

DEATH OF THE TOAD

William McMurray

Copyright 2011 by William McMurray

Smashwords Edition

"The clever men at Oxford

Know all that there is to be knowed.

But they none of them know one half as much

As intelligent Mr. Toad!"

Kenneth Graham, The Wind in the Willows, Ch.10

The mood in the faculty lounge was one of bewilderment and incredulity. Hushed at first into a stunned silence a number of faculty members were by now clustering into small affinity groups. And with increasing calls upon the services of the bartender the gentle buzz of conversation gradually intensified into a fairly noisy hum of conjecture concerning the previous day's convocation ceremony. But despite the many witnesses that had been present there was no general agreement about exactly what had taken place. For all the speculation over the events and causes there was one unarguable fact; by whatever means the Toad was dead and there were few to mourn his passing.

CHAPTER ONE

"How in the world did he acquire that dreadful nickname?" asked Dr. Janet Gordon of her two older colleagues. "With his position and reputation as a scientist he should have commanded more respect"? she continued somewhat indignantly.

Professor John Antwhistle, senior member of the group, leaned back further in his wing-chair and paused to contemplate the pre-prandial sherry that had just arrived on their table. The Professor, a stocky figure of fifty-plus, could be counted upon for a direct, if not outrageously indiscreet, response.

"Respect, my dear, you will learn with experience is a commodity which may not be commanded. Our lately departed Principal may have discovered that fact to his rue in the last analysis." He took a healthy swallow of sherry and smiled benignly at his young colleague. "Like you, at the start of his career he was a highly promising scholar. Clever, remarkably productive as a young man. But driven by unsavoury ambitions. Watch that Janet, you see it can bring you to a bad end," and he chortled producing a ripple in his corpulent midriff as he sipped at the sherry. "I personally thought the sobriquet singularly inapt", he went on. "More of a leap-frog than a toad in my opinion. Certainly leapt over our Dean into the Principality didn't he?" and at that moment the conversation froze as the Dean himself made his way to their table.

Dean Roger Owens, his lean height intensified by his funereal suit exuded the solemnity to be expected more from an ecclesiastical figure than the respected military historian that he was. He had in tow an equally grave gentleman whom he now proceeded to introduce.

"May I present some of our learned biologists? Professor Antwhistle, Head of the Department, Dr. Gordon, and Professor Butler, General Clark Simpson."

"Retired," added the General as he joined the group. It was apparent that he needed no formal introduction. A noted participant and chronicler of United Nations truce keeping actions in Cyprus and Palestine the General had been the Dean's nominee for an honorary doctorate at convocation. "Extraordinary and tragic business," he observed.

"Do you really believe so?" rejoined Professor Antwhistle. "You may think life at a small college like Essex University to be pretty risk-free, relative to the Middle East that is."

The General squirmed a little in his chair and attempted to protest.

"No, no, my dear General," continued Antwhistle patting him gently on the knee and leaning forward in a conspiratorial manner. "In point of fact there are many hazards for the chief academic officer at an institution such as ours. Student sit-ins over fees, protests from the faculty about the parking situation, exhortations by disgruntled alumni who despair of our losing ways on the football field, complaints from the Board of Regents about profligate, spending on libraries and such frills. It's only a wonder the old boy didn't pop off half-way through his term instead of so fittingly at the end. And as far as the tragedy is concerned," and he waved a hand at the far end of the lounge, "don't be misled by the sepulchral atmosphere in here. The Toad did nothing so generally acceptable in his life as the leaving! The only tragic aspect was his timing - keeling over before you were duly capped and doctored eh?"

The Dean forced a little laugh and leaned toward his military colleague as the waiter produced a tray of drinks.

"One of the hazards for visitors here is getting in the line of fire of academic jokes. I can apologize for Professor Antwhistle only as you might for the sniper who fires off an impersonal bullet at one of your truce observers," and he turned toward the Professor. "I felt for some time that the Principal was under considerable strain but seriously, John, you could not have anticipated that his collapse at convocation would lead to his demise could you?" asked the Dean, obviously deciding to concentrate on the extraordinariness of events rather than their tragic nature.

"Not at all," opined Antwhistle. He sat now in his favourite judgmental attitude with arms resting upon his waistcoat, fingertips together, performing miniature push-ups with his wrists while he spoke.

"It is commonplace, if not customary for academics to drop off the platform at convocations, although usually during the address of one of the honorary graduands rather than before, as in this case. Perhaps there is a tragic aspect after all that forestalled your remarks to us."

General Simpson bowed and returned Antwhistle's sardonic  
smile to signify that he had abandoned diplomacy for the moment.  
"However," he interjected, "the burden of guilt might have been  
overwhelming had I been seen as the instrument of the Principal's fall."

"Again, an accepted hazard of the campus field of combat General," the Dean added. "Antwhistle is quite correct. On occasion the academic procession has been virtually decimated by dropouts, either tripping over their regalia or dozing off during the ceremony. I'm afraid that I for one saw nothing sinister or unusual in the Principal's fainting spell, although it was obviously necessary for the Chancellor to bring the proceedings to a premature close."

"Did he suffer head injuries when he dropped?" Janet Gordon had been a passive spectator until now. "From my seat it appeared he struck the dais rather forcefully.''

"Dr. Tower who examined him in the Robing Room reported that he seemed quite lucid shortly after convocation," the Dean replied," so I would doubt any serious injury to the head."

"So we must attribute his subsequent fate to: (a) the heat, (b) the company and ( c) the strains of office," concluded the Professor draining the last drop of sherry from his glass. You will join us for lunch by the way?"

"Thank you," responded the General, "although I must pay my respects to Mrs. Pinkney before I catch my flight."

"Yes. I thought we would drive out directly after lunch," added the Dean." John, you know Hilda as well as any of us. Would you come along?"

A momentary cloud passed over John Antwhistle's eyes. "Of course, of course." The sunniness was equally rapid but forced.

"And your colleagues if they wish," added the Dean awkwardly.

Frank Butler immediately declined, but Janet Gordon hesitated long enough to allow the Professor to interject. "Yes, do join us in our morose mission, Janet. The younger Pinkney was a classmate of yours wasn't he?" Janet nodded mutely. "Good, good." He bustled off in the direction of the dining room. "Beautiful afternoon for a visit to Toad Hall!"

It was an exemplary June afternoon that showed off the golden sand-stone neo-gothic towers, porticos and crenellations of the Essex University campus as the quartet wended its way through the twisting lanes which masqueraded as college roads in Professor Antwhistle's dilapidated auto. To Janet this antique piece of machinery contrasted strangely with the technical expertise of its owner. It seemed inconceivable to her that the man who had perfected such delicate and exacting techniques for cellular transplantation of minute organelles by ultramicro surgical manipulations should depend for his transport, not to say his life, on the vagaries of this unreliable vehicle.

"The paradox," he was saying as he weaved among the student bodies obstructing the roadway, "is that although the straight line distance from the Principal's office in the University Tower to his official Residence is merely 1000 metres it requires a land approach of several kilometres, thus effectively isolating the chief executive from his academic minions."

"Yes indeed," remarked Janet." But the rear of the property is approachable from the riverbank. I and several other minions pass by regularly along the jogging trail. There is a gateway through the fence."

"Strictly a one-way mirror, Janet," her Professor replied. "Have you tried to broach this portal?"

Janet flushed perceptibly. "Well, yes, out of curiosity. It was locked, as you infer."

"Quite." The Professor responded with satisfaction. "Our Principal may join the Rat and his other fluvial friends surreptitiously by this gateway, or observe the more interesting species of road-runners on the bank, but none save he can pass therein. We ordinary creatures have to pass the guard-house and enter by the front portico." And with admirable timing at that moment the car had reached the wrought iron gates at the entrance of the official residence of the Principal.

"Behold, Toad Hall!" cried out the Professor in a loud voice as a security guard approached the driver's window, and recognizing the Dean in the back seat, directed them down the drive toward the residence.

"Powers of rank are not to be sniffed at even in a university, General," the Professor observed, as he careened down the circular drive with little regard for boundaries of lawn and garden.

"There used to be a great ugly, cement urn just about here," he noted as he backed his car into a space alongside the house.

"John's contribution to campus, beautification," explained the Dean. "He found it so esthetically offensive that he had it removed."

"I hesitate to correct an artsman on the use of verbs," rejoined Antwhistle, "but you must not use the passive voice to hide a nasty fact. The proper phrase is not "had it removed"\- but baldly stated -"removed it", or perhaps even more accurately "atomized it", along with my right rear fender two winters ago."

The group got out and crunched its way toward the front steps along the gravel drive with the Dean and General Simpson leading the way.

"At what time did the Principal die?" Janet asked the Professor as they followed a few paces behind.

"Haven't the foggiest. Someone found his body this morning, early. Perhaps he went for a dip before breakfast. I suppose the doctor may throw some light on it."

They reached the base of the steps just as the two ahead had broken off speaking with a woman in the doorway.

"John!" she exclaimed. "How very kind of you to drop by. And it is Doctor Gordon now I presume? Please come in." They entered the cool hall-way of the massive house, crossing to a small sun-room; the latter overlooked a terraced garden tumbling down to a high iron fence at the foot of the property near the river-bank.

Like its hostess the sunroom was simple and elegant. Fragile in her slender black gown, Hilda Pinkey evoked a memory of an earlier age of gracious living as she moved from guest to guest among the few pieces of white-painted wicker furniture, glass-topped tables and hanging plants.

"A remarkable woman," observed the General to Janet as they watched the widow receiving condolences from the visitors. Indeed Hilda Pinkney betrayed no emotions of shock or grief. There was something inherently regal in her manner of coping with the tragedy; it was she who was providing reassurance to the awkward mourners by appropriate comments for those who were at a loss for the proper words. They continued around the room while the General and Mrs. Pinkney carried on with their conversation.

"Dr. Gordon," he beckoned to Janet, "I don't know if you have met our other honorary graduand, Dr. Quinn. And may I introduce Mr. Nicholas, Chairman of our Board of Regents. Gentlemen, Dr Gordon, one of our newest academic luminaries."

Jackson Nicholas, President of Raymor Electronics Corporation, was tall and lean. Dr. E.I. Quinn, Scientific Director of the University's Advanced Physics Institute and founder of the associated commercial concern, Solarcon (which had developed and marketed devices for the conversion of light energy into electricity), by contrast was an ambling, heavy-set man. Neither of these august personages took much notice of academic small-fry such as Janet and after a few awkward moments of overhearing their conversation with the Dean she excused herself and made her way to a corner where John Antwhistle was talking with the genial Dr. Albert Tower, Medical Officer of the University's Health Clinic.

"You mean to tell me that he didn't drown?" the Professor was saying.

"I should think there's no chance of that, John," Dr. Tower answered. "I wish now that I'd persisted in sedating him and putting him to bed after the convocation episode. But you know," and he looked both worried and puzzled, "I felt positive his heart was OK, It was really a typical faint, and he came out of it very quickly."

"No sign of a concussion then? Janet has some idea that the Principal may have struck his head as he fell," explained the Professor.

Dr. Tower shook his head. "Not a sign of any residual effect."

"In fact he seemed in high spirits after," said Professor Antwhistle.

"Yes, and insistent that the convocation should proceed. Was very short with the Chancellor when he realised that he had prematurely adjourned the ceremony. I couldn't induce him to lie down, or forego the reception."

"Well, you did your best Doctor," said Antwhistle, "But why do you rule out a drowning?"

"I haven't ruled it out entirely," corrected the Doctor, "but it seems quite unlikely to me. First of all the Principal was a strong and habitual swimmer. That was why he insisted on having the pool adapted for heating and lights so he was able to extend the season into the cool months and evenings. Second, he was found floating with less water in his lungs than one might have anticipated. It doesn't prove anything of course, but I imagine that an autopsy would show that he suffered a cardiovascular accident, occlusion of the coronary vessels most probably. Not a typical drowning at all." Dr.Tower shook his head. "A very sad business for Mrs. Pinkney and the children regardless. Where are they by the way?"

"Joyce is en route from the West Coast. Jeremy should be about somewhere. Apparently he had moved out of the house quite recently but is still living in the area," noted the Professor. "I see that there's tea in the corner. Will you join us for a cup?"

But the Doctor demurred, and Janet also excused herself saying, "I really must get back to the lab, No, don't bother to drive me, I'll get the bus out by the gate," and she made her farewells to Mrs. Pinkney, escaping by the front door.

Janet had no intention of taking the bus back to the campus. As she rounded the corner by the Professor's parked car she slipped quickly down the garden path. The end of the house formed an ell along this side and the path which followed close beside terminated at a gate through the hedge that separated the front from back portions of the estate. She lifted the latch, turned back to the left, and found herself at the edge of a tessellated patio surrounding the swimming-pool. It was a large squarish pool over-looked at the far end by a cabana that obscured the view of the river, and a high cedar hedge which blocked observation from the central part of the house. A soft murmur of voices could be heard through the hedge in the  
direction of the sunroom.

Janet sat down on a wooden bench in the shade of the overhang of the cabana roof. A summer breeze freshened, ruffling the dark waters of the pool and her fair, straight hair. Behind and below, along the riverbank, a soft whisper arose from the wind in the willows. How ironic she reflected, that the man referred to as the Toad should have met his end here. And what of the other animal characters in the fable? How had the Professor termed those who might have entered, possibly for clandestine reasons, by the back way along the river? "His fluvial friends." Janet thought of the two former associates of the Principal whom she had just met. The lean-faced Mr. Nicholas could well have portrayed Rattie, while the role of Badger might have been played fittingly by the portly Dr. Quinn. Dr. Pinkney had been the first Director of the Advanced Physics Institute, and no doubt he would have had much to say about the choice of Dr. Quinn, the Badger, his successor. As Chairman of the Regents who controlled the finances of the University, the Rat, Mr. Nicholas, must also have had a close working relationship with the other two men. What plots and subterfuges might Toad and his cronies, Rat and Badger, have concocted at secret midnight assignations by the willow trees? She was lost in rumination, quite unaware of the short figure that now approached.

"Viewing the scene of the crime?"

Janet gasped in surprise. "Jerry!"

The boyish face had matured little in the years since she had seen him last.

"I'm so sorry, about your father, and my barging in like this. I called with Professor Antwhistle to see your mother."

"Yes, poor mother. She has been through one hell of a lot with him and with me. Anyway, part of her troubles are finished now," said Jeremy with sigh. "I'm not trying to shock you Jan, but you must know how things were with him and me. I can't shed any crocodile tears," and he sat on the bench close beside her. There was a long silence between them and then they carried on conversing normally about the events of the past that had intervened since their last meeting.

"I heard you had returned as a member of the Biology  
Department," said Jeremy as Janet eventually sprang back to her  
feet. "I meant to get in touch with you but -". He left the sentence incomplete. "Well, maybe we could get together sometime after- -". "Sure," replied Janet quickly, "I'd like that. But now I really have to get along and attend to a number of unfinished things in the lab. And since I'm on shank's mare I have to move, or my dinner will be midnight, or later!"

"Still a keener Jan. I guess that's why you made it," grinned Jerry. "And I - well, I always found other aspects of biology outside the lab to be more interesting at midnight. If you're in a rush I could lend you my bike. Janet shook her head. "Or, why not take the river route? I'll walk you to the gate." He opened a door leading from the back of the cabana to a path which followed the hillside down to the fence at the foot of the estate. The progress of the two young people was observed from the window of the sunroom.

"I see that your assistant and my son are renewing old acquaintances" remarked Hilda Pinkney to John Antwhistle.

"Quite possibly," replied the Professor. "But I must tell you about Janet. Although she may be an Assistant Professor she is no longer my assistant in any sense. Janet returned with my express undertaking that she would be an independent scientist. We work together on some projects on a collaborative basis, but she is very definitely her own person. And if she undertakes a project," and he gazed knowingly after the retreating form of Jeremy Pinkney, "you may rest assured it will be on those terms."

As she strode briskly along the river's edge Janet Gordon grimly recounted the strange and violent events of the previous twenty-four hours. Some time before the household had awakened the Principal took one of his customary swims, never to return. A straight case of drowning, she admitted, seemed improbable. A stroke perhaps, triggered in some manner by his tumble from the convocation platform? Or a heart attack resulting from a combination of stress, overwork, over consumption of food or drink? These questions and the time of his death would presumably be settled at autopsy. Perhaps the strains of his office, dealings with the Regents, disagreements with his faculty members (as witnessed by the ill-will expressed by her Professor and not rebutted by the Dean), or bad feelings in the family (as Jerry had intimated) could have contributed to medical or mental problems. Was it possible that he had overdosed himself while disturbed, by these problems,: and entered the pool deliberately to conceal a suicide attempt? Janet had to admit that she knew too little to make informed guesses among the alternatives.

The river curved at this point in a lazy meander, and, looking back in the direction from which she had come, Janet could see clearly the stark outlines of the Principal's house on the hill top. Jerry had almost reached the rear of the cabana, and as she watched he pushed open the door and passed through out of sight. What did she really know about him or the members of his family? Joshua Pinkney, his father, was a shadowy persona to her. He must have risen rapidly in academic life. She recalled that prior to his appointment as Principal while she and Jerry were undergraduates together Joshua had built his Advanced Physics Institute - the "Pinkstitute"as Essex U wags had dubbed it, into a productive research unit. On the few occasions that she had visited the Pinkney household the only family members she saw much, of besides Jeremy were his mother and his sister, Joyce. The latter had more of her father's drive and: although not a particularly pleasant person she was a respected English scholar and writer. Jeremy had apparently allowed himself to be pushed into science at father's urging but he'd had no aptitude in physics or math and seemed to gravitate by default into biology. His final year was a disaster, Janet remembered. Although fairly good in the laboratory Jerry was too rambunctious and undisciplined academically to meet his course requirements. It had taken him an extra year of part time study to get a mediocre pass degree. Since then he had marked time, taking occasional jobs in restaurants, hotels and ski lodges, playing the odd stint as guitarist-cabaret singer. Hilda Pinkney had been the stabilizing influence in the family, a quiet civilized person who seemed to hold the centrifugal forces of the Pinkneys in check. Beyond that Janet knew little about the Principal's wife or her antecedents, which to judge from her accent and manner were apparently European.

Janet, a strong rapid hiker, had reached the University bridge at a straight stretch of the River Essex where the scrubby bushes along the bank were replaced by taller trees shading tiny pools and bayous. A number of fishermen were wading through the stream for the trout season was well underway on this part of the Essex. It was one of the advantages of the place, thought Janet, that there were several attractive forms of biology surrounding the University other than the academic variety which Jerry Pinkney had shunned. The sight of the fishermen with their shiny, almost metallic lines in the dappled sunlight evoked a memory of a day or two earlier. As she had jogged near the bottom of the Principal's house, a solitary figure in the river was casting out into the stream, his glistening fishing line flashing brightly against the dark water. The figure had been obscured by the willow branches but although dimly perceived in the early morning sunshine, it seemed in retrospect to be somewhat familiar. Janet frowned at the imperfect recollection and strode up the path toward the Sciences Building.

CHAPTER TWO

The next day Janet awoke to the aroma of pancakes and bacon cooking below. Her landlady from her student days at college, Mrs. Kay McKay, had started preparations for breakfast. Janet hurried down to the kitchen of the ancient McKay home.

Since her husband's early demise Kay had supported herself with a variety of jobs around the University campus. Latterly, a substantial inheritance had made her independent financially but she obtained help with the household expenses by taking in selected boarders. Over the many years of their association Kay had adopted the role of in loco parentis to Janet.

