

Janet pedalled up to the Biology Building after arranging an early afternoon practice to allow her to fit in the dinner engagement. She doubted she would see Diane again at team practices.

It was well past noon by the time that Janet had finished setting up her experiment and had her technician, Julia, started on the next phase. She hadn't bothered with lunch, but was buried in a pile of lecture notes, texts, and handouts for next morning's class when John Antwhistle burst into her office, as Janet described it later, like a storm cloud ready to spawn a tornado.

"What the hell do you make of this?" he thundered, brandishing a copy of the Faculty Review.

Janet frowned as she recognized the familiar silhouette of a pterodactyl-like creature over the weekly column by the anonymous Archaeopteryx. The article was headed 'FAMILY COMPACT PREVAILS IN SELECTION PROCESS' and went on to reconstruct in dramatic terms how the voting would break down in the committee to select the new Principal. It started off with a fairly straight-forward tribute to the Acting-Principal and his stop-gap role in filling an awkward void. However, the article continued, this should not be interpreted as an endorsement of any attempt to perpetuate this temporary situation. Mr. Nicholas himself would have the sagacity to perceive the inappropriateness of any such measure. As for the other members of the Regents, he must recognize the necessity to appoint somebody with academic credibility in the position of Principal, if the fundamentals of scholarship were to be maintained in the Institution. Owing to the make-up of the committee it had the potential to decide in favour of a choice proposed by Regents of the University. These gentlemen, the article went on, though dedicated volunteers in the service of the Institution were captains of industry, politicians, professionals, who could not fairly be presumed to sympathize with the ideals and standards of academia. The vote, as confirmed by a source close to the selection process, would inevitably go 5-3 for the Regents. Accordingly, it was the responsibility of faculty members at large to enunciate their views to all members of the committee , not just their faculty representatives. A write-in ballot coupon was attached below the article for those who wished to support the position above, to sign their names and forward to the Dean.

"Now," said the Professor, controlling his ire with some difficulty, this surely discredits the concept of confidentiality, in the committee! The faculty looks bad, very bad," he said grimly. "I knew that old Tupperman was growing senile. But I didn't think he was much concerned about his part in the proceedings, let alone to the point where he would leak matters in the committee to the revolutionary rabble over in the Arts Faculty," and he snorted in the manner of one characterizing the nether regions of Hades.

"The danger lies in alienating progressive elements among our esteemed Regents," he went on. "For example, that fellow you may have noticed in passing yesterday as you were leaving. Young Goldsack."

Janet's eyebrows went up. She was not familiar with the power-elite of Essex, but the name of Goldsack was synonymous with wealth and philanthropy in the community. The family, Goldsack, over the years had contributed extensively to various large endowments to the University.

"The senior Goldsack had been chairman of the Regents prior to Nicholas, and was similarly antediluvian in his views and politics. The son, our present member, is considerably more enlightened, and came to see me to express his worries about the way Nicholas is running things. The point is if we can come up with a credible candidate, Goldsack Jr. might split from the camp of the Regents. But this sort of publicity could queer all that. It gives us a black eye," he concluded ruefully and angrily.

Janet tried to show appropriate concern. In truth, the matter of the appointment of a Principal, which had become something of an obsession with some of her friends and colleagues, was of less moment to her than scheduling of her experiment and lecture preparation to allow her to meet her team on the tennis court. There were also several key literature references that she wanted to collect at the library. Janet glanced, she hoped surreptitiously, at the clock in the corner, but the Professor was quick to pick up the gesture.

"Well, I shouldn't burden you with all this stuff," he apologized in a more subdued voice. Janet attempted to reassure him of her interest, but he departed with alacrity, and a farewelI, "See you at dinner then."

After he had gone Janet dug into the texts and revised some of her rough notes. She made progress with this, but tediously. Finally, after rereading what she had just written, she threw the pad down in frustration. When Professor Antwhistle had been in her office she had paid him little heed, her thoughts on the task at hand. Now that she tried to concentrate on the latter her mind kept returning to the issues he had raised. It was doubly irritating that the cause of her increased teaching load should also indirectly interfere with preparing the lectures. An added distraction was a gnawing sense of guilt. She should be troubled by paternalism at the top of University governance, but since it had no more direct impact on her life than a dictatorship of some remote country it was very hard to feel more than passing interest. Purely academic, she muttered to herself as she strode out into the lab to survey the progress of her experiment.

By dint of considerable effort Janet managed her affairs so that experiment, lecture preparation, tennis practice, and personal cleanup were all completed, in that order. At 6:30 sharp, she got off the bus and walked the short block and a half to Professor Antwhistle's cottage. The latter, a white brick Victorian gothic structure, was located in a quiet, older section of town, set well back from the street, and surrounded by an undisciplined bank of honeysuckle and forsythia. As usual the front door was ajar, and Janet could just make out the figure of the Professor bustling about in the kitchen. She came upon him completely covered up by a long canvas apron and brandishing an immense basting spoon. The clutter of pots, pans and implements was indescribable. It was difficult to conceive that this was the same man who had developed the delicate conditions for microdissection of living cells, and the removal and transplantation of miniscule organelles from one cell to another. That he enjoyed his culinary depredations was quite apparent, for he chuckled and hummed to himself as he basted a roasting pan loaded with meat and vegetables. Perhaps this semi-controlled sloppiness was an antidote to the painstaking precision of his laboratory work. The aroma was tantalizing, reminding Janet that she had foregone a noon meal.

"Ah, un trés joli Beaujolais!" exclaimed the Professor, taking her proffered wine bottle. "We'll just let that breathe a bit," said he extracting the cork. "Now, how about a short snort, pre-dinner?

Janet accepted a stein of lager, and together they walked back the length of the hall to the front parlour. The latter was the Professor's formal entertaining room. It was obvious that it was seldom used or occupied otherwise . The furnishings were heirlooms of similar vintage as the house itself. Incongruously on the walls and tables were assorted objets d'art of various sorts and styles.

"How do you fancy my latest acquisition?" he asked, eagerly indicating a menacing welded bird that seemed poised to make a predatory swoop from its perch in a corner of the room. "The work of Thomas Audette," he explained.

Janet knew of Professor Antwhistle's penchant for young artists, and his promotion and patronage of their efforts to market paintings and sculpture. His home played a secondary role as gallery, and, at times, free studio or accommodation for indigents who were striving to make a living from their artistic endeavours. This interest presumably stemmed from his own early career as a student of the arts; though he had diverged successfully into the science of biology, a struggling artist still evoked in him a sympathetic reception. Over the years this had resulted in his acquisition of a weird and eclectic assortment of objects, such as the large metal bird.

Having made some polite murmurs about the winged monster, Janet sat down in a chair immediately below. This was the one place in the room where she would be unable to see it. The creature reminded her uncomfortably of a flying dinosaur.

"I must get you over sometime to meet young Audette," he continued. "Just the opposite to me. Started out as a biologist, now he has switched full tme to sculpture. I'm sure you'd get on fabulously together."

Janet tried not to appear too sceptical about this pronouncement. It seemed somewhat unlikely from her feelings toward the lowering beast above her. Moreover, it embarrassed and irritated her that the Professor should make this transparent attempt at match making. Although she had no desire to live as a hermit, the celibate state suited her present goals in life. Pressures from friends and family to alter that state occurred with regularity. Surely the Professor, a long established bachelor himself, must be all too conscious of the resentment arising from such pressures. Janet was about to set the record straight on this point when the arrival of the other dinner guests fortuitously forestalled any further development of the topic. She choked down her irritation and the remainder of her beer while the Professor went to answer the door .

Bob Hayes and the recently widowed Margot Elster had adapted quickly to the life of the Department, and they had entered with equal ease into the evening's activity. Since the demise of her husband, Karl, Margot had been under the protective custody of Bob Hayes in particular, and the Department in general. There still lingered an undefined air of collective guilt and sympathy for the girl that was amplified by her advanced state of pregnancy. John Antwhistle. showed his concern by hovering over her throughout the dinner solicitously inquiring for her health, and loading her plate with extra servings. Now, after the ample meal and the statutory rubber of bridge, the foursome relaxed over a cup of tea and some macaroons supplied by Jan's landlady.

"You ladies came on with a vengeance on the last hand," said the Professor with a sigh. "With two aces out I thought we'd pickle you on that vulnerable slam."

"Just lucky that I had enough entries to set up the spades in dummy for a discard of my losing diamond. Margot's good cards!" replied Jan, bowing to her partner. Bob, who was not an ardent bridge player contrived to steer the conversation to another topic.

"This place seems alive with intrigue and rumours about the proposed new Principal. I've heard several people, all equally definite in their views, that it's going to be a retired diplomat, a famous neurosurgeon, or an opera diva! "

The Professor laughed wryly, "in fact, virtually anyone except a respectable academic."

"Is it really possible for a bona fide academic to do the job?" asked Margot. "I thought it would need somebody with more service and administrative experience, political ability."

"Yes, but political ability to do what?" rejoined the Professor. "Let's suppose we recruit someone with skills of a politician, and I don't deny that he will need such skills to cope with our jolly band of Regents. He has to epitomize the academic spirit of this place, to the scholars who live within these walls and the public without."

" I rather thought that was the job of the Dean," said Janet.

"Our present Dean did perform that function perforce in the ancien regime," replied the Professor. "But that was more by default than by design. The previous Principal, old Pinkney, now he played the role of Chairman of the Board, hand in glove with Mr. Nicholas. It was often impossible to detect where the office of the Regents and the Principal were separated." (Jan noted the derogatory connotation of the modifier 'old' in this context. In fact, Dr. Pinkney had been a contemporary of John Antwhistle.)

"What is the proper dividing line?" asked Bob. "I'm not trying to be obtuse," he put in by way of explanation, "but I really feel rather vague about these division of powers and duties."

"As Jan has rightly put it the Dean heads the academic functions to the best of his ability based on the resources dispensed to him from on high, The Regents, on the other hand, by statute own the real property of the University, receive directly all grants, endowments, and ratify disbursements, both operating and capital The Principal, in the ideal performance of his duties, sits betwixt these two worlds: the real world of the Regents; the intellectual world of the academics. Literally, he should ensure and justify our continued survival, articulate our common goals, and set policy and planning priorities for teaching and research upon consultation with our Dean and other academics."

"Such as you," added Jan.

"Such as all of us. It seems remarkable to me that people who would normally rise up in rebellion if their civil lives were not subject to democratic principles, can endure an authoritarianism in university governance that has not shown it's face since the era of, in the words of Archaeopteryx, the family compact!"

"Who is this fabled creature?" inquired Bob. "I was much amused by his commentary on your selection process."

"I for one was not highly amused, snorted the Professor. "Although the picture painted is accurate enough. He, or she, and he nodded knowingly toward Janet, "for we should not take for granted the gender of the beast, has access somehow to private information, or else he has made some excellent suppositions."

"Perhaps it will be a good thing to air some of these authoritarian practices," suggested Janet. "You yourself were commenting on that possibility earlier as I recall, and you couldn't publish the situation in your position. Archaeopteryx has probably done us a favour by forcing a more open look at the process."

"You may be right," conceded the Professor grudgingly, "though the timing was rather bad for reasons I already passed on to you. Ideally I suppose the whole situation should be debated by faculty and the Regents. They, poor fellows, need some educating of what this place is all about! Our late Principal kept them in the dark as much as possible, diverted funds to his own pet projects--"

"Such as photophysics and Solarcon," added Janet.

"Just so." The Professor look at her with surprise," I must confess that you sometimes amaze me. I thought you were completely apolitical about these campus machinations, and I find you to be as knowledgeable as --" (For a moment he paused, groping for the correct comparison)

"As Archaeopteryx," responded Bob laughingly .

"Indeed," agreed the Professor. "You see, I told you we shouldn't make assumptions about gender."

"And I'm not about to confess to anything in that direction," Janet retorted quickly. "Anyway, I haven't time for such activities. I have to spend too much energy on teaching these days," she rejoined pointedly to the Professor.

"Also, ethics would forbid me from hiding behind a pseudonym. You know," she said turning to Bob, "that I have been appointed one of the custodians of morality at Essex U. Which reminds me that I also have a meeting of the Ethics Committee tomorrow morning.

"That must be a committee with a pretty broad mandate ," said Bob. "How do you ever get through your agenda?"

"So far we've only been exploring terms of reference. We have no itemized agenda for definite action yet, just generalized philosophizing."

"The typical academic solution!" said the Professor. "Everyone can agree eventually upon generalities, motherhood declarations. Wait until you have some specific breach of conduct to contemplate. When you have some concrete case in future, that's when the feathers will fly! "

In the event his prophecy was aptly realized, and more immediate than future in its fulfilment.

CHAPTER THREE

Janet ran through the early morning drizzle across the campus from the Biology Building to Morton Hall. She had no time these days for her regular, compulsive exercise jogs, although she reflected ruefully that she seemed to be running continually to or from lectures and meetings. At least this time she was unlikely to be on a collision course with her Professor. She had finished her morning class and managed to divest herself of Leonard and other questioners. Nonetheless, if she didn't step along she would be late for the meeting of the Committee on Ethics, and rather damp to boot. She picked up the pace and arrived somewhat breathless at the Board Room in Morton Hall just in time to vote on passage of the minutes for the previous meeting.

As she had surmised from the precirculated agenda, the meeting was concerned with the procedures to be established in scrutinizing ethical aspects of grants or contracts for investigations proposed by members of the faculty. The Dean, who was chairing the committee, was meticulous in dealing with form and process Janet realized. His draft proposals for the terms and operations of the committee had been so thoroughly developed that further discussion was almost superfluous. After a few minor amendments and rearrangements the document was adopted quickly.

"Now I suspect that we may adjourn until next month when we shall have some grant proposals to examine," the Dean concluded with a satisfied smile. The rest of the committee was quick to concur, as signified by repossession of pens, pencils, notes, and the characteristic snapping of several loose-leaf binders. Janet would also be thankful for an early reprieve from the committee's deliberations. Mention of pending grant applications sent a sharp shiver of apprehension down her back in contemplation of the task ahead of her in the next month to organize her own grant renewal, with all the supporting manuscripts and data for the progress report still to be collated. However, discussions from the previous evening plus her resolve arising from the ensuing unquiet night in her bed, prompted Janet compellingly to speak.

"I have an item of new business, Mr, Chairman, with your permission."

The others checked their departure, eyeing the Dean expectantly, and then settled back in their chairs again as he nodded encouragement to Jan to continue.

"There are some aspects of faculty conduct falling under the category of ethics that are not included by our somewhat restrictive terms of reference."

"Well,- um," responded the Dean uncertainly, "we must circumscribe our activities, within the framework that was our mandate from the Council. Of course we are mainly an advisory body to Council, and if the committee feels that our terms should be enlarged --". He looked quizzically at the other members.

"Perhaps Dr. Gordon would expand on the areas of faculty conduct which she feels we should be considering," suggested Archibald McManus.

"Naturally. I refer specifically to poison pen letters."

"I'm not sure we should deal with the particulars of such matters," the Dean put in hurriedly. He seemed anxious to prevent some scandalous accusations from surfacing. The remainder of the committee members leaned forward in eager anticipation.

"In the general sense," continued the Dean gingerly, "are you referring to letters to members of faculty?"

"To all members of faculty, from one member of the faculty. I refer Mr. Dean to the anonymous attacks in the Faculty Review by a spokesman of the faculty who hides behind the nom-de-plume of Archaeopteryx."

Several members of the committee shrugged, grimaced, or regarded Janet with a tolerant but pitying smile denoting that they felt she had taken leave of her reason. The keenly awaited scandal had clearly dissolved into a non-issue.

"Dr. Gordon, we are certainly indebted to you for your expertise in the field of biology," replied the Chairman, "and this beast, an animal of mythology I presume is the province of biology to some extent , but I find it somewhat irregular to encompass his activities within the responsibility of our committee."

"Perhaps you would, allow me to develop the point," persisted Janet with an eye upon her sceptical fellow committee members. "I recognize that editorial comments are frequently published in the press without identifying by-line. However, this column in our faculty publication is not associated with the editor of the Review. This I have on the authority of the editor who I called last night for clarification. The column is delivered to him anonymously presumably from some unidentified member of faculty. I am, as you said, supposed to bring expertise in the area of biology, and I don't pretend to be expert in the field of journalism, but sniping at other members of the University from behind a cloak of anonymity strikes me as a breach of the responsible exercise of free speech. It is, in fact, rather like a poison pen letter, but in a very public forum," she concluded.

Janet's indignation had risen gradually during the course of this tirade. She was rather surprised at her own vehemence and became conscious of the blood rising to her face along with her combative mood. The other members of the committee were in various degrees of discomfiture. The Dean was still somewhat at a loss. After a short period of silence a senior professor from the Psychology Department opined that Dr. Gordon indeed had a valid point, and that it represented an ethical matter suitable for debate by the committee. It was clear that editorial comment had to be taken as the responsibility of the editor, who must establish the bona fides of his respondent, or else refuse to accept such anonymous letters for publication. He, for one, would be pleased to second a motion to censure the editor on these grounds if Dr. Gordon wished to place such a motion before the committee.

"It was not so much the fact that the motion lost," said Jan to Bob later in the lab. "It was the way it lost: with three votes in favour and two opposed !"

Bob scratched his head in puzzlement. "If that was the vote, what prevented it from passing for heaven's sake?"

"The Dean. As chairman he exercised his prerogative, and voted against to produce a tie-vote!"

"I thought a chairman can only vote to break a tie," replied Bob.

"So did I. But under Robert's Rules apparently a chairman can also vote to make a tie, in which case the motion fails to pass. That's why I'm still seething."

She failed to add that another unpleasant defection had contributed to the loss. Her erstwhile friend, Dr. McManus, had refrained from entering the debate, and when the time had come to vote had abstained on the issue. Recollection of this turn of events raised her ire further, with the customary accompanying reddening of her ears and neck.

"I don't believe all this political wrangling is good for you," put in Bob half-jokingly. He had known Jan long and well enough to recognize the symptoms of her choler.

"On the contrary. It has roused me more than somewhat out of my complacency about how things are run around here. And also how lily-livered some individuals are about speaking up just because their ideas might clash with those of people in authority."

"So we can expect more brave stands on lost causes from our freshman member at the committee," exulted Bob mockingly.

"Not necessarily," she replied seriously, "but I think I shall have to become more informed and involved with what is going on at the Council, which is supposed to have a say in policy-making. Professor A is correct in claiming that a small clique, a family compact, probably exerts all the real power. It's time the rest of us made it known that it isn't good enough!"

"Oh my! Now you're beginning to sound just like your nemesis, Archaeopteryx."

"That's the irony of it. I can agree with his point of view, but oppose his means of putting it. Like the assassination of some demagogic politician.

"You could applaud the death of the rat, but not his murder."

"If he died naturally it wouldn't strike at the system. I guess I must put a higher value on the civility of conduct than on the outcome."

"I think you've been associating too much with philosophers and other arts types," retorted Bob contemptuously. "And if we don't shelve all this moralizing and get down to realities there isn't going to be any outcome whatsoever from this experiment, civil or otherwise!"

Jan nodded with a grin and bent to the task at hand. It was true that their recent attempts to scale up fractionation of the growth factors she had discovered,the cytomitin substances, had produced meagre returns thus far.

"Right," she said. "Now let's go through and check each of the steps in turn. See where our recovery is failing."

Even in failure, she reflected, she was more at home, more in control in her laboratory environment, where cells and sera were not influenced by issues of morality and ethics.