"I hope the, events at the Pinkney house yesterday didn't upset you too much," said Kay as she served the meal.

"Well," Janet responded hesitantly, "I did have a rather unpleasant reunion with Jeremy. Isn't there anyone with some regrets about his father's death? Jerry couldn't stand him, Professor Antwhistle holds him in contempt, no-one seems to have a good word to say about him!"

"You won't find too many fans in the Department of Chemistry either. Not long after my husband died I became a junior secretary in the Chemistry Department. Of course Josh Pinkney was a pretty junior faculty member then too so he wound up with incompetent typing at first!"

Hardly incompetent for long, thought Janet. As for everything else that she managed, Katherine McKay would have quickly mastered typing, even in the abstruse lingo of the chemists.

"What was he like back then?"

"I barely knew him, as a person. He had a surface that I never penetrated; nor did many others that I could tell. But very diligent. I suppose I typed up more than a dozen manuscripts for him, and I stayed less than a year. It's not unheard of for chemists to generate so many articles, though it was said that some of his manuscripts were rather repetitious".

"Potboilers," Janet put in.

"Yes. He seemed in a hurry to show himself as a striver.  
Always making extravagant proposals to granting agencies,  
foundations, the armed forces, to raise research money, contract  
work, outside consulting positions - I would guess he spent  
twice as much time on that and travelling on various mysterious  
junkets than he did in the lab and classroom combined. I  
exerted a good deal of my energy trying to cover for him at  
first. I left you know - he didn't fire me."

Janet considered the patrician face of her landlady. Like  
Janet herself Kay was sturdy both in her physique and mental  
outlook. It was indeed difficult to conceive of anyone firing  
Kay McKay, or taking advantage of her in any way at all; she was  
the very model for the term "feisty" years before it had come  
into popular usage. She ran her boarding arrangements with  
well-defined rules about the use of the house, tempered by  
benevolent concern for her "paying guests". Meals for the  
boarders for example, were generally self-serve. But occasionally, and unpredictably, Kay would produce a generous breakfast that had two notable purposes: it made up for the self-imposed nutritional deficiencies of her busy professional girls, and it provided a golden opportunity to catch up on the choice items of contemporary gossip around town and campus. Since Janet was now the sole paying guest in residence most of their present conversation centered about university affairs and at the moment, naturally, around the events at "Toad Hall".

"Would you come with me to the memorial service?" asked Janet. Kay made an attempt to demur, but acceded in the end.

"I suppose I'm as curious as you are to hear if someone can come up with a complimentary elegy for the man!"

In the event they were both quite disappointed. The chaplain had intoned most of the expected cliches about the Principal's dedication to the great institution. Mr. Jackson Nicholas had documented the events of his academic and administrative career, and the Dean had made personal observations about the sacrifices made by the family as a debt owed to them by the university and its members.

"In spite of which I am sure that the Pinkney's will get a month's notice to clear out of Toad Hall," remarked Professor Antwhistle in a loud stage whisper. "Come Mrs. McKay and Janet," he continued from the row behind them as the last strains of the organ faded away. "let us partake of the funeral baked meats (coldly furnished forth from the convocation feast, no doubt)."

The threesome strolled across the lawn between Convocation  
Hall, and the Faculty Lounge.

"Has there been any more word on the cause of death?" Janet  
enquired.

"Yes," replied the Professor. It seems that our Principal took a late-night dip after the convocation festivities, suffered a heart seizure and floated about all night in the pool."

"And he wasn't missed until morning!" exclaimed Kay in disbelief.

"Why, where was Mrs. Pinkney?"

"In her bed so I believe. It was not unusual for him to swim at odd hours; and they occupied separate sleeping quarters, she upstairs, he in the ground-floor study where he also worked at odd hours and slept little, according to my "reliable source". In any case he was not actually missed. He was found in the pool next morning by one of the help."

They entered the lounge and went as quickly as manners would allow to the food table. Faculty had a reputation for polishing off the goodies with rapier-speed at such free feeds, which occurred only infrequently in the academic calendar.

"One blessing our late Principal has bestowed is a reprise of the Convocation Tea," observed the Professor as he made a foray into the shrimp and other exotic items on the platter. "If we could only persuade the Dean to co-operate in kind next month it would see us through the summer. However," he continued while attacking an enormous shrimp, "the Dean must now be nurturing hopes about his chances to succeed to the Principality, (if it is not too indecent to discuss the succession at the funeral celebration)."

"Wasn't there a committee of some sort to discuss reappointment of the Principal at the end of his term next year?" asked Janet. "I seem to recall faculty criticism about the composition of the committee."

"Quite so. It was a group of non-academics as you might expect; retired politicians, life insurance executives and representatives of the corporate mercantile class. Our Dean sat until quite recently as the sole voice for the Faculty, though rumour has it that he has resigned from the appointment committee. Now that," concluded the Professor, "may signify that he disagreed with a decision to reappoint the incumbent, or that he had been persuaded to consider himself as a contender for the job. In order to throw one's hat in the ring in this game of selections the trick is for the vying committee member to withdraw from the selection process, but only at the last minute when the candidacy of all others has been vitiated. I would assume that the committee was close to decision time."

"Well," ventured Kay, "from my unbiased viewpoint your Dean might be a good replacement. His remarks this afternoon bore a human touch and I sensed a feeling of loyalty and respect toward him"

"Truly spoken," replied: the Professor. "Roger Owens has maintained the academic credibility of this place and in the face of some horrendous :pressures. As you sense it, most of the faculty would probably rally round him for that reason, and because it was generally perceived that he abhorred Toad.

The Principal's family were standing a short distance away, Mrs. Pinkney and Joyce talking with Dean and Mrs. Owens. Jeremy was off by himself gazing over the terrace toward the river. Janet excused herself from the Professor and Kay, walked over and touched him gently on the arm. His expression reflected a mixture of agitation and impatience.

"Bearing up all right?" asked Janet.

"Oh sure. Look, let's get out of here for a minute," and he led Janet onto the terrace away from the crowd of mourners. He fidgeted a moment or two with his unaccustomed necktie.

"I just don't know what to do," he blurted.

"Do about what?"

"About mother" Jerry choked on the words. "She believes that my father was murdered."

Following several attempts to calm him down Janet managed  
to obtain a semi-coherent account from Jeremy about his mother's  
suspicions. The Principal had apparently experienced unaccountable blackouts on other occasions, and had shown signs of erratic and irrational behaviour apart from the convocation events. It was though he were intoxicated, but he had been more intensely and violently ill than would be expected simply from drinking alcohol.

"So your mother suspects he was being deliberately poisoned."

"Yes. And the combination with stress and drinking weakened his heart. She is convinced that until a month or two ago he was in good health."

"Surely these suspicions will be confirmed or otherwise at autopsy, if they haven't been already," responded Janet. "Was your father a heavy drinker?"

"I guess he was. Rather more in the past year or so. A binge drinker. It never interfered with his work or showed in public. Usually a Friday or Saturday, so he had Sunday to sleep it off. He had a few bouts of so-called intestinal flu to explain his 24 hour absences."

"But recently his drinking produced more serious effects?"

"According to Mother. You have to remember that I had moved out so I am simply going by her description. 'Violent reactions' was her term for it.

"Had she discussed any of this with the doctor?" (or the police) Janet was going to add, but thought better of it.

"No. I guess she just started to think about it. But she seems to have convinced herself without any tangible evidence."

Jeremy was returning to his original agitated state, almost choking as he spoke. Janet attempted to reassure him, fearful that his wild words might carry back to the throng of mourners.

"I'm sure there is no evidence either. No doubt when she  
discusses her suspicions they'll find a simple case of natural  
causes."

"No, no, no!" Jeremy shook his head vehemently. "She can't talk about this with anyone else!"

"She will have to tell someone else surely. Why did she bring it up with you if she doesn't want to investigate it fully?"

Jeremy swung his head away and answered with a hoarse agonized whisper, "Because she thinks I did it!"

Except for the recurrent swishing of the wind-shield wipers there was total silence in the McKay automobile as the two women headed home from the service. Janet, solemn and dazed by Jeremy's outburst, made such small response to Kay's attempts at conversation that she finally gave up. The summer shower was of short duration as was Janet's mood, and by the time that they reached their driveway the sun and her usual buoyancy had returned.

"Now," said Kay, "we need something to bring us back to the land of the living," and she busied herself with glasses, bottles and ice. Janet fixed her with a serious stare as they started on two large martinis on the rocks.

"I hope you won't think it impertinent if I swear you to a bond of secrecy."

"My lips are sealed," replied Kay. "What juicy morsel did the Professor let slip?"

"Not the Professor, Jeremy Pinkney," and Janet recounted the story. Kay nodded quietly during the telling.

"I thought that poor woman was enduring more than grief for her husband," she murmured pensively. "Did Jeremy say why his mother suspected him?"

"No. And when I tried to ask him about it he became less  
coherent. I can't really trust his reactions. I hesitated to even mention it to you. The whole idea seems so preposterous. But I had to tell someone and--" Janet shrugged helplessly "well, what could I do?"

"I quite see your point." Kay paused reflectively as they both sought support in the gin glass. "It seems to me that we, you and I that is, should make some inquiries on our own. No doubt Jeremy has misinterpreted his mother's reactions. Perhaps she was a little hysterical as well, although she doesn't look to be the hysterical type."

"You don't seriously propose that I, we, should start up a private detective operation?" responded Janet with a laugh.

"If you wish to put it that way, yes, in a word," replied Kay whose demeanour left no doubt about the seriousness of her proposal. "Consider what the alternatives are: you can't go to the authorities with this story and agonize the family without some more complete facts; and you can't completely ignore the whole thing, supposing there is some truth in it."

"Why in the world did Jerry have to unload it on me?" lamented Janet. "But I suppose you're right. Once we're in it (and I guess I'm just as bad involving you) we have some responsibility especially to follow through. Willy-nilly, we know both more and less than we would wish to know. I'm afraid there's nothing for it but to pursue the matter till we satisfy ourselves either to open it up to somebody competent to make a full investigation, or to bury it."

In admitting to their mutual commitment Janet would have been happier if her landlady had shown less obvious gusto about tackling what Janet viewed as a highly delicate and dubious undertaking. In several ways she had already had her fill of the Pinkney family, and a resumption of that still disquieting relationship with Jeremy had not been an experience to anticipate with delight in the best of circumstances; the revelations of the day made these anything but the best.

The next morning was gusty with spatterings of rain-clouds. As Janet pumped her bicycle up the University hill she wondered if she had been too hasty in declining the offer of a drive to work. It was truly remarkable how often Kay McKay had an excuse to travel in the direction of the University on inclement mornings. However, as Janet had explained, she hoped to arrange to see Hilda Pinkney some time during the day, and she would need a means of transport on hand in order to fit in her visit with work in the lab. She chained her bike to the rack near the rear-door of the Sciences Building and mounted the stairway to the Biology Department on the fourth floor, shaking raindrops: from her clothes and hair as she went.

Janet was generally the first to arrive in the Department and, with the exception of one or two of the graduate students, she was also often the last to leave at night. She liked the privacy of these occasions when she could work alone, uninterrupted. By the time that her research assistant, Julia, usually arrived Janet would have a list of reagents to be prepared, incubations to be set up, and samples to be analysed. Her graduate student, Doug, kept irregular hours and pursued his work in bursts of supreme industry interspersed with long visitations to the library, or more probably, the rathskellar of the Student Union Building. Julia, who prided herself on punctilious attendance and attention to her responsibilities, referred to Doug as the 'sub-graduate' student in fits of pique. On this particular morning Doug was in one of his more manic phases of activity, and was already hard at work in the middle of one of his ambitious experimental protocols. He looked up from the mammoth array of test-tubes before him.

"The Professor was in looking for you. Asked to have you drop in his office when you got in."

Janet removed her jacket and looked at her watch. It was a little after eight a.m. Professor Antwhistle was not noted for early arrivals in the Department, although he could often be seen roaming the corridor in the evenings. Janet set her books down, quickly checked the cell cultures in the incubator and walked down the hall to the office of her Department Head.

"I see you survived the grisly entertainment yesterday," he observed. The Professor was also in shirt-sleeves in anticipation of another warm day. "One of Pinkney's better-parties in my opinion." The Professor lit his favourite pipe, a vile-smelling calabash, and became rather more sober as he continued. "You had quite a chat with young Pinkney I noticed. I always found him a somewhat unstable fellow, do you agree?"

Janet nodded with some discomfort. Her previous relations with Jerry had also been duly noticed by the Professor no doubt.

"Mrs. Pinkney seems concerned about the effects of his father's sudden death," he went on. "Sort of delayed after-shock, I suppose. They didn't seem terribly close to me. What was your impression?"

At first Janet had been inclined toward confiding the content of her disturbing interview with Jeremy. It would after-all be helpful to have the views of someone who knew the Pinkney family. But some- thing in his tone, the rambling nature of his questions, put her off the Professor's probing approach. How much had he actually discerned from Hilda Pinkney's comments? What was his connection with the widow? There was certainly no love lost between him and her late husband. And why indeed had he called Janet in to discuss what was surely a private matter between herself and Jerry? Possibly he had some imperfect inkling of trouble in the Pinkney household and was on an information fishing-trip. Janet, not a very good dissembler of her true feelings, simply blushed more deeply and agreed that Jerry was showing signs of emotional strain.

"As usual Janet, the so-called weaker sex- wife and daughter- seem to be bearing the strain more 'manfully'," said the Professor restoking his calabash. "However, this wasn't my reason for wanting to see you," and he proceeded to divulge the true reason, which surprised her almost as much as the conversation with Jeremy Pinkney the day before.

When she had returned to her lab and completed the outline of work before her, Janet paused and gazed out of the window. From her vantage-point she could see the sweep of the river down the hill and the fringe of willow-scrub and trees, but the official residence of the Principal was just out of sight around the bend. Wind was bending and swirling the willow branches and sailing occasional clouds through a dappled blue sky. Momentarily distracted by the arrival of Julia in the lab, Janet quickly went over the protocol with her, then returned to her office phone and dialed the Pinkney residence. Hilda Pinkney answered herself and informed her that Jeremy was not there at present. She seemed puzzled at first when Janet explained that it was Hilda and not Jeremy with whom she wished to talk, but graciously recovered and invited Janet to join her for morning coffee at her convenience.

Some twenty minutes later Janet pedalled along the river-path, letting herself in the back gate by the key which she had noted hanging within a recess hidden in the gate-post when Jerry had let her out that way the preceding afternoon. She pushed her bike up the path and around the pool cabana to the front driveway. The front door was opened by Joyce Pinkney who ushered her into the sun-room where Mrs. Pinkney had already set out the tray. After a few moments of semi-polite conversation Joyce excused herself indicating that she had 'things to do'.

"And now Janet," began Mrs. Pinkney as she poured the coffee, "I guess that we may have the same worries. Is it about Jerry?" Janet nodded and Mrs. Pinkney continued. "I'm so glad you came because you know Jerry has few real friends. Even though you may not have been in touch he always looked up to you I know." She paused for an instant, then went on choosing her words deliberately. "Jerry is more than just upset about his father. He seems to be imagining all sorts of things concerning his death."

"Including the fact that he was poisoned," Janet interjected bluntly.

"He told you that?" Janet nodded assent.

"I suppose I'm to blame for putting that idea in his head. You see, Jos had reacted so strangely in several ways," and she recounted his symptoms and behaviour much as Jerry had. "I thought at one time that he might have taken some drugs; he was quite sick, very sick, at times."

"And so Jerry assumed from your description that it was a case of poisoning."

"It was worse- much worse- and very distressing," Mrs. Pinkney replied. "You must realize that what I am saying is in strict confidence. Jeremy and his father have had some pretty violent disagreements. They quarrelled frequently and openly as you may have been aware."

Janet nodded. As she sipped her coffee she was struck by something else that was not quite so obvious. Despite her outward calm and poise Hilda Pinkney might not be very far from hysteria. She had the same inherent lability of temperament as her son, but in contrast had a firm grip on its external manifestations.

"In some ways," continued Hilda, "Jeremy believed that what happened to his father resulted from what he had wished to happen. For him it was a logical deduction that he had played some part in the events leading up to Joshua's death. And it doesn't seem to matter what anyone says to him. The more I tried to reassure him, or get him to seek some help (you knew he had been under a psychiatrist's care last year) the worse he became. I'm afraid my approach, or Joyce's, only seemed to make him more upset."

Janet attempted in vain to obtain clarification of Jeremy's guilt feelings and their origins. She had the feeling that she was on a circular path of suspicion and doubt: suspicion of Hilda's frankness, doubt that Jeremy, for all his emotional instability could have simply imagined his mother's feelings. In the end she excused herself and returned to the lab thoroughly annoyed with herself for not having been more penetrating in her questioning of Mrs. Pinkney.

Kay McKay had to admit that evening as they discussed the day's 'investigation' that they were no further forward.

"We can believe either person's account of their conversation at our peril. I prefer to credit neither of them with complete candour."

"And yet," Janet replied, "if either or both of them are holding back I don't really feel that it is deliberate evasion. It is as if they were protecting each other from their worst suspicions. It is possible isn't it, that each suspects the other?"

Kay nodded in agreement, and they sat silently for several minutes as the last red rays of the sun glinted into the sun-porch at the back of the house.

"By the way, what was the startling true reason for the Professor's interview with you this morning?"

Janet laughed and raised her eyebrows in mock horror.

"He wants me to spend a weekend of sin with him at his summer cottage!"

CHAPTER THREE

"You really have been overdoing it in the lab," the Professor chided Janet as he executed one of his infamous jack-rabbit starts from the parking lot next morning. "Janet as well as John becomes dull from all work and no play you know."

The car adopted a steady clanking rhythm to accompany the occasional clickety-click of the frayed fan-belt. Janet had put her cell cultures to bed for twenty-four hours, thrown caution to the wind and acceded to the Professor's invitation of a 'sinful weekend of bridge and slothfulness'. She was under no illusions about his sinister purpose in inviting her: he was short of a fourth for the bridge-table and ballast for his sailing dinghy. As she had explained to her landlady the previous evening, Janet had spent one weekend at the Professor's summer haven at a graduate students' outing when he had first uncovered her abilities at the bridge-table. And several times during the past winter she had filled in at short notice in contests with the Owens and the Butlers. It was the latter couple who were to make up the party on this occasion.

"How is your graduate student progressing now ?" enquired the Professor.

"I believe that Doug has settled in and is finally taking hold on his own." She outlined the work that he had initiated. "I think it's encouraging that he developed the protocols by himself. And he offered to carry on the cell transfers so that I could get away. I hope he manages," and she frowned dubiously.

"Well," laughed the Professor, "you'll have to relinquish control over that for one day won't you? The first time is hardest," he continued. "It must be like the anxious parent the first time he lets junior take out the family car, although I obviously know nothing of that. One of the few consolations of bachelordom, Janet!" and he wheeled the ancient Antwhistle auto off the main highway down the short drive to the lake and his cottage site.

The cottage was a rustic conglomerate of log boxes comprised of a central living-room to which the Professor had added a kitchen-workshop at the rear, bedrooms on either end, and a screened-in porch across the front facing the lake some ten meters below. The property was screened along the back and sides by a thick and ancient barrier of cedars which had started life as a hedge-row and filled out to become an impenetrable wall of greenery. Scattered about the property was a haphazard collection of the Professor's rough attempts at lawn-furniture from local materials, mostly driftwood and his idiosyncratic wood carvings. The latter, hewn effigies of gargoyles, nymphs and other mythical creatures, gave the place a demonic aspect that brought to mind the landscapes of Hieronymus Bosch.

"Welcome to Ant's Nest!" beamed the Professor as he unloaded the boxes and suitcases into the cabin. Indeed, thought Janet, the site resembled progressive activity by an army of carpenter ants reducing the natural, forestation to a series of bizarrely shaped splinters and shavings. She handed groceries and bottles to the Professor who stashed them away in the kitchen cupboards.

"And now," he said mopping his brow from the exertion, "it would seem a propitious moment for a sail. Or would you fancy a swim instead?"

Janet peered dubiously through the swaying tree boughs at the rolling surf below. She had little motivation for either activity but didn't wish to be a wet blanket. She proceeded to her bedroom and changed into a bathing suit ready for either, or both, of these wet adventures.

"Excellent, excellent!" enthused the Professor as they rolled the dinghy out from the space beneath the screen porch. "We should have a merry ride today!"

This turned out to be a mild understatement. As Janet noted they were the only smaller vessel contending with the heavy chop. A few keel-boats were heeling alarmingly and a large grain boat steamed by majestically ten kilometers offshore, but the outboarders, windsurfers and centreboarders were not in evidence. None the less, after several hair-raising jibes and a couple of near dumps while coming about, the little craft survived the plunging waves and they planed back on the down-wind run landing halfway up the sand strip below the cabin. The Butler's, who had arrived in the interim, gazed down disapprovingly from the brow of the hill.

"Do come in for a dip," invited the Professor as they finished stowing the dinghy away. But the Butler's, and Janet who by now was shivering from the combined effects of damp and exhilaration, declined the offer. They stood together, Janet wrapped in her towel, watching with some wonderment while the Professor cavorted in the surf.

"Should have been a marine biologist," commented Frank Butler .

"Should have been a marine creature, like a porpoise" rejoined Janet.

"Or a barracuda?"

Margaret Butler, as Janet had observed on previous occasions, was a brilliant person but no diplomat. With a fertile and nimble mind, her rapier tongue could match and better that of John Antwhistle. Possibly that was why he enjoyed her company so much. Janet shivered and went indoors to change.

Upon returning to the porch in slacks and sweater Janet found the Professor, still dripping and mostly bare, pouring drinks for the company.

"Ah Janet," he extended a glass with obvious delight. "A dry martini for a damp lass. You performed admirably, admirably," he bubbled on. "We'll make a tolerable sailor of you yet! You know where the biscuits and cheese are," and he disappeared into his bedroom re-emerging within seconds in a pair of fresh shorts. There was a very capacious pitcher of martini mix, several delicious cheeses plus a tin of assorted biscuits to sustain the pre-dinner conversation for an extended period. This allowed for a rehash of tidbits of scientific news, departmental gossip, and inevitably, exhumation of the Pinkney affair.

"A clear case of academic murder," Margaret Butler pronounced. Her husband, as customary with Margaret's outrageous pronouncements, squirmed uncomfortably in the porch chair.

"Really, Marg! You know there was no shred of evidence to suggest such a thing."

"Motives," she retorted. "Consider all the motivated murderers simply waiting for opportunity. Thwarted ambitions of the Dean, thwarted plans of the Regents, affairs with Faculty wives."

"None in the Department of Biology I trust," chortled John Antwhistle. "I thought you had better taste Margaret!"

" Ah, but there were many available departments for liaisons," answered Margaret ignoring the last sally. "And chemistry, his old stomping grounds you know. Now that was a fertile field, with all the musical marriages. Switching and shunting of partners all over the place," she snorted.

"You're undermining my attempts to convince Janet of the settled sanity to be found in academic life," accused the Professor in mock horror. "I knew that our Principal tried to keep up his scientific interests but scarcely imagined that it extended to embracing families of the scientists!"

"Then just consider the Principal's office staff for starters," rejoined Margaret. "There's the prominent Mrs. Lindsay-"

Janet smiled at the thought. Doris- Lindsay, the Principal's buxom chief secretary, was indeed prominent on the campus. She flaunted her powerful position over the faculty, as she flaunted the obvious attributes of her figure.

"Why, you may ask, did she follow Joshua Pinkney across from the Department of Chemistry?"

"Rising up the academic ladder no doubt," replied her husband.

"And there's that mousy little Halinka woman," continued Margaret ignoring his comment. "Why did he need to move her in with him? There must be others about who could keep him in coffee and biscuits, and whatever other simple repetitive tasks she is able to perform around the office."

"And so Mr. Lindsay, or Professor Halinka, or both in collective fits of jealous rage stole into the Principal's pool at the stroke of midnight each grasping an ankle, submersed him just long enough to make it appear to be accidental drowning," enthused the Professor while topping their glasses with martini mix. "I do believe you're on to something Margaret! Although," he went on, warming to the subject, "you shouldn't narrow the field to jealous husbands. There were doubtless even bachelor faculty members with enough disdain for our chief administrator to assist cheerfully in his immersion, or submersion. The pool may have been awash with academic assassins! Unfortunately, there's the problem with your theory- too many potential murderers."

"And too many motives," put in her husband. "The ratio of motivation to opportunity is greatly in excess of one. Also it's my recollection that the verdict was not death by drowning but heart failure, am I right?"

Janet nodded in agreement. If someone had indeed contrived the Principal's death he had cunningly concealed the cause beneath the apparently natural circumstances.

"What could have triggered cardiac arrest in a man who seemed to be in pretty fair shape, regular exercise etcetera?" she wondered out loud. "Did he overdo his alcohol consumption, for example?"

"No more than your average administrative officer I daresay," offered the Professor as he doled out another generous instalment from the cocktail shaker. "Although I'm sure that has pickled a good many Principals over the years. He had a boozy reputation early in his career, but I got the impression that he moderated his drinking in recent years. He concealed it pretty effectively if he didn't actually control it, (which would be an essential attribute in dealing with some of the blue-stockings on the Board of Regents)."

"If anything, he seemed to have almost developed an aversion to drinking," Margaret added. "A week or two ago he came to our Faculty Wives' wine and cheese do. Took only part of a glass at most."

"Well, you can't blame him for that," interrupted the Professor. "Some of Frank's homebrew eh?"

"Certainly not!" Margaret bristled with indignation. "It was an excellent Moselle. Actually, Hilda Pinkney did the selecting. She's always been active in the wives' organization. But Josh definitely looked unwell even then. Pale, perspiring, though it wasn't a hot day, I thought he had a fever. He didn't stay long at the do."

"Ah well, regardless, I believe it's time we sampled some of my favourite vintage." and John Antwhistle led the way to the dinner-table where he uncorked a magnificent bottle of Pouilly Fuisse. He raised his glass to the assembled dinner party. "May it have a more salutary effect on us than on our late departed colleague."

Janet's enjoyment of the perfect vintage was diminished somewhat by a persistent whisper in her brain-- 'wine-- poison.'

Bridge that evening turned out to be a debacle, at least for the Butlers. They were repeatedly set, a couple of times for disastrous penalties, while Janet and the Professor rattled off two quick rubbers, including a vulnerable grand slam which Margaret had doubled in frustration only to see her hoped-for setting ace trumped on the first round. Otherwise Margaret played her usual strong, machine-gun style of bridge but the combination of unfortunate cards and more than usually ineffectual play by her partner raised her temper in parallel with her opponents' score. Now the Professor was just pulling in the last trick from his successful contract of five hearts doubled over Margaret's five clubs, both vulnerable, in the third rubber.

"Well," exclaimed Frank cheerfully, "afraid that completes the rout. Too many cross-ruffs to let us use our black cards."

"Had I known about your black cards I could have saved in spades," said Margaret quietly with measured control.

"I did mention my club support." Frank looked somewhat hurt. "And your spades were a second suit."

"Which I bid twice. You must have known I had five of them. And you with king, jack, ten." Margaret's voice was rising by a decibel with each phrase.

"Time for tea," interjected the Professor. "Might we sample that low-calorie sticky bun you brought us, Janet?"

"Courtesy of Mrs. McKay's kitchen." Janet sprang from the room grateful to escape the Butlers' post-mortem. "I'll fix tea as well."

"Cups in the side-board," called the Professor from the other room. The side-board had the dimensions of an armoire. The Professor had built it into the end wall of the kitchen-dining area with several drawers across the bottom and four immense doors covering the top portion. Janet instinctively opened the left side first and stopped momentarily in her tracks. The shelves showed no evidence of dishes, but were crammed with carved and sculpted objects in wood, stone, plaster, even the odd bronze object; clay maquettes of figure studies, portrait busts in various materials stared out at her.

"Follies of my youth," said the Professor from the doorway. Janet started, and opened the other side of the cupboard to obtain the tea dishes. The Professor went on to describe his early training as "artist manqué before I settled upon biology as a more practical livelihood."

"They're very well done," remarked Janet as she cut up Kay McKay's 'low-cal' sticky bun. "Did you ever regret making the choice?"

"At first, very much so. When I was innocent of many realities," replied the Professor pensively. Janet thought of the collected works she had seen in the cupboard. Innocent would be a fair label to attach to the quality they expressed, certainly in contrast with the cynicism of John Antwhistle's more recent grotesqueries. There were several striking portrait busts for example, of a long-faced, slender-necked young girl with a Modigliani flavour that exuded freshness and beauty.

"But I had no illusions about my ability to create much that was memorably original to add to the experience of the human race. Besides Janet," he continued softly, "most regrets you will find are not so much from conscious choices anyway," and he carried the tea-tray into the next room where angry recriminations from the bridge contest rumbled on.

The Butlers left shortly afterward somewhat placated by tea and treats. Janet excused herself and retired to bed, leaving the Professor reading on the screened-porch. She read briefly herself, then turned out her light and lay thinking about the Butlers in particular and marriage in general. Frank was a congenial person; a champion athlete in his day, he was now a competent and productive geneticist but he paled intellectually beside his wife. Margaret had the quickness of response, the shrewdness and ambition, above all the toughness, to rise to the top in the business or political world. She seemed hampered by marriage to a lesser being; much of her resentment and sarcasm must be due to this one-sided alliance. Better to be free despite some lonely moments, like her Professor. Had he any true regrets she wondered, about the youthful girl who had once sat for the portrait bust? That had been no mere exercise in sculpture, but a labour of love and tenderness.

The Professor turned off the porch light and went into the other bedroom. Through her window Janet could just make out some of the phantasmagoric shadows of the effigies outside in the moonlight. Some of the faces, caricatures though they were, bore likenesses of campus figures, one a particularly hideous distortion of the late Principal surmounting the body of a large toad. As she drifted off with the lulling rustle of poplar leaves and lapping of the wavelets on the beach this image of hatred for the dead man became superimposed on her vision of the gentle features of the young woman portrayed by the sculpture inside. Janet snapped into instant wakefulness with the sudden shock of recognition- there was no doubt in her mind that the portrait bust had been a representation of a youthful version of the Principal's widow, Hilda Pinkney.

After breakfast next morning Janet sat on the beach struggling to concentrate her mind upon the current review article from the Annals of Differentiation which lay in her lap where she had opened it fifteen minutes earlier. She was normally a rapid reader and it irritated her to find her attention wandering in this uncharacteristic way. Following one more try to assimilate the same paragraph for the third time Janet closed the book and gazed out at the lake. The wind had lowered in the night and a gentle breeze lapped the water at her feet. About a kilometer from shore the tiny sail of the Professor's dinghy could be made out, dwarfed by those of the ocean racing classes rounding the mark in the first leg of the regular Sunday regatta. John Antwhistle had invited her to accompany him out to watch the races close-up, but Janet realized that she was not required as ballast in the light airs and chose, to stay on dry land in hopes of accomplishing some necessary reading. Now she was regretting her choice, her thoughts returning uncontrollably to last night. "Most regrets don't arise from conscious choices", John Antwhistle had said. What was his connection with Hilda Pinkney, then and now, and what the occasion for his regrets? There was such venom and contempt in his references to the late Principal it was not difficult to imagine the two men as erstwhile rivals for the affections of the same woman. And if so had not the Professor even now more cogent motivation to eliminate Joshua Pinkney than the coterie of jealous spouses imagined by Margaret Butler? Janet had to admit that despite her previous complacent assumption to the contrary, she knew precious little of the private life and inward workings of John Antwhistle.

Part of her reason for agreeing to this unorthodox weekend had been to sound out the Professor on the Pinkney family. The revelations and realizations of last night now confirmed her reluctance on an earlier occasion to take John Antwhistle into her confidence. She could hardly voice her suspicions of foul play involving the son or widow of the dead man when her confidant may have had such a close involvement if not collusion in the events surrounding the Principal's mysterious demise. Janet vowed decisively to avoid further discussions about it with the Professor, lest she give herself away.

The breeze started to freshen and shift on-shore. At the same time the sun disappeared behind a large heavy cloud. Janet gave a shiver and headed up to pack her gear. After lunch they would head back and none too soon she would be in the lab where she could concentrate on the relatively un-complicated affairs of human cells growing in a culture dish. If only the society of the humans from which they arose were as predictable and easily regulated! Doubtless the best thing would be to stick with those academic areas of biology which she could control, and leave these indeterminate forensic aspects to the Coroner's Office. Janet nodded to herself; one last chat with Jerry and she would hang up her career as private investigator.

CHAPTER FOUR

When Janet returned to her lab Doug had completed his weekend labours and departed, but signs of his activity were evident. She checked her cell cultures and found to her relief that Doug had performed his duties and all was normal. The cells were being maintained in a healthy resting condition. Next day she would release them from their suspended state with a feed of growth factors in her continuing quest to define the conditions for triggering cell-division. She frowned as she noted the cascade of dirty glassware overflowing the sink-boards. Try as she might she could not impress upon Doug that Julia was her assistant and not his washerup. She anticipated a hot row in the morning when Julia saw the mess, but was in no mood to avert it by pushing the pile of dishes to one side.

In the office there were three phone messages on her desk: one was from Kay inviting her for Sunday dinner on her return; the other two were from Jerry with a number for her to call. After going over her schedule for the next morning and checking on a couple of the solutions she would need in order to continue the experiment, Janet phoned to accept her dinner invitation.

"Come along by five and we'll have a pre-dinner drink. I've also invited Professor and Mrs. Halinka. I thought we might delve into our mutual problem."

Kay was obviously using her connections in the Chemistry Department to explore their 'mutual problem' of the Pinkney family. Janet paused momentarily before dialling the number left by Jerry. She was not looking forward to a confrontation with him, yet she knew that she would not be satisfied until she had made some attempt to resolve the situation, if nothing else to set Jerry's mind at rest. He had always been an imaginative, paranoid character. The strain of events surrounding his father's death had undoubtedly intensified these imaginings and paranoia. Now if she could think of a quiet place where they-

The telephone jangled her out of her reverie. At times such as this she regretted that she had turned up the volume of the ring, but it was the only way that she could be sure to hear it from the cell-culture area at the other end of the lab.

"Janet?" Jeremy Pinkney's voice sounded distressed and hurt. "Didn't you get my message? Can we get together today? I've got to talk to you." He seemed breathless and desperate.

Janet tried to explain that she had just returned, and had numerous things to do. Meanwhile her mind was racing ahead to Monday. If she made the cell transfers first thing in the morning she could analyse the two- and four-hour samples, and would have an hour and a half clear until the six-hour samples were due.

"Jerry, I'm sorry but I'm totally tied up until noon tomorrow. Could we meet then at the Waterhole?"

There was a faint grumbling on the other end of the line, but eventually he agreed to this suggestion.

Janet got home with a few minutes to spare before five o'clock and arrival of the other guests. She slipped quickly up the stairs and was in the act of making herself presentable when the doorbell rang. By the time she came back down Kay and her company were sitting out on the porch. Professor Halinka arose as she joined them.

"We need no introduction do we Dr. Gordon?" he said stretching his hand out toward her, Janet was taken aback. It had been several years since she had taken his toxicology course as an undergraduate.

"You see," explained his wife with a smile, "Klaus has a remarkable memory about his students. Even in the big classes of several hundreds he knows most by their first names, especially the girls."

Her laugh which followed was tinkling and kindly. She might very well be mousy in outward appearance as Margaret had implied, but there was gentle warmth in her manner. Kay and the Professor went to prepare the drinks while Janet chatted with Mrs. Halinka. It was obvious that she idolized her husband, catering to his needs and whims, as she was reported to have done for the late Principal.

"Klaus works so hard- well I don't need to tell you Dr. Gordon, all you scientists work very hard- but I must get him to slow down, especially after what happened to poor Dr. Pinkney.

The job killed him you know. I should have seen it coming," she went on. "Of course it wasn't just the amount of work (though I often found it necessary to stay late or go out to his house in the evenings to help get through it all). He was so dedicated, and under a lot of stress lately. There were several other times when he took a turn just like he did at the convocation. I would try to get him to rest, like I try with Klaus to take a nap before he goes back to the lab after supper."

Klaus Halinka had entered the porch with a tray of glasses and scowled at his wife. Janet reflected that the well-meaning solicitations of Mrs. Halinka might rather have added to the Principal's stresses as they seemed to with her husband.

"Janet was in the same class as Jeremy Pinkney you know," Kay interjected.

"I'd not be likely to forget him as a student in my class," Professor Halinka nodded emphatically.

"Beside the girls Klaus always remembers the very good and the very bad ones," explained his wife. "Poor Jerry," she went on "I used to try and buck him up, get him started. That's what he needed. He had ability, but lacked the drive."

She chattered on about Jerry and his encounters with his father, and the many ways in which they seemed to have disappointed one another.

"His father had little time for him, which was a great shame, with all the wonderful successes he had in his life, in science and administration. He could have passed so much on to Jerry. I tried to get them together, but of course a man in that job has so many demands. He expected too much of the boy. But I couldn't bring either one of them to understand the other's point of view."

Mrs. Halinka had tried to play the role of mother for all these men, her husband, her boss and Jerry. Perhaps she made up in warmth what the Principal's widow seemed to lack.

"I daresay he'll give small comfort to his mother," the Professor broke in harshly.

"What will the poor lady do?" asked Kay.

"I gather that the University will let her stay on a while in the house," answered the Professor.

"Oh yes," continued his wife, "but from what she told me she intends to go home fairly soon."

"Her home was in Europe originally?" enquired Kay.

"Scandinavia, I believe," replied Mrs. Halinka, "though she got most of her schooling in Britain. Dr. Pinkney met her while he was over on a visiting fellowship. He must have met your Professor Antwhistle around the same time. He was responsible eventually for attracting him over here as Head of Biology."

All of which could explain their mutual connection with Hilda, thought Janet; she and Joshua Pinkney and John Antwhistle forming the age-old triangle, with the Principal taking the spoils: wife, top job, and the bonus of having the best man to head up one of his key departments. But if as she surmised the Professor had been the losing rival why had he agreed to follow along across the ocean in the trail of the winner? Janet was roused from her reflections by the others rising to go into the house for dinner. Possibly she would get some enlightenment on this strange relationship next day when she talked to Jerry.

The next day turned out to be something of a nightmare. Despite an early start in the lab, things piled up on Janet like the dirty glassware still lingering on the sink-boards. It began with a call from Julia that she was sick, there was no sign of Doug to clear up the mess, and to top it all off, the antique centrifuge which the Professor had loaned her had packed it in again. Janet thought grimly as she trundled her samples down to Frank Butler's lab at the end of the hall that her grant renewal had better provide for a dishwasher and a new centrifuge or her research productivity would grind to a halt.