The Essex Invitational Tennis Tournament had been instigated by Dorothy Miller nearly twenty years ago. It had now become an annual event at the outset of the Fall tennis season, a good opportunity to test the mettle of the newly-formed women's tennis teams prior to the serious interuniversity matches. The neighbouring institutions of higher learning known locally as the little four-- Essex U, Richmond U, Forest City College and Wellington College-- were of similar size. There was a traditional sense of competition among them, with Essex U generally considered pre-eminent in scholarship, but the parvenue Wellington dominating on the athletic side. Wellington College had been erected as an institute of technology and vocational training at a time when educational capital funding had been plentiful. The bounty had extended to an exceptional recreational complex, with indoor and outdoor, all-season courts that were the envy of the other institutions which, like Essex U, had to make do with somewhat irregular, hard-surfaced pads without lights, roofs, or even adequate wind-screens. Wellingtonians had been quick to take the lead on the local tennis scene, and it seemed that this year's Essex U Invitational would be no exception.

"I thought our girls did rather well to stay in the match," remarked Dorothy Miller with reference to the 'A' team of Chang and LeBlanc who had just bowed out to a pair of amazons from Wellington College. The latter had already demolished the hapless team from Richmond U, while the Essex 'A' team had handily disposed of Forest City in preceding matches.

"Looks as if we are to be eternally cast in the role of runners-up. Jan was just rising from her seat next to her old mentor at court-side to congratulate the team players. "However," she continued as she resumed her seat for the 'B' finals, "we do have an interesting match-up for the next one." She proceeded to fill in her former coach about the backgrounds of Suzi Tanagawa and Judy Nicholas, and the unfortunate illness of Liz Metcalfe that had forced replacement of the latter by her standby.

"All in all," concluded Jan," there's quite a bit of depth on our team, with Penny Adams back in playing state in a week or two, and Metcalfe and also Bennett in reserve."

Dorothy showed heightened interest at the last name. "Is this the younger sister of Stacy?" she asked.

"Junior in experience, not in years." Janet wanted to add, junior in emotional maturity as well no doubt. She was still feeling deep disappoint over Diane's petulant reactions, which seemed to have carried forward to today; there was no sign of her, either dressed to play as a standby, nor in the small audience in the make-shift bleacher stand.

"Nonetheless, it's a tough role for her," the older woman went on. "I had a tennis family some years back you may have recalled, the Lundys. The mother, Rose, had been an amateur champion, and a really aggressive coach for her daughters. This was all very well for Evelyn who went on to be a winner in her own right. Good doubles player, loved the game, still plays at the senior level. But Mary, the other sister, was virtually a neurotic wreck over the sport. Mother had her out every morning volleying, hitting smashes, footwork drills. The girl had talent but no drive at all. By the time I tried to get her out for the team she almost hated the game, and her mother as well. It took two years to undo all the bad feelings, but she finally came up to her potential. Probably the best job of uncoaching I ever had to do, except for your case of course," she laughed.

Jan looked at her old mentor with a new-found perspective. As the match progressed she found her thoughts drifting back to her own early days of competitive play: all those mornings when she had dragged herself out, sleepless and too nervous to eat before a match and, after losing, how she would be physically ill and swear she would give up the sport for good. How had it happened that at some point she had overcome the debilitating side of her mental stress and learned to use her nervous energy to her advantage? She had always thought, if she thought about it at all, that it had been part of maturing, like growing out of teenage infatuations and passing college love affairs. A hardening process perhaps, after several disappointments, that had allowed her to focus single-mindedly on winning in sport and science. Perhaps there had been something more than personal effort that had inspired that concentration of energy. A job of 'uncoaching'?

Janet's reverie was broken by the excited buzz of applause attending the play by her 'B' team. Though broken on Judy's service game earlier, they had broken back after a series of hard-fought rallies. Tanagawa was covering the fore-court well with sharp block volleys, and Judy made up for some deficiencies at the net and on over heads with a gritty tenacity and strong shot-making from the back-court. However, the drama and anticipation from the resulting tie-breaker was terminated by stronger service from their Wellington rivals. The make-up combination of Tanagawa and Nicholas had obviously earned the respect of the spectators and their opponents.

"Well," said Dorothy, as she painfully extricated herself from her seat, "I think you girls have a great future together. I rather envy you, Jan," she went on, "with such an easy job of coaching. Young talent, great effort." She shook her head, and slowly walked to centre-court to make the presentation and congratulations to the Wellington College team and coach. Janet mulled over her earlier advice. Dorothy Miller had been one of the great influences in Janet's life, a role model during a critical period of her development as a tennis player and as a person. Although hobbled by arthritic joints, Dorothy was still possessed of a nimble mind, and her psychological assessments as always were dead on target, What had she implied by her reference to uncoaching?

After supper with Dorothy and members of her team, Janet returned to the laboratory to check the recent column fractionation with Bob Hayes, and to harvest some special culture medium from conditioned cells for a test series on production of enhanced yields of the cytomitin growth factors. When she finished she walked down to the Department office to collect her mail. There were a few reprints, letters and the Faculty Review. Across the campus a few lights were still on in Morton Hall. Probably only the cleaning staff would be on the job at this hour of a Saturday evening. For her part it had been a full week and she would be thankful for a quiet Sunday to get things in order for the next one.

Janet started the day with a brisk early morning run, then settled down with some paper-work on the screened-in porch. The old house was quiet, its owner (and Janet's landlady) still away at her summer cottage in the northern lake region. Although she missed Kay, her good conversation and cooking, Janet was grateful for the clear day of peace. First she went through the results of the week's experimentation and set out a schedule of trials and innovations in the methods for growth factor isolation. Next, she finished a draft of the progress report for her grant renewal. At least, she reflected, as she grappled with the discussion of setbacks and unsolved problems, there would be no shortage of prospective work arising from her previous efforts. Perhaps the trial runs from this week would give her a concrete clue to the direction she should indicate in her proposal for new work.

It was well past noon by the time that Janet felt the need of a break for lunch. After the morning's efforts and accomplishments she decided to go through her mail as a change of pace while finishing her sandwich and tea. The soft September air induced a gentle drowsiness as she lazily thumbed through advertising circulars, notices of meetings, and the Faculty Review.

Here her mood changed abruptly as she read the text boxed in beneath the familiar silhouette of the evolutionary avian ancestor. Archaeopteryx had learned on good authority that it had narrowly escaped extinction, or an even worse fate, censure by a faculty committee on ethics. These guardians of campus morality had been exhorted by one of their number to excoriate the winged beast for carrying unpleasant attacks against the benighted administration of Essex U. By good fortune and good sense a majority of the upright committee had repudiated this attack upon freedom of speech. So long as the modes of governance in this institution continued to be conducted in autocratic fashion, Archaeopteryx would not shrink from condemning them. So long as a means for free and open discussion of such issues without fear of reprisals against the participants was denied Archaeopteryx would continue to make its point of view public under a pseudonym. The challenge was to academic freedom in the most fundamental way. It was hoped the majority of faculty would shortly shake off their lethargy and indifference to take note of this challenge and demand reform, not to attempt to stifle dissent as some misguided members of the ethics committee had done.

By the time she had finished the article and then reread it twice to be sure that she had interpreted it correctly, Janet had shelved her plan to spend the afternoon in preparation of her lectures for the following week. Instead she grimily took pen in hand, drafted, amended, and finally typed out three rather lengthy letters. And as she read them over by the reddening light of the late afternoon sun she felt spent, much as she might have done had she just finished a tie-breaker after a tough set in tennis. Except that on this occasion she was not sure whether she had been the victor, or whether in fact there would be a victor. The only thing she was certain about was that she had confronted the situation head-on to the best of her ability. And the ball was now in the other court.

CHAPTER FOUR

Early on Monday morning, before their occupants had arrived, offices of the addressees of Janet's missives had received hand-delivered copies. While she made her way back to her own office she shuddered now that the deed was irrevocably committed. There was a distinct, aroma of burning bridges in the autumnal air as Janet collected her somewhat hastily collated lecture notes and absent-mindedly set off toward the lecture room.

Perhaps she should have considered more seriously the possibility of a job in a research institute. The level of distraction and fragmentation of her energies at the University had certainly not helped with her current difficulties in her experimental work. And with her schedule of lectures and meetings it seemed increasingly improbable that she would be able to complete the proposal for her grant renewal to her satisfaction before the rapidly impending deadline. Ah well, she thought, I must press on regardless, recalling the advice of Bob Hayes, 'Remember, when in doubt, wing it!' Which was easily said by someone as spontaneous as Bob. However for a compulsive person like Janet Gordon, standing in front of several hundred people (even if they were semi-comatose on a Monday morning) and extemporizing on a theme with which one feels not entirely familiar, would be only slightly preferable to facing a firing squad.

At first, Janet shuffled her notes on the lectern. A hundred feet shuffled in response. Her mind went totally blank, receiving only vague impulses of white noise-from the great restless horde of student bodies in front of her. Whatever she had once known about the subject she had scheduled to talk about, filamentous proteins, had congealed in her brain into an amorphous mass of tangled actins, tubulins, and vimentins. She could do one of three things she realized with some clarity: panic; read from her notes until she might recover her lost wits or; 'wing it'. She finally decided to follow the latter course. Deliberately replacing her notes in the manila folder she took a deep breath, and dove in.

"Earlier, she commenced, "we examined how the nucleus replicates and transmits our genetic information. Then we saw how the cell membranes maintain that genetic unit as a distinct entity. Today I am going to introduce you to a new area of study, so new that much of the information has not yet received the blessing of respectability by being included in your text-book. I am referring to the means by which our cell membranes can receive and transmit signals from outside to stimulate and control that genetic machinery buried within the cell. Since all of this subject is based upon up-to-the-minute research, some of it going on in our own labs here at Essex U, you may think it too advanced or esoteric for a course such as ours."

At this point in her dissertation Janet had raised her voice in her customary ploy to bring the class to order. The silence and rapt attention greeting her now left her in no doubt that she was getting more than the usual response to what the class surmised to be presaging an out of the ordinary lecture.

"In fact," continued Janet conspiratorially dropping her voice, "today's subject is so esoteric it is not included in our syllabus, and hence will not be examined in our term test next month."

There was a round of good-natured applause. "That's the bad news, for those of you who are motivated to learn only by examination results. The good news is that I will work in an optional question dealing with this on the final exam, so you won't necessarily feel that you've wasted your time trying to follow this."

Now that she had loosened up her audience, Janet feIt free to expound on her pet subject. If it was viewed by some as indulgent toward her own interests she really didn't care. For some reason, that might have something to do with bridge burning: she had discovered a new feeling of freedom in dealing with her life. If her own true convictions and enthusiasms were not adequate to cope with academic life at Essex U then perhaps she should cross some bridges to another life and burn them behind her .

"I took your advice this morning," remarked Janet to Bob later in the laboratory

"Oh Lord" replied Bob with alarm. "What ill-conceived suggestion of mine has been responsible for overthrowing the supreme discipline in your life?"

"Winging it! I hit a blank wall on my lecture topic, and just proceeded to tell them about what we're doing with growth control factors."

"Or trying to do," corrected Bob.

"I suppose I could have idealized it a little bit. But basically I just gave them my symposium talk of the summer, with more background."

"And how did it go down?"

"Pretty well I guess. Some people turned off when I promised I wouldn't examine it on the term test. But there were more than the usual number asking questions afterward. Some even wanted references to read up on it!

"It's too bad there isn't a good comprehensive monograph on the growth factors for such an audience, "mused Bob. " I've also had problems finding some general reference for my senior class in Bioregulation.

"Well, don't expect me to write it! I'm too much embroiled in secondary activities already," called Janet as she went to answer her phone. One down, two to go, she thought to herself a few minutes later when she had hung up. However, the second call didn't come until later that afternoon, and the third not at all. Perhaps she had been a bit precipitate and presumptuous with her letter writing campaign. Nonetheless, she was committed, and backing off would not be an easy matter.

For the next few days Jan was totally occupied with experiments, grant-writing, and attempting to bring her lecture schedule back on track. Some of her students were clearly enjoying the switch in her style of presentation more than others. One of the others was her old nemesis, Leonard, who approached her after class one day with an expression of mingled agony and bewilderment.

"I thought I was keeping up with your lectures perfectly," he moaned. "Until last Monday. You had been following the text all along, then you went off in other directions," he said accusingly. " I can't sort out my notes at all. They're worse now than they were last year with Professor A!"

"Confess it Leonard," Janet replied. "You really don't belong in this course. You don't have the background. I don't think you truly have the interest to progress."

Leonard looked both pained and offended. "You can't doubt my sincerity Dr. Gordon," he insisted. "I've really spent hours going over this material!"

Deliver me from more protestations of candour, prayed Janet. What hours the poor fellow had wasted. Next he'll be trying to document his sincerity. On cue he responded to the unasked question.

"I found myself like the others listening with full attention to your talk, and I was really carried away with excitement to learn about your research with mitomycin."

"Cytomitin," corrected Janet.

"Yes, That's fascinating work. But is it really relevant? I mean Rollins & Taylor don't even mention these factors. I looked all through the index and glossary."

Under 'M' thought Janet clenching her teeth. "Look, Leonard. I have a Department Meeting, five minutes ago. Perhaps we could discuss this and your other problems tomorrow in the tutorial session after the lab period."

"That's part of the difficulty for me. You see I've been elected as a student councillor," he announced, puffing himself up an inch or two. Our Student Union meetings conflict with the last part of your lab period. And I can't get to any more of the tutorials." He managed to convey righteous indignation rather than sorrow or apology into the statement.

"Well, I'm sorry I can't schedule a special tutorial for Student Councillors." The irony of the remark was lost upon Leonard, who continued to look hurt that a special arrangement was not to be made for him. "But if you are serious about persisting with this course, you ought to arrange some private tutoring. I'm sure one of our graduate students would be glad to accommodate you." For a consideration, she thought under her breath, and bid Leonard farewell as she hastened up the stairwell.

The Department meeting was underway as she entered the Biology Seminar Room, which served also as library, coffee- and lunch-room for faculty and graduate students. The Professor was in the middle of welcoming Dr. R. Hayes as the newest member of the group working on growth factors.

"On another personal note," he continued, "we should congratulate Dr. Gordon for her thoughtful column in today's issue of the Faculty Review."

The announcement caught Janet off guard. She had not seen the paper as yet. Her comments had taken the form of a letter to the editor, and she was puzzled by the Professor's reference to a column. Although he had quickly passed on to other business, while on the subject he had clearly signalled a look that conveyed-- 'I want to talk further with you about this'-- and accordingly Janet remained behind when the meeting adjourned an hour later. The Professor finished a few comments to several people who had also stayed to see him, then invited Janet to join him in his office.

"It's heartening to see our junior faculty taking an interest in affairs of state," he intoned. "I hope the Dean is not offended by your comments regarding matters discussed in the confines of your committee."

"No," said Janet. "Actually, I cleared the text of my letter with him beforehand. He suggested a change in a word which clarified the meaning."

John Antwhistle nodded approvingly. "Very astutely handled. He couldn't very well condemn both your actions and those of our friend, Archaeopteryx. Although I do believe that our Dean is smart enough to manipulate the murmurings of faculty discontent in his continuing battles with our Principal and the Regents. What about your adversary, the anonymous bird of antiquity. I was really surprised that he didn't have a snappy rebuttal to accompany your comments."

"I wrote both to the editor and to Archaeopteryx, indicating that I would submit my comments for publication only if they would undertake not to carry a simultaneous anonymous rebuttal. The editor readily agreed to it."

"And Archaeopteryx, I presume you asked the editor to forward your comment to him. Have you received a suitably anonymous response from him?"

"None as yet. But I didn't address him indirectly through the Review. I delivered my letter personally."

"Then he identified himself to you?"

"In a way, yes. Though I had enough indications for quite a while, enough to make it obvious to me who the anonymous writer was. I think the silent response is ample confirmation that my premise was correct."

"Are we going to have a public unmasking then?"

"Not if my letter achieves its objective. I would guess that the mystery will solve itself instead."

"I trust you realize you can look forward to a continuing entanglement in university politics."

"Not if I can help it," laughed Janet. "There are already too many strings to my bow! Anyway, I really just wanted to stir up a bit of discussion. Get a few people thinking about the issue, open up the debate, as you suggested to me. That doesn't need to involve me in a big way after all."

John Antwhistle smiled approvingly, and paused before responding.

"There's no doubt I'm sure; you've opened a door into the issues of representation and academic freedom. I somehow believe you're going to find it hard now to turn your back and stand outside the doorway of the reform movement. By the way, can I give you a lift to the Plenary Meeting of Governing Council tonight?" Janet accepted gladly.

Governing Council of the Faculty met quarterly to approve the interim actions of its Executive Committee. The latter, composed of Dean, Department Heads, and a few appointed Senior Professors, convened bimonthly to carry on the academic business of the University. Even the Executive was much under the thumb of the Dean, who structured its activities through the Agenda, Nominations and Operations Division made up of selected Associate and Assistant Deans. The Plenary Session thus concerned itself in the main with generalities, but had little actual involvement with decision-making on policy, procedures, or actual cases. Its major function was a heavy agenda of timetabling and course changes as recommended by the Academic Policy Committee composed of Department Heads. As a rule, Plenary Sessions were attended by faculty members at large with somewhat less enthusiasm than Convocations. However, it was a potential forum for discussion of university affairs, and Janet felt constrained to participate, although she had innumerable tasks with which she could have occupied herself more profitably. A drive from Professor A would at least allow her to get home and change, and would ensure that she would be back to finish her lecture preparation after the meeting, hopefully before dawn, since she had scheduled an early morning tennis practice with her team.

When they arrived at the Council Meeting it was a few minutes still before the hour, but already the outer corridor was jammed with faculty members drinking a last cup of coffee. Inside, the large amphitheatre was nearly two-thirds full.

"Largest attendance since they came to the special debate on salary policy," exclaimed the Professor in wonderment .

"Is this what one might term a 'packed meeting' then?" asked Janet suspiciously.

"There is certainly a strong contingent from the radicals of the Faculty Union." Indeed Janet could make out a number of the better-known young turks among the faculty, including Terrence O'Meara, and her colleague from the Ethics Committee, Archibald McManus. The latter, seated near the front of the hall , turned, and sighting Janet at the rear, grinned and waved at her. Also close to the podium she could make out a sizeable group of student representatives, including her nemesis, Leonard.

The Professor, casting an eye in the same direction, exclaimed fairly loudly, " Great balls of fire! What is that bone-head doing here?" at the same instant that the Dean mounted the stairs to the dais.

"If you mean Leonard," whispered Jan, "he is a Student Councillor this year."

"Just like the Faculty Union, they seem to favour the academic dropouts and failures," moaned Professor Antwhistle. "Couldn't they devise a minimum standard of passing grades, or at the least a literacy test for our representatives."

"One of the hazards of tyranny of the masses," murmured Janet sardonically, as the Dean tried to strike some order from the rustling babel of the crowd.

"Faculty have the gall to complain about student noise before a class," thundered the Professor, "and then they behave like this!"

Janet pulled her head as low as she could, wishing she were seated elsewhere. Gradually the Dean's gavel became more audible, and finally he secured enough calm to proceed with benefit of the microphone. As in the normal course of events he referred to previously circulated minutes of earlier meetings of the Council and its Executive. A vote accepting the minutes was interpreted as ratification by Council as a whole, not only of its own plenary proceedings held before, but also the intervening actions of the Executive Committee as recorded. However, when the motion to adopt the minutes was put an overwhelming majority of hands rose in opposition,

"Carried," intoned the Dean blandly without looking up, and proceeded to the next item of the agenda.

"Challenge," several voices raised the cry simultaneously.

The Dean stopped in surprise, and, finally comprehending, asked to see the vote again.

"If there were an amendment to the minutes, ample opportunity was available before the vote," he objected mildly. The President of the Faculty Union, an imposing Professor of Mathematics, rose ponderously to his feet.

"Mr. Chairman. I believe I speak for many here in voicing the true objection to our minutes. They are not in error in the sense that an amendment of verbiage can correct the problem. The Faculty Council rather expresses a lack of confidence in the Executive Committee."