While she was waiting for her cells to sediment in his centrifuge Frank came over to talk.

"You look as if you just survived a lost weekend! Did the old boy dump you out in the middle of the lake?"

Janet unloaded her litany of Monday morning woes on Frank, realizing that the breakdown of her centrifuge doubtless had been a blessing in disguise. The sympathetic ear of Frank Butler always had a leavening effect upon troubled colleagues and graduate students. By the time that she had returned to her lab Janet was humming to herself. Despite the hold-ups her experiment was now going well and what else in the world mattered? Moreover, Doug had come in and was up to his elbows in suds tackling the dishes. There was a phone message from Julia that she was feeling much better, and would probably be back after lunch, so Janet could leave her experiment in capable hands.

In fact it was a bit before noon when Julia arrived and Janet handed over the four-hour cell samples for her to process. By the time that she had pedalled her bike down the hill and along the river road to the Waterhole Janet was in a buoyant mood even though she was thirty minutes late for her meeting with Jerry. It was uncharacteristic for Janet to keep anyone waiting, but perhaps on this occasion it would be better to let Jerry cool his heels, and his head, before they talked. Janet locked her bike to the rack and walked around to the front of the pub.

The Waterhole, as its name suggested, overlooked a widened part of the Essex River and had become a traditional student gathering-place over the years for boating and imbibing. At this time of year, just prior to opening of summer session, there were no undergraduates about and the outdoor tables were sparsely populated with graduate students and research fellows who were not included under the rubric of the Faculty Club up on the campus proper. A few non-conforming faculty members also preferred the less formal atmosphere of the pub, and one of these whom Janet recognized as a vociferous public spokesman on chemical waste-disposal had cornered Jerry at a distant table near the trees that fringed the inn-yard. Jerry spotted Janet and waved her over to the table.

"Bob Windham - Janet Gordon." Both men got up, and after a few words of chatter Windham excused himself and moved to a table of graduate students where he continued his campaign against sewage effluents in general and those discharging into River Essex in particular.

"Remarkable fellow that," said Jerry admiringly, "though not a great favourite of my deceased parent. Tried unsuccessfully for years to have him muzzled, especially when he commenced publicizing some dubious methods of waste disposal by the University. Did you know, for-instance, that until recently there were some chemical wastes, even radioactive ones, being dumped directly into the river? That is until Bob found out and blew the whistle on them. Tough on father having to cover up for his old cronies in the Chemistry Department ,eh?"

Jerry seemed in decidedly better spirits than he had sounded over the phone the day before. His eyes sparkled mischievously and he punctuated his account with chuckles. Janet noted a large, and almost empty, tankard of ale, and wondered just how long he had been waiting for her. When he attempted to reorder for both of them Janet insisted on two servings of shepherd's pie to accompany the beer.

"Before you say anything more about suspicions of poisoning as a factor in your father's death, I think there are a few things you ought to know," Janet began, and she told Jeremy of her conversation the previous night with Mrs. Halinka.

"And so you see," she concluded, "if these seizures and other symptoms were due to some poison it is quite possible it was something he had been exposed to at work. He had several similar attacks on campus, a long time after leaving the house, and often immediately following some meal or reception at the University. It's my opinion Jerry, that there could have been something up there, food or drink, which was responsible."

"That's just what mother and I concluded last night," said Jerry. In contrast with his earlier mood of near panic Jerry seemed calm and thoroughly rational as he recounted his discussion with Hilda Pinkney. Janet nodded thoughtfully and plowed through her dish of shepherd's pie, putting in the occasional question about the meeting of mother and son.

"And so you both concluded that the so-called poisoning was merely a prank?"

"I suppose you could call it that. A vengeful person working off his spite against father. Whatever was given to him- and it may have been administered repeatedly over a long stretch of time- was just enough of something nasty to make him feel wretched and put him out of commission. Sort of an embarrassment, possibly designed to produce rumours that he was over-indulging, and make people believe he was not too reliable."

Janet pondered the last remark. If someone in the University community had wanted to prevent approval of a new term for the Principal it would be an effective ploy to raise questions about his sobriety. The coincidence of a nauseous dose of some drug together with an occasion where alcohol was being served could render an impression of over-indulgence.

"There is some logic to your analysis," Janet replied, "but you realize it raises other questions about who had the opportunity and the motive."

"Well ,it could be any one of a number of people on staff who fancied they were maltreated. Maybe someone who wanted his job. Anyway, it lets me off the hook because I hardly even saw the old boy after I moved out. And besides," he joked, "I never was much good at poisons! I failed that terrible man, Halinka' s Pharmacology course and when Professor Antwhistle questioned me about toxic chemicals on my final oral I couldn't even tell him the difference between strychnine and arsenic poisoning."

But what, thought Janet reluctantly, of a man like Professor Antwhistle himself, who could have had access to all sorts of. University functions, and who would certainly have a fair idea of which-non-fatal drugs could be used to produce the desired reaction. She hesitated to implicate her mentor by asking Jerry the obvious question about the relations of the past between his mother and the Professor.

"What then do you or your mother plan to do about all this?" she asked. "Because if you have not already discussed this with the doctor, don't you think you should? Perhaps traces of the drug are still detectable."

"Mother wants to avoid any unnecessary scandal. The whole matter's pretty academic isn't it (if you'll pardon the pun)? Probably had nothing whatsoever to do with his death anyway.."

Janet was silent for a minute or two as Jerry finished his ale and they watched a noisy group of canoers floating down the river. She herself could hardly go to the doctor or to the police on such flimsy suspicions without the family's support. It was really no business of hers in any case. The family had resolved their differences and accepted the natural cause of death that would doubtless be the official version. And yet, there was still something gnawing at her sense of security, a persistent worm that eroded her trust in the man who had played a major role in her scientific upbringing.

Janet made her farewells to Jerry with a tacit understanding to keep their conversation confidential. As she cycled back to the lab Janet turned her thoughts deliberately to her experiment and the next stages in its analysis. She should be able to schedule a cross-country jog in between the next set of samples, and that would give her the chance to meditate on the unanswered questions. Whatever the fitness benefits running may have brought to her, Janet knew that she had most of her better ideas while out pounding the trails on her own.

Sited upon a small promontory, the McKay residence commanded a view of the bordering flood plain of the River Essex, with the University campus rising up the opposite bank. The light of a dying sun was brightly reflecting from the windows of the house as Janet slowly pumped her bicycle up from the river path. When she entered the front hall the contrast of the interior gloom with the brilliant sunset outdoors stopped her in her tracks. A solitary Tiffany-shaded lamp cast a dim circle of illumination on the hall-table. Janet picked up the note in her landlady's firm hand-writing.

"Gone to Doctor's"

Janet puzzled over this as she dumped her back-pack on the desk in her room. Kay had made no complaints about her health and seemed in fine fettle the previous evening at the dinner party. Perhaps it was some sort of regular check-up or consultation about a prescription. Janet sat down at her desk and sorted through reprints of some recent articles on cellular-growth factors, while the customary croaking chorus of frogs tuned up for the evening concert from the flood-plain below her window.

The performance was in full voice and the last glint of reflection from the western sky in the watery meadow was flickering away as the front door slammed shut. Janet put down her reading and came downstairs by the old servants' back-passage that led directly into the kitchen. Kay was standing by the sink filling the tea-kettle.

"Is everything all right?" asked Janet anxiously.

"Sorry if I alarmed you with the note. I left in rather a hurry and couldn't explain. Tea?"

Janet nodded and followed her into the library carrying the laden tea-tray. Besides the tea Kay had provisioned the tray with her homemade tarts and cookies.

"I suppose you haven't stopped for dinner today," Kay-asserted accusingly.

"Shepherd's pie and ale," responded Janet quickly, and she gave an account of her lunch-time meeting with Jerry.

"Now, tell me what took you off to the doctor's," she demanded.

"Subterfuge," replied Kay, "pure, unadulterated subterfuge. You see, I had hoped to get more information last night from Klaus Halinka about possible poisons and their effects but he was quite unhelpful. According to him it wouId more likely have been the cafeteria food that turned the Principal's stomach, or some gastrointestinal disease. In any case his wife gave me more clues than he, describing the recurring symptoms and so forth," and she passed the trayful of goodies to Janet, "So," she continued, "I simply passed myself off as a patient to Dr. Tower," and she grinned mischievously.

"Of course, I had to explain that my regular doctor was away at a meeting (I doubt he'll check into that will he?). In any case I've known Bert Tower for years. He used to take out one of my p.g.'s so we got quite chummy at one time and he didn't seem all that busy this evening. Most of his practice is up on the campus during the day, so we had quite a good chat about my difficulties with food intolerances. He's of the opinion that I should give up blue cheese and red wine for a while, just in case," chortled Kay, "and chocolate, so you'll just have to finish these cookies yourself!"

"And what did you conclude from all this medical masquerading?" asked Janet sceptically."

"That I should not take medications of the monoamine oxidase inhibitor category with the forementioned foods which contain tyramines, and the latter could precipitate vascular headache and nausea if I am the susceptible migraine type."

"Well, those are certainly consistent with Dr. Pinkney's symptoms," Janet responded thoughtfully.

"What you're suggesting is either that he had an abnormal tendency to react to something in his diet-"

"Like the migraine sufferer," nodded Kay.

"-or that some medication or drug was making him intolerant of something he would have normally tolerated."

"Precisely," answered Kay triumphantly. "That way the poisoner would be very difficult to detect or link to the end-result. In fact, there is no evidence that the victim suspected anyone of attempting to tamper with his food or drink."

"And so," concluded Janet, "anyone either at home or at work could have given him the drug-and later-"

"Later it would act like a time-bomb, with no effect until the fuse was triggered by the incompatible food which he ate."

"That might tie in with something Jerry said to me at lunch," said Janet, and she related the theory that a prankster may have tried to render the impression that the Principal was an intemperate consumer by contriving to have him fail at functions where alcohol was being served.

"Someone who harboured a grudge over some unfavourable administrative decision, or someone who had an interest in seeing that he wasn't appointed for a second term," Kay added,

"I suppose the real question is whether this so-called prank was consistent with the cause of death," said Janet, "and whether the perpetrator had really foreseen the final result of his prank. This may have been a joke that back-fired on the joker! "

"Not if he has covered his trail sufficiently. As you said this could be a pretty hard case to prove," said Kay as she polished off the last brownie on the plate. "We'll see if Dr. Tower had the right lead on my problems. I really felt a little guilty taking him in like that," and she collected the tea things and gave the tray to Janet to take to the kitchen.

After washing up Janet returned to her room. She put away her books, shut out the light and crawled wearily to bed. The froggy symphony continued unabated under a sparkling starry sky. Frogs and toads, she thought to herself as she drifted off with fleeting visions of superimposed events? Dr. Tower prescribing diets for Kay McKay; Dr. Pinkney sipping sherry with colleagues in the Faculty Lounge and sliding off his chair; Dr. Halinka lecturing on drug-induced diseases; Professor Antwhistle serving her cocktails from a large dispenser. The images were chasing each other about in her drowsy brain like the horses on a merry-go-round, when she snapped suddenly into wakefulness.

"Antabuse!" she exclaimed aloud, then settled back on her pillow wondering why it had taken so long to occur to her.

CHAPTER FIVE

The next morning at breakfast Janet explained her theory excitedly to Kay.

"It was really your clue about the drug-induced intolerance to food that got me on the track. And then I got thinking about the classical case of disulfiram poisoning, at least it started out as a case of poisoning, and finally produced a way of treating chronic alcoholism. It was one of those famous instances of serendipity in science."

"You mean when you go out drilling for water and strike oil instead?" interjected Kay. "My great-uncle had that misfortune in Petrol Springs in the last century. Made an unholy mess of the well. Too bad he sold out his rights to a Mr. Rockefeller, who the natives thought to be a lunatic for showing interest in that mucky grease!"

"Just so," replied Janet. "The trick is to recognize when the unplanned result is not misfortune after all. In this case a couple of Danish biochemists about forty years ago were searching for chemicals that would kill intestinal worms, antihelminthic agents as they are called, without harm to the infected patient. They found this simple compound, tetraethylthiuram disulfide-"

"That's a simple compound?"

"Well, simple and cheap to make. I just looked up the formula to impress you."

"OK, so it was cheap. Go on."

"Right, cheap plus very effective. It was lethal to the parasites when given orally to experimental animals harbouring worms, and it seemed to have no ill-effects on the animal hosts."

"So they started to feed it to human patients with worms?"

"No," Janet went on. "First they reckoned they had better check that it was really safe in humans as well as laboratory rats so they administered the drug to some normal volunteers."

"Graduate students or medical students I'll be thinking. They volunteer for anything if there's money involved."

"Actually, they took it themselves."

"That's known as having the courage of your convictions," Kay pronounced.

"They took gradually increasing doses until they reached the therapeutic level, that is, high enough to kill parasites in the animal studies."

"And I suppose they did themselves in?"

"Not quite. But they were both mighty sick," Janet explained. "The interesting thing about it was that they had been taking the disulfiram all week. No effects at all. Just like the study with rats, it seemed to be quite innocuous. Then a few days after, on the weekend I guess, one of them went to a party, took one drink and passed out."

"Must have been some drink! Like one of your Professor's super-martinis?"

"Just an ordinary cocktail, apparently. And when he got to the lab next day and compared notes with his colleague he found he had been acutely ill at another party. Same symptoms exactly."

"Which were?"

"I just looked that up too," admitted Janet. "Reddening of the face, pounding of the heart, vomiting, fainting."

"But they both recovered you say?"

"They recovered, medically and scientifically. Although the stuff couldn't be used as an anti-helminthic agent, which they had set out to find, they realized that the combination of a drug that was otherwise harmless, together with the really obnoxious effects after drinking could lead to a type of aversion therapy for alcohol abuse. So they renamed it antabuse."

"Yes, I've heard of that treatment. But the alcoholic takes the drug knowingly?"

"Absolutely. It must be done with full fore-knowledge and consent. It's usually just the prospect of the after-effects that does the trick. If the patient actually takes a drink it's pretty awful ."

"Even fatal?" asked Kay thoughtfully.

"That I don't know," Janet admitted.

"But it does seem consistent with Dr. Pinkney's fainting spells," said Kay.

"And with the timing."

"Yes. He would only show the effects at public functions, where a minimal intake of alcohol would produce maximal embarrassment. But how could somebody get him to take it? I suppose you'd have to take it continuously or the effect would wear off."

"I don't know that either," said Janet. "Anyone could have tampered with his food or drink, I suppose. It wouldn't have to have been at work either."

"True," Kay agreed. "Someone might have tampered with some other medication he took habitually. An aspirin bottle, for example."

Janet thought rather unhappily of Jeremy's so-called alibi; he might have been living somewhere else but all he would have needed was one opportunity to load his father's pill bottle. From then on it would have been a matter of Russian roulette, with chance determining whether the Principal took the disguised antabuse dose soon enough before having a drink. Jerry could well have been in another city by the time the two events coincided. He had been a bit too quick in asserting his ignorance of poisons- didn't he protest too much- leading one to suspect that he was not so ignorant or innocent as he tried to make out. And what of the other person whom she reluctantly suspected. Professor Antwhistle; he most certainly would have known the consequences of antabuse administration to a man who had struggled previously with an alcohol problem. Even Hilda Pinkney could not be eliminated from suspicion, as the individual with the easiest opportunity on a day to day basis.

"Of course," she concluded, "it's only conjecture and circumstantial evidence so far."

"Though I should remind you that 'some circumstantial evidence is very strong, as when you find a trout in the milk-pail'."

"Shaw?"

"Thoreau."

"Does he have any advice for dealing with red herrings?"

"Touché!" Kay responded, "I suppose we have little chance of finding the trout by now in any case."

"Perhaps not," said Janet. "However, I think it might not be amiss if we had firmer ground for the medical facts before any other kind of fishing expedition. Do you suppose that I might arrange a chat with your friend Dr. Tower without muddying the waters too badly?"

The two women put their heads together over a third cup of coffee. By the time they had finished, and Janet set off to work on her bike she was aghast to hear the University clock striking ten.

"A dillar, a dollar," thought Janet, and tried to calm herself after all the arousing discussion and overdose of caffeine she had experienced.

If Dr. Tower was unoccupied with medical matters in the evening, he more than made up for it during the day Janet reflected as she sat in a full anteroom to the University Health Clinic. Fortunately she had brought several reprints along and managed to catch up a bit on her reading during the forty-five minute sit in the waiting-room. When she was finally ushered into his office Dr. Tower seemed at first not to recognize her, then glanced at her records card and recalled their earlier meeting at the Pinkney's.

"I'm afraid the matter I've come to see you about is more personal than medical," Janet began, and she unloaded her theory concerning the Principal's recurrent attacks. The doctor stared at her solemnly during the recital, and when she had finished, got up from his chair and walked to the window thoughtfully stroking his chin. After a moment or two of silence he strode purposefully to the telephone and spoke some soft instructions to the listener.

"What you have surmised is preposterous-" He paused fixing Janet with, a stern expression, "-and yet, your idea seems to be consistent with the events. In any case, we will not be disturbed for a while so we can pursue this idea a bit further," and he proceeded to examine Janet closely on the sequence of events.

"If the story is true as you relate it there would seem to be grounds for a full investigation. The problem, of course, is a complete lack of concrete evidence. It's a totally speculative thing isn't it Dr. Gordon. You as a scientist must appreciate that?"

"I know it's nothing more than a hypothesis," Janet admitted, "And I would be the last person to wish to raise a hue and cry that could unnecessarily embarrass the family or the University. Only what if it's true?" she asked miserably.

"I can appreciate your dilemma," said Dr. Tower. "I was not Dr. Pinkney's physician. In fact I barely knew him socially, so I have little idea about his medical history. Moreover, I'm not a toxicologist and have no experience with treatment of alcoholics. However, I do know Dr. Whiteman who looked after the Principal's family for several years. I am sure I can count on you to be discrete about this; if Dr, Whiteman can in any way verify your suspicions I'll get back to you and see that appropriate steps are taken. In the meantime no-one else must know of our conversation."

Janet paused for a moment before replying, and in the interval noticed that the serious demeanour of the doctor had turned, to a broad grin.

"Except, of course, for your landlady," he concluded with obvious delight at her discomfiture.

"I didn't read your mind Dr. Gordon, I simply noted your home address on the records card. That house had special associations for me you know. And then Kay's peculiar visit last evening bore too many coincidences with your account. I thought at the time that she was no doubt giving me symptoms of one of her p.g.'s who was in some sort of trouble. Well, I guess I was right in a way. But Kay McKay never in her life took any medication stronger than aspirin. Tell her for me to take two chocolates before bed and call me in the morning!"

"He said that did he?" exclaimed Kay over the phone. "Anyway he didn't throw you out of the office, or refer you to a psychiatrist for treatment of delusions."

"No," said Janet, "but the implication was there, and if this Dr. Whiteman doesn't come up with some support-"

"Don't fret until we hear back from him," Kay advised. "There's not much we could do till then anyway is there?" and she hung up.

Janet had to admit that she had pushed herself out onto a slender limb, which showed every sign of dropping her into oblivion. If Dr. Whiteman was indeed pursuing the surviving medications on the home-front and the result were negative, she could at least shift her suspicions from family to the University community. But preposterous though her hypothesis might be in the eyes of Dr. Tower, unless the Principal's medicine chest provided evidence of tampering she would never be sure about Jeremy and his mother. As far as the people at work were concerned, there had been so many opportunities amid the confusion of University social functions that it should have been easy for the poisoner to remain undetected. Perhaps if Dr. Whiteman's discrete investigation failed it would be better to accept Dr. Tower's admonition and forget about it entirely. In the meantime there was one other avenue to explore. Janet went across the campus to the Principal's suite in search of Mrs. Halinka.

Morton Hall, a mock-classic structure of Gothic limestone and ivy, commanded the height of land that was the pinnacle of Essex University's rolling campus. The office of the Principal surmounted the battlements of the administration building with a wide bowed window overlooking the river valley. Small wonder, considered Janet, that a man so elevated to the role of chief administrator might entertain thoughts of megalomania from this vantage point. 'Gaze on my works ye mighty and despair!' Janet left her bicycle by the archway leading into the rear courtyard and ascended the stairs to the tower-room.

Mrs. Halinka was absent from her customary reception post, and the chair of the other secretary who normally occupied the outer office was also vacant. The door to the inner suite was partly ajar and Janet could see the silhouette of a woman's figure against the light of the window. She rapped softly on the door which opened somewhat further to reveal Doris Lindsay packing books and other assorted objects from the wall shelves into a number of cardboard boxes.

"Oh, pardon me," said Janet. "Is Mrs. Halinka here?"

"Left after lunch, feeling ill."

Doris Lindsay delivered this telegraphic response brusquely and continued with the packing. She bustled officiously across to the late Principal's desk with a small vase of rather decayed dried flowers, then seemed to catch her heel and pitched forward. Janet helped her into the chair behind the desk where she sat with her head in her hands. After a few minutes she collected herself and looked up.

"Thanks for helping. Bad headache- felt dizzy- whew!" Doris shook her blonde head and took a deep breath. "Too much of an upset, all this," and she nodded toward the boxes.

"What's all this?" asked a voice from the doorway. Janet turned around to see Jeremy Pinkney with several empty boxes in his arms. She explained about Doris's 'spell' and the illness of Mrs. Halinka.

"I suspect they may both have a bit of a virus infection. My assistant in the lab had a similar thing a few days ago, and judging by the lineups in Dr. Tower's office it may be a local epidemic."

"Well, I think I had better take you home, Doris," said Jerry solicitously. "This stuff will not walk away. Come on, I have the family wagon down below," and he steered Mrs. Lindsay toward the elevator.

Janet saw them out into the courtyard and walked back to her bike. But as the rear end of the Pinkney automobile swung from view she changed her mind and re-entered the building. The Principal's suite was still unoccupied as she got off the elevator. Across the hall a clatter of typewriters could be heard from the office of the Board of Regents, but no-one looked out as Janet stepped into Dr. Pinkney's office and quietly closed the door behind her.

Dr. Pinkney's personal effects had been partly boxed, and the remainder were clustered on the desk top and the low shelf along the window embrasure. Apart from the books and the odd vase or paper-weight there was little that reflected the late Principal's personality. There was a non-descript brown tea-pot and kettle on a tray with a few cups and saucers. In the far corner of the room Janet noticed a doorknob projecting from the panelled oak wainscoting. She pulled it open to reveal a small washroom. However, the wall shelf and medicine cabinet were empty, and the open boxes in the office also failed to reveal any medicine bottles. After a quick and fruitless look through the desk drawers Janet returned to the outer office and knocked on the frosted glass panel of the door to the office of the Regents.

"I'm afraid that both secretaries from the Principal's office have been taken ill," she reported to the receptionist. "I thought I should tell you that the office is empty."

"Oh dear!" The receptionist accompanied her back to the outer office. "Perhaps I had better call Mr. Lindsay and Dr. Halinka. Seems to be a lot of that summer flu about.

"Yes," Janet agreed. "I should make a phone call myself. Do you suppose it would be all right to use one of the telephones here? I know Dr. Halinka, so I could call him for you ."

"Of course. I'll just lock Dr. Pinkney's door," and she returned to her own desk closing the door behind her.

Janet sat down at Doris Lindsay's desk and rang the Chemistry Department. The Professor expressed surprise and some irritation that his wife had not phoned him herself. Whether this was out of concern for her health or for the fact that he might have had a needless trip to collect her after work was not apparent but Janet suspected the latter reason.

"Well, thank you for letting me know," he concluded. "She went home just after lunch?"

"Yes," replied Janet. "And Mrs. Lindsay seemed to be similarly affected. She also went home a short time ago. Must have the same bug."

"I suppose so," Professor Halinka replied, and he rang off.

Janet sat quietly for a moment, her hand still on the telephone receiver. The Professor had been more exasperated than concerned over his wife's condition, but he seemed the type of person more suited to the expression of exasperation than concern. Funny, she thought, how affection in marriage can turn sour like that: love, jealousy, hate, one leading to the other. What of Margaret Butler's hypothesis anyway? Did Dr. Halinka and Mr. Lindsay have any true grounds for suspicion about the Principal's relations with his secretaries? And if so were there any grounds for suspicion about the two husbands in question? There had been no obvious sources of medication in the Principal's office; perhaps Jeremy had already carted away the boxes with contents of the medicine cabinet or desk drawers. Had he been responsible for doping the drugs surely they would have been among the first things to be removed from here or at the house. The more she thought about it the less likely it appeared to her that the evidence would still be around.

Perhaps she should call Julia and check on the lab. That was the reason she had started to use the phone. Janet lifted the receiver, then set it down again after a glance at the wall-clock. It was now half-past three and Julia would doubtless be in the coffee-room. Her eye caught the coffee-machine on the table beneath the clock. Under normal circumstances Mrs. Halinka probably would be bringing the coffee in to the Principal and his confreres in the inner office about now. Or did he take tea in the afternoons, or perhaps, decaffeinated coffee? Janet idly speculated on the Principal's habits, and walked over to the coffee table. Beside the coffee machine there were two jars of instant coffee, one regular, one decaffeinated. There were also two jars containing sugar and two which had powdered coffee creamer, the same brand, both nearly full, and both opened.

Janet sat down again and puzzled over the contents of the coffee table. Possibly the late Dr. Pinkney, concerned as he may have been with trigger-factors for migraine, was avoiding the caffeine-containing coffee. Or perhaps it was kept for non-caffeine imbibing guests. Maybe he was in the office after hours when there was no-one there to run the coffee machine for him. That could explain the need for the instant coffee. But why the two sugar and creamer jars? Possibly as a reserve supply, or possibly, just possibly- Janet lifted the telephone excitedly and made another call to the Chemistry Department. She busied herself in the office for a few minutes, spoke briefly, to the receptionist in the Regent's office, hurried out and wresting her bicycle from branches of the pendant ivy in the courtyard, pedalled furiously across the campus.

Bob Woodward's office in the Chemistry Department was situated in the lower ground floor of the Sciences Building with the window almost level with the tennis courts outside, a wholly satisfactory arrangement for the tennis-playing chemist. At one time he had been a demonstrator in a chemistry course that Janet had taken as an undergraduate, and when he realized her capabilities on the court, had recruited her as a doubles partner. The pair had attained some success in local tournaments, reaching the finals on two occasions. They chatted about tennis for the first few minutes to the accompaniment of racquets thumping balls, and then Janet turned the conversation to the reason for her visit,

"I found some tetraethylsulfiram while you were on the way over ," said Bob holding up a kilogram jar. "Should be: enough to treat the entire Faculty Club!"

"Did you manage to find an analytical procedure?" asked Janet.

"Unless you need an accurate quantitation it should be fairly easy explained Bob. "Reduce, do a nitroprusside test to estimate the amount of disulphide in your samples, then do a separation along with an equivalent amount of authentic compound on a couple of thin-layer chromatography systems. That should at least confirm or deny the presence of something pretty close in chemical properties to the standard in your sample."

"Well, it certainly beats taking it ourselves!"

"And you think someone was deliberately dosed with Antabuse this way, in the coffee? What a rotten trick!"

"You don't mind if I seem a bit mysterious about who it was? There are a few confidential aspects of this prank."

Bob reassured her, and took the samples Janet had brought into the lab. She followed in a borrowed lab-coat, and together they set about performing the tests. The sounds of volleys had died away, and daylight had faded by the time that they had obtained their results, but neither seemed to notice the passing of the hours or the lack of food.

"Both sugar samples negative and one of the creamers," summarized Bob. "But the other creamer sample sure was loaded! Couple of teaspoons of that each day and you'd get several hundred milligrams. Nearly as much as an alcoholic under therapy. When you stop to think of it, it was pretty sure-fire."

"The dose would be assured every day for an inveterate coffee drinker."

"Yes, and they probably wouldn't guess from taste or other-signs. The stuff is fairly water-insoluble as you've noticed from the standard. That might have given it away if it were in the sugar, but the opacity of the creamer would disguise that. A pretty cunning prankster!"

"You do think it was only a prank?"

"No doubt," answered Bob. "Our poisoner knew what he was up to. If he had access to the creamer he could add just enough to get the desired response,"

"And there would be little chance of any really serious effects then?"

"Pretty unlikely. Oh, there could be a few side-effects, but nothing to incur suspicion. Just the nausea and so forth after drinking. What put you onto it anyway?"

"Just two ladies with simultaneous symptoms," answered Janet cryptically as she got up to leave.

"Well, you can thank me later, when you have the whole story for me, on the tennis court."

In the academic calendar, some days go by imperceptibly, unnoticed except by scrupulous secretaries who check dates off on their diaries. At Essex University most days throughout the year were gobbled up in this manner, with faculty meetings, graduate seminars, lectures to unwilling or sleepy undergraduates, and the persistent, plodding, prying and spying which is termed 'research'. But certain twenty-four hour periods are emblazoned like the illuminated opening characters of a medieval manuscript. The glory may originate with word of a promotion, acknowledgment of an accepted publication, revelation of a new and crucial piece within the cosmic jigsaw puzzle. Such days compensate for the vast majority of humdrum ones, and keep the academics treading water for the balance of the year in expectation. The following morning heralded just such a day for Janet Gordon.

She had awakened to a fresh June morning with a glowing surfeit of energy from the previous day's excitement. For she had pursued her hypothesis (that sounded so much more dignified than a hunch) with logic and reason, and the logical and reasonable universe had yielded to her analytic powers. Then, on her early morning run she had easily overtaken several panting joggers, male and female, and effortlessly ran an extra mile for good measure. She had received the approbation (so richly deserved) from Kay and Dr, Tower, the only people so far privy to her discovery. And now she was sitting with them both a bare twenty-four hours after her original find awaiting confirmation by expert analysts of the contents of the coffee creamer jars taken by Dr. Tower that morning from the Principal's office before the arrival of the secretaries. There was a mixed feeling of tension and anticipated triumph as at the culminating moment in a contest- it was ad-in and Janet was serving for the match, And then the telephone exploded into sound, sending the day into shards of confusion and disarray.

Dr. Tower's expression of consternation was the first indicator that all was not well. He cross-examined the caller repeatedly and then turned to the two women with a grimace.

"Both jars of creamer and both jars of sugar and instant coffee free of any measurable contaminants!"

Janet was too bewildered to respond at once. There was a feeling of unreality about the scene as though a crack had opened in her universe of logic, and supernatural contrivances had taken over from the force of reason. Kay slowly shook her head and turned to Janet.

"You don't suppose that you and your chemist friend made some mistake? Maybe your test isn't as reliable as the experts' analysis."

"If you mean we were carried away by wishful thinking into producing the desired result, definitely not!" Janet flashed back.

"I only wish I had removed the entire jar last night or preserved some of the sample I took out to recheck our findings," she moaned.

"If we assume your chemistry was correct," Dr. Tower interjected, "then your sample was not representative of the contents of the jar. What's the alternative?"

"Someone has switched the jars." Janet sat miserably looking at her hands.

"Look, don't blame yourself. I 'm as much at fault.'' In retrospect I should have acted immediately when you called last night, but I wanted a reasonable pretext to have the janitor let me in this morning without raising the alarm prematurely."

"In fact it could have happened any time from yesterday afternoon on," added Kay. "Who would have had access to the office?"

"I don't know everyone that could be involved," said Janet, "but the outer office seems pretty accessible in office hours. It serves as anteroom to the Regents' Office as well as the Principal's Office. There are secretaries from all over campus in and out of there, plus faculty and others." She thought of Jerry Pinkney and the loads of boxes waiting to be removed from the inner office.

"Somehow, whoever was involved had an inkling of what you might be up to and removed the evidence. There must have been some clues that gave it away. The thing I can't figure," said Dr. Tower thoughtfully, "is why he waited until then. Surely, he would have felt compelled to act before now in getting rid of something that was potentially so incriminating."

"Maybe not," answered Janet. "You see he had this fairly carefully figured out, and any deliberate attempt to cover it up might have been more dangerous for him. The one jar of creamer containing the Antabuse was in the Principal's inner office without doubt, and only Dr. Pinkney used that one in his instant coffee. No-one else would have had occasion to use it, until yesterday when they started to clear out the office. Mischance number one that both secretaries take coffee creamer and happened to move that jar to the outer office for their own use. Mischance number two that the two women joined the secretaries from across the hall and went to the Waterhole for their lunch."

"Together with liquid refreshments."

"Apparently there was a bottle of wine which made the rounds. So when the two secretaries became ill with those characteristic symptoms the antabuser could have twigged to it just as I did."

"Seems to narrow it down to one of their husbands," observed Kay.

"Whom I so considerately phoned and tipped them off," said Janet bitterly.

"But it might have been anyone from that office. Any of those people could easily have got hold of a key and returned last night to make the switch. Unless one of them was actually spotted there without a valid explanation we'll never know," concluded Dr. Tower.

"Which brings me back to your first query," said Janet. "In many ways being seen at the scene would be more incriminating than the discovery of the Antabuse contaminant, which was after all a rather improbable event. The inner office of the Principal is pretty sacrosanct and not many people would force an entry with impunity. On balance the poisoner took some risk in doping the jar in the first place, and he wouldn't want to amplify the risk by acting prematurely to cover his tracks. He may have been just waiting for removal of all the articles from the inner office to make the switch with less chance of getting caught at it."

"I hate to play the male chauvinist" interjected Dr. Tower, "but there you go again referring to this nasty character as he. There are probably as many females around here with real or imagined grievances against the Principal."

"Well, he, she, or it," replied Kay. "It may be a frosty Friday in July before we put the finger on the true culprit!"

Quite probably it would now be totally impossible to prove anything, Janet reflected sadly. Her day of triumph had collapsed into an evening of remorse. The advantage lost could never be regained, and the match had switched over to her adversary. Janet had succeeded in snatching defeat from the jaws of victory! If nothing else she realized she had learned something about the pitfalls of hubris; perhaps the next time she would be less prone to self-pride and surer of nailing down the prize before indulging in seIf-congratulations.

CHAPTER SIX

Early June with its gentle warmth and occasional cool showers left over from May had given way to the full-blown heat of summer and the foretaste of July to come. Faculty members at Essex University by now had long forgotten the trials of undergraduate courses and were totally immersed in research problems, thesis supervision, bookwriting or other scholarly summer activities, with an eye to upcoming society meetings or holiday cottages. For Janet Gordon, as for many junior scientists, it was a time of intense pleasure and pressure combined: pleasure in the unfettered opportunity to pursue her experimental work at the laboratory bench; pressure in the responsibility to produce a publishable report to justify her present research grant, and to convince the Sciences Research Foundation to renew the grant in the autumn. However, on this Sunday evening Janet had escaped briefly from the lab for a few games of tennis with Jerry Pinkney. Jerry was as inconsistent on the tennis court as he had been in academic studies, but in her present unpractised state Janet was thankful for a partner to rally with her.

"You gave me a good workout," she said as they left the court.

"Translation- you only beat me 6-3, 6-2, instead of 6-love, 6-love."

"Well, my timing was off a bit." Jerry swatted at her with his racquet.

"Have you time for a swim?"

Janet nodded gratefully as she mopped her brow. Although the sun had touched the tree-tops there was little breeze to temper the heat. She slipped quickly up to her office to pick up her swim-suit, and rejoined Jerry in the parking lot where he was waiting with the family car.

"How is your mother managing?" she enquired as they drove along.

"Oh, hadn't you heard? She went home to her family for a while. Joyce went with her, so I have temporarily taken up residence in solitary splendour in the palace. It's not a bad spot to spend the summer. Actually there's quite a bit to organize with the move coming up in August, so I agreed to help out with some of the packing."

"Did you get all of your father's belongings removed that day I saw you?"

"There wasn't much there. Most of his records and personal papers are in his study at home. He only kept working documents on campus."

Jerry wheeled the car near the spot where Professor Antwhistle had performed his demolitions and they walked through to the swimming pool. The sun by now had set behind the house and the pool appeared forbidding in the gathering gloom. Janet shuddered involuntarily, wishing she had not agreed to come.

"The pool has been drained and cleaned," Jerry commented, "if that's what is bothering you. Here, see if this helps," and he switched on the lights from the panel inside the cabana.

The pool, illuminated from within by a number of lamps that were built-in below the surface of the water, looked considerably more inviting. Janet went into the cabana to change into her swimsuit while Jerry entered the house by a sliding door into the sunroom. He returned in bathing trunks a few minutes later with a tray bearing two mugs of beer. The combination of exercise, beer, and the refreshing water around her lulled Janet in to a state of relaxation bordering on torpor. She was floating lazily on her back near the pool's edge alongside one of the translucent glass bubbles housing an underwater light. The next instant her state of serenity was galvanized into a state of alarm. Her leg brushing against the lamp-housing received a shock strong enough to send a wave of contraction through the muscles of her entire body. The next instant she was out of the pool shaking all over. Jerry rushed to her side and wrapped a towel around her.

"Damn those lights!" he exclaimed switching them off, " It's not the first time that's happened. Poorly constructed housing must have leaked a bit. I recall quite a group in the pool one evening when one of the ladies had a similar experience. Of course she would be a poor swimmer and went under a couple of times before being fished out. The lamp housings were supposed to be fixed, but I guess it must be a basic design flaw with the seals."

After she had recovered from the shock of her experience Janet changed and followed Jeremy into the house. He had produced a tray of sandwiches and together they sat in the fading dusk in the sunroom eating and chatting. Some of the boxes of paraphernalia from the Principal's office littered one corner of the room.

"Do you suppose it's possible someone tampered with those pool-lights?" asked Janet. "If a person were already in a weakened state a jolt like that might very well prove to be dangerous if not fatal."

"I suppose it's possible as you say. But it's not a recent problem. Although they keep making repairs around the seals, somehow the water seeps in and eventually- bango- a short,"

"That's my point. If there were someone who wanted your father out of the way he could have arranged an electrical accident, then if anyone suspected, it could be blamed on the faulty lights. One thing that mystifies me she continued, "is why your father would continue to swim there knowing about the recurrent fault."

"Well, to that I can only say, you just didn't know father! He was persistent to the point of obduracy. The lights were his idea remember, and he never admitted to a bad idea. What's the bit about his weakened state?"

"You were the one who put the idea in my mind," Janet responded, and proceeded to describe her findings about the doping of the coffee creamer. Jeremy listened intently without interruption.

"You have known all this since the day we met in the office," he said finally.

"Well, yes. The next day anyway."

"And you didn't bother to tell me until now." There was no mistaking the resentment in his voice.

"There didn't seem any point. I-"

"Thought that I was the culprit no doubt. Probably still do." he interjected.

"The fact is," countered Janet sternly, ignoring this comment, "that I suspected one of the secretaries' husbands. Either of them had access and opportunity. But the evidence has been eliminated, so it seemed best to just let the matter drop."