The Dean's eyes narrowed. He and Professor Radlock had crossed swords on other occasions. The mildness of his reply belied the animosity, of his tone. "Executive acts largely under direction of this body. In what issues precisely are its actions at variance with this?"

"To be precise, the paramount issue concerns representation by faculty-at-large, specifically on the important Committee to Select the Principal. This Council met last Spring, and presented cogent arguments for such representation. It directed the Chairman and its Executive to place its position before the Regents. In the Fall we return to find that the selection committee is established with a majority of Regents, one of their number as Chairman, and the Executive, having accepted the minority role for members of the academic community, has appointed three of its own number as token scholars to represent us. It is no reflection on the other two gentlemen, nor yourself Mr. Chairman, to criticize the way in which you have been chosen. Quite simply we were given no opportunity to approve these choices. We do not do so now." Professor Radlock was almost seated before he arose once more. "By rights the committee should have greater representation -- elected representation, from the academic than the non-academic constituency. At a minimum we will be satisfied with nothing less than equal representation and he sat down with finality to a loud burst of approbation and foot-stamping.

"We seem to have a series of procedural dilemmas," said the Dean once order had been partly restored. "The committee was constituted after some negotiation with the Board of Regents. The Executive felt that some balance had been attained, and our nominating committee presented the names. Of course if Council fails to ratify these procedures--"

"Mr. Dean. If I may," interrupted Professor Antwhistle getting to his feet and taking a stance in the central aisle. "There is, as you note, a dilemma to be faced. Fortunately, the Committee to Select a Principal has not as yet reached any final position in its deliberations. Henceforth the Committee can make no recommendations since it has no legitimacy after this meeting. Moreover, the Regents or their Chairman cannot convene the 'rump' of the committee because the statutes require not only a majority to pass on its recommendations, but a vote of all members without abstention. Since an illegitimate member such as myself may not vote, the committee as presently constituted is paralysed."

"Do you have a motion to put?" asked the Dean testily.

"No, Mr. Chairman, I do not. In my position I feel it would not be appropriate. I will leave that to my respected colleague from the science of numbers. However, to clear the decks in a procedural way I shall hereby tender my resignation from the Selection Committee, and leave you to work out some process that may satisfy the meeting." He returned to his seat, collected his papers, and turned toward Janet. "I shall be in my office, so drop by later and I will take you home." At the dais the Dean was leaning forward to confer with Professor Tupperman in the front row, and then, nodding grimly, resumed chairmanship of the meeting.

It was nearly an hour later when Janet knocked on the door of John Antwhistle's office, and, with a rather apologetic expression, entered on his command.

"Has the revolution started?" asked the Professor.

"It wasn't exactly a declaration of war, but the Council agreed to a sort of ultimatum."

"Equal representation?"

Janet nodded and read from her notes. "Moved by Radlock, seconded by O'Meara, that the Committee to Select the Principal be reconstituted to include: five Regents or their delegates; five members of Council, to be elected by Council; the Chancellor to serve as Chairman. Incidentally, you were elected as one of the Council members!"

The Professor pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows in an expression of surprise. It was apparent from the subsequent smile however, that he was not displeased with this vote of confidence. "And the others?"

"Radlock, McManus,--"

"Predictable."

"So far, yes. The last faculty representative was rather a surprise. Your words of this afternoon were, in fact, quite prophetic!"

Janet then proceeded to relate the sequence of events after the composition of the committee had been established, and the Dean accepted nominations from the floor.

"Professor Tupperman and the Dean both seceded from the running. After you, Radlock, McManus and O'Meara had been nominated the Dean was prepared to accept a slate. At this point McManus gave an impassioned speech on the concerns of non-tenured junior faculty, their right to raise controversial issues without fear of censure or persecution, as had been described by one A.J. Gordon in this week's Faculty Review. He thereupon nominated A.J. Gordon, who beat out O'Meara for the last seat in the subsequent election!"

"So you and I are both on the committee?"

"I'm afraid that's true. I don't think many people at the meeting, except the members of our Department and the Ethics Committee, knew who A.J. Gordon was."

"It seems a heavy responsibility for Biology," sighed the Professor. "Won't there be concerns that we may act as a bloc?"

"Quite the contrary. Since I am to represent the views of the down-trodden, devocalized non-tenured faculty we may have some difficulty agreeing!"

"One thing we must agree on nonetheless."

"What's that?"

"The time of committee meetings will have to be altered or we shall run out of qualified teachers in Biology 333. By the way, I thought you said that there were to be five faculty representatives on the Selection Committee. You mentioned only four names."

"Correction, five elected members of Council."

"Ah, so the fifth I presume would be the Dean, reinstated."

"No, the Dean refused renomination, and after a strong argument from its President, the meeting agreed to elect one member from the Student Union."

"And so the President got the nod?"

"Actually they nominated their Vice-President on Academic Affairs."

"A reasonable choice, I suppose. Who is it? Anyone we know?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't ask," said Jan with a sheepish grin. "It's our friend, Leonard."

In the silence that followed Janet could hear the faint sounds of occasional raindrops on the window-pane. For a half-minute the Professor sat as though frozen in his chair.

"I suppose," he finally said, "the vox populi must include all strata, not excepting the cretins," and he shook his head slowly in dismay.

CHAPTER FIVE

A heavy autumnal rain continued through most of the night Janet awoke, far from refreshed, to a bleak and soggy dawn However, save for a few drops from the leaves of trees, the precipitation had ceased, and she reluctantly cycled to the tennis court. This time she could have dropped out of the practice herself quite happily. And at times like this she was convinced that she really must break down and buy herself an automobile. But later, when the sun would emerge, and she would observe her driving colleagues struggling with the inadequate parking on campus, she would change her mind as she easily slid her bike into the rack by the back entrance to the Biology Building. In spite of the damp there was a full turnout for the practice. The spirits of the team were high after their strong showing at the invitational meet, and there was a fair amount of good-natured teasing among the girls, a sign that Janet recognized as a building of morale in the group. Even Diane had come out to make an attempt at a fresh start with the team. She apologized to Janet for her previous behaviour, and they agreed to carry on from there anew.

As she was mounting her bicycle to leave Janet was arrested by a voice calling her name. It was Judy Nicholas, who ran out to speak to her.

"I hoped I'd catch you," she said breathlessly. We're having a little party at my house on Saturday. If you could make it we'd love to have you join us. I know it's rather short notice." Janet had to admit that she had absolutely nothing planned for Saturday. "Oh great," enthused Judy. "It's for tennis and a swim, any time from two o' clock onward, and barbecue after."

Janet thanked her for the invitation and was about to leave.

"Oh, and bring a friend," Judy added, almost as an afterthought.

'Bring a friend'. Simplest matter in the world for an undergraduate, Janet supposed. The words reverberated in her brain as she cycled up the hill. Was she really so friendless that she couldn't think of a soul to ask? There was always John Antwhistle, who customarily invited Janet as a spare to make a fourth at bridge; somehow she couldn't envisage him charging about the tennis court. There was always Doug, her graduate student, or Leonard; that would set the place on its ear. She chuckled to herself, then stopped in chagrin. Who else could she consider as friend, or even social companion? Only her landlady, Kay McKay, or Bev Newlands her contemporary who shared her passion for Gilbert and Sullivan and the theatre; neither fitted the particular occasion. The only other companions she had had in recent weeks had been fellow committee members, such as Archibald McManus. Now, he jogged occasionally so might be counted on for an athletic afternoon. She phoned as soon as she reached her office and somewhat hesitantly passed on the invitation. To her surprise he accepted with alacrity.

"My tennis is a bit rusty, but I can make up for it at the barbecue! Actually, I was going to call you and ask if you'd like to take in a movie or something," he continued gallantly. She thanked him silently for that; it relieved her of some of the embarrassment she felt at being the first to make a move. She was still old-fashioned enough to think that the man ought to initiate things socially, though she wouldn't have hesitated to organize a collaboration with anyone, male or female in the laboratory.

The Nicholas home was a substantial pile of neo-Georgian sand-stone sprawled upon a forested plateau above the Essex River. The spacious bricked courtyard surrounding a central flower-bed and lily-pond was almost chock-a-block with automobiles when Archie drove up with Janet. The front door to the house was ajar with a sign instructing them to walk on through, an injunction which Janet thought more than somewhat fool hardy judging by the treasures lying about the sumptuously furnished house. Open French doors disgorged them onto the patio where a crowd was jostling about the bar. Spying Janet and her 'friend' Judy hurried over to be introduced, and to introduce them in turn.

"You ladies need no introduction to our task-master of the early mornings-- to the others of you she is 'Doc', Dr. Janet Gordon, and her date is Dr. Archibald McManus. And this is my mother."

Mrs. Nicholas was a friendly conversationalist who carried along on her own, asking questions, commenting at length about Judy's interest in tennis and her University courses. In the meantime they were walking along the patio beneath the porch where a man in tennis shorts was seated with pencil poised above a clip-board.

"Well," he muttered with an occupied expression, "I seem to have everyone paired off except myself," then realizing that his wife was not alone, rose and introduced himself to Janet. "Perhaps you and I could make a team, Dr. Gordon, then Dr. McManus and Judy could pair up," and he walked off in search of his daughter.

"He does love to organize people," bubbled Mrs. Nicholas, rather unnecessarily. Drinks and other social amenities would have to wait presumably, until the schedule of the tennis matches was settled.

Jackson Nicholas was no less intense about the tennis play. He-made no bones about the fact that he had entered the afternoon's competition with a view to winning. Janet began to wonder if she had been scouted for the event. As the play progressed it was evident that the team of Gordon/Nicholas was sweeping the opposition from the courts with ease. Jackson Nicholas, though possibly a little slower now than in his youth, was a formidable doubles strategist. In the end Janet and her new-found partner were undefeated. They sat down at court-side and watched Judy and the rusty Dr. McManus put up a valiant fight against Diane and her youthful male companion.

"It seems I recall there was a Gordon named to the Committee to Select the Principal." It was half-way between a query and a statement.

"Yes," admitted Janet. "And I recall that you are also on the committee."

"Was," he corrected emphatically. "It's a step forward to get the faculty involved. I'm not opposed to that. But when I learned the Dean had stepped aside, I thought I should do likewise. Also, there was a group that wanted to draft me to carry on in the position. I guess there's a nomination coming forward to that effect you'll hear about soon enough, based on my on-the-job experience. Would have been a bit awkward if I'd stayed on the committee, then had to withdraw you know." They were seated by the pool cooling off with a drink, while a number of girls with their dates horsed around in the water. Dr. McManus, she noted, seemed much more at home in the swimming pool than he had been on the tennis court. Although he had not disgraced himself, and managed to keep the ball in play fairly well it was apparent that tennis was not his strong suit. On the other hand in the water he more than held his own with the undergraduates. Janet saw very little of him until the barbecue was served and he came over to where she was seated carrying two plates of food.

"Sorry if I seem to have neglected you."

"Not at all. I'm glad you were able to enjoy yourself. To tell the truth," she confided, "I find these student parties generally to be pretty uncomfortable affairs." (With some of the faculty imbibing rather too much to cover up the discomfort, she thought to herself).

"Well, I noticed that your doubles partner was paying you considerable attention anyway."

"That man is not to be believed!" said Janet in a whisper, and relayed the substance of their pool side conversation. "Wait until he realizes that you're also a member of the selection committee. Surely he knows that he lacks the academic credentials to continue beyond this temporary appointment."

"Some of the Regents might not agree with you there. There's a notion that political and business clout may be of greater value than the academic variety."

"If that's the case it's a good thing the faculty held out for parity on this committee ."

"Anyway, " continued Archie, "there's another serious factor that I just found out about." But before he could elaborate, their conversation was terminated by the arrival of Diane and her companion, whom Janet recognized as one of her undergraduate biology students. He proceeded to engage Janet in a discussion about the prospects for graduate study in her field of research. Out of the corner of her eye Janet could see that Archie was having no difficulty keeping his female companion entertained. Apparently some faculty members experienced less discomfort than she did with undergraduate social affairs.

It was not until he was driving her home that Archie was able to return to the subject of their earlier talk.

"What exactly was this 'serious factor' you referred to before?" Janet inquired.

"It was rather strange how I discovered it, but it seems there may be some question about the state of Jackson Nicholas' health."

"According to whom?"

"His daughter. After we had finished a set Judy and I were watching you two play off with that tall girl and her partner."

"Diane and David."

"Right, the couple we sat with at dinner. I don't know if you recall but there were a few key points which Nicholas had to really hustle to make."

" He's certainly a scrambler on the court" Janet admitted. "He ran down a number of balls I might have been tempted to concede as winners in a social game."

"That's just it. According to Judy there isn't such a thing as a social game in his lexicon. Winning's everything."

"His daughter has something of the same attitude."

"Drilled into her from birth, no doubt. Judy says that this has carried over into competitive running with her father. He started a couple of years ago, jogging to get into shape and to lose a bit of weight. Then he got involved with road races and trained pretty hard. He started to approach the top times for his age group too. One day last spring he was evidently preparing for a race, putting in extra distance, and so forth. She didn't say exactly what happened but he collapsed in exhaustion somewhere on the river trail near the University. I guess they kept it pretty quiet but Judy is quite concerned that her father may be in danger of a heart attack, pushing too hard in all directions, and may be overly at risk. He doesn't do anything by halves."

"It's hard to know what to do with information like that," mused Janet. "If he's at risk already for some cardiovascular accident, apart from his own safety, the University shouldn't also be at risk of losing another chief executive from a medical accident! Should we demand certificates of medical fitness from all our candidates?"

"I doubt we could get away with it. But knowing the candidate is a type 'A' personality with other possible contributing medical problems--"

"Such as hypertension or hypercholesterolemia."

"Exactly! Surely we should be aware if those factors are known."

"But we don't have the facts. And the candidate isn't likely to admit to them if they prejudice his case. To judge from Mr. Nicholas' performance today for example , you would be forced to conclude that he is the equal or better in fitness than most of the undergraduates!"

"Nonetheless, a little follow-up inquiry, a few questions in the right directions would not go amiss," concluded Archie as they rolled to a stop in the laneway of Janet's house. It looks as if you have company," he noted, indicating the figure moving across the kitchen.

"It's Kay! " exclaimed Janet, having noticed her landlady's car in the driveway for the first time, "She usually stays up at the lake until Thanksgiving. I wonder why she's back so early. Look, why don't you come in and meet her."

"I think it would be better some other time," responded Archie. "As you say there must be something wrong to bring her back unexpectedly. Anyway, she doesn't need to have to contend with a stranger now if she has just returned. She looks pretty busy." He nodded toward the window where Kay could be seen bustling back and forth with bags and boxes. "Thanks for the party invitation. We'll be in touch over the other business pretty soon I imagine."

Although feeling somewhat disappointed that their evening had terminated so abruptly, after saying goodnight to Archie Janet bounded eagerly in the back door to greet her landlady.

"What brings you back so soon?" she asked.

"Plumbing," answered Kay with a wry expression. "Drains and septic tanks. Apart from ungodly aromas and noise of the workmen about there is presently a shortage of the elementary services. I love the north and the primitive life, but at my age I draw the line at outdoor privies. I may go back up for another week or two, depending on how long the work takes. What's the news around here?"

"Mostly the usual routine. Lab-work, teaching, grant reports, tennis coaching, some meetings. Now I seem to have become embroiled in University politics, but it would take a while to explain. Let me give you a hand with this stuff, and if you're not too tired from the drive I'll tell all over a cup of tea."

"Not a bad trip at all," responded Kay. "That's why I make a point of avoiding Fridays and Sundays. No-one's on the road much at this time of a Saturday, certainly not coming into town. And what have you got yourself into while I was not able to advise against it?" she continued when they were finally seated on the screened-in porch with tea and biscuits.

Janet chronicled her gradual recruitment into the faculty battle over representation, and her recent entanglement with the Nicholas family.

"And so," summarized Kay, "your concern about ethics and your love of tennis brought two roots of coincidence together."

"So it would seem, Janet sighed.

"If you don't mind my saying it, you look as if you've been overdoing it on the candle-burning again." As if it would make a difference if she did mind, Janet thought to herself. It seemed for as long as she could remember that Kay McKay had acted in loco parentis, advising, admonishing, above all else, confiding; she was that one person whom Janet trusted completely with every aspect of her life and thoughts. Part of the reason was Kay's engagingly open technique of worming confessions from her, and the absolute surety that they would be as silently preserved as in the sacristy.

"And who was the handsome stranger who delivered you home a few minutes ago?"

"A tennis date. Colleague of the Committee on Ethics. I needed a partner for the Nicholas party and invited him."

Kay gave a sceptical nod.

"He's in the Philosophy Department," Janet continued. "Real name of McManus, better known around campus by his pseudonym, Archaeopteryx."

"Fellow who writes those biting critiques of the Administration for the faculty paper you bring home?"

"The same."

"Small wonder he masquerades under a pseudonym for an extinct animal! He may be in the same state if his identity gets about. How many people beside you know of it?"

Janet shrugged. "I really can't say, but I don't think it's general knowledge yet."

"How did you learn of it?"

"It didn't take too much intelligence to work it out. In fact I was rather dense not to have done so earlier. There were too many coincidences about the leaks from the Committee to Select the Principal and the Ethics Committee. And the name itself, it was really as though he were flaunting his identity for anyone to see. He admitted it all quickly enough when I confronted him."

Kay studied her with a severe expression for a few moments. "I never thought you would stoop this low to get a date. Blackmail! And you a member of the Committee on Ethics!" Kay wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"In love and war one needs what Churchill referred to as a 'bodyguard of lies' , didn't you know?" Janet replied with a grin.

"Is this developing into a serious relationship then?"

"It's got to be pretty serious when we're meeting two to three times a week with one committee or another, I suppose."

"What was the reaction to your disclosure and is the ill-omened bird extinct at last?"

"Archie didn't seem to be terribly upset. He took a day or two to respond to my letter in which I enclosed my article for the Review. I told him I had written to the editor asking him not to run a rebuttal alongside mine. Archie went one better, and withdrew his regular column for that week, running my letter in that space in the paper. When I talked to him later he said that he had been contemplating 'coming out of the closet' for some time, and he agreed with me that if enough of the junior, non-tenured faculty made their points of difference with the Administration public under our own signatures, not only would we have a greater impact on reform, but they wouldn't dare to take reprisals against us."

"I see. I guess I never understood your precious 'academic freedom'. It seems to me you have all the freedom to do what you like, so long as you do what you're told. Anyway, what's the difference between tenured and non-tenured when it comes to expressing yourselves?"

"In theory, none. Everyone at the University, tenured and non-tenured, (and that is supposed to include students and support staff) is theoretically protected from arbitrary actions against them, such as dismissal without cause. That is interpreted as giving the right to employees to raise matters of contention about their employment, etc."

"Like union shop-stewards?"

"I suppose so, though I'm not much up on labour laws. The rights of academic freedom should allow faculty to raise issues and make fair comment about sensitive procedures of management of the place, University governance and so forth, without fear of censure or hindrance to career advancement."

"Meaning?"

"Promotion for tenured members or salary increments based on merit; the same plus acquisition of tenure for non-tenured staff."

"I see. And your argument with Archaeopteryx-- Dr. McManus--was that these assurances already exist?"

"Provided the conditions of fair comment aren't violated, by using ad hominem attacks, libellous statements, and so on. It was my position that hiding behind an anonymous forum for criticism was actually weakening the assurances we already had. It was abdicating a right and responsibility to raise open discussions about those problems that needed airing. If anything, the use of anonymity would be regressive because it would give de facto recognition of the power of administrators to wreak retribution on those who dared to identify themselves, and it would have a negative effect on junior faculty like myself who could be discouraged by this attitude from entering into open debate."

"Well," said Kay, finishing her tea, "I think it's very laudable and reasonable when you explain it like that. I'll read your article tomorrow, but for now I think we both need a good long rest. Can I fix us a brunch tomorrow?" she enquired as they washed up the tea things.

"Sounds scrumptious! I'll get up and give you a hand. I've got some sausages in the freezer, and lots of eggs."

"You just sleep in. And I'll fix everything on the terrace for ten or half-past. You can help with the lawn later as your penance."

Janet knew that there was no point in arguing with Kay about meal preparations. When she had first moved in she had mistakenly assumed that assistance in the kitchen might be a partial recompense to her landlady for all the extras which she lavished on Janet. But by now she realized that Kay's demurral was not simply consideration for her ' paying guest'. The truth was that Kay McKay could not stand somebody 'mucking in the way' when she was in the act of preparing something. Better to yield and pay back with some chore of Kay's choosing, such as mowing the grass and trimming around the flower-beds, tasks which she enjoyed doing, but which Kay found increasingly tiresome to handle. In winter, it would be the snow-shovelling, and not too far off, thought Janet feeling the chill of the autumn evening as she mounted the stairs wearily to bed. Somehow she knew, she probably would have no trouble sleeping until the smell of sausages browning aroused her next day.

CHAPTER SIX

Sunday was yet another damp day. On a fine Sunday morning Janet would be up and about; on a grey dismal-looking one such as this she normally would have rolled over. But the drizzle had stopped and a brightening in the sky foretold better things ahead. Besides, she argued with herself, with all her recent candle-burning, as Kay described the frenetic events of the past week or two, Janet had been remiss in her regular jogging routine. By now she was long overdue for a run, she reflected as she pulled on her track-suit, then quietly let herself out the side door.

A pearly mist was lifting from the river as she ran along the bank. A few drips fell from the trees overhead spattering the already wet earth of the packed trail. In places were a few puddles or stretches of softish mud which she had to circumvent in the low-lying sections of the trail. She wove in and out of the clumps of willow carefully, picking up the pace as she reached the higher and drier portions of the river-bank. Janet was making rather good time, settling into the steady rhythm of her stride and breathing when it happened.

An incautious plant of her foot upon a greasy patch of clay, a feeling of dismay as her shoe skidded out sideways, and the next instant she found herself slipping helplessly to the edge of the bank. She grabbed desperately, came up with more oozy clay then finally found an exposed root and just managed to keep herself from dropping the twenty feet to the river below.

"And I'm doing this supposedly in aid of my health!" she said aloud when she had stopped shaking. With heart still pounding fiercely, and giggling semi-hysterically, she slowly lowered herself down to the swirling water and rinsed off as much of the mud as she could. Then after a moment's breather to collect her frazzled wits she jogged somewhat more slowly back along the path.

"I thought you'd be taking a bit of extra rest this morning," chided Kay as she spied Janet trying to sneak into the house. "My glory, look at the mess of you!" For an instant Janet felt transported back in time, at the point of return from some forbidden venture into her mother's kitchen. Kay was scrambling eggs with sausages in the large iron skillet. The warmth and aroma from the stove, and the concerned tone of her landlady's voice enveloped Janet like a protective blanket. She hurried up to the bath, emerging a few minutes later as a cleaner but chastened person.

"No serious damage?" asked Kay as they carted the brunch out to the porch. Janet shook her head.

"Less serious than happened to our Acting-Principal," she replied cheerily, then related the substance of her conversation with Archie on the subject. "The man probably shoudn't be involved in any of these competitive events. I have some appreciation of how he feels about winning, but at some point in your life surely it's wiser to drop out of the race."

"Such as the race for the Principality, or whatever you term the office."

"Quite apart from the fact that Mr. Nicholas has mainly a business-executive cum political view of the groves of academe, we just have no way of determining whether his health makes him a reasonable contender for the job of Principal. There haven't been any crashing disasters while he has been in the acting role so far as I can tell, but the whole University is rather in a state of limbo -- no clear leadership and no enunciation of future goals."

"Your new committee meets soon to consider all this?"

"Tomorrow morning. I guess our new chairman isn't about to let any grass grow under our feet!"

In her eagerness not to be tardy for the first meeting, Janet found herself at the Board Room of Morton Hall before any of the other members. Mr. Lewis Sinclair, Secretary to the Board of Regents, was setting up the meeting room, and introduced himself to Janet as he admitted her .

"I hope you lot make more headway than the last," he grumbled setting out the agendas and copies of previous correspondence. "There's both coffee and tea," he observed, gesturing toward a side-table. Janet was looking over the agenda when John Antwhistle entered with the man whom Janet had seen visiting his office earlier .

"Alan Goldsack -- Janet Gordon," said the Professor by way of introduction. "Alan is among our more enlightened members of the Board of Regents," he went on.

"Professor Antwhistle means that he believes that he has succeeded in educating me in the Byzantine wonders of faculty politics," chuckled Alan.

"He has been trying the same with me," said Janet ruefully. "I don't know if I shall ever pass the course. The main lesson I've learned, and probably too late, is to avoid public utterances, or else stand the risk of getting elected to bodies such as this."

"Well, I saw your commentary in the Review, and I must say it made some sense to me," said Alan.

"Just so," said the Professor loudly, "And it seemed to provide some useful, non-incendiary fuel for our debate on faculty representation. You'll get a better perspective of how the academics view this appointment." He turned toward Alan confidentially while the other members of the committee filed in and took their seats. "Though not always a consensus by any means," he cautioned.

"You may very well find the same among members from our group," Alan said to Janet as the chairman brought the meeting to order.

If the odds for some degree of unanimity and a rapid resolution of their proceedings seemed poor, it was not evident from the conduct of their new chairman, the Chancellor of the University. George Atwood, a distinguished former jurist, was a spare, brisk man who attacked the agenda with energy, set up a biweekly schedule of meetings, and established a time-table for delivery of their recommendation. After some perfunctory discussions of protocol, solicitations of nominees, and a homily on the confidentiality of documents and proceedings, the committee adjourned until Thursday.

"How do you think the revised committee is going to work?" asked Janet as they broke off and headed back across the campus.

"Change and decay in all around I see," quoth the Professor. "Saving your presence, the increased numbers of faculty on the committee may prove more of a detriment than a blessing. Factions, plots, schisms!" he continued in a fine frenzy. "And our student representative -- what will that do to confidentiality? Might as well hold an open meeting, and send out invitations to the students' newspaper."

Janet thought back grimly to her own indiscretion in revealing, however inadvertently, information to which she had been privy. She made herself a solemn vow that this time if there were leaks from the committee they would not come through her. One beneficial aspect of such self imposed silence she reflected brightening, would be that she would have a legitimate excuse for avoiding further involvement in debate over campus politics for a while.

"You seem cheerful enough anyway," said John Antwhistle.

"More so than Frank Butler I should imagine," she chuckled. "He was not terribly jovial on Friday at least with the prospect of taking our class in Biology 333 this morning."

"Ah well, he seemed the only plausible substitute at such short notice. I'm sure it did him and the students no permanent damage."

"No. In fact I convinced him to speak about his pet subject, microfilaments, which I hadn't covered as yet." She didn't provide details as to why it had not been covered. "So that should fill in a gap with minimal effort on Frank's part. Anyway, the problem won't arise again now that our meetings have been shifted to Tuesday-Thursday."

"Quite so," sighed the Professor. "And accordingly my excuse for not teaching this part of the course flies out the window. "No, no," he persisted, as Janet attempted to assure him that she could continue with the course as before. "No reason now that you should spell me off. Perhaps you could finish off the week, tidy up any points you left hanging, then we can sit and see what remnants are left from the syllabus, and I will resume a week from today."

Janet gave up the effort to convince him that she was enjoying this assignment. She did have major commitments coming up soon in one of the graduate courses, and a seminar series to organize. Along with her laboratory work and efforts at grant-writing there was more than enough to keep her busy. She finally acquiesced to the Professor's offer with a sigh of relief, and bent her mind to organizing the final two sessions with her class.

She had just finished her outline and was departing into the laboratory to check up on her experiment in progress, when the jangle of her telephone recalled her to her office.

"How about that movie and some dinner?"

"Archie! I thought you had just been making polite utterances to spare my feelings."

"Not a chance. After the way you ended my journalistic career I have no intention of sparing your feelings. Anyway, there's a good film tonight at the Rep."

"Let me check my frantic social calendar." There was a slight pause while Janet actually did look in her diary on the off-chance that she had forgotten some commitment. "No. No conflicts. I'd love to go and they arranged the time.

When she emerged from the house after introducing Archie to Kay that evening Janet experienced a slight skip of the heart-beat. She was wearing a new dress that made the best of her figure and, looking at her handsome male companion, she suddenly felt unaccustomedly feminine. Good grief, she thought angrily, I'm in danger of talking myself into some ridiculous infatuation. So that by the time she sat down in the restaurant, her responses to Archie's efforts at conversation were strained to the point of becoming abrupt.

"You certainly look well for all your outdoor activity," said Archie referring to the colour in her face. "Afraid I don't get enough exercise, particularly with the school year starting up, classes, committees. How do you do it?"

"I get something of a workout I guess rallying with my tennis team. But I don't get out for a run as often as I would like." And Janet related her attempt at jogging on the weekend. Archie frowned as she reached the description of the washed-out section of the path on the river-bank.

"I know that region. Nearly tripped on a root along there one day myself. It could be really hazardous when wet, and a long drop down. Caveat exerciser!" said Archie as he hoisted his martini glass. Now, down to the business of some serious eating!"

One of the delightful features of Archie's personality, Janet reflected, was his irrepressible gusto. His one-time muscular frame was rather over-laid with the results from his obvious enthusiasm for food. Although she managed to consume almost as much in terms of quantity Janet noted that there was no comparison in the level of her appreciation with that shown so exuberantly by Archie as he tucked into an enormous meringue chantilly. Moreover, although for her this was an unusual and special occasion, she obtained the impression that her companion made a regular practice of dining and wining well.

"Have you time for a cup of coffee or something?", asked Archie later when they emerged from the theatre.

"I'll opt for the 'or some thing' if you will agree to come back to my place for it, "Janet replied. "Kay will be putting on the tea-kettle about now and she would be delighted to have another opportunity to delve into your sordid past."

"Whence has my reputation preceded me to evoke such interest?"

"She's just fascinated by every good-looking man, and her glimpse of you earlier wasn't enough to satisfy her."

"Well, I hope I don't disillusion her under better lighting."

"We'll probably wind up sitting on the back-porch," promised Janet, "where the lighting is practically non-existent!"

It was soon evident that Kay had been intrigued by her first impression. Her curiosity was now extended to the subject of Archie's career and his department.

"For," noted Kay, "I used to be employed there, once-upon-a-long-time-ago."

Janet groaned inwardly. Never, she imagined could she trace all of Kay McKay's peregrinations through the halls of academe. She must have had several incarnations in order to encompass all of the venues and personalities that she seemed to know so intimately. Her phrase -- 'I used to be employed there'\-- had appeared so frequently in her conversations that Janet had long since concluded that her landlady had been gleaning material for a sensational novel of the secret lives of Essex U. Certainly her anecdotes could be packaged readily into a highly marketable, if decidedly scandalous, chronicle of several decades in the history of the institution.

"Of course, that was in the days of Professor Morgan," Kay went on. "I did the draft of his textbook.

Archie was suitably impressed. The text on modern philosophy by R.C. Morgan was a much-cited classic.

"Do you have a first edition?" he asked.

"Should be two or three copies floating about. My copy at the lake is fairly dog-eared. That's when I had the most time to go over it and it's survived immersion when I dropped it from the canoe." Archie shuddered at this revelation.

"Do you realize that the Department only has a single copy locked away? It seems that Professor Morgan loaned all of his first edition copies (it's up to the sixth now I believe) to students and teaching assistants. One finally came back, returned by someone with a conscience. It's not the sort of thing to be collected by bibliophiles, yet, though I daresay one day they will be of considerable value."

They continued to pursue associations within the philosophy area, and the University archives, with which Kay had also had some contacts. Janet was left in a corner sipping her tea, and learning more than she had been able to extract by herself about Archie and his working interests, though feeling as if she were superfluous to the conversation.

After his departure, Kay delivered her verdict upon Dr. McManus. "A very pleasant, attractive young man. Bright too. But has he any substance I wonder?"

"The way he relishes food I should imagine he'll be very substantial as time goes by!"

"He's a man of hearty appetites I've no doubt. Does he talk much about his work?"

Janet had to admit that the topic of shop hadn't come up between them.

"Except insofar as we have a mutual involvement in campus politics, there doesn't seem to be much of common interest that we could discuss."

"Well, you might be surprised. From my private investigations there may be more than you think."

Janet looked up at her sharply, and noted the arch expression of triumph in Kay's face ,

"It wasn't very difficult really. I just scanned the Philosophy Department's offerings in the current University catalogue. I found from the mast-head first of all that Dr. A. McManus is already an Associate Professor, though his Ph.D. from Yale is only five years old. That bespeaks a young man in a hurry! "

"I gather that he took up his appointment here initially before he finished his dissertation. It's easier to do that in the Arts than in the Sciences. Another interesting facet is that Dr. McManus' appointment is not just in Arts," Kay continued. "He has a cross-appointment in the Science Faculty. There are two courses listed jointly under Philosophy and History of Sciences supervised by Dr. A. McManus: 210 - History of Scientific Thought." Here she read the entry from a turned-down page in the catalogue. It's called 'A survey of scientific ideas and the impact on society from antiquity to modern times', and 410 - Philosophy of Science 'Historical and contemporary problems of science as systems of knowledge'."

"So now you presume that, in addition to the bribery motivation, he is interested in me as a 'system of knowledge' or for my 'impact on society'. I suppose it does explain his interest in the Ethics Committee, uses and abuses of science, etc.", Janet concluded soberly.

"I wasn't trying to impute motives," laughed Kay. "Only to point out that you two might have more intellectual common ground than you first assumed. It would be interesting to know what he may have published," she mused.

Indeed it would thought Janet later as she prepared for bed. There were apparently multiple dimensions to the persona of Archie McManus. He could not have attained his early promotion, even at Essex U where grace and favour played the principal part, without some original scholarship in addition to his Ph.D. thesis. Janet was increasingly piqued by curiosity over the varied curriculum vitae of A. McManus, B.Sc., Ph.D., philosopher and historian of the sciences. She dozed off into an imaginary debate with him over the merits of the theories of Lamarck with respect to modern genetics and the modern views on acquired immunity. And would she herself acquire some immunity to his very apparent charms? she wondered dreamily. From the way that his image kept intruding upon her thoughts she rather doubted it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

From its outset the next meeting of the Selection Committee to choose the new Principal was charged with tension and conflict. It was apparent that several factions had come prepared to force certain issues upon the Chairman. Despite his best efforts to maintain some control of the agenda, the meeting rapidly gained its own momentum and, like some enormous vehicle without brakes, careened wildly down-hill, creating no little damage along the way.

The first sign of trouble emerged when a list of nominees was being circulated from the files.

"Mr. Chairman." George Atwood looked up from his papers to acknowledge M. J. Keenan, one of the senior members of the Board of Regents and President of Keenan Construction Company, Ltd., which had bid successfully on every major capital development project at Essex University for the past decade.

"Do you have a nomination to add, Mike?"

"No Mr. Chairman, I do not. But I can tell you that members of the Committee have gone over that list pretty carefully. There isn't a name worth considering except for one. Now we all know what a fine job our Acting- Principal has done over the last year." He beamed at the new faculty members of the committee, daring them to deny this claim. "We don't need to waste time over the other names \-- no criticism intended of those fellows -- they just don't measure up to our man on the job. He gets down to cases, keeps things humming along without any of those riotous disturbances we had under his predecessor. He understands the business of running the shop, good contacts in town, and he's got the ear of a good number of politicians, good fiscal practices, balances the budget, keeps the alumni happy --all those qualities you need in a C.E.0. Mr. Chairman," and he turned pleadingly toward him, "if we want to get a good strong message across, let's act right away, no mistake. We can effectively tell everybody ,'look , we've got the man right here already'-- don't waste all these good peoples' time and effort. Do it first as well as last and make him an offer of the job. Then he'll know that this University is right behind him. Give him that vote of confidence he so richly deserves." Then he lowered his voice and, in a paternal tone, he addressed the faculty representatives. "What you folks need most here is some stability, sound management at the top. Give us the go-ahead, and we'll get you a strong executive to raise the money, give you folks the chance to get back to your books and labs. We'll give you the tools to get on with your job, with a man for the future like Jackson Nicholas," and he sat down nodding benevolently to the other members.

"I'm sure most of us agree with your sentiments, the Chairman responded with a laugh. Bu t we don't need to act quite as precipitately as you suggest. You may think of it as a vote of confidence in the incumbent. The other nominees, on the other hand, would surely have grounds to complain if we didn't consider their qualifications rather seriously."

"Mr. Chairman. I was prepared to speak to this further in the appropriate section of the agenda, but with your permission I will raise it now." Professor Radlock had risen from his chair.

"Oh, lord, we're in for the full fifty minutes if he gets to his feet!" hissed John Antwhistle to Janet, not so sotto voce. The chairman in the meantime had carefully measured his response.

"At present we are considering nominations. Do you have one to add, Professor Radlock?"

"I do. And some comments about the qualities and qualifications we should be seeking, which I gather we were slated to discuss under the next item."

"Then please proceed."

"Thank you Mr. Chairman. As one of the shareholders referred to by the previous speaker, I have admittedly an interest in an institution that is stable and fiscally responsible. I am not in agreement, however, with his assessment of what is needed to keep this place humming along as he puts it. Nor would I agree that the past year has been a milestone in the evolution of Essex University."

Several of the Regents stuck out their chins at the last remark. The smirk on the face of Mike Keenan was replaced by a more truculent pose. Professor Radlock plowed on with gathering momentum.

"What we folks need Mr. Chairman, is credibility in the academic world. We need a spirit of scholarship and some appreciation at the top of what this place stands for. That appreciation has been lacking for the past year, perhaps even longer. This administration has been attempting to carry on as if we were just another dividend-paying corporation. You cannot continue to run it like that! " He pounded angrily on the table.

"What we need Mr. Chairman, is a principal with academic credentials, a person with stature in the learned societies. Of course he must have the capability to balance the books, but he should also be a person who is concerned with reading books written by academic colleagues, and who is acquainted with the process of writing books. We need a person who is a scholar in his or her own right, has the respect of the faculty and in turn, respects the scholarly goals of the faculty. Such a man Mr. Chairman, is the former member of this committee, an internationally recognized historian, who has served this University with spirit and dignity. I put in nomination the name of Dean Roger Owens."

There followed a series of procedural wrangles concerning the form for admitting new nominations, and for soliciting other nominations from external sources. To Janet, the forces on the committee seemed to have established a clear demarcation of interests, with the Regents probably supporting Keenan in his bid to elect the Acting-Principal, and the faculty rallying around Radlock on the side of the Dean. The discussion of the qualities to be sought in the ideal Principal embodied all the attributes of both men, with varying emphases upon fiscal responsibility and business acumen versus academic standing and scholarship. In the end the committee dissolved in conflict and irresolution by mid-morning, to Janet's relief. Her mind, she had to admit had been preoccupied throughout the debate by the imminently pending deadline for the completion of her grant renewal, and there were two unfinished sections that she was undecided about. One concerned the admittedly incomplete but negative attempts at large-scale isolation of her active growth factors. The other was the extent of the long-range planning which should be indicated to depend on the still somewhat dubious outcome of this venture. As she walked back across the campus with John Antwhistle, these worries still captured most of her attention.

"Kiss of Judas, kiss of death!" exclaimed the Professor with a snort.

"Referring to what?"

"Referring to our statistical colleague, Radlock, he growled. "You know the old chestnut that figures don't lie but liars surely can figure. Here we have a clear case of the proponent as opponent and, a liar to boot! "

"What could be his motive then in nominating the Dean?" asked Janet in genuine puzzlement.