"And you say that somebody got into the office after we left to switch the bottles?"

"Yes, only into the outer office actually. I guess that access there would be easier,"

"No doubt. I returned there later myself to pick up the stuff I had already packed."

"Did you notice anyone about who shouldn't have been there?"

"No. The place was locked up tight. But I do remember thinking that someone rearranged things a bit in the inner office- desk drawers open, door to bathroom ajar. I thought it was more untidy than when Mrs. Lindsay left."

"That was my doing," Janet admitted. "I was looking for the suspected medication. Anything else?"

Jeremy paused trying to recollect.

"I made two trips down to the car with boxes. The last trip was an afterthought because I thought I had got everything on the elevator in one load, moved it all out to the car, and was driving off when I realized I'd left a briefcase behind. But when I went back in the building the elevator had gone up to the top floor again so I walked by the staircase. There was no-one around when I got there."

"Where could they have got to? The elevator just opens into to the outer office area."

"That struck me as curious also. Whoever it was couldn't have gone back down the stairs without passing me on the landing. And both inner offices were locked and dark. I would swear there was no-one lurking in father's offices."

"They could have ducked down behind the filing cabinets or hid in the cloak-room of the outer office."

"Or they let themselves into the Regents' Office. I had no key for that door."

"So after you left they emerged from wherever they had been hiding and switched the coffee creamers. Who else do you think had a motive as well as opportunity?"

"I don't suppose it would have been too hard to get in the building. As for motive, I daresay any Principal has natural enemies. People denied tenure or promotion- there was that case last year in History, some prof committed suicide over it and there are plenty of other anti-administration causes. Consider our pollution-conscious friend, Bob Windham, he and father came close to fisticuffs at one confrontation. Unfortunately, Jan, my father had a host of unofficial adversaries in addition to the disaffected persons and cranks who might have attacked him officially. "

"Such as my esteemed Professor and Head," nodded Janet grimly. "What was the source of their animosity?"

"It may have had to do with earlier connections in Europe," replied Jeremy carefully. "I was never told the details, though it seemed to go back a long way in the past. But you're right, there was no love lost between them."

But lost love of another kind, thought Janet. Perhaps the rivalry between the two men was a guarded secret in the Pinkney family or, Jerry didn't wish to confide in her. While she reflected and the light faded in the room Jerry gradually insinuated himself along the couch beside her. She was startled and hemmed in by the arm of the couch. Janet stood up rather-forcefully, spilling Jerry's beer in the process, and retreated apologetically toward the sunroom door. No, it was not necessary for him to drive her home, she was returning to attend to something in the lab and would let herself out by the gate.

Quickly she made her escape, congratulating herself on a getaway without embarrassment. She felt too much of an elder sister to Jerry to encourage an intimate relationship. Janet shut the gate behind her and bustled along the river-path swinging her bag of tennis and swimming gear. Poor Jerry, It had always been, poor Jerry, the prodigal younger brother, who accepted her stern advice or mastery on the tennis court. She would have to be cautious with him if she were to keep things on that level.

Next morning Janet rose early but ruefully. She considered the irony that although she was in shape for a ten kilometre run, an hour or so on the tennis court could leave her so stiff from the unaccustomed stops and starts. She pedalled her bicycle fiercely up the University hill in an effort to work out the kinks in her muscles, and entered the Department before anyone else had arrived. It was just as well that she got things off to an early start; she had just finished harvesting the conditioned medium from her cell cultures and transferred the cells with fresh medium into the incubator when she saw to her surprise that Professor Antwhistle had been standing quietly behind her.

"Don't let me interfere," he expostulated, proceeding to do just that. Janet hastened to reassure him that she had in fact concluded the transfers, and ushered him into her office;

"Still labouring in the vineyards of cell cultivation I see. How grows your garden these days mistress Janet?"

"Well sir," she replied with a mock bow. "Too well in fact. I find it hard to keep up with the assays on the growth factor fractions. And then, at some point in the fractionation as I get the impurities removed, the purified peptides seem to lose activity. We've tried all manner of procedures to stabilize them," and she gave a detailed account of her recent attempts to isolate the growth factor from the medium conditioned by contact with rapidly growing cancer cells. After several minutes of discussion of the research project, the Professor rose from his chair as if about to leave.

"I gather that my rusty whirligig has been one of the stumbling blocks in the elucidation of this miraculous factor of yours."

"Oh," Janet responded, a little embarrassed, "it was a great help to have the loan of your centrifuge but-"

"Like me it has seen better days. You don't need to shake your head my dear. The whirligig is beyond reclamation, though I still have fond hopes of retreading the old Professor. Which brings me to the two reasons why I dropped in. First, the good news. There happens, through gross negligence on the part of the Department Head, to be a surplus in one of our more arcane accounts. Several thousands in total, which could be expended usefully on equipment for some struggling investigator for, let us say, a new centrifuge?"

Janet's face lit up as she tried to express her gratitude.

"Don't thank me. If you must blame someone it's Frank Butler. I had suggested to him that we buy, some teaching equipment for student laboratories, but I gather that Frank was becoming quite overtaxed with young ladies from down the hall horning in on his machine. So he sent me to you. Now the bad side of my news. If you wish to take advantage of this you will have to act immediately. In order to transfer the funds and get them out of the budget before the University recaptures them at month's end you'll have to act fast. Settle on the instrument, accessories etc., get quotes to me at once, and we'll process the purchase orders. It has to be wrapped up completely by Wednesday because I leave next day for Europe. So get cracking on it and we'll eliminate one of your bottlenecks!"

When he had gone Janet walked down excitedly to Frank Butler's lab, thanked him for his intervention on her behalf, and got the specifications on the centrifuge in his laboratory. She spent the next hour in her office calling the supplier for prices and making up her shopping-list for the order. She was in the process of setting down her justification for the equipment purchase with relation to her cell work when the telephone rang.

It was Jeremy Pinkney again, and he started his conversation with an apology. Janet listened with mounting impatience. It seemed that with Jeremy most conversations began with some sort of apology. She was tempted to tell him to stop being an ass, but realized that this could only lead to an emotional escalation, with more apologies eventually for his assininity. When she had heard him out and accepted his promises not to repeat his indiscretions of the previous evening, Jeremy lowered his voice in the manner of one conveying startling and confidential news.

"Strange happenings are continuing out here."

"What sort of happenings?"

" I don't like to talk about it on the phone. Could you come out?"

There was a long pause as Janet contemplated her work-day now made doubly busy by the pleasant burden of her emergency equipment order.

"Are you still there, or is there someone with you?"

"Yes and no, in that order. Can't you come in to the University, or give me give me some sort of clue? I've got some top priority work just now." Janet was reaching a state of exasperation with the mysterious whisperings from the other end of the phone.

"I-uh- would rather not leave. You'll understand when you come. Jan, it could be important. I don't know what to make of it, but I should stay and keep an eye on things until you can come and give me your advice."

Janet began to feel overburdened by all these responsibilities, but, she thought grimly, that does not permit one to ignore the burden. Something significant might have occurred that would throw some light on the crime, if such it was; and her reaction could well be crucial, with Jerry's obvious incompetence in taking on the responsibility for making decisions and acting on them. And so after ascertaining that no-one had been injured, and that some further catastrophe did not seem to be imminent, she assured Jeremy that she would drop out as soon after lunch as possible.

By the time that she had received a call-back from the centrifuge suppliers, and obtained the best competitive price quotation, modified her proposal, and left her experiment at the appropriate stage for Julia to continue, it was nearly three o'clock. The University tower chimed the hour as Janet pumped her bicycle along the river path. She left the bike chained to the wrought-iron fence and groped unsuccessfully for the key in its regular hiding place. She was almost ready to unlock her cycle and turn away in frustration when she pushed against the gate and found it to swing open unimpeded. So either Jeremy had forgotten to lock it, or someone else had found the hiding place of the key and let himself in. In the end Janet decided that it would be prudent to leave few traces of her own presence, and pushed the bike up the path after closing the gate behind her.

She found Jeremy sitting rather disconsolately on the patio outside the sunroom, beer in hand. To her chagrin she could tell all too readily that it was by no means the first bottle of the day. He looked up somewhat sheepishly and sleepily when she approached.

"Ah, great girl Jan. Knew you'd rally round when needed. Have a barley sandwich with me?"

"Jerry, you really take the cake! You expect me to fly out-"

"At my beck and call," mimicked Jeremy cheerfully.

"Damn it all, I've too much to do to get into a drinking contest, or indulge in repartee. Now, for goodness sake get on with the problem!"

"Tch! Tch! Such language!" Jeremy looked horror-stricken. "Must get to the important problem," and he stood up stiffly with great control and beckoned her toward the sunroom door.

"Robbery! Theft! Burglary!" he whispered with emphasis. "Break-in with intent to steal, commit vandalism or mayhem!" He pointed to the interior of the sunroom. The boxes of Dr. Pinkney's effects and their contents were in a state of confusion, some emptied on the carpet, some jumbled with papers and files spread out on the table under a lamp. Jerry nodded seriously while Janet surveyed the mess.

"See now why I called it important? Could be damned important. Someone got in to steal or destroy documents eh? Same fellow I intercepted on stairs to Dad's office prob'ly. Put stuff in his coffee, tried to take his papers. Same fellow," he concluded inconsequently.

"You said it was a break-in. But there's no sign of forced entry at this door. Where do you think he broke in?"

"Mistake of terms. I can't find any broken windows or forced doors. Door to patio was open when I came in here. Must have left it unlocked when I saw you out. Bloody carelessness!"

"Do you have any idea when it could have happened?" asked Janet as she looked around the room at the debris. "Incidentally, if it was robbery you must be right about the object. It couldn't have been for valuable artifacts with all these cloisonné and Royal Doulton pieces left unmolested."

"Good point. Excellent deductive powers my dear Miss Holmes! As to time, it was 'bout four o'clock this morning. I woke up then. Bit of wind, distant thunder- came down here with flashlight. Felt the draft from open door so locked it. Didn't notice all the upset in here in the dark so went back to bed. Guess I must have scared away whoever was in here in the middle of his burglary- robbery- whatever."

"Did you call in the police?"

"Couldn't see much point. As you say nothing valuable taken, really no way to show anything at all taken. No damage to door. Didn't seem much point, did there?"

Janet agreed that there was little to report, and acquiesced to Jeremy's repeated offer of a beer. He vanished in the direction cf the kitchen, and Janet walked back out to the patio. From the other side of the hedge came the sound of garden clippers. She walked around the end of the hedge and came upon Mr. Moorcroft trimming the herbaceous border of a flower-bed. He started on seeing her and straightened up.

"Oh my Miss!" he exclaimed. "Near to dropped my shears! Not that it's your fault," he hastened to assure her. "I've been that jumpy with all the goings-on."

Janet felt sure that Jeremy must have filled the caretaker in on last night's break-in, but this explanation indicated not. At least it was not the goings-on to which he had referred.

"I was the one to find him, you see. In the pool, poor man. And pulled him out. It was too late. Anyone could see, all stiff in that cold water. And they made me drain that pool later too. I didn't wish to go back there. It was a horrible thing!"

Janet agreed that it must have been a nasty experience.

"You got quite a shock, to see him that way no doubt." The caretaker nodded mutely, "Did you also get a shock, of the electrical variety, when you pulled him out- from the lights?"

Mr. Moorcroft shook his head.

"No lights on when I came along, Couldn't have been. There was a fuse blown in the panel in the cabana. I found that later when I came to drain the pool. But it was shocking all right, and a nasty coincidence with that awful nickname they used to-call him," he whispered.

"Toad?"

"There was the strange thing. Beside him drowned in the pool was another dead creature. A little drowned green toad. Seemed like some horrid joke of nature. I fished that out in a hurry. Didn't like the family to see that you know? You're the first one I've told of it; but you won't tell Mr. Jerry will you?" he whispered as the latter appeared on the patio. He's such a sensitive lad, and I wouldn't want to upset him for no reason."

"Don't you worry," Janet assured him, and returned to the patio where Jerry had produced the beer and several slices of pizza.

"A few bits left over from lunch. Not too warm I'm afraid," as he passed the plate. Sounds of the hedge clippers resumed from the garden below. For several minutes there was no conversation on the patio as Janet gratefully made up for her neglected lunch. When she had finished she sat for a moment quietly absorbed in thought. The clipping receded as Mr. Moorcroft continued around the corner of the house.

"He seems a trustworthy soul ,"Janet observed.

"Moorcroft? Salt of the earth. Looked after this place for years. Only fellow I knew who got along with father too."

"You haven't told him about the break-in?"

"Didn't want to involve him. Do you think I should?"

Janet didn't answer the question immediately. If there was a link as Jeremy surmised between the events, might there not also be a connection with the ultimate demise of the Principal? The person who could contrive to adulterate the coffee creamer, and at the critical moment, to remove the incriminating evidence, was both cunning and malicious. The person who so clumsily ransacked the house and possibly arranged the death of the Principal to appear accidental was also desperate and ruthless. Had he arranged as well the ironic coincidence of a dead amphibian to accompany the Principal's corpse it would bespeak a mind almost deranged with comic malice. Unless this had in fact been a natural coincidence, in which case might it provide a clue to the cause of death of both inhabitants of the pool? Janet frowned and heaved a great sigh. The clues and connections all seemed to centre upon the Principal's office on the one hand and his house on the other. Who had access to both? Could she even trust Jeremy, or her own Professor who seemed so benignly interested in her well-being? How much of the actions of either was simply intended as a smoke-screen to distract her from getting at the root of the question. Who wished to see Dr. Pinkney out of the way, and why? Jeremy himself, for example, could have contrived to indicate the presence of an intruder both here and at the office, while he performed the switch of the coffee creamer. Or, Professor Antwhistle may have had lingering hopes of resuming some previous relationship with the widow. What were his earlier connections with Hilda Pinkney, and was it more than coincidence that he was making what seemed to be a hastily arranged trip to Europe while she was also visiting there?

A telephone rang somewhere inside the house and Jeremy went to answer it. He emerged a few minutes later.

"Aunt Elizabeth, father's sister," he explained. Janet had a faint recollection of a pale lady in a wheel-chair at the funeral.

"A few pictures, books and so forth from the Pinkney side that mother wanted me to run down to her in Allentown. But with all this I thought I'd better stick around here. If someone's about to break in again I want to be around to catch him at it!"

"Well, it doesn't seem too likely to me. You're assuming he didn't find what he expected the first time," Janet replied. "Anyway I have to get back to work."

"And I'll lock the place up and play watch-dog in the meantime."

Janet trundled her bike around the swimming-pool and left it leaning beside the cabana while she inspected the fuse-box inside. Mounting the bicycle she coasted down the path toward the open gate. She dismounted and searched around the post where the key was usually stashed, to no avail. But as she swung the gate back, she spied the padlock, partly hidden by the grass with its key still in place. It fitted with Jeremy's story; someone who knew the back-door access to the Principal's house seeking valuable or incriminating papers among his effects, surprised in the attempt and dropping the lock as he fled in haste.

Janet continued on her bike after relocking the gate and depositing the key in its habitual spot. As she cycled along the river path she tried to come to terms with her doubts and suspicions, but like the key in the grass they eluded her search. Perhaps, she thought, there is a lesson in all this--the key was the less obtrusive article, and it was only by finding the more obvious lock that it had been revealed. Now, what was the lock for which the crucial key in this case had been fashioned? As her thoughts and her cycle wove between the willows of the river bank two images repeatedly flashed across her mind-- two dead toads floating in a pool-- and a fisherman, his line glinting in the late copper-glow of evening.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"So you think you have solved the mystery of the great Antabuse caper Miss Holmes."

Bob Woodward was leaning backward in his office chair. Over his shoulder Janet could make out white-clad tennis players leaving the centre-court. Though it was only ten a.m. heat was building up rapidly.

"Elementary my dear Watson, once we had your sterling chemical analyses," she replied brazenly.

"And have you any idea about the identity of the perpetrator of this dastardly prank? By the way, a cup of coffee?"

Janet nodded, thankful for the diversion while she considered her reply.

"No creamer please!"

She stirred some sugar in and gazed silently out of the window.

"Some disgruntled student," Bob hazarded.

"Possibly. Whoever it was covered his tracks pretty effectively,"

"In any case you feel certain that it isn't going to happen again

I gather."

"I think we can count on that."

"Well, I won't press you about the victim or victims. With that mode of administration I imagine there could have been many people affected, besides the one or ones intended."

Janet nodded again.

"It was in fact, what put me on to it," she continued carefully. "Too many people with similar symptoms -- simultaneously."

"Ah yes. Well, if you do get another outbreak I'll be glad to serve again. And speaking of serving, there's a regional mixed doubles tournament at the end of the month. Interested?"

"Yes I would be. But as you say, speaking of serving, that's liable to be my weak link. I've hardly held a racket more than two or three times this year. I'm afraid my serve and volley will be just a bit rusty."

"I'll take my chances on that. I saw you taking on young Pinkney the other day. I don't think you've lost too much. I could arrange a few practice matches, if you'd like."

"Next week, maybe," Janet persuaded.

"Suits me better too. I've got some contract work with Solarcon to finish up, and there seems to be some sort of flap on in their management section to move in new directions."

The name Solarcon tripped a connection in Janet's memory with the late Principal's affairs. The toad, the badger, the rats the Pinkstitute, Solarcon, Raymore Electronics. Was there more going on between the Regents and the Principal than strictly academic matters?

"What actually is this Solarcon development anyway?'" she asked in a casual manner, trying to show as much interest in her unfinished coffee as in the subject.

"It's a holding company as I understand it. Back when Quinn and Pinkney devised the amorphous silica phototransducer for solar cells they took out patents through the University."

"And that was what endowed the so-called Pinkstitute?"

"Yes. The royalties eventually built up an endowment that  
made it a virtually self-sustained research institute, set up a chair for Quinn and several junior appointments. In a sense that made it a somewhat autonomous body, with a separate directorate outside the Departments of Chemistry and Physics, outside the control of the University actually. Now, when they later extended the multilamellar, microsurface processing which amplified the power output by several orders of magnitude the new patents didn't have to go through Essex U. They needed an arms-length agency so they created Solarcon as the holding company. I don't really understand all the licensing arrangements for exploitation of the patents, but once they got beyond pilot plant development, Solarcon expanded and went into production and marketting as well."

"And what's the link then to Raymore?"

'"Ah, so you remember that canard!"

Janet shook her head in bewilderment. "Sorry, I don't know-" ."You probably made the connection because of the rumpus last winter. Series of allegations in the Faculty Review? Nearly set off some fireworks."

"Oh yes," Janet nodded. "I vaguely recall a sniff of scandal,"

"Can't remember how it was resolved, or if indeed it ever was settled," said Bob. "It wouldn't surprise or shock me if there were all sorts of connections between Raymore Electronics and Solarcon. Anyway, they've done well by our Department. You people in Biology should get a piece of the action. Can't you cook up a project on photosynthesis in some, tropical organism? The least you could get might be a paid vacation in the Caribbean to collect specimens, or something! They're sending me to a conference on the Riviera come September."

"Unless I can come-up with a green man-- or find some way to make human cells photosynthesize , my chances are slim, I'm afraid. But I'll be in touch next week about the tournament. Thanks for the coffee."

"My pleasure," said Bob seeing her to the door. Janet headed off to her lab, but took a short detour on the way to drop by the offices of the Faculty Review, and came away with several back issues of the campus newspaper. In the corridor she ran into Julia bearing results from their last fruitless fractionation experiment. Together they pored over the negative findings trying to puzzle out the reason for their failure, but to no avail.