"My dear, when you stop to reflect, it is not necessary to nominate the Dean."

"But if Mr. Keenan was serious in his attempt to ram through the acceptance of Mr. Nicholas --"

"And if the rest of the committee took it seriously. Even Keenan knew he'd never get away with that. And after the Chairman's response it was obvious to Radlock and everyone else. I can't guess what Keenan hoped to gain. Somehow I don't believe he got where he is by simply bull-dozing, though he tries to make you think so with his folksy style. In the earlier meetings he showed no sense of urgency so long as Nicholas was in the chair. This show of loyalty may be just a smokescreen to hide some other candidate he's nursing along, I don't really know. But Radlock's game is pretty clear."

"You think he's going to discover some objections later to Dean Owens?"

"Oh, he's too cagey for that sort of blunt instrument. The Dean is such an obvious candidate he couldn't be ignored; that was the main signal from his resignation. He saw that the committee now would have more academic input, and was no longer going to be considering strictly procedural issues, upon which he could have exerted an influence. He resigned de facto as a self-nomination."

"Then how could Professor Radlock have been premature, or indeed devious, in speaking in his favour?"

"By deliberately polarizing the Regents against the faculty. If the Dean has all those qualities of kinship with his faculty in scholarship, that issue of reading and writing books isn't just a shot at Nicholas (who by implication reads nothing more enlightening than the stock-market quotations). The other corollary is that the Dean in all likelihood has his head so embedded in the towers of ivy, that he probably couldn't function and survive in the real and dirty world. In portraying the Dean as antithetical to qualities in our somewhat limited, but practical Acting-Principal, in short as a glorified idiot savant, the reductio absurdum from our mathematical friend is that neither of those extreme candidates could satisfy a majority on the committee." Here the Professor paused for breath as they reached the doorway to the Biology Building.

"Then what good came from all that?" asked Janet.

"Ah that I cannot tell said he", quoth the Professor, "but 'twas a famous victory!"

After pausing briefly to collect the mail from her box Janet bustled back to her office. She looked forward to a full day to wrestle uninterrupted with the difficulties of her grant proposal. In one sense she was driven, driven by her deadline to commit her ideas to paper; in another sense, the gnawing uncertainty about the feasibility of her proposal held her back. While in this state of muddled preoccupation she noted with some irritation that among the notices of seminars, advertising circulars, and assorted memos dealing with radiation safety, chaining of bikes to fences, and smoking in the cafeterias, there was a square-shaped envelope that could only contain an invitation, in all probability to some official function. Although she had little desire to attend such functions, Janet succumbed to curiosity and opened this envelope first. She had been correct in her assumption: the envelope did contain an invitation, but not as she had surmised to an official faculty function. It was a personal note requesting the pleasure of her company at a cocktail party in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Alan Goldsack. She was just beginning to contemplate the, consequences of this when the telephone rang.

"I'm feeling terribly ignored and neglected."

"Archie!"

"You are so engrossed with Principals, Deans, and that domineering Department Head of yours, what chance has a lowly faculty member?" he moaned.

"I'm afraid I wasn't even concentrating on those matters today," Janet confessed, and explained about her grant deadline.

"Ye gods! Another rival for my attention. I was going to suggest some frivolous diversion but I can see your mind is rivetted upon more serious matters."

"After Friday I'l be totally susceptible, to any and all frivolous diversions. And speaking of Friday did you by chance receive an invitation in the mail today?"

"Haven't opened it yet. Let me see." There was a sound of rending paper and a pause. "Cocktails at 1483 Avebury Crescent."

"Archie, do you realize we have cracked the inner circle of Essex Society?"

"I suppose you'll be wanting a ride?"

"I won't say no," she replied thinking it would be a more elegant way to arrive than on her bicycle.

"Nor to dinner after?"

"We can argue later about the check," Janet responded firmly, "but I would welcome the company."

"Until Friday then, fair Janet."

The banter had been light, but she felt a little tingle nonetheless at being labelled 'fair', and admitted to herself that she was looking forward very much to Friday night and the pleasure of his company. Janet cleared her desk and bent with a will to the completion of the proposal section of her grant renewal.

With removal of the pressure of teaching Biology 333 Janet directed her energy undiluted for the next two days to the final draft of her research proposal. By late Thursday afternoon, as she got ready to meet with her tennis team, she felt satisfied that she had done what she could and was prepared to live with the consequences. Much as she resented the time taken to justify her work to the unknown committee of scientists who would make the final decision whether or not to continue funding the work in her laboratory, she felt much relief and satisfaction that the job was accomplished.

It was also a valuable self-evaluation process, to have to submit her research this way to the scrutiny of her peers, to examine how she would follow up her early success in demonstrating and isolating the cytomitin growth factors from cells. Her major worry now was the competition. Other laboratories were cranking out reams of papers on other growth factors, and there were doubtless dozens of teams trying to verify her recently published findings. She had had several letters and long-distance telephone calls of inquiry, requests for samples or details of her preparations. In the very near future she could expect to see publications from laboratories with many-fold greater resources than hers. It was a demanding and nerve-wracking competition In some respects, she reflected, not unlike the contest developing on the courts.

Judy Nicholas was an energetic and gritty player, but she was no match for Diane Bennett when the latter was playing up to her potential as she was this afternoon. Diane, smooth and consistent, placed her first serves well and jerked her opponent about the court at will, In her own service games Judy fell behind too frequently, then gave away points on weak second serves or double-faults. Janet could sense the building frustration. And although she rejoiced in having the rejuvenated Diane to compete for the team, it was apparent that it was Judy who now needed the coaching and encouragement. Accordingly, when they had finished, with the expected outcome, Janet first congratulated Diane on her improvement then called Judy to join her.

"I was just awful. Couldn't do a thing right! "Judy was more angry than depressed about her performance.

"It's hard to stand up to someone who's serving so well," Janet agreed. "That's where it all begins after all, so let's start with the serves and move along from there," and she explained to Judy about the weakness in her second serves, and the pressure she was putting on herself. For ten minutes she played points against Judy's serve, allowing her only one serve in each court. By the end the ball was landing crisp and deep near the service-line with regularity.

"Forget the first serve and get away from the mentality that second serves are only a back-up. Take the pressure off yourself and put it on the opposition when you serve the second ball with confidence. Then they can't sneak in, take an early ball on the rise and run you around."

She left Judy practicing her serve and went across to speak to Diane.

"You're hitting your stride again."

Diane smiled in response. "I guess I felt more relaxed out there today because things are going well."

"It's important to have that good feeling about yourself. But you were just a bit too loose. When you were serving at 5-1, you didn't need to drop that one,"

"She worked hard for that game."

"And you didn't."

"Well, maybe I felt a bit sorry for her."

"An admirable failing among friends, but it can lead to a bad attitude. You know it's insulting to Judy actually, not to play up to her level. When she gets tough you've got to raise the level of your game, not the reverse. Otherwise you can get in a match at 5-1 or 5-2 and lose three or four straight games. Next thing you've lost the set."

"My sister always told me I wasn't ruthless enough to finish people off when I got ahead."

"Maybe it would do you good to work from behind for a change. Now let's reconstruct it. You're serving to me at 2-5 instead of 5-2. Let's see whether I can take the set."

In the end it was clear that even Janet would have a hard time to beat Diane at the top of her form. And by the time they had battled two tough games to an even stand-off, there was a new feeling of rapport between coach and player. As she rolled sleepily into bed that evening, Janet reflected that her own days as a competitive singles player were definitely over. But what an exciting prospect it was to see the younger girls under her aegis coming along as future contenders.

"Finished your Herculean task have you?" asked Archie as he picked her up next evening.

"Finished, polished, corrected, signed, countersigned and dispatched!"

"Sounds like a thesis dissertation."

"In some ways it's more critical," Janet explained. "First is the awesome process of waiting; interminably it seems. They send out all the grants to be reviewed by so-called impartial referees. The trouble is, of course, that there is a contradiction in terms: a referee is by definition an expert in the field, ergo-- a competitor, ergo-- not impartial."

"An oxymoron -- the impartial reviewer," mused Archie.

"It's a bit of a Catch 22 situation. Last time I had two tough reviews, but reasonable. On the whole they were pretty favourable, yet hardly impartial. The third was nonsensical: the comments were ridiculous. Obviously the guy didn't know what he was talking about."

"A true impartial ignoramus."

"Exactly. I'd prefer a sound criticism to that sort of incompetence. Anyway, it has already been picked apart by my severest critic."

"Yourself ?"

"No, John Antwhistle. He sits on the Review Panel that looks over all the referee reports and recommends which grants to fund. So he knows all the possible pitfalls, and he has a pretty sharp eye for finding them."

"Doesn't it give you an unfair advantage if he influences that panel in some way?"

"They are very strict about that sort of thing. He has to declare an interest and leave when they discuss grant reports from here. In the last competition they considered his own grant, and nobody on the committee would tell him how he had done. Of course he had no reason to doubt he would be funded, but he was as nervous as a cat for weeks, muttering about retiring from science and imagining the worst. It's pretty nerve-wracking, waiting till after Christmas for the news."

"Christmas! Well, I hope we don't put off our decision in the Selection Committee till then. Incidentally, what did you think about yesterday's meeting?"

"I'm not sure," reflected Janet. I have to confess that I was wrestling with other mental problems."

"I'm wondering if our new friend, Goldsack, isn't about to put the bite on us."

"To support Jackson?"

"Perhaps. He hasn't really declared his preference yet."

"Well, here we are at the Goldsack castle, so we should soon know what the order of battle is going to be."

Goldsack Castle was an apt description for the edifice they were approaching by a tree-lined drive. Set on a promontory at the edge of the city, the house commanded an overview of Essex, the lights of which glittered below them. The drive was crowded with expensive-looking automobiles.

"Creme de la creme," muttered Archie sardonically as he ushered Janet through the front door. A vivacious blonde who turned out turned out to be Mrs. Alan Goldsack, bounced over to greet them and puzzle out their identities. An immense crowd of expensive-looking people to go with the automobiles could be made out in various rooms leading from the foyer, with a sprinkling of beards, tweeds, and other relics of academia in their midst. Janet and Archie were steered toward a relatively small book-lined room referred to by their hostess as the den.

"Here's the bar, and here's Alan," she exclaimed and abandoned them to welcome a new set of arrivals.

"Introduced in order of importance," Alan responded. "Order yourselves a drink and I'll take you in tow."

Suitably fortified by the bar tender with a potent martini-on- the-rocks, Janet followed in the wake of her host and met the creme de la creme. After a few words of polite conversation, she and Archie gravitated to an unoccupied window-seat.

"Spectacular view," she offered, gingerly sampling the barely-diluted gin.

"Where oh where is the food?" asked Archie plaintively. "A few more sips of this drink without sustenance and I'll be flying out over the chimney tops!"

"You can take me with you when you go," Janet concurred. "But some of these people are already well on the way to being airborne. Oh look!" she broke off, "there does seem to be a hopeful sign of food down the hall," and she led Archie off in the direction of what proved to be the dining room. Here they settled into some serious sampling of the shrimps, meatballs, and other assorted canapes.

From the doorway Janet could see down the hall into the entrance foyer. Over the past fifteen-minutes or so no-one else had entered the house. Now a new couple arrived, only this time both host and hostess made a point of greeting them. From the reception and the length of time they stood talking in the entrance-way Janet felt safe in assuming these to be the guests of honour.

"Dr. Edmund Tyler, Dr. Janet Gordon and Dr. Archibald McManus, "said Alan when it came to their turn to be introduced. "Dr. Tyler is Dean of Medicine at Richmond University," he explained, "Dr. Gordon is a member of our Biology Department, and Dr. McManus is a philosopher."

"Well, like Janet, a member of the Philosophy Department," Archie demurred.

"Then you concur with Thoreau's distinction?" queried Dr. Tyler.

"Between philosophers and professors of philosophy? It's nowhere more apparent than in our department."

"One of the advantages of being a biologist," responded the Dean. "I even consider myself to be one, although I concentrate most of my activities upon a single species. Which is why medical men are inferior biologists to veterinarians or bacteriologists."

"And medical men do specialize further on particular organ systems," added Janet.

"One of my regrets of youth but consolations of later life. I remained a generalist. Chose to go into basic studies of endocrinology -- like yourself Dr. Gordon in a way."

Janet blushed at this sudden revelation that the Dean knew something of her work. How and why had he obtained information about her, and how much information?

"My old colleague, John Antwhistle, told me of your activities," he explained. "These cytomitin peptides of yours sound very interesting. Dr. Gordon has isolated a unique growth factor, Alan .It acts on cells in culture to induce them to divide beyond their normal restraints, isn't that so?" Janet nodded. "Could have some significant implications for cancer cell proliferation as well as telling us something about how hormones control normal cells.

Archie, who looked suitably impressed during this exchange broke into the conversation at this point.

"What about your endocrinology research, Dr. Tyler? Was it done with animal or human subjects?"

"My direct contacts with patients have been minimal for some time, except for a few assays we set up to measure the thyroid hormones in human blood serum. No, most of our research, from which I become progressively distanced alas, is done with guinea pigs. One of the few species which like man, depends on a dietary source of vitamin C, and we have been looking into interrelations between vitamins and the thyroid gland."

"Now you see Dr. Gordon has the edge on you!" continued Archie much to Janet's embarrassment. She wondered what in the world was to come, and how much Archie had consumed from the bar. "I don't know what has transpired recently at Richmond U with the antivivisectionists, but here we've had a lot of accusations and bad publicity about animals in experimental laboratories. It's hard to convict somebody of cruelty to cells growing in culture medium (even if you do starve them of vitamins and so forth) so, Janet has escaped all that. Though some of my colleagues in Psychology have been attacked in the press, received threatening phone-calls and letters."

"I've heard a bit about the troubles you've had in that connection. People breaking in and 'liberating' the rats and mice. We have had no difficulties so far, but we regulate animal usage very tightly through our Animal Care Council in the Faculty of Medicine. We have lay people, vets and MD's on the Council. We make a public report every year and open the animal quarters to the public also. Anyway, Idon't think our guinea pigs have anything to complain of, unless the control group were to prefer the supermarket diet that is designed to parallel human fads instead of their balanced synthetic meals."

"I'm sure our kids would report us to the Children's Protective Agency if we made them eat balanced diets," said Alan . "Speaking of diets, let me have your opinion of the vitamin content of some of these," he continued, leading the Dean into the dining room.

"Impressive man," observed Janet. "He talks more like a scientist than an administrator."

"Are the two incompatible then? What of your Professor Antwhistle?"

"I guess I don't really think of him as an administrator, which may be part of his success. Things just seem to happen in our department without a lot of pushing and shoving from above."

"He may be more Machiavellian than you realize. So you're manipulated without knowing about it eh?"

"Possibly. I'm sure that Dr. Tyler or Professor Antwhistle would have handled contentious issues involving town and gown with more sensitivity than our Acting-Principal has done."

"Like the toxic waste disposal business. He kept us badly informed on that, then accepted some ridiculous advice. He managed to alienate the environmentalists and the entire Chemistry Department as well, no mean feat!"

"And with the controversy over the animal care issue, neither the liberationists nor the researchers were happy about the way he vacillated on that one," Janet continued. "According to Professor Antwhistle some wag strung up a dead rat at Morton Hall with a nasty note attached at the time when that was brewing."

"Very funny. Some crank with a warped mind no doubt. What was in the note?"

"I guess it relates to Mr. Nicholas's nickname 'The Rat' (wherever he acquired that I don't know).'This could happen to you' sort of thing."

"That's the trouble with some of these fanatics from the animal rights movement, or their fringe groups. They get carried away with emotion, start breaking and entering, committing acts of vandalism, threatening people. They lose credibility, and some of their points are well-taken," and he went on to relate problems with the exercise areas for larger experimental animals, and how some reasoned arguments in the Animal Care Committee had brought constructive changes. "The trouble is, some of these animal rights people don't want solutions of that kind, they want the experiments to stop altogether."

"And some of the experimenters are inflexibly defensive because they resent any interference with their autonomy. I think the sort of open policy Dean Tyler describes is the best. Let the public in on it. They can sort out the phonies and extremists on both sides. It's a bit like your fight for academic freedom. If you can't defend it openly it isn't worth having."

Archie studied her intently for a moment, then shook his head with a sigh. "My but you are irresistible when aroused by righteous indignation!"

"Oh do shut up!", retorted Janet, "and take me home before I turn into a pumpkin, or a stuffed shrimp."

"OK," he replied. "I guess we have met the creme de la creme," said he scooping up two large meatballs as they passed the dining room, and popping one in each of their mouths added, "and they are ours!"

CHAPTER EIGHT

Essex on an early morning in October had reached its pinnacle of picturesque resplendence. A light frost the night before left a sparkling rime on asters and goldenrods of the river meadows. The snake like path that followed the banks of the Essex River was speckled with golden leaves from overhanging hardwoods, and spattered occasionally with purple Rorschach blots from fallen wild grapes. Janet eyed the ripening bunches of the latter as she jogged beneath, and speculated on the vintage that might be obtained from them. Perhaps she should consult with her expert colleague, Bob Hayes, the wine maker, in the ways of fermentation before the crop became totally mangled underfoot and pressed to waste among the maple leaves.

The trail was deserted that morning, at least as far as she could see. Slanting sunbeams slashed through the canopy in places lighting the chrome yellow tracery and casting long shadows among the tangle of vines and shrubby willows. From time to time as she ran along the bank Janet caught glimpses, of the sluggish river down below. At this point, quite near the spot where she had slipped on the verge, the water lay far beneath her feet; the steep clay cliffs were eroded and undercut. Some washed-out trees-staggered halfway down the slope, their gnarled roots exposed and bare. Though the path was fairly firm this morning there still were slippery low spots between obtruding rootlets, patches of dead leaves, and the occasional trailing grapevine. A spot of unpredictable footing she surmised, and modified her pace and stride to bypass some of these treacherous snares and pitfalls.

It was at this moment near the highest promontory on this stretch of the bank, as she slowed for a sharply angled turn beside a small washout that she first observed the body. Almost at the water's edge, wedged awkwardly amongst a web of tree-roots, was a sprawled figure in a jogging suit. As she halted fixed by astonishment, the figure moved slightly, a twitching protest to its predicament and a weak moan was just audible. Janet threw caution aside and scrambled down the cliff.

"Tripped\--- me--- in the bushes--- tripped," he muttered distraughtly.

"Don't try to move," said Janet while she attempted to assess the extent of his injuries. She removed her own sweatsuit top and rolled it gently under his head as a cushion. "Just stay as you are" He nodded bleakly and his eyes showed a flicker of recognition, then screwed shut in anguish. "I'll hurry and get some help," she promised and tore back up the bank.

A series of nightmarish thoughts and images flashed through Janet's mind's eye as she sped back along the deserted trail. The distorted attitude of the fallen figure, the faintly audible voice, and above all, the blank despairing stare of his eyes presaged some grievous injury. Which was the shortest way back? She cut across a field to the main campus road where there was usually heavy traffic. Who was the best person to contact? She quickened her pace and headed for the nearest building. How was she going to contact his family? She found a door open and searched for a janitor or a phone. How would the news headline appear? 'Acting-Principal Breaks Back in Campus Fall.'

The trek back, with delays to meet the ambulance, seemed interminable. Crossing the field and negotiating the rough trail was not in the line of usual duty for the two ambulance attendants. They were both puffing, and lagged well behind Janet as she pressed onward. At about the half-way point she encountered Archie, also attired for jogging, and puffing also although in better fettle than the ambulance men.

"Well, "he smiled, "shall we jog back together?" Then a moment later his smile turned to a frown as the two ambulance attendants appeared with a stretcher. "What's the problem?"

"It's Mr. Nicholas," said Janet hurriedly. "He's in bad shape. Maybe you can give us a hand," and she pressed on with Archie following.

"Has he had another heart attack then? Funny I didn't see him. Is he not on the trail?"

"I don't know about his heart. Remember I told you how I had slipped off the trail?" Archie nodded. Well he's done the same apparently, but in a much worse spot. Here, it's just around this bend. You couldn't have noticed coming from the other direction."

At this point they could now make out the curled-up form below. It looked as though Jackson Nicholas had not taken Janet's advice. Indeed he had moved from the spot where she had left him several metres further down the slope while she was gone. He had rolled on his side, clear of the roots. What's more an ugly red gash she had not noticed before marked the base of his skull. By the time she reached the bottom of the cliff, Janet realized that she need not have exhorted the attendants to rush. Jackson Nicholas was now motionless and beyond help: the rat was dead.

The effect of this upon Archie was really quite remarkable and unexpected. She realized that he had known the Acting-Principal slightly before their get-together at the Nicholas house. Yet she was unprepared for his almost hysterical reaction which bordered on panic.

"Oh-my-god," he repeated in a sing-song mantra, agitatedly rubbing his hands together, while Janet and the attendants from the ambulance tried vainly to detect or evoke signs of life from the corpse. Archie was virtually useless in helping to move the body, dazedly rejoining Janet on the trail as the two men bore their pitiable load back to the waiting ambulance.

"You knew him pretty well then?" she asked.

"No, no," replied Archie quickly. "It's just such a shock. He is dead is he?"

Janet nodded grimly. "I knew he had hurt himself badly, probably spinal damage. But I didn't notice the head injury when I found him at first. He must have been much worse than I thought. Then he tried to move, fell further down the bank. Perhaps I should have stayed with him, but I didn't know how long I might have to wait until somebody chanced along."

Archie followed mutely in the cortege, behind the stretcher-bearers and Janet. By the time they reached the ambulance which was parked near the field he had regained some of his composure.

"It's going to be dreadfully hard for the family," he said thoughtfully as they walked back to the campus. "Had you worked out how you were going to handle it?"

"Well," replied Janet, "I suppose I should try to contact Judy first. At this hour there should be someone at home."

"I have my car. Why not the two of us drive out there. I can't imagine just phoning up."

Janet agreed readily to the suggestion, and they changed and set out for the home of the Acting-Principal. Somehow it would have seemed easier had it been raining dismally, or even overcast with clouds. But the morning was fulfilling its earlier promise, of perfection with a backdrop of clear brilliant cerulean for the amber of changing leaves. Janet felt a warm contentment in spite of the grim purpose of their visit. As she looked across at the troubled countenance of her companion, she was deeply grateful for his sensitivity and support at this trying moment.

By the time Janet returned to the Department it was late in the morning. She quickly checked up on activities in her lab and walked down to the office. Professor Antwhistle ushered her in and closed the door.

"So you've heard the news?"

The Professor nodded vigorously. "Dean Owens called about a half hour ago. I gather you had to break it to the widow. How did she take it?"

Janet described the tearful scene at the Nicholas household, and how helpful Archie had been in consoling Judy. Her mother had seemed to recover fairly quickly from the initial shock.

"No-one should have been astounded. Silly duffer! You would think that one warning would be enough. A foolish activity if you ask me," he went on, warming to the subject. "Running befits only the hunter or the hunted-- in short a mode of instant survival in a life-threatening situation. The voluntary act of running establishes a life threatening situation where none existed!"

Janet smiled but made no attempt to respond to this tirade. She had heard the Professor before on the evils of exercise, and knew that any self-defence would only prolong the debate, with little doubt about the outcome.

"In a sense you're correct in your assumption," she replied, "although I would hazard a guess that his fatal injury was a result of his fall rather than a cause," and she related the circumstances surrounding her discovery of the Acting-Principal.

"Whatever the cause, it has surely simplified the work of our selection committee," sighed the Professor. "I trust we don't have to follow a similar mechanism for the other extra candidates on our short list. Perhaps that's why the Dean sounded so shaken on the telephone," he mused.

"It would seem to give the Dean a pretty clear shot at the job. Though no man would hope to profit from another's tragedy with a completely glad heart."

"Well, not openly at least," said John Antwhistle. "By the way you seem to have a penchant for falling bodies recently. I hope you're not going to suffer nightmares over this!"

Later, as she sat quietly at her own desk and tried to concentrate upon a paper she had been sent for review, Janet pondered the Professor's last remarks. As in the previous case where she had found the broken remains of a colleague, there were haunting memories and images that recurred and interrupted her train of thought. Whether she had nightmares or not Janet realized that her mind would be plagued by disturbing dreams enough during the waking daytime.

After a couple of hours of futile endeavour, first at her desk, then in the lab, Janet decided that she was incapable of rational decisions in her present state, and she cancelled the afternoon tennis practice in deference to Judy, and went home. In her distracted condition she was fortunate to get there intact; twice she nearly ran her bike into the lane of traffic. She was also fortunate to find her landlady waiting. Kay quickly summed up the situation and within minutes the two women were seated on the side-lawn with well-charged martini glasses. The late-afternoon sun beamed mellowly through the gigantic yellow leaves of the overhanging maples. For a long moment there was no sound except the rustling of the light breeze through the canopy above, and the gentle tinkle of ice in the glasses. Finally Janet's shoulders relaxed perceptibly and her landlady opened the conversation.

"It must have been a terribly upsetting experience for you. Like the last time."

"And like the last time, perplexing as well as upsetting," and Janet related the sequence of events leading up to discovery of the Acting-Principal's body.

"Of course, he wasn't likely to have survived the fall was he?"

"I don't know," mused Janet. "He certainly seemed to be in a lot of pain, or perhaps anguish would be a. better term. It was something the Professor fortuitously, and semi-facetiously, said about running that put it in my mind: he had the look of a hunted animal, wounded in the chase. It was fear and desperation as much as pain that I seemed to sense."

"You mentioned his last words."

"Some confused mumbling about tripping in the bushes, which was absurd because no-one in his right mind would have been running through the bushes!"

"Perhaps he got detoured off the trail and then tripped."

Janet shook her head. "If only I could recall exactly what he said. It was obviously a great effort for him to say anything at all at that stage. So it must have seemed important, very important to him." She took a hefty swig from the glass and furrowed her brow in an effort to remember, but the words would not come to her.

"He seemed to think that this running business was quite important also," said Kay breaking into her reverie, "like someone else I know."

"Oh please, don't lecture me about it," moaned Janet in mock pain. "I've already been cautioned once today by a man who is \-- 'conserving his energy to carry my coffin', as Professor A so quaintly puts it. But you're right," she went on, "Mr. Nicholas was on a heavy training schedule. He apparently intended to enter the Sky-way Marathon next month, much to the horrified disapproval of his wife. According to Judy he had been doing an early AM 15 kilometre run religiously every day along the river trail. He was such a fiercely competitive person. I don't think either one of them was greatly surprised to hear he had collapsed They both assumed he had been overexerting himself, pushing beyond the limits."

"But you're not convinced about that explanation?"

"It's a possibility. It's also possible that he could have simply slipped. I'm not sure. Then I could be imagining things, I suppose," Janet responded carefully, "but first, it doesn't make sense to accept that he tripped going through the bushes. They were on the opposite side of the path, away from the river-bank; second, why did he give that impression of being prey to the hunter?" She virtually drained the glass and reclined her head back on the chaise.

"Just relax a bit and try to forget about it for 15 minutes," said Kay getting up. "I'll rustle us up a bit of supper and we can talk some more about it at the table."

Janet protested weakly, but in the end finished her drink, leaned back in the soft autumnal glow and dozed. But despite Kay's advice, or perhaps because of it, her subconscious mind continued to nibble away at the inconsistencies, and unanswered questions. Why had she seen no obvious skid marks at the top of the cliff where Jackson Nicholas fell to his demise? There weren't even any obvious muddy or slippery bits on that section of the trail as far as she could recall. It was almost as though the Acting-Principal had vaulted or been pushed over the edge. If so, who was to profit most? Surely not the Dean. It was inconceivable to picture him as an agent in the case. Somebody in the Dean's camp who wanted the opposition out of the way? It was hard to see that as motivation enough to take the risks involved. And who besides had the opportunity to pursue the prey at the pace set by such a competitive runner? Surely not Archie, who seemed to be the only other soul in sight that morning. He couldn't have kept up to Nicholas, let alone overtaken him in pursuit. Besides, it was ludicrous to suspect Archie of violent thoughts or actions. He was so sensitive and gentle, for example, in his way of handling Judy and her mother in their distress. Yet there was indeed something strange in Archie's first reactions at the scene of the 'crime'.

"Supper," called Kay, interrupting her reverie. The meal, a sumptuous chicken-pot-pie, assuaged Janet's frazzled state of mind .

"Have you come to some conclusions then about what happened?" asked Kay as they finished the savoury dish .

"Well, "Janet answered hesitantly, "I think I'll reserve judgement on it until I've had a chance to discuss it with Archie. He may have noticed something that I didn't. After all, he came along the trail apparently in the same direction as Mr. Nicholas, whereas I must have approached it from the opposite end. First of all though I have to go back into the lab and carry out the next steps in the fractionation."

"Again?" asked Kay disapprovingly. She knew from past experience that these evening experiments could run into the small hours of the morning. "Can't you organize that girl, Julia, to run these things for you in daylight hours? I don't really like you cycling around after dark anyway," she fussed. "Won't you take my car at least?"

"Thanks awfully, but there's something I want to check out and I think it will be easier by bike. I don't expect to be terribly late. But you won't wait up?"

"Not past eleven. Get back by then and we'll have some tea.

"I'll try Janet promised, setting off on her bicycle. By crossing the bridge and turning sharply on the opposite side she could come out on the river trail just a kilometre upstream of the spot where Jackson Nicholas had fallen. The sun was slanting through the trees as it had been that morning early, but from the opposite side now. How different and serene the bank looked coming at it from this direction. Janet cycled a short way before the trail became rough and she had to dismount, leaving her bike propped up against a tree. As she came upon the site where the Acting-Principal had mis-stepped, she could see the sharp bend in the path ahead, the patch of bushes on her right. First, she examined the top of the cliff again confirming her suspicion of a lack of skid marks. The ground was still damp, the earth soft, and numerous footprints were obvious along the muddy path and down the cliffside where she had climbed earlier with Archie and the ambulance men. She carefully cast about in the bushes. Light was failing now as the sun dipped lower, but nonetheless after several minutes of searching she found exactly what she had been looking for. Her heart pounding with excitement over the discovery. Janet hurried back to her bicycle and sped up to the campus in the dying light of sunset. Quickly she checked her column fractionation running reliably through the automatic collector in the cold room and verified that there was nearly an hour to go till the end of the run.

She rushed to her office telephone to contact Archie. "Drat!" she said as the phone rang distantly, unheeded. She let it ring five, ten times both in his office and at home, then gave up and set down the receiver. She thought of calling Bob Hayes, but felt it would require too much explanation. Walking down the corridor deep in thought Janet noted a light emanating from the office of John Antwhistle. She knocked on his door and was admitted to a scene of unbelievable chaos. To the usual teetering piles of reprints, reports, file-folders and correspondence, was added a conglomerate of opened books and journals overflowing from the desk to the counter behind. Pacing between desk and counter the Professor distractedly made a few notes on a pad he was holding while gesturing Janet to sit down. After a minute or two he stopped writing, dropped the pad and joined her on the other side of the desk.

"Thank you for rescuing me! "he exclaimed wearily removing his spectacles. "This wretched article will be the death of me. Speaking of death and dying, what news if any of our recent dear departed? I hope it isn't preying unduly on your mind."

"Actually, it has led me to think about it in a different light," said Janet taking the plunge, and she proceeded to tell him of her thoughts and her recent investigations at the scene.

"Which she concluded, "might prove whether we should speak of it as the scene of the accident or scene of the crime," and she told him what she thought should be done next. He regarded her gravely for a few moments, then gave an opinion.

"I don't know. It might be viewed as tampering but --" and he paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. " How about this for a suggestion?"

By the time they had agreed upon their course of action, and Janet removed her fractions from the cold-room to the deep-freeze, it was close to midnight. It was too late to phone Archie again. It was too late for tea too, she thought as she pulled her bike alongside the darkened house.

"Cake in bread-box, cocoa on stove, me in bed,'' said the laconic note on the hall-table. Janet gratefully helped herself to her midnight snack in the kitchen. Perhaps she should phone Archie. She vacillated; too late tonight, probably too early in the morning - he would be furious knowing she had gone ahead without him. But why should she have to justify her actions to him anyway? He could as easily have tried to contact her.

In the end she took the last cup of cocoa up to bed with her. Morning would doubtless sort things out better for her. It was certainly a case of 'sufficient unto the day are the evils thereof' she reflected, turning out the light and almost simultaneously dropping into total oblivion.

CHAPTER NINE

Next morning dawned cool and overcast. The heavy low clouds scudded by on a stiff breeze as the little party proceeded along the river path, Janet in her jogging suit and well-cleated running shoes leading the way, Professor Antwhistle in old gardening shoes and pants, and an enormous Cowichan sweater grumbling in her wake, Tom Audette bearing several pails and pots in the rear. When they reached the scene of the fall John Antwhistle set up his camera and tripod preparatory to taking photographs of the areas designated by Janet.

"Over here," she directed, "around the base of the tree and in the clump of bushes, do you see?"

"Yes," he replied. "I think I can get these without flash." Then anxiously peering over the edge of the bank, "You don't need any down there do you? Small wonder he broke his neck!"

"No. But perhaps Tom could have a look after he finishes in the bushes."

She was still somewhat dubious about sharing their clandestine purpose with the Professor's young sculptor friend. The latter was busying himself with mixing and pouring materials from the pail into areas of the ground alongside the trail. Next he scrambled nimbly down the bank and did the same in areas near where the body had lain.

"Good thing we didn't wait much longer," he remarked, looking overhead at the darkening sky." A good rain would have washed most of these away."

"Do you think we have time even now?" asked Janet anxiously, following his gaze.

"Oh yes," he laughed, "This stuff sets up extra fast. And no harm done to the environment, if you know what I mean."

"You mean no traces left on the ground?"

"None whatsoever," he replied confidently. "This new moulding compound takes a negative impression from clay, with appropriate separators of course, and you could even pick out the fingerprints in the mould."

Even as he spoke he proceeded, to pull off the first of the impressions. There was a faithful rendering of the bottom of Janet's running shoe, with every worn cleat replicated. He then sketched the area and numbered each of the impressions with their locales duly noted on the sketch.

"Up at the top we can register these with the Professor's photos, using my rough sketch. These of your imprints will make a good control as you scientists refer to it."

After the better part of an hour they had finished their record-taking and packed up the paraphenalia.

"Let's take all this back to my place," suggested the Professor. "I don't know about you two but I'm damn near frozen. Have either of you eaten breakfast?"

Janet admitted to her customary orange| and Tom a cup of coffee.

"Starvation regimens! "snorted the Professor. "We'll soon remedy that."

Within minutes of their arrival at John Antwhistle's home they were seated around the kitchen table while the Professor prepared a massive pan of eggs scrambled over the burner.

"Dig in," he exhorted them, passing the eggs, muffins and marmalade. "Behold the egg, a creature much maligned by nutritional experts," he expounded, "it is in reality a benediction upon humanity. The amount of dietary cholesterol absorbed by the human intestinal tract is small. And for most people, except the hypercholesterolemics who are a minority among us, the benefits of the excellent protein provided by the lowly-egg far outweigh the small addition to our LDL'S. You would be better off to remove the butter or margarine from your diet." He went on to extoll the virtues of low-fat diets in reducing the incidence of cardiovascular disease and cancer. Tom and Janet showed little evidence of heeding this nutritional advice as they polished off not only eggs but muffins, the latter well-buttered and marmaladed. Finally sated they sat around the table drinking mugs of tea.

"These imprints are remarkably detailed!" exclaimed Janet after examining them closely. "This is a fairly common style of cleat, however. Can you tell much from the relative wear on each tread do you think?"

" I don't know," Tom replied. "I'm no expert at this sort of stuff. But here, you can see there's an entirely different kind of tread."

"Probably one of the ambulance men."

"Can you remember what kind of shoes they had on?"

"One had running shoes of some kind as I recall. The other must have had regular street shoes. He was slipping and sliding all over the bank."

"There were certainly enough skid marks to obliterate most of the footprints," complained Tom.

"What about the area in the bushes at the top?" inquired the Professor.

"Only a partial impression I'm afraid. A part of a heel in a soft spot where somebody rocked back on his haunches most likely. It doesn't match up with the others where we got a full foot print, however," Tom said examining the dozen or so impressions spread out on the kitchen table.

"What about this one?"

"Could be. But you see this is mainly the front part of the shoe. With the weight forward it doesn't make much of an impression from the heel. They all look like a similar type of cleat to me."

"So unless we can get an imprint from the actual shoe it's going to be hard to make a connection isn't it?"

"Afraid so. Sorry if I haven't been of much help to you."

"You've been a great help," assured the Professor. "And

this little bit of evidence may prove pretty significant later if we can find something with which to compare it."

"Well, I'll be shoving off then," said Tom. "I'll say nothing to anyone as you asked before. Let me know if I can do anything else to help."

"I think I can see a modus operandi for the 'accident' consistent with our observations," said the Professor as he drove Janet into work later that morning. "Who did you suspect as the agent behind all this?"

"I do not know," she replied deliberately. Were there not some grounds for suspecting Archie, for example? Although it was rather incredible to consider him as a suspect, she was glad that up to now she had not confided in him about her theories of the cause of the Acting-Principal's, death. Now that those theories seemed to be pretty conclusively confirmed, Janet was somewhat in a quandary regarding her next step. After a brief discussion about how next to proceed they arrived at the Biology parking lot just as the first fat drops of rain started to spatter the windshield. By the time they had rushed to the building the shower had turned to a torrential downpour.

"A good thing we got our records before the deluge anyway," concluded the Professor. "I should think that by tomorrow morning the slate will have been obscured or wiped clean!"

Janet nodded her agreement, and walked to her office where a stack of telephone messages marked her late arrival at work. She shuffled through the memos abstractedly while puzzling over the course she should take. Certainly it should be settled, if possible post haste, or else turned over to the authorities. But perhaps there was one more gambit she could carry out on her own before incurring the interests of officialdom. She was pondering the possibilities when Leonard knocked on her open door and entered the office.

"Could I talk with you for a few minutes?" he asked.

"Come right in!" responded Janet, but the irony was lost on Leonard, who proceeded to sit in the chair beside her desk. Janet was about to offer him a seat, then thought better of it, anticipating some further unsolicited invasion of her privacy.

"What's on your mind?" she asked, with a conscious effort to avoid sarcasm in her tone.

Leonard got up, shut the office door, and pulled his chair closer with a conspiratorial expression, on his face, It's about this emergency meeting," he whispered. "Oh, didn't you get a call about it?" he added noting Janet's bewilderment.

"I just got here," said Janet, annoyed to have to admit the fact, and riffled through the memos on her desk. "I suppose this is it - special meeting of Selection Committee today at noon -- no agenda noted," she remarked looking vainly on the reverse for clarification.

"None was given, but some of us have an inkling of what is up and I think we should present a united front he asserted importantly.

"To what?" asked Janet, somewhat miffed to be learning all this background information second-hand.

"There are fractions in the committee who are trying to block the Dean," said Leonard. Janet struggled to maintain her composure in considering the fractional nature of the Committee.

"But is it more than one-half, this fraction?" asked Janet innocently.

"We have heard," continued Leonard, "of some plot by the Regents to parachute a new candidate in from outside. Now that Mr. Nicholas is out of the way they want to stop the Dean," he said ingenuously.