"I don't understand it," said Julia in exasperation. "I made up everything fresh-- new reagents, and the controls responded as usual."

"Try cranking up the concentrations," Janet suggested. "Look, there's a tiny response in these later fractions."

"So tiny I'd hate to bet on its significance!"

"Maybe we're losing potency with time. You did leave the control in the cold room for the same period as the test samples coming off the column?"

"Yes, and no loss of potency there."

"Funny," mused Janet. "We'll run a series with that later group, boost up the amounts by ten-fold, and check the very low molecular weight fractions again too. Maybe we should pool several of those and concentrate them down."

They discussed a few more details of the attempts to salvage the apparently ruined experiment, and then Julia set about the next stages of the analysis. Janet closed her office door and started scanning the old copies of the Review. It didn't take much searching to discover the articles that Bob Woodward had mentioned to her. And although there were no open accusations of malfeasance, there seemed to be abundant innuendos that while deficits from operating the non-profit Institute were being bailed out by the University and Government grants, the same individuals, acting as major shareholders in Solarcon, were realizing personal profits from the patent licenses. Several senior administrators and faculty were no doubt involved in these conflicting roles, and a main player in the subcontracting and marketing end was Raymore Industries through its electronics subsidiary. Of whom, noted Janet with interest, several members of the Board of Regents, including its chairman, were listed as active directors and executive officers.

A large flock of pigeons banked and wheeled across the sky in a flurry of wings. Where was the cat that had put these pigeons to flight? Supposing that the Principal was a key link in all the entanglements, any change in his position could well unbalance the delicate network. Perhaps there were power-struggles among the participants. There might be reluctance, or outright opposition, to the Principal's reappointment from the group of Regents affected. For his own part, a man like Dr. Pinkney would hardly take a passive role if his status had been threatened as seemed to be implied by the failure of the selection committee to reach an early consensus. How might he exercise his powers of office to fight back? And if he were losing the fight, how might he retaliate from his position of strength and knowledge about the possible conflicts of interest? Janet frowned as she watched the birds disperse; the flock was no longer a cohesive group, but little sorties of individuals flying helter-skelter in pursuit of others, similar to dog-fights of fighter aircraft, tumbling in disarray. Might there not have been just such a process of alienation among the parties to the Solarcon agreement, with the Principal at the centre of the turmoil? Perhaps the pigeons, individually or collectively, in some manner had turned upon the cat in their midst.

Janet checked her watch as she moved away from the window. It was early afternoon and she still had much to accomplish in piecing together her application for the centrifuge equipment before tomorrow's deadline. First she confirmed that Professor Antwhistle would be present next afternoon to receive it, then she hurriedly drafted the budgetary details. Next she lifted the telephone and was about to dial the Pinkney residence when a voice broke in and apologized. It was the Department secretary cutting in to inform her that there was a call on the other-line, and would she take it now as it seemed to be urgent.

The caller was responding with necessary information long-distance regarding her prospective centrifuge purchase. Although thankful for the interruption, Janet was rather perturbed concerning privacy of her telephone conversations. It might seem paranoic to assume that anyone in the central office would have either the time or the interest to monitor her private calls, but the opportunity was there. In point of fact there really could be no such thing as a truly secure conversation within the Departmental phone system. She finished the draft, dropped it into the office for typing, and cycled out to the Pinkney residence by the river trail.

Jeremy was stretched out in a somnolent pose on a chaise on the patio. Thankfully Janet noted that he was quite sober when she roused him from his slumbers. She explained her fears about the telephone system, and her reason for coming out instead of calling. When she outlined her suspicions Jeremy was sceptical at first, but gradually became persuaded.

"Then you think that somebody involved with the Institute or Solarcon was searching for some incriminating documents?"

"It's only a hypothesis, Jerry. Goodness knows I don't have any insights about these people; but someone must have had a good motive for going through those papers."

Jeremy nodded. "You could be right. That fellow Nicholas, for instance. Smarmy bugger. I always figured he had other than altruistic reasons for getting involved with the Board of Regents. And the Chairman's job paid a pittance of an honourarium for the honour of service. Jackson Nicholas, you may be sure, was moved by only one incentive-- cold cash!"

"Whoever it was may return," Janet warned. Look, don't you think we should hand these papers over to someone, for safekeeping."

"Not to worry," said Jeremy. "I've taken care of that. Locked everything away."

"Well, do be careful to secure the house tonight as well. I must get back to carry on with some lab-work. Call me tomorrow, but be careful what you say on the phone," and she trundled her bike back down to the river path. Her mind was a confused blur of suspicions. Not for the first time she felt well out of her depth.

It was past ten o'clock when Janet reached home that evening. She collected her mail from the hall-table and noticed a gleam of light from the back porch and a faint murmur of voices. She was half-way up the stairs when she heard Kay calling to her from the porch.

"Janet, Do join us won't you?"

The porch was dimly illuminated by a kerosene-burning lamp which flickered fitfully in the evening breeze. Dr. Bert Tower arose from the largest of the wicker arm-chairs and greeted her, while Kay poured out a cup of tea.

"Bert has just been conveying some interesting findings from his recent inquiries into our little mystery."

"Not much of interest, I regret," Dr. Tower remarked, and proceeded to explain the course and sources of his inquiries.

"Your strange story about the Antabuse doping, and the other peculiarities surrounding Dr. Pinkney's death kept gnawing away at me. So I couldn't avoid having some words with his own private doctor, Dr. Whiteman, in strictest confidence of course. I covered myself as co-investigator of a public health survey upon stress-related fatalities among top executives and administrators, Dr. Pinkney's case could well be construed as a classic of that genre."

"Is this survey to be published eventually?" enquired Janet.

"Only in the most lurid form of detective fiction, if I can puzzle out the clues," chuckled Dr. Tower. "Still, the fiction I laid out for Dr. Whiteman was much less far-fetched than that of some of my erstwhile patients who conjure up imaginary symptoms of imaginary friends!"

"Well, I only hope you were more successful in perpetrating the fiction than your patients were," said Kay, taking his point. Janet thankfully munched on some cucumber sandwiches and fell silent as Dr. Tower continued his narrative.

"First of all, we dispensed with the possibility of chronic alcoholism and its sequelae. Not a likely cause of a sudden demise- cirrhosis of the liver, Wernicke's encephalopathy-- nasty and lingering, but not in the category of catastrophic death without obvious preludes of hospitalization. Now, the cardiovascular accident, the common cerebrovascular hemorrhage or aneurysm, blowout, blockage of key blood vessels-- these are your more likely killers in the bolt-from- the-blue variety."

"But again, wouldn't there be some prior warnings, heart irregularities and so forth?" interjected Kay. "In James's case for example, he had apparently a lot of pain, angina, that he tried to hide from me-"

"Yes, "replied Dr. Tower, "we might have expected some previous symptoms as you say -- high blood pressure possibly. Dr. Whiteman assures me there were no cardiac irregularities, no evidence of hypertension -- in fact Dr. Pinkney was, to put it indelicately, in the pink. His penchant for regular swimming for example, no doubt kept up his cardiovascular fitness. But on the other hand from Dr. Whiteman's viewpoint there were these unexplained fainting spells, etcetera. To the point where he had begun to suspect a brain tumour. But again, they performed a CAT-scan of his head -- found nothing!" he concluded irreverently.

"Did Dr. Whiteman have any other ideas about these spells? Or did you tell him anything?" asked Kay.

"Good gracious no! And he was plainly baffled. Dr. Pinkney took no prescription drugs. He was averse to all forms of medication- antibiotics, even aspirin- claimed they interfered with the body's natural defences. They did an autopsy too, incidentally; no sign of tumour, brain damage, etcetera. As I said some time ago, no evidence of drowning either. Just a sudden heart seizure."

"Like a conducting block," volunteered Janet.

"Quite so. A strange, but not unknown happenstance. Some times associated with violent events in an otherwise normal person. A terrifying experience, a night-mare perhaps, a great surprise-"

"Or an electrical shock?"

"Exactly, a shocking event."

"And," continued Janet, "someone who had been suffering from the nauseating and other toxic effects of Antabuse plus alcohol could be more susceptible to shock-related stress despite his cardiovascular fitness under normal circumstances?"

"Certainly seems plausible to me," responded Dr. Tower.

"I think then we may have some leads concerning the agency of Dr. Pinkney's cardiac arrest, though not necessarily the agent," said Janet, and she related her experiences at the Principal's pool .

"But if what you say is true," Kay put in, "surely the circumstance in the pool points to accidental death, not a contrived event. It is hard to make any connection anyway, between the administration of the Antabuse and the pool situation. Just an unfortunate combination of factors-- a short-circuit in the light system as you experienced, with an abnormally sensitive heart."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps a most cleverly arranged combination of factors by person or persons unknown. Person number one, possibly a crank, a disillusioned faculty colleague or suspicious husband, wants to embarrass the Principal publicly. So he or she contrives the Antabuse-alcohol prank -- maximum public observation of the effects -- mortification the intent, but not mortality. Right?" asked Janet rhetorically, Her audience nodded but remained silent.

"Along comes person number two, quite a different case, someone whose career may be threatened (or thought to be) and observes, as the rest of the public, that the Principal shows signs of some sort of attack-- weakened condition as noted by those at the convocation, for example; everyone knows that there have been problems with the pool lighting system so he just arranges to see that the Principal gets an extra jolt. Object, homicide."

"I will allow," replied Dr. Tower, "that person number one and his putative motives seem consistent; a reaction to some malice by the Principal producing a malicious response, possibly even intended to discredit the man, make him appear unfit to govern. Apparently the selection committee had not endorsed his reappointment even at the time of his death."

"So person one may have succeeded in his limited objective," said Kay.

"Possibly, although we have no knowledge of the factors that may have influenced the committee. The perpetrator, quickly realizing his inadvertent poisoning of the two secretaries, removes the evidence, and exit person one," Janet explained.

"But," Dr. Tower interjected, "I do have problems with your hypothetical opportunistic person number two. A Principal doubtless influences many careers, though the University is not quite a Principality. Hardly a typical response of one passed over for promotion or refused tenure, to do in the chief administrative officer. Unless we are dealing with a totally deranged mind, and the premeditation and modus operandi seem inconsistent with that."

"I presume," replied Janet, "that any murderer by-definition of normal conduct must be deranged to a degree, but he may still be possessed of cunning in the execution of the abnormal act, and escape detection."

"Quite so," Dr. Tower agreed, "The paranoid schizophrenic type for example. Extremely dangerous and capable of concealment. But could there be other relatively sane persons with cause, and if so what cause could motivate such an extreme measure?"

"Blackmail," Janet replied, "A Principal may not have de facto powers to deal with his associates but he has access to much confidential information. And that information could be very powerful indeed. Perhaps a certain incriminating document passed into his hands; he might use that to ensure cooperation from the person implicated. If this were person number two of our scenario he might conceivably go to extreme measures to avoid exposure. He may even now be attempting to obtain the documentary evidence," and she related Jeremy's account of the intruder at the Principal's residence and at his University office.

"And, who's to say. Maybe he did find what he was seeking, "rejoined Kay after a moment's reflection.

"Jerry seemed to think not. He felt that he had surprised the burglar in the act. I saw the mess that he left, and it did appear that he had been in the middle of searching through a pile of papers at the desk lamp when he fled."

"If he was desperate enough to break in like that he certainly might try it again," admitted Kay,

"i'm sorry if I gave you the impression it was a break-in," Janet corrected, and told of the unlatched door, "but I believe that Jerry will be more security conscious henceforth. He intends to mount guard over the place with the hope of catching the culprit."

"That seems extremely unwise to me," said Dr. Tower, and Kay nodded her assent.

"Perhaps," she put in, "it is time that we reveal our suspicions to the authorities. Get someone competent-- sorry, I meant professionally competent -- to hold inquiries and so forth."

Janet looked doubtful, and Dr. Tower paused before responding. "As I see it, apart from some testimony from young Pinkey (an unimpressive witness even when sober) of a possible invasion of privacy by an unknown intruder there is no crime to report \-- no forced entry, nothing stolen."

"And," continued Janet, "really no substantive case to be made for non-accidental causes of death of Dr. Pinkey."

"Well, let's bide our time for a bit longer, see if our unknown suspect makes another move. But I believe that Pinkney Junior must be restrained from entering into any heroics of detection and capture. Do you think I should have a fatherly chat with him?"

Janet frowned and then shook her head, "No, I think it would be better if I were to do that. He's pretty unpredictable emotionally just now with all these strange happenings. If he finds that I've been talking about this with you he may freak out. I'll have a chat with him tomorrow, of the sisterly variety. Also I'll see if he has any ideas about the type of document the prowler, was looking for. It could provide a lead to the person's identity."

After Dr. Tower had departed, the two women sat listening to the amphibian concerto beyond the porch, illuminated by occasional flashes from itinerant fire-flies over the meadow. Neither of them was prepared to take the initiative in reopening the discussion, yet both were reluctant to terminate their conclave. Janet pondered asking her views of the potential suspects in the affair, and was about to speak when Kay finally broke the silence herself,

"A grand person, Bert Tower, probably a superb physician also, but not a great judge of human character."

Janet was taken aback by this sudden indictment.

"I first noticed this about him years ago--the clinical detachment, diagnostic features of this or that disease -- but lacking in understanding of the humanity of his patients," she concluded.

"Perhaps we need a bit of detachment, cool deduction of the diagnostician, what you referred to yourself as professional competence."

"My dear, when I referred to that I meant it to apply solely to the facts and mechanics of the case. Those aspects could readily foil amateurs like you or Jeremy, and possibly bring you into some personal danger. The aspect that interests me is the understanding of the humanity of the major figures -- the perpetrator (possibly plural as you suggest ) of the crime, and its victim. After all, the motives (and I am certain these are plural) are the energy that propelled the machinery of the events. The events and their mechanism were simply the loaded weapon, but it took a lot of motivational energy to line up the sights and pull the trigger. And that requires more than diagnosis of cause and effect as applied by Bert Tower to some syndrome of signs and symptoms, Which is why I would set more store by Mr. Whatsis, the gardener's common-sense view of events than our good Doctor's computerized analysis!"

"You're just annoyed because the Doctor found the connection between you and me from his computer printout of our address records," teased Janet, "But you don't set much store by the new technology of the computer, do you?"

"Don't try to dismiss me as an old-fangled fogy, Janet," said Kay sternly. "Your chips and megabytes and ROM's and RAM's may be great for plotting and interpolating in curves, extrapolating predictable equations, and crunching up numbers, but they still can't see into the mind of a chimpanzee, much less that of Josh Pinkney or his possible malefactors. Now you, in contrast to Bert Tower, and in spite of that sceptical smirk on your face, realize intuitively that what I say is correct. I can tell it quite clearly from the little you have said about Jeremy, his reactions and, above all the way you have handled that very delicate situation. So there!" she concluded triumphantly, "despite your attempt to clothe yourself outside with the appearance of the ultrarational scientist dealing only in verifiable facts, in my opinion -- and I say it not to flatter but perhaps to shock you out of your pretense of mechanistic thinking - you are a somewhat stronger student of human nature than you are of natural science!"

"If by stronger student you mean that I am learning faster, I must agree," nodded Janet with a sigh. "I don't seem to have my mind productively on science, natural or otherwise these days."

"Well, let's try to direct the same sort of concentrated thought on the human factors as you might on your experiments. First, consider Dr. Pinkney and his peculiar foibles as a man, not as a Principal, that mark him out as a victim. Then," Kay continued briskly, "let's look at our dramatis personae of suspected perpetrators of events leading to his demise."

The piping from the swamp was replaced by the twittering of birds, and the incandescence of the lantern and the fireflies by the first faint gleam of daylight when the two finished their discussion. As with the dawn upon the new day, Janet, beyond exhaustion, beyond sleep, reached a realization that she had grown in a new dimension that night. But the realization brought little peace or comfort to her troubled mind, and it was a numb-like trance that she drifted later into her bed -- a type of sleep with eyes open, peering grimly into reality.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Early the following morning Janet flung a few belongings into a small overnight bag which fitted into her bicycle carrier. She deposited a note on the hall-table for Kay who was still in bed, not to expect her back that night. But before leaving the house she phoned the Pinkney residence. After a long delay Jeremy sleepily answered the ring.

"Any more uninvited visitors?"

"Oh, it's you Jan. No, though I sat up most of the night on guard," Jeremy yawned,

"No great surprise," Janet muttered, thinking aloud.

"What's that?"

"I said- small wonder- when you think about it. Listen Jerry, you recall you were contemplating a trip to your Aunt's place?"

"You mean Aunt Elizabeth in Allentown town?"

"Right. Well, I think you should go."

There was a considerable pause on the other end of the line.

"Are you still there, Jerry?"

"Yes, I'm here, but I don't think I heard properly. You want me to abandon the place after what has already happened?"

"Precisely, And I would be glad to go along if you wanted company on the trip."

"Of course. That would be great! But suppose the fellow comes back who - you know -"

"All the more reason for us to be elsewhere. Now here's what I want you to do," and .Janet described in detail what she had in mind. "What do you think, does that seem OK?"

"Yes, I think it's workable," Jeremy concurred after some hesitation. "Will you call me later, when you're ready?"

"No. It would be best if you called me at exactly -" she consulted her watch" - half-past-two. That gives you several hours to set everything up. Ring the office number if I'm not there. Be sure to get through. Remember, it's an urgent call."

"Got you. So we could leave by about five?"

"Right. See you then," and she set off on her bike. Janet busied herself in the lab for the next couple of hours, worked through the lunch-hour completing and correcting the documentation of her equipment needs, and at two o'clock presented herself with the papers in the Professor's office. After he had read through the proposal and price quotations he called his secretary into the office and gave directions regarding the purchase order for the centrifuge.

"Now Janet, we'll expect you to charge on unimpeded in quest of the elusive elixer of cell differentiation. Any recent leads on how you may recover the lost activity after it goes through the column fractionation ?"

Janet explained her frustrating efforts to recapture the will-o'-the-wisp growth-activating properties of her protein fractions.

"I don't think it can be due to breakdown of the substance by an endogenous protease because I can leave the starting extract out in the cold-room for the same time as the fractionation takes and the whole activity is still there. Not 75% but 100%, and protease inhibitors have no effect when added during the fractionation."

John Antwhistle grimaced and wrinkled his brow. After rubbing his chin for a moment and gazing out of the window he fixed Janet with a steady eye.

"It's well beyond my area of expertise. And, if you'll pardon my saying it, it seems a bit beyond yours too at the present." Janet bristled a little at this appraisal, but had to admit grudgingly to its cogency. "What you -- we -- need to push on with this is someone with professional competence in this field." She had the impression that she was hearing an echo of an earlier conversation. "A protein chemist. Would you object for instance, if I were to discuss this in Solingen at the conference next week? There's a rather bright young chemist attending the workshop I'm involved with. I had some vague hopes of attracting him here, at least for a visit, but with a view to recruiting him on staff. He could be a valuable collaborator for both our projects."

Janet gladly agreed to the suggestion after she had reflected. It was foolish to remain in her present state of impasse, if it were only pride that prevented her from obtaining some much needed new insight from an experienced protein chemist. Moreover, the release of information about her work at this point coud hardly damage her prospects for priority in ultimate publication of the results. It would take the most astute investigator several weeks of close observation on the spot to reproduce the complex manipulations necessary to produce active extracts of her growth factor, not to mention the extremely difficult assay medium to demonstrate its effects on the cells' differentiation and growth. In fact, the more time she lost now in fruitless efforts to reconstitute the activity from the purified fractions the greater the chances that some high-powered group in another institute would eventually scoop her by stumbling on the same phenomenon.