"Surely there are enough outside candidates already. If someone wishes to block the Dean's candidacy as you imply there is competition in the lists."

"But not very serious-competition," and he started to rhyme off the deficiencies of the outsiders. A was too young, B too old, C an expert scholar, but too narrow in his discipline, D too broad, E a burnt-out case, and so forth.

"What about Dr. Holmes?" asked Janet somewhat aghast at the off-hand dismissal of the members of the short-list.

"Quite a bright lady, but I hear she insulted several members of the Regents during a meeting last spring." Angel Holmes was President of a small college with a liberal arts emphasis. "Do you really think this place is ready for a woman Principal yet?"

Janet had to admit she did not. Moreover, despite the exaggerations in Leonard's summary she also had to admit that from the perspective of a substantial number on the selection committee the objections he had noted had all been raised at some point or other in their deliberations about the outside candidates. She paused thoughtfully before continuing. If there were indeed someone or ones who wished to block the Dean's chances there also seemed to have been someone more determined to prevent the confirmation of Mr. Nicholas as Principal. Might not that same person be among the group supporting the Acting-Principal's rival, Dean Owens? Before identifying herself too strongly with this 'fraction' Janet decided she should determine who the members of the group were, although she was pretty certain she knew the answer before she asked the question.

"I've talked already to Dr. McManus," said Leonard. Janet had a slight twinge, halfway between regret and stricken conscience, that Archie should find more opportunity for discussions with Leonard than herself. There was, she noted, a message on her desk to call him.

"And I thought if you or Professor A could contact Professor Radlock, you know it would be more appropriate, don't you think?"

More appropriate but still improbable, thought Janet, nodding in agreement. Radlock was unlikely to accept advice from anyone let alone Leonard, judging from his behaviour at the meetings thus far. And Professor A would doubtlessly have thrown Leonard out of his office door, or window if he had succeeded in getting as far as he had intruded into Janet's office,

"Well that's good then," said Leonard misinterpreting her smile as acquiescence. "See you at the meeting," he waved as he walked out into the corridor. Janet watched him departing down the hall confidently swinging his briefcase. Leonar was buoyantly thriving on all the new-found political activity and his burgeoning sense of self-importance. He had taken to wearing a suit to class, that is, if and when he ever found time to attend classes. Doubtless the briefcase was opened only at lunch-time to release a sandwich. Any books that found their way in there would serve chiefly as counterweights to add the semblance of substance to its contents. Janet had a momentary glimpse of the future with Leonard as a member, or more probably, chairman of the Board of Regents, bringing the same empty brief case and cranium to the meetings.

She left her desk and went to the cold-room to discuss with Julia their latest modifications of the isolation procedure. By the time that she finished and attempted to return Archie's call he was no longer in his office. They could see one another at the meeting, at any rate. Janet had to admit to herself that she-felt decidedly awkward about getting together with him now. In one sense she was dying to open up the whole case with him to get his ideas about what had happened. On the other hand she reluctantly entertained this absurd suspicion that he was avoiding contact with her, covering something up. It was too ridiculous -- and yet -- if there were only some way to settle the matter without letting him know. She started to hatch a plan of action. It was not an easy matter to see how she could set the stage. It was like an attempt to get a suspect to leave his fingerprints on some object, but infinitely more difficult when it was a footprint instead.

Most of the committee members had already assembled by the time that Janet reached the meeting. It had been catered as a luncheon meeting rather ineffectively by the University cafeteria. Janet recalled her long-held vow to eschew the offerings of the cafeteria as she surveyed the curling edges of sandwiches revealing grey beef slices, soapy cheese and oozy tuna. She helped herself to a rock-hard green banana and a luke-warm grapefruit drink. In one corner Leonard was attempting to break in on a heated discussion between Professors Radlock and Antwhistle. The chairman and Alan Goldsack disputed together at the other end. Archie entered the meeting room just as the chairman broke off his argument and called the group to order. United solely by the sombre nature of the occasion and a foretaste of intestinal discomfort, the members of the committee seemed as disparate and remote from consensus as it was possible to be.

"l have a sorrowful and distasteful duty to perform," commenced the Chairman soberly. Apt phrasing Janet reflected with a view to the use of these particular funeral baked meats to furnish the feast for those who would replace the late-departed. "You will mourn with me the loss of our stalwart colleague who has filled the role of chief executive officer so well, and given such promise for the future. So long as he held the reins of the acting chief we had some breathing space about the final selection. Now alas, that he has gone we have lost two key administrators at once and the academic ship is particularly vulnerable. I can tell you in confidence what will be announced officially tomorrow, that earlier today the Board of Regents convened and named me as Chairman pro tempore so that one of our vacant offices has been filled, albeit by one with inadequate preparation. It was agreed however, and I would hope, the committee concurs, that it would be inappropriate to appoint yet another Acting-Principal. That would only extenuate the interregnum and create serious problems of confidence within the academic community, not to mention fiscal problems at a critical phase of the budget cycle. In short," he concluded, "the Regents have determined, with your agreement that this committee should come to a speedy resolution of its mandate and appoint a permanent Principal as soon as possible!"

"Mr. Chairman.".Alan Goldsack attempted to obtain the floor.

"One minute Mr. Goldsack. I don't want other issues raised. Were you about to speak to the point recommended by the Regents?"

"Since there is no motion on the floor I would like to make one relevant to that point, with the proviso that since our short list has been further shortened by events we must be prepared to accept some additional names for the short list."

"Outside of those already on file?" The Chairman looked aghast at the suggestion.

"Yes Mr. Chairman. And in due course I shall provide such a nomination with full documentation."

"Seconded," said John Antwhistle.

"Mr. Chairman, I object," declared Leonard. "Now we have a carefully ranked list of names, and I think all of us can agree of those which is the best person. So why should we have to add an unknown quantity like an afterthought? Stick with those people we've got all that information on and stick with the agenda."

"There is no agenda," put in John Antwhistle. "No, I apologize, the emergency did not allow it."

"But we don't want to protract our discussions by opening up the lists," the Chairman objected.

"Let each person today consider if he has a name to bring forward, and then settle on the short-list," suggested Alan Goldsack.

"Well, it could add all sorts of unknowns. We would have to dig up more information," protested the Chairman.

"Not in the case of my nominee. Everything's in here," said Alan patting a thick file in front of him, "And most of you know him already."

"Question!" interjected Professor Radlock.

"What is the question?" asked the Chairman wearily.

"I move the previous question," repeated the Professor. "It is a non-debatable motion," he went on pedantically, " and-requires that the question regarding Mr. Goldsack's previous motion should now be put."

The Chairman eyed him with disfavour but put the question which was passed with dissenting mutters from Leonard.

"Would members of the committee signify now if they are satisfied with the short-list," said the Chairman.

Leonard was first on his feet, "Mr. Chairman. There are several people on that list that shouldn't be there, and I see no reason to add anyone when we have Dean Owens as the man on the spot. With good experience as an administrator, and he knows this place. "I was not soliciting endorsements or challenges to particular candidates on the short list. Please signify simply if you wish to add any new names or bring up again any of our earlier candidates that were relegated to the Limbo List."

"No, Mr Chairman, I have none to add."

"Thank you." He went around the table clockwise asking each person in turn, all denying any interest in augmenting the list of candidates, until he got to Janet. She was seated three seats ahead of Alan Goldsack and could not make out any name or label on the fat file in front of him on the table. Nonetheless, she was fairly certain of its contents, and surprised herself by rising from her chair as her turn came up.

"I don't know whether the gentleman in question is interested. I do know he would be eminently qualified. I would like to nominate Dr. Edmund Tyler, Dean of Medicine at Richmond University."

"Nothing to add," said Professor Radlock who sat beside Janet.

"Nor I," commented one of the Regents who was next in line.

"Well, I have to second Dr. Gordon's nomination," laughed Alan Goldsack, passing the file along to the Chairman. "I believe that most of you will know Dr. Tyler, if not in person, then by his reputation both as a scholar and administrator," and he ran through the highlights of his curriculum vitae. It was apparent from the nods around the table that most of the members of the selection committee did know Dr. Tyler. In fact, Janet in reflecting on the composition of the guest list at the Goldsack's party realized that most of the committee members except perhaps Leonard and Professor Antwhistle had recent occasion to meet the Tylers, and that Alan Goldsack doubtless had occasion to broach the matter of the Principality to Dean Tyler.

"It would seem said the Chairman, "that we now have a pair of Deans on our short-list, that is if we agree to add Dr. Tyler's name." Leonard looked sullen but did not interject. And if no other names are forthcoming, I shall add this material and consider our files now to be closed. An office adjacent to the Principal's suite will be made available to you for the next 48 hours. The candidate's personal records, letters of recommendation, and other confidential background data will be retained therein for your perusal prior to our meeting on Thursday morning. It is my intention then to ask you each to rank order the short-list candidates, together with your reasons. If a clear choice is produced we may then approach the ranked candidates in turn."

"And if there is no clear choice?" asked one of the Regents.

"Then after due opportunity for debate, I will call for a vote between the two top-ranked candidates, with the chair to break a tie if such should occur. I stress that I rely on you all to observe discretion in the extreme at this sensitive stage. No mention outside this room of candidates' names, the short-list, or the stage of our proceedings. I know I can trust you all in this for the good of the institution, and of course, for you all to be thoroughly prepared for our next debate."

As the meeting adjourned and the members drifted off Janet managed to get Archie's eye and they walked together to the outer hall. Leonard passed with a look of fury.

"A surprisingly ardent supporter for our own Dean," murmured Janet.

"Despite his aloof manner the students respect him,'' Archie replied. "There is a fair measure of support from faculty members too, although that may have been an anti-Nicholas vote. Terry O'Meara, for example was a strong proponent of Dean Owens."

"I would have thought your fiery-friend to be too much of an iconoclast to be a supporter of the current administration."

"Just so. But it was the former Principal and the Acting-Principal he was most opposed to. It had to do with Terry's failure to win tenure. If he misses once more he's through at the University. It's the end of his probationary period. It has been said that the Dean may have gone to bat for him over objections from higher up."

To Janet, for whom the mechanisms and machinations of the tenure process were still somewhat distant and mysterious, all of this sounded rather esoteric reasoning for O'Meara's support of Dr. Owens. Perhaps if he perceived himself to be threatened from the top of the administrative ladder he would naturally opt for one on a lower rung who reportedly had shown him some favourable treatment.

"I've not seen much of you lately," said Janet, trying to sound off-hand about it.

"Been pretty busy with a graduate seminar plus a couple of other courses," Archie said apologetically. "How's your work coming?"

"Less hectic just now, since I got my grant renewal off, and Professor A took over in the undergraduate course."

"You scientists have an easy time of it ," needled Archie.

"Easy enough if you're not also working 12 hour days in the lab and to get some erratic graduate students to keep producing!"

"So you can't have much time for jogging and other pursuits. Have you been out since the last time -- you know?"

"Once," she answered truthfully, but not revealing the purpose of the outing. It seemed a natural lead-in to her next question. "How about an early morning run tomorrow?"

"I'd only hold you back," laughed Archie. "Besides, I agreed to take someone else for a slow jog along the trail tomorrow AM."

"Well, perhaps we'll meet then," said Janet casually, and they strolled out to the front door. The clouds had broken up, and a light breeze puffed them along with a shower of golden leaves across the brilliant blue of the sky. They parted at the doorway, Janet setting off at a brisk pace for the lab. There was still something irritatingly inconsistent in her attitude toward Archie, and in his behaviour toward her. She felt a mixture of expectation, guilt and exhilaration as she contemplated the next move in their ambivalent relationship. Pending the outcome, and depending on the evidence therefrom, it could very well be the last.

CHAPTER TEN

It was nearly mid-night when Janet finished her experiment and walked down to the Department office to leave a letter for the mail pick-up. The campus was fairly dark and empty except for a couple of lights directly opposite in Morton Hall. Possibly there was someone with the same idea as she had -- to take a look through the Selection Committee files while the place was moderately quiet. As she looked one of the lights went out. Janet frowned in recollection that this was the window of the Principal's suite. The adjacent light stayed on for a few minutes, then it too was extinguished.

Janet dashed for the stairs and out the door of the Biology Building. Taking a chance she sprinted around the corner of Morton Hall, bringing herself into an alcove in the rear courtyard that shielded her from the back portico just as the door swung open. Under the dim light of the doorway she could make out the shadowy outline and distinctive features of Archibald McManus. She held her breath and pulled back as quietly as she could, while he walked past and out of the courtyard.

Janet paused for a full minute trying to collect her thoughts and slow her racing heart-beat. If he had entered the Principal's suite on the pretext of examining Selection Committee files, Archie also had some business that had prompted him to get access to the inner office. Or had there been somebody else in the building that he had not known about? She waited for several minutes in the shadows, but no-one else emerged. Silently she let herself into the building and slowly made her way up the staircase, imagining hidden shapes along the passages as she passed the landings. However, the offices seemed truly deserted by the time she reached them. There was evidence of recent occupancy in the form of coffee-cups on a side-table, and an ashtray with a few butts gave evidence of one of the smoking members. She slid the ashtray down the coffee-table and opened the file-cabinet.

For the next hour Janet pored over the candidates' records, particularly the file on Dean Tyler. More than once since that morning she had wondered at her own temerity, and a few doubts had lingered over the wisdom of her move at the meeting in nominating the man based simply upon her intuition and instant impressions. Probably she had only reinforced the committee's preconceptions about feminine impetuosity. But the more she delved into the background and qualities of Dean Tyler, the more reassured she was in the correctness of her choice. The entry of a strong outside candidate would allay fears about local favouritism and possibly bring some fresh air into the administration at Essex University. She wearily closed the files and locked up the office with a profound feeling of satisfaction in the day's work. It was tomorrow's work that would prove tricky in the extreme!

The morning turned out as it had been promised -- dry, breezy, and cool. Janet was off and away in her running attire with the faint pink of sunrise still on the horizon. She left her bike near the bridge and concealed herself in a rough clump of brush that was thickly overgrown with bittersweet nightshade. The heavy vines entangled the trunks of the trees above and provided a well-screened blind overlooking the trail a few metres below. She removed her back-pack, put on gloves, toque and a light windbreaker. Then drawing a long pull from her thermos of hot chocolate, she settled down to wait.

Of course there was no guarantee that Archie and his companion would pass by on the river-trail. Odds were that they might be indoors instead, or jogging around the stadium track, that is if they really intended to run this morning at all. Janet began to entertain self-doubts about her sanity in taking Archie seriously and subjecting her self to this chilling vigil. She next began to speculate on who Archie's putative companion might turn out to be. On the other occasions that she had encountered him while jogging he had been on his own, The only people she had noticed him with over the past week had been Judy Nicholas and Terry O'Meara, and then only in public settings.

She had to admit to herself that apart from Kay's sleuthing into his background and degrees, she knew very little really about Archie and his circle of friends.

Perhaps he was indulging himself in a little sophomoric intrigue with the attractive daughter of the late Acting-Principal. Didn't his comforting of the bereaved girl go somewhat beyond what was required of a casual friend from the faculty? Janet was ruefully aware that her misgivings could be clouded by emotions akin to the two-toned fruit of the bittersweet vine around her.

Then there was his relationship with the dour Terence. What the two men could have in common she was at a loss to explain. Archie to all outward appearances, constantly buoyant and cheerful; Terence, saturnine, sharp-tongued and cynical. It seemed outlandish to imagine them as being of an accord, and yet --. It was just at that moment that she heard approaching voices along the trail. Janet crouched down as low as she could and still maintain a watch over the path.

This section of the trail was level and broad, and with the moisture from yesterday's rain in the earth should be ideal for retention of a clear heel-strike imprint. Janet had inspected the area before-hand and noted several flat regions devoid of footmarks. She had prepared these regions by carefully removing most of the fallen leaves. Now to her satisfaction she could see her quarry approaching, the two runners side by side on the trail, too engrossed in their conversation to be aware of her presence. The joggers were now almost directly opposite, one in a brilliant blue track-suit, the other in a non-descript beige outfit. She could only pick up snatches of their somewhat breathless discussion, which was bordering upon a dispute, when they swept past and around a bend out of sight.

Quickly Janet sprang from her place of concealment. The prints were clear and unequivocal. There on one side of the pair of tracks was a set of heel-prints identically matching those from the scene of the crime at the top of the cliff. The clay in this area was firm and glutinous. Janet drew a sheath knife from her belt and hacked out two of the prints with surrounding clay. She was just setting these into the grass beside the trail and was about to cut out some of the others for comparison when she heard a loud cry of anguish ahead on the trail. Without pausing to reflect she tore off in the direction of the shout.

It was only a short distance around the bend that she came upon the sight of the two joggers, the beige-attired one standing over the other clad in blue, apparently disabled where he had fallen. Janet let out an angry yell, and impelled by her anger rather than by any plan of action, charged into the fray. Startled by this sudden and unexpected intrusion the attacker fled, leaving his victim groaning on the ground.

"Tripped me!" The words faintly uttered were an echo of what she had heard such a short time ago, and almost in the same spot. After assuring herself that the victim was suffering only minor injuries Janet set off in pursuit of the attacker. Although favoured by a head start the figure was still in sight running across the field as Janet broke out of the woods at the end of the trail. By now in the open, condition was beginning to tell on her quarry, and Janet put on a burst of speed to close the gap between them. She had no clear idea still of what she might do if she caught up with the attacker. Once or twice the figure looked back in apparent panic or fright. Janet could not imagine why she was evoking such terror until she chanced to look down and realized that she was still clutching the knife in her right hand. Without checking her stride she sheathed the knife, but kept her hand upon the hilt.

They reached the far edge of the field with only a dozen or so strides separating them. Without pause the figure ahead shot through the bushes fringing the field and onto the roadway running alongside. There was a loud squeal of brakes as Janet reached the thicket. Emerging from the other side she found to her horror a huge transport truck stopped in the road with the driver bending over the broken form of the runner on the pavement.

"These are really remarkably good impressions," said Tom Audette later that evening. "They match perfectly with the casting we took in the area of the bushes. He held up the two clay slabs which were now commencing to dry out, and lined them up to the cast.

"Will someone kindly explain to me the significance of these blessed footprints, and their connection with the dreadful events this morning," Kay McKay pleaded. She had just cleared dinner dishes where the four had enjoyed a meal prepared by Janet, and returned to find a series of muddy clods, photos, and diagrams laid out on newspapers on her dining-room table.

"The simplest principle of evidence, namely that every criminal unwittingly takes away from and leaves behind some sign of his presence at the locale," Professor Antwhistle responded. "In this case the footprint, owing to specific areas of wear, was as unique a piece of evidence as a fingerprint,"

"Even better in this case, because we also have the shoes that were used to make the distinctive prints," Janet added, holding them aloft. "I relieved the criminal of them on the pretext of making him comfortable in the ambulance. Incidentally, I would not be surprised if one of those ambulance attendants should blow the whistle on this affair and raise the necessity for an inquest. After all, three trips to rescue joggers in varying states of injury from the same area, and with the same woman as a witness, and one of the previous witnesses as one of the casualties, may seem beyond the realm of coincidental happenings."

"And where was the original footprint obtained from?" asked Kay, persisting with her line of questioning.

"At the top of the cliff amid a clump of bushes where the wearer of the shoes was evidently crouched in concealment. It was Janet's deduction or intuition (if one can use the term without sexist connotation)," continued the Professor, "She led us back to the scene, and we took advantage of Tom's technology to obtain a permanent record."

"And from this single print, you now feel you have reconstructed the 'crime' if such it may be?"

"I think it was borne out by today's events, gruesome though they were."

"Whatever led you to the supposition that the Principal 's death was other than accidental anyway?" she asked Janet.