The buzzer rang from the outer office intercom, and the Professor picked up his phone. After a few sentences he handed the receiver to Janet.

"It's Pinkney junior. Wants to talk to you,"

Janet looked suitably embarrassed and terminated her conversation with Jeremy as expeditiously as possible.

"I'm sorry about that, but with Jerry-- well you know how excitable he can be, and when he couldn't get me in my office I guess they told him I was here," she blundered on.

"Not to worry my dear. But, as you say, a rather labile young fellow. Needs some looking after to keep him out of difficulty. I suppose that's where you come in eh?"

"He does seem to need a bit of help, especially just now. He has to deliver some of his father's family memorabilia to an aunt in Allentown; wanted to drive up this evening so long as I would go along. His aunt will put us up," she explained.

"See that you take on the driving then," admonished the Professor, "As I recall young Jeremy is not the safest thing on wheels. Particularly with that two-wheeled monster he presently tears around on!"

"Oh, he's fairly careful driving the family wagon," replied Janet getting up from her chair. "I presume you may be gone on your trip before I get back, so have a good meeting and dig out what you can to help solve my problem."

"Right," he responded. "I leave late tomorrow for Europe. If anything crops up I'll get in touch."

Two hours later Janet was headed out of town on the road to Allentown with Jeremy beside her in the passenger seat of the Pinkney wagon. He was in a jubilant frame of mind, like a boy scout on his first overnight camping trip.

"More I think of it the better I like it," he chortled. "Did the old Prof. swallow it?"

"Of course," Janet replied slyly. "I led him to believe it was to be a romantic venture!"

"Well, that's not so far-fetched! Who knows what may develop after all."

"How did you get along with your part?"

"According to plan. I got to father's office before noon. Both ladies with little to occupy them and a thirst for a little gossip to pass on at lunch-time. I'm sure that all members of the administrative staff in Morton Hall, if not the whole campus, must have learned of our little junket by now, as well as the Professor, his nosy secretary and assorted members of your Department. Poor Janet, what a shambles I have made of your reputation!"

"All in the interest of finding the truth. How far is Allentown anyway?"

"About four to four and a half hours at a good pace."

"Then perhaps we should think about a meal on the way," said Janet wheeling into the parking-lot of a roadside restaurant. Both the service and the fare were mediocre, and combined with Jeremy's insistence upon several pre-dinner trips to the bar, they got away from the restaurant shortly before dusk. Considering Jerry's rather alcoholic exhalations Janet was glad that she had followed her Professor's advice and resumed her position behind the wheel. She turned the car around and headed back the way they had come.

"Clever, clever gal Janet," murmured Jerry beside her. "Now that he thinks all us cats are in Allentown -- mousie will come to play, and snap goes our trap!"

"Did you talk to Mr. Moorcroft?"

"Told him to make himself scarce, douse all lights, so forth. Place ought to look a regular tomb."

Janet shuddered involuntarily at the association, and briefly had second thoughts about the cleverness of her plan to induce the would-be intruder to show his hand. As Jerry had remarked, the Principal's residence should appear to be deserted. And as she had explained the scheme to Jerry earlier, that fact would probably be well broadcast even into the higher echelons of Raymore Corp., Solarcon, and the Pinkstitute via the secretarial group in the Regents' office.

"I think we'd better not park the car near the house, in case it's spotted by someone. There's a good secluded area down here," Janet noted, turning off before they reached the Pinkney residence. The road petered out near the river meadows, and she wheeled the wagon off the track beneath a heavy clump of bushes,

"You do surprise me," chortled Jerry, "how expertly you find the lover's lane. I hope your intentions are honourable?"

"It happens to be a well-known jogging route," said Janet matter-of-factly and she led the way down to the river path.

"How prosaic; a jogging route!" snorted Jerry. In a few minutes they reached the base of the Pinkney property and entered by the gate. The house certainly looked dark and deserted as they let themselves in stealthily by the door to the patio. They made their way in the gloom to the sunroom chesterfield and sat: down. The room was heavily curtained so that they could watch the doorway leading outdoors without being observed by anyone entering there. The papers and boxes lay much as they had been left two nights ago -- bait for the mousetrap.

They conversed in subdued tones for a while, Jerry making frequent surreptitious trips to the kitchen in order to replenish his supply of beer. By midnight the latter was exerting some effects upon his state of watchfulness and he started to doze. From her vantage point Janet could watch his face, dimly illuminated by the pale moon light filtering through the panes in the doorway. In repose, it was an even more boyish and immature face, with a trace of petulance in the protruding lower lip, face of a boy who would never become a man. She wondered at the strange combination, of guile and gullibility that lurked behind it: on the one hand, the guile to carry out such an elaborate deception; on the other, the gullibility to assume that it would be convincing.

"Who's that?" he started, rousing himself as Janet moved across the room.

"Just me," she answered.

"Any sign of anyone? Do you think he'll come?"

"He'll come all right. We just have to be patient and wait him out."

"You seem awfully certain. How can you be so sure?"

"The person we're dealing with is cunning, resourceful, and desperate. He won't give up after one try."

"So we have a psychological profile of this person?"

"Oh yes. We know him pretty well, and I'm sure that tonight his motives will be revealed. It's a terrible pity isn't it that such a clever person didn't use his talents for something constructive."

"I'm not sure I'd agree with that implication. No doubt you'd find quite a few members of the University community who would find his actions constructive. My father's passing was not universally lamented, least of all by me, or mother."

"You know Jerry, you've never explained why there was such antipathy between you and your father, or between your parents."

"It was easier for me -- I got away from the place -- but for mother it was putting on a face, with everyday reminders of his bestiality."

Janet could tell by the sound of his voice that Jeremy was approaching a state of agitation. Although the room was only dimly lit she could observe his face growing flushed, partly with drink, partly with emotion. This time she made no at tempt to stem the emotional tide.

"He abused your mother regularly?"

"Regular abuse. Verbal and physical abuse. His philandering was bad enough. He was smart enough to keep it quiet outside but it was no secret in the family. Then when he imagined she might be looking in other directions he attacked her. As for me I wasn't favoured that much by his attentions," he continued bitterly. "I never came up to his great expectations. I suppose I wasn't really a member of the family in his eyes. Later on when I dropped out of school I didn't actually exist at all. For a while I thought I could protect mother somewhat by staying around, but my being here made him all the more abusive."

"But somebody had to even the score."

There was a long pause from Jerry. In the gloom Janet could see the terrible struggle he was undergoing. When it finally spilled out it was like the release of pent up flood water .

"First my own mother suspects me, and now you. I always thought you were my friend, Jan." She could sense that tears were not far away.

"Et tu Brute," she murmured.

"You'd all like that wouldn't you? For me to take the blame. There were a dozen people who would have liked to do it."

"But they lacked the determination to do it didn't they?"

Jerry didn't answer. He sat quietly, shoulders hunched, head bowed.

"You really think I killed him," he said shaking his head slowly.

"He died didn't he?"

"But, Oh God! You don't think it was me --"

"You gave him the Antabuse."

Jerry stopped shaking his head, took a deep sigh, and nodded.

"I didn't mean to--"

"You meant to pay him back,"

"But not to kill!"

"And then," continued Janet unrelentingly, "the two secretaries accidentally took some of it too."

"I was going to clean it all out of the office. I had no idea they had taken it to the outer office that moning. And then they both had wine with lunch. It was pretty obvious right away just what had happened when they took sick."

"So you came back later and changed the bottles."

Jerry nodded miserably.

"And manufactured the tale about some unknown intruder?"

There was no reply, but Janet could see that she had hit the mark.

"Why should I believe that you didn't also make up the story about someone breaking in here -- rummaging through the document? Just another smokescreen!"

He didn't answer at first but sat with his head in his hands. When he finally looked up he fixed Janet with a steady-gaze. The hysteria seemed to have disappeared suddenly, and he spoke with deadly control.

"If you think that why are you sitting here?"

He got up from the chair and walked slowly toward the door. Janet sat silently, her heart pounding as if she were in the middle of a foot-race. It was at the stage where the fatigue and emotional stress were beginning to have an overpowering effect on her. She would need a strong push of determination to prevail.

"Curiosity. And suspicion. I was curious to see if the burglar would persist. I suspected strongly that he might be connected with the Antabuse doping. But I needed some sort of proof."

"Or confession. I suppose I was a suspect all along,"

"You gave yourself away when you feigned ignorance about the Antabuse effects. After all we both took that pharmacology course from Dr. Halinka, You probably knew that area better than I did because you did a project in his lab. And there was a post-doc working there on the aldehyde dehydrogenases, and the inhibition by sulfirams. At first I suspected Halinka himself, but I realized you had easy access to the chemical too."

Jeremy remained standing near the door with his back to her. He made no reply and Janet forged on.

"It was a well-known fact by this spring that something was wrong with your father's social behaviour. Many people, including those on the committee to decide on his reappointment, suspected his bouts of sickness were the effects of alcoholism. I heard that Dean Owens had been persuaded by some of them, to withdraw from the committee in order to let his name stand as an opposing candidate when it became clear that there were problems in endorsing the reappointment. In the end your, father's demise was an opportune solution to their dilemma, and therefore nobody was too eager to urge exploration for causes of the accident. But your mother couldn't rest her suspicions that something, was terribly amiss."

"You seem to think you have everything figured out," muttered Jeremy.

"Most of it fell, into place by itself once I realized you were behind it. There were a few things that were hard to figure out at first. Then I was literally shocked into realization of the method of the murder when I swam in your pool that night. That and a chance comment of Mr. Moorcroft -- about the death of a toad."

"Seems like rather a tasteless joke."

"That's what Mr. Moorcroft had in mind. But it was what he attached with it that made me pause. He described it as a green toad, lying dead in the pool. There aren't any green-coloured toads in this area, so I assumed he mistook a common leopard frog, Rana pipiens, for a toad. Now a toad falling in the pool and unable to scramble out could plausibly drown by morning, but not a nocturnal frog, who would survive immersed for long periods, barring accidents. If Mr. Moorcroft was correct (and he seemed a credible and observant man to me) then our green 'toad' probably met his end by some external agency. Namely, a strong dose of electric current also used to dispatch your father."

"Of course. I should have thought of that myself," agreed Jerry, "The pool wiring was notoriously faulty. And it would account for the fact that father died from heart seizure rather than drowning. It's a clear case of accidental electrocution."

Jerry was more composed now, almost arrogant in his assurance. He was sitting down again on the sofa, looking at ease and relaxed. Janet, standing in front of him, continued to press her argument.

"No Jerry, not accidental electrocution, though that is precisely what the killer wanted the rest of us to believe. If the cause of heart failure was eventually attributed to an external agency, there was a ready-made explanation in the defective wiring of the pool-lights. But the lights were not turned on -- your father didn't use them according to Mr. Moorcroft -- and if he had there was no current through them because the main fuse was blown."

"That could be consistent with some electrical fault, blowing the fuse."

"But not the switch being turned off!"

She paused for a moment to gauge his response, but there was none. Catching her breath she decided to take the plunge.

"Been doing any fishing lately?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"I noticed your tackle-box in the cabana by the pool."

"Yes, --that's where I always leave it. I can just pick it up on my way down to the river."

"Very convenient. And you were fishing in the river not too long ago. I saw you one morning practicing some casts while I was out jogging."

"You could have. But I haven't been down there too recently."

"No, this would have been a few weeks ago. Before your father died."

"Possibly. Since then I've had other things on my mind."

"What does a fisherman use copper line for?"

"Deep trolling for salmon mostly."

"Not for casting?"

"Certainly not for casting!"

"Yet you were casting, or practising casting, with what looked to me very like copper line."

"That's fantastic! You must have been dazzled by the sun to make such a mistake,"

"I think not. I also found in your tackle-box a reel with some copper wire on it, too light I'm sure for salmon trolling, but quite possibly used for casting for somewhat bigger fish."

Jeremy was silent now, but his arrogant demeanour was gone.

"The night your father took his last swim, the pool-lights were off. Somebody sitting in the cabana could easily follow his movements in the water, back-lighted from the house. But the person in the pool would have no idea he was being observed provided that the watcher stayed still. After completing a length toward the cabana the swimmer would turn his back on the observer. With a sufficient weight on the end of the line a practised cast would carry a length of copper wire, far enough to reach the swimmer. The rod is already wired through the open switch at the fuse-panel. After dropping the rod, a quick flick to close the switch, and it's all over for the swimmer and the unfortunate frog who got in the way, A brilliant scheme-- almost the perfect crime."

"Your speculation gets wilder by the minute," declared Jerry, "Anyway, it's completely unprovable."

"Not necessarily. Ends of the wires would show evidence of overheating where there were attachments to the main electricity outlet. There would likely be characteristic burn marks on the victim's flesh -- not obvious perhaps unless looked for closely, but still apparent on careful re-examination."

"Unfortunately," replied Jeremy, " it's merely a theory. No, you as a scientist would say a hypothesis." He got up once more and strode around as he talked, showing progressively more agitation in his speech. "An ingenious hypothesis which will never come to publication in your bibliography. The author of this highly original piece of scientific deduction, or should I say invention, has a dirth of publishable data to substantiate it, This patchwork tale of drowning toads or frogs, loose ends of wire, electrified fishermen -. Who's going to pay attention to such an obviously absurd fabrication particularly when its author has herself met with an unfortunate accident before completion of the manuscript!"

His body was silhouetted against the doorway giving Janet a last minute glimpse of something ominously heavy in Jerry's right hand which he held in a striking position. As he made a lunge toward her Janet desperately twisted partly deflecting his arm, and she stumbled and went down in a heap. From the corner, half-dazed, she was suddenly aware that another figure had entered the room, not from the outer patio door, but from the interior of the house. There ensued a brief struggle, then one of the figures tore itself loose and sprang out through the door to the patio with the other in pursuit.

In the dim predawn light outside Janet followed confusedly just catching a fleeting image of Jeremy leaping onto his motorcycle. With a flash and a roar it started and tore down the path toward the river. By the time she had caught up to his pursuer the motorcycle had reached the open gate. She expected to see it brake and turn along the river path, but, whether through design or miscalculation, the rider obviously had too much speed and momentum to make the turn. The machine flew ahead past the gateway, the engine whined loudly amid the noise of cracking branches as the cycle mowed through the willow shrubs, followed by a loud splash and silence. Janet looked into the sad face of Mr, Moorcroft, and felt her knees and spirit collapse under the weight of realization of what had happened.

CHAPTER NINE

A week had passed and Janet still felt herself to be in a state of suspension --as though she were not in contact with the earth, or existed on a different level of consciousness from the people around her. After recovering from her fatigue and state of shock, she had tried vainly to concentrate on her work. Somehow the research problem and its solution seemed trivial and insignificant. She wished she could scrap her project and pursue some straight-forward mechanical activity. It was while she was musing among the current journals in the library in an effort to escape the frustration of her elusive growth factor and the feelings guilt she had amassed over the events at the Pinkney house, that she was suddenly struck by the answer to her puzzle. Afterward it appeared so simple that she wondered why it had not occurred to her earlier. In a sense, she realized that it was like pulling at both ends of a knotted string; while she had kept the tension on by focussing strongly on the problem she had only succeeded in tightening the knot. When she had eased her concentration by looking obliquely instead of head on, the knot had loosened, and popped out by itself.

Janet spent the next few days happily absorbed in the laboratory, working in long stretches to test her idea. And by the weekend it was apparent to her that the idea was basically sound. Rather than a single factor, the growth-promoting activity required the presence of two separate factors -- her protein fraction, plus another fraction that showed no activity alone and had been discarded in consequence. On its own the protein was only weakly active in causing the cells to divide; when recombined with the other unidentified substance that had been separated from it in the fractionation the full stimulatory activity was restored. Thus, the two factors together combined in the proper proportions mimicked the cell growth stimulation of the original extract from which they had been derived. Although it doubled the work ahead of her Janet felt the overpowering vindication of reason over superstition -- that her personal and scientific life was no longer jinxed by some supernatural glitch in the workings of the universe.

"In the end, logic always wins through," declared Kay. They were sitting beneath the shade trees on a balmy Sunday afternoon, well-sated with sausages, scrambled eggs and pancakes drenched in syrup that had been derived from the overhanging maples. Janet leaned back in the ancient canvas deck chair. She would pay up later for the surfeit of food and caffeine; at the moment she revelled in her third cup of strong coffee, liberally laced with heavy cream and sugar. A small cloud passed slowly overhead, casting a shadow along the river-bank and over the Pinkney house beyond.

"Poor, poor Jerry, I have always been a nemesis for him!"

"It could as easily have been poor, poor Janet. Everyone was a nemesis, or potentially one, for Jerry," snorted Kay, "and most particularly himself."

"I know he was the agent of his own destruction -"

"And his father's."

"Yes -- and possibly others later, I suppose -- but I still have bad dreams about that night. I guess I always will."

"Oh, I think you're tough enough to survive. Lucky for you Mr. Moorcroft came along when he did or you might not have survived."

"Apparently he became suspicious when he saw a light go on in the kitchen, probably from the refrigerator when Jerry went out for beer. He had been going to call the police from his apartment over the garage, then decided he had better check quietly first so he let himself in by the side-door. He was too discreet to show himself when he heard our voices, but when he got closer into the dining room and overheard the tail-end of our conversation, he realized it was no lovers' tryst!"

"You think he will, keep it to himself?"

"I think he was quite genuinely fond of all the Pinkneys including Jerry. And he was the one who suggested that we would serve no useful purpose by drawing attention to Jerry's role, especially to his mother. It was plausible to take events at their face value -- Jerry being upset by his father's death, depressed, drinking heavily and so forth. And he had a reputation for pretty wild behaviour on his motorcycle,"

"So only you and I and Dr. Tower know the whole story?"

"I think Professor Antwhistle may suspect something more. He sounded rather sceptical when I telephoned and told him there had been another accident in the Pinkney family. The Professor was my only possible link to the European address for Joyce and Mrs. Pinkney," she explained.

"Incidentally, how did you find out about the actual link between Hilda and John Antwhistle? Was it from Jerry?"

"No. In point of fact it was one of his acts of deliberate obfuscation that led me increasingly to be suspicious of Jerry. He was so obvious about dragging a plethora of red herrings into the case -- the Solarcon/Raymore connection, the ladies in the office, the Professor (who I thought must have had a youthful fling with Mrs. Pinkney). I would bet that Jerry knew the whole history in the family, but did nothing to prevent me from believing there was some possible motivation of that kind for the Professor to be involved as a suspect. "The thing I am certain of is that we will shortly have a new junior member in the Department."

"And how did you hear about this?"

"From the Professor on the telephone. Apparently one of his functions in going to this Developmental Biology Conference was to do some recruiting. He thinks he has this fellow signed and sealed to come here to work with us. He's a protein chemist by training and has had experience in hormone control of cell differentiation. Seemed very keen to collaborate on my project with isolation of the growth factors."

"That sounds ideal for you."

"And for the Department. There's just one hitch," said Janet.

"What's that?"

"We'll have to get him to switch to some other experimental animal."

"Why, what is he working with now?"

"Bufonidae."

"Bufo-who?" asked Kay,

"Toads!" Janet translated. "I don't think I could stand it."

### 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. Dr. McMurray now retired, is married and has two children.

### Cover illustration and photography by Geoffrey McMurray.

### The sculpturing of the toad was done by William Mc Murray.