"As Professor Antwhistle assumes I make no bones about using female intuition, either in the lab or at home. There were a number of unsettling aspects of that 'accident', which forced me to question what I had observed, or thought I had observed. The first was Archie's reaction of agitation when we realized that Mr. Nicholas was dead. If you pardon another sexist statement, I knew that some men may be unnaturally squeamish at the sight of blood, so I should not have been surprised when Dr. McManus came upon the corpse. There was in his reaction, however, something akin to horror-- the horror of a realization -"

"A reaction of guilt perhaps?'

"That was a possibility that crossed my mind later when I thought it over. The second disturbing thing was the attitude of the body. Mr. Nicholas would not likely have moved further-down the slope of his own volition. He knew he was badly hurt, and he knew that help was coming."

"Perhaps his mind was confused."

"Possibly. Or perhaps he was trying to escape from someone at the top whom he perceived for whatever reason as menacing."

"Which led you to think of someone else at the scene who may have had a hand in the 'accident', if that is what it was?"

"If that is what it was. Exactly. Once I started to think of it as a non-accidental crime the third point had a significance I had passed over at first. When Mr. Nicholas was lying in extremis he managed to gasp a few words, not a sentence, but a few words he apparently thought important enough to convey despite his suffering, and to repeat them. At first I had the order wrong because I caught the second part before the beginning part \-- 'tripped me', then, 'in the bushes'. It puzzled me that he had said 'tripped me' instead of, 'I tripped in the bushes', but later I recalled that he had repeated 'tripped me' at the end. Since it was illogical anyway to conclude that he had tripped on something by running off the path and through the bushes, the inference was that he was trying to tell me that someone 'in the bushes tripped me'. So I returned to the locus quo to see whether that could have been a possibility."

"And you found the tell-tale footprint."

"More than that. You see, it was a lack of prints or skid marks at the top of the bank that seemed peculiar. If a person collapses and falls at the edge of a clay cliff you expect to see some signs up there where he went out of control as it were. And there weren't any. That brought me to wonder whether someone had suddenly thrust an obstacle in his path at the critical point in the bend to cause him to vault head-first over the cliff. That would account for the lack of any skid marks. It would have had to be somebody lurking in concealment in the bushes near enough to the trail to be sure he could time the protrusion of a stick or some other obstacle into the path at the right place and instant to give no opportunity for the victim either to side-step or to observe and identify the agent of the obtruded hurdle. When I returned there later that day it was obvious that the bushes right next to the trail would have been too sparse for someone to remain hidden if he were close enough to poke a stick across the path. It didn't take long to find the modus operandi ."

"And we have some excellent photos to prove it," nodded Tom.

"Yes, they did turn out rather well," said the Professor immodestly. "My singular contribution to the affair," he told Kay.

"Not the only one, "Janet contradicted him. "Had you not been a patron of young artists," she noted smiling at Tom, "we would have had no permanent record of the culprit who had been lurking deep in the foliage."

"If he had been so far back from the path then how did he contrive to trip up Mr. Nicholas?" asked Kay impatiently .

"A rope," Janet answered simply, "yet not an ordinary one, or rather one too ordinary to be noticed either by the intended victim or by any of us who trampled on it after the event."

"So there was an element of camouflage or disguise of this particular rope," mused Kay with a puzzled frown.

"That was the beauty of it. None was required!" declared the Professor. "Everyone saw it, yet it was so natural that nobody noticed until Janet looked more closely and saw the knot."

"The knot," repeated Kay.

"Yes," said Janet. "You know the trail along the river at that point is overhung with vines of the wild grape. Which reminds me," she digressed, "I must check with Bob Hayes about some fermentation experiments. From the look of the juicy stains below there must be a bumper vintage up in the canopy."

"The knot," persisted Kay, trying to keep Janet to the point.

"The vines become tangled and criss-cross the path, sometimes drooping or even falling to the ground. That's why no-one noticed the one strategic vine lying across the trail at the critical bend. When I returned later I found the end of it stretching far into the patch of bushes, and just nearby the telltale imprint of a cleated running shoe in the soft clay. This was a fairly hefty vine, over a centimetre in diameter, and on the other side of the path, about knee-high, it was wound around a small tree-trunk. However, unlike several other vines along the way it hadn't simply grown that way - the ends were broken so it wasn't rooted at either end -- a sure indication it had been placed there deliberately. And where it passed around the tree it was actually knotted!" She held up the photograph to show Kay.

"Looks like a bowline to me," nodded Kay, who knew something of boats and knots.

"Taken together with the footprint it signified clear intent," said the Professor. "Somebody wanted Jackson Nicholas out of the way, in a cunningly discreet manner which should have avoided detection."

"Out of the way, yes. I'm not so sure he really intended to kill the man," Janet responded.

"What was the point then?" inquired Tom. "I thought at the time it was a low percentage way to eliminate someone. In fact I suspected you were both imagining some of the sinister aspects of all those footprints. I really doubted you would ever pin it on somebody."

"Probably it would have been very hard to do that, especially if that somebody suspected that we had a lead on his motives and actions. Which is why I became very wary about letting anyone else know of my suspicions."

"Such as Archie."

"Especially Archie. I had come to feel some pretty strong reasons to link him to the crime. And now I'm glad I respected those feelings."

"Poor Archie!" sighed Kay.

"Poor Archie be damned," snorted the Professor. "His behaviour was quite egregious, bordering on insanity if not criminality! "

"Ah well, I suppose I shall always have a soft spot in my heart for Archie," she responded.

"As so many other members of your sex seem to have done. Next you'll be saying that he was motivated by the best intentions!"

"But speaking of intentions," put in Tom, "if the purpose was not to actually kill Jackson Nicholas, as you seem to think Janet, what was the real motive and the desired end?"

"To discredit him. To neutralize him as a serious candidate for the job as Principal. To someone who opposed the reappointment of Nicholas to succeed himself in the office, the Acting-Principal must have appeared to be a formidable contender. Admittedly he had angered a number of factions and individuals on and off campus, from the vivisectionists to animal rights people."

"In fact," put in the Professor, "some of them attempted to terrify him by hanging a rat in effigy." and he related his experience upon arrival at the entrance door to Morton Hall.

"And you know," Janet said, "that could be a complete red herring designed to draw suspicion to persons connected with the animal rights dispute. It's illogical when you consider it -- nobody among the humane society advocates would sacrifice an experimental rat for such a purpose -- and anyone with a bona fide concern to promote animal experimentation would not likely make such a gesture either."

"Perhaps the person involved in the attempt to discredit, as you put it, was simply trying to intimidate the Acting-Principal," suggested Tom.

"Well, he picked the wrong animal in that case. Jackson Nicholas was the last person to back away from a situation," said Janet.

"Perhaps that was his undoing," put in the Professor. "He tempted fate once and escaped by the skin of his teeth."

"When he had his earlier collapse?"

"Life gives us small intimations of warning from time to time. Neurotic people pay too much attention to them perhaps. Compulsive obsessive persons like our late-lamented senior administrator tend to ignore them, to their peril," said the Professor philosophically.

"Then where does Archie fit into all this? I find his motives very difficult to fathom," Kay inquired shaking her head. "Do you think he was responsible for muddying the scene of the crime, casting some red herrings into the case?"

"Without doubt," responded Janet. "I didn't really want to believe it at first. I guess that was why I was slow to get at the truth. But as you said he first of all showed evidence of guilt, of trying to cover up something about the situation so I should go on thinking of it as an accident. Then his attention to the widow, and especially to Judy was much too familiar for someone who knew them so little, unless he was involved in the death of Mr. Nicholas. The more he seemed to ignore me at the beginning, the more it seemed with time that I should avoid him lest I betray my suspicions and tip my hand. As it turned out it might have been better if I challenged him directly straight off. It could have saved another life plus possible serious injury to an innocent outside party -- well semi-innocent anyway."

"Poor Archie," murmured Kay again to glowers from the Professor.

" Yes, poor Archie ," repeated Janet," though one may say he got his just desserts in the end," she continued, eyeing the Professor.

"And what precisely were his motives?" persisted Kay. "Surely that is the strangest part of the whole case."

"I didn't fully appreciate them until we rode back together in the ambulance, and then I talked with him in the hospital later."

"So he was conscious after the accident?"

"He certainly seemed lucid enough. And from my own perspectives of his admissions I think I have a picture, though as you say it was a difficult one to envisage. Perhaps the first inkling I had came even before the killing. You may recall 'Archaeopteryx', the anonymous author of faculty critiques?"

"Ill-fated bird that ever was," intoned the Professor. "Now extinct I believe."

"Exiled to a self-imposed silence, with some credit to you," said Kay to Janet.

"Well, it was no stroke of genius to connect Archie McManus with his ornithological namesake, and though I hated to do it, I felt I had to either unmask or silence him. When I threatened the former as you know, he capitulated. Then," she continued rather embarrassed, "I presumed on our acquaintance to ask him to partner me for a tennis party at the Nicholas house. Kay rightly accused me of a form of social blackmail, and I suppose we seemed to be mutually enjoying our new friendship. So I began to go out with him," she admitted. "After all, we were on a couple of committees together, including the Selection Committee. I suppose that was one of the reasons he persisted in seeing me socially, perhaps together with the hold I may have seemed to possess over the threatened revelation of the identity of his nom de plume."

"He may simply have had an interest in you," said Tom helpfully. "It's not such an outlandish idea!" he attempted gallantly.

"I'm afraid it is," replied Janet, "and for good and sufficient reason. He had another lover you see."

She said it simply and directly. To the discerning eye of Kay McKay there was no trace of bitterness in Janet's statement. It was just that, a statement of fact. She might have had a soft spot for Archie and his boyish good looks herself, but it was apparent that Janet had no lingering sentiment that would wound her amour propre. She might, marvelled Kay, have been reading the account at the breakfast table, as she was wont to do, of murders or political scandals not touching herself, in the morning newspaper.

"And was this his newly acquired infatuation for the grieving daughter, whom he was presumably succoring from feelings of guilt? If so he was not only indiscreet but imbecilic in the extreme, becoming involved with a student, and daughter of the late Principal to boot!" said John Antwhistle with some vehemence.

"If he had any intensions that way, they were strictly a blind as they may have also been in my case," answered Janet ruefully. "I think he was trying to hide the true liaison that led to so much of this trouble."

"To whom? Surely not the widow Nicholas?" asked Kay incredulously.

"You think then that we have a juicy crime passionelle at sedate Essex U?" Professor Antwhistle continued. "0 tempore, o mores!"

Janet shook her head. "Nothing quite so juicy or obvious I fear. It goes back as I said to Archaeopteryx. Archie McManus was that rare combination of scientist and humanist scholar. The significance of the pseudonym had seemed apparent, yet not fully explained by his given name alone. I think that fact was probably bouncing around in the back of my cerebrum -"

"Or perhaps in the corpus callosum," put in the Professor eyeing her shrewdly.

"Then you know what I'm getting at."

"I have a fair idea. Because it required impulses from the cerebral hemisphere on one side passing to the other via commisural fibres of the corpus callosum that made the final connection in your mind."

Janet smiled and leaned back in her chair.

"I do think you some times must have a direct tap into my corpus callosum yourself!"

"No my dear. Only into your thalamic regions where your emotions are projected fairly graphically.

"Will someone come to my rescue and explain all this neurological jargon in terms an ordinary person may comprehend, "asked Kay. "Tom and I are spectators," she continued crossly, "and these scientific in-jokes become mighty tiresome to the uninitiated."

"I'm sorry to bore you, and especially Tom, who is no doubt doubly bored with all the ramifications of my love life or lack of it as well." said Janet.

"On the contrary," Tom grinned. "I haven't had so much fun since reading 'Pride and Prejudice'. Is Archie McManus really about to turn into your Mr. D'Arcy I wonder?"

Janet eyed him with new-found respect and affection.

"If he were I'm afraid I should not ever be his Miss Bennett," she sighed in mock sorrow.

"Then who is this mysterious dark lady who came between you, and what is her connection to the archaic bird, if bird it truly was?"

"That's part of the riddle of Archaeopteryx isn't it? Was it a true bird? Did it in fact possess feathers at all, or were they merely scales before our eyes? Was it reptilian actually, or possibly a fake like Piltdown man? The whole construct had parallels to the counterpart in The Review. But to answer your question with a line that is almost as prehistoric 'that was no lady' of the sonnets."

"Are we never to know her identity then?" moaned Kay in mock exasperation.

"That is so. Because a lady didn't enter the equation. The continuation of the Archaeopteryx enigma was the combination of two given names -- Archie and Terence." She paused momentarily to let this sink in, then continued. "You see, I should have guessed that Archie was too much of an optimist, too jovial in fact, to express the cynicism that appeared in that column. I suppose that in the sense of opposite charges attracting one another the negative Terry O'Meara held some fascination for his more positive colleague. I suddenly had the connection between the two halves of my brain, the rational and the emotive, or the scientific and the humanistic via the commisural fibres of the corpus callosum as assumed by my learned Professor of neurobiology. As the connections occurred between the two facets of the grey matter they showed me the connection between the critical polltical scientist and the progressive scientific historian. Together they made a formidable duo in the one persona of Archaeopteryx."

"With O'Meara unearthing whatever scurrilous dirt he could root out about the University administration and McManus putting it into some toned down prose that would evade the laws of libel," observed Kay.

"When I spoke to Archie about my original deductions regarding his nom de plume he said nothing at first except that he would talk to the editor of The Review. I assume that he told O'Meara that the jig was up and they would be exposed unless they laid low, then he phoned me later and backed away. Said he agreed in principle that if the faculty had a legitimate voice in matters he would withdraw the column. He seemed amused even that nobody had challenged him earlier about his role in it, but I guess that most faculty members who knew him simply could not identify the acidulous opinions of the column with his genial demeanour."

"No more than you could associate Archie with such a heinous act as deliberate disablement of the Principal," said Kay.

"Yes. That seemed so out of character to me that I tried to brush it away, but his strange reactions kept returning to haunt me with premonitions of his guilt."

"And then this realization struck like a thunderbolt," said Tom.

"Just at the end when I was cold and my mind was wandering, I was struck by how complementary those two were in their attitudes. How they seemed to be together a lot. That was reinforced when they jogged around the bend together. Though they were arguing, quarrelling, it wasn't like two colleagues or two friends -- it was more in tone like husband and wife. When I asked later, as gently as I could, what Terence had meant to him it all came out in a flood of remorse."

"And was there some sort of death-bed repentance then?" asked Kay impatiently.

"Not really. Archie told me of his closet relationship with Terry O'Meara. They had both been avoiding an open disclosure of that apparently and they'd had their ups and downs, partly because I suspect Archie is somewhat bisexual, while Terry may not have been able to reconcile that side of his life, even if Archie rationalized his social activities with me or with Judy solely for appearance's sake. Anyway, I was convinced that Archie made a pretty clean breast of his part in the case. O'Meara never spoke to me."

"Then how and when was it that you figured out who the killer was? You didn't have time to examine all the footprints beforehand did you?" Kay enquired.

"No. But in a sense the fact that I was cutting them out of the mud at the time had something to do with the final outcome. When I saw the two of them together in their jogging suits I realized that Archie, dressed in that bright blue outfit, could never have remained concealed for long in the bushes beside the trail. When I saw O'Meara attacking him I guessed that Archie must have challenged him about his involvement in the 'accidental' death of the Acting-Principal. Goodness knows what might have happened if I had tried to intervene unarmed!" and she told of her unconscious threat with the knife she had been carrying.

"Small wonder he took off like a scared rabbit chuckled Tom. "And that propelled him right into the path of the truck?"

Janet nodded ruefully.

"It would have been better if he had lived to tell his side of the twisted tale, but he died on the way to the hospital."

"Without shoes."

"Yes," Janet admitted, holding them up. "The final testament to his dismal plot. According to Archie it became apparent that 0'Meara was at least present when the 'accident' took place, because he'd almost bumped into him leaving the scene. O'Meara was certainly less conspicuous than Archie, but despite his more camouflaged outfit, he had been spotted creeping away. Archie had immediately suspected something fishy because he knew of the bad feelings between O'Meara and NIcholas, and O'Meara's rabid determination to prevent Nicholas from succeeding to the Principalship. The more he became convinced of Terry's involvement, the more he seemed impelled to cover up for him."

"That's what I couldn't forgive him for," said the Professor fiercely. "That man has less brain than that Jack0'Lantern!" he exclaimed, indicating the ghoulish grinning pumpkin that Tom and Janet had just finished carving.

"Well, I suppose we have to make some allowances for the ghosts from the past that haunted him," said Kay gently. "I gather that was what drove Archie to break into the Office of the Principal when you almost surprised him in the act.

Janet nodded and related what Archie had been in quest of, by his own admission. "It seems that there was a terrific confrontation last year when Dr. O'Meara was brought forward for tenure. The Acting-Principal intervened, to block the tenure recommendation from the lower committee of his Faculty. When the Dean tried to make representations to the Board he was informed of evidence of a damning personal nature which proved that O'Meara was guilty of moral turpitude."

"Moral turpitude," interpreted the Professor gravely, "would be an action so heinous that it would shock the moral standards of the community, and render a professor unfit to shape the minds of impressionable students."

"At all events, when the case came up for review, the Acting-Principal had a private interview with Dr. O'Meara, after which he voluntarily withdrew his appeal. It turned out, according to Archie, that the Principal had incriminating documentary evidence against O'Meara in a 'black' file. When Archie started to connect O'Meara with Nicholas's death he was sure it related to the material in that file. So when he had access to promotion documents in the office adjacent to the Principal's office he managed to break into his files. Mr. Nicholas was an orderly man and it was easy to locate it."

"And did the act of moral turpitude justify Mr. Nicholas's actions?" asked Kay.

"Possibly," Janet replied, "although, more to the point its revelation might have been enough to have O'Meara deported as an accomplice to terrorist actions in his own country of origin. Terence obviously felt that he had to neutralize Jackson Nicholas or his days at this institution, and perhaps in this country, would soon be at an end. Conveniently, the death of the 'Rat' would have forestalled that, if Archie hadn't tumbled to his complicity and tried to force him into an admission of guilt.

"Poor Archie," sighed Kay once again.

"Poor Archie was fortunate that he survived with nothing worse than a fractured collarbone!" snorted the Professor. "I take it he was resting peacefully when you left him?"

"He was peaceful enough, though sore, bruised, and a bit sheepish over the outcome."

"As well he might be!"

"Now Professor," said Kay as she cleared the debris from the table and produced a couple of decks of playing cards, "Let's save that vindictive spirit for something really serious, and teach these youngsters some of the fine points of bridge."

"I'll double that," Janet responded, with a smile for her newfound partner.

"We'll see about that," growled John Antwhistle, ferociously shuffling the cards.

Tom Audette grinned back at Janet, then sprang to his feet a moment later as the doorbell rang. "I'll get it. Must be some of the youngsters out trick-or-treating for Halloween."

"Trick or treat!" sang out a chorus of juvenile voices from the hall. In the doorway could be made out the forms of a witch with pointed hat, a demon with a pointed tail and a furry animal with pointed nose. Tom passed out a few of the treats from the bowl Kay had set on the hall-table, then called to the others.

"I think you had better come and take a look at these costumes."

The Professor sighed as he hefted himself out of the chair. "I don't see how we're going to get through a rubber at this rate," he grumbled. "Now what have we here? Shades of the underworld, and a denizen of the forest. Or are you a creature of the laboratory?" he asked of the costumed rat.

"Take my advice," he continued, "be careful from whom you accept treats, particularly grapes, wild or otherwise, and stay away from the University. It's a one-way trap for rats," he muttered as he made his way back to the bridge-table.

William McMurray was born in Northern Ireland and evacuated to Canada during the Second World War. Growing up in Saskatchewan and Ontario, Dr. McMurray followed an academic scientific career which ultimately led to his appointment as Chairman of the Department of Biochemistry at the University of Western Ontario, London, Ontario, Canada.

Cover design by Dr. E.R. Tustanoff

