"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Sigrid snapped irritably, annoyed by what seemed like cavalier treatment of her in his continued attention to mending a pipe. She laid her notebook down and bent to pick up the pipe, and as she straightened, she caught the lost look on his face, and her tone gentled. "You hold it and I'll tape," she said.

Blue eyes met her gray ones, and part of his mind noted dispassionately that the vague scent of lemon balm emanated from her soft dark hair and not from the spring breezes that ruffled the collar of her blouse. She concentrated on winding the tape neatly. Only half a head shorter than he. There was something infinitely touching in the line of her slender neck, in her finely modeled head as she bent to the task.

He felt as if he were standing on a high precipice, removed, and watching the scene through the wrong end of a telescope.

The temporary mend was complete, the tape cut, yet he was still reacting with only the top, detached surface of consciousness. Time seemed stretched out. He drew her to him, and unlike yesterday she came without resistance. Their lips met, then he was holding her tightly, aware of the passion within himself, sensing-he thought-an answering feeling within her.

And nothing happened.

"Dammit! I don't want your pity!" he snarled releasing her angrily.

"Then don't kiss me like you're drowning, and I'm the last lifeboat on the lake!" she blazed back at him.

They glared at each other until Sigrid dropped her eyes. She took her notebook from his desk and walked slowly over tot he window where she stood gazing out for a long moment, her back to the room and to him.

On the brick walls far below, students crossed back and forth, girls and boys in short sleeves and bright colors beneath the blue spring sky. Sometimes in groups, more often in pairs, they lounged around the central fountain, lay on the grass with open books or walked hand in hand from one building to another. And Sigrid Harald, who had never been in love, found herself thinking about the love of a girl for a boy, of a parent for a child, of a man for a woman or of scholars for their studies. So many kinds of love, and one had grown so overpowering that Riley Quinn had been killed because that love could be more fulfilled with him out of the way.

Sigrid took a deep breath and turned to face the tall man behind her.

"You can't push it away," she said quietly. "He was murdered, you know. We can't just ignore it."

The bleak look had returned to Nauman's face. "You know who it is."

It was a statement, not a question, but Sigrid nodded.

"I think so. Proving it will be another matter without a confession. There are a few more facts I need to know. Tell me about tenure. How is it awarded here?"

Nauman answered that question and the ones that followed factually and tried not to let himself see where they were leading.

19

SCHEDULES seemed to be meaningless today, thought Sandy. All morning she had been aware of the police presence in the department-Lieutenant Harald and Detective Tildon asking questions, probing, adding data to the case they were building. Professor Nauman had looked at her oddly once or twice after his short conference with the policewoman but had revealed nothing of their talk.

It was eleven before she could go downstairs for coffee. Quinn's classes were canceled, of course; but his students, excited by the recent sensational events, had shown up anyhow and now milled about the halls, embellishing every conjecture and rumor that reached their avid ears.

"I've always wondered what it would take to get perfect attendance," Leyden told Nauman sourly.

The elevator was jammed when Sandy returned from the snack bar, and she had to juggle the tray of beverages as she pushed through the hallway. To her surprise she found everyone assembled in the big outer office. Lieutenant Harald had co-opted her desk again.

"One minute please, Miss Keppler," said Detective Tildon and took the tray from her unprotesting hands. He carried it across the room and set it on her desk. Everyone watched curiously as he and Lieutenant Harald seemed to give the cups lids special scrutiny.

"You didn't stop in at my print shop on the way back upstairs, did you, Sandy?" asked Lemuel Vance in an attempt to lighten the suddenly tense atmosphere.

"Knock it off!" David Wade said tightly from the corner table, and Sandy 's eyes widened as she saw him for the first time. He shrugged to show he was just as puzzled as she to find himself summoned to this gathering.

Detective Tildon returned the tray without a word. Yesterday's fear tightened around Sandy 's heart, and her hand trembled as she gave tea to Andrea Ross and Albert Simpson, hot chocolate to Lemuel Vance and Piers Leyden, and coffee with sugar to Oscar Nauman and Jake Saxer. She took her own black coffee to an empty chair next to Professor Simpson. Her hands shook so that when she removed the lid the old classicist kindly handed her his immaculate handkerchief to blot up the spill from her blue plaid slacks.

"Shouldn't young Harris also be here?" Simpson asked, refolding his handkerchief.

"Or is Leyden 's primitive still hiding in the jungle?" sneered Vance.

Jake Saxer laughed nervously, then smoothed his yellow beard in embarrassment.

"We've spoken to him, and he had nothing of value to add to this inquiry," Sigrid said calmly in her school-marm manner. "For the record I'd like to hear your opinions on whether it would have made a difference if Professor Nauman had got the cup with potassium dichromate instead of Professor Quinn."

"It might to Oscar," suggested Leyden. Nauman shrugged; everyone else looked blank.

"I think she means cui bono?" said Simpson. "Who profits by his death?"

"Correct," said Sigrid. "Well, let's start with what happens now that Quinn's dead. You, Professor Simpson, will become deputy chairman, which means promotion and a larger salary?"

"If the majority of the department approve. I am senior historian."

"Do you need the extra money, Professor?"

"I have no family and my wants are few, Lieutenant, but you may examine my bank records if you feel it necessary."

"A full professor gets a bigger pension," Vance observed from his chair near the bookcase.

"So he does," Simpson agreed equably. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Of course, there are other rewards," said Sigrid turning to Jake Saxer. "How much is it worth to be listed as coauthor of an authoritative book rather than an insignificant contributor acknowledged briefly in the preface?"

The historian's pale face flushed. "I earned it! I've done ninety per cent of the work for that book. He promised me co-authorship before we ever began work!"

"Did you get it in writing?" asked Andrea Ross. "Riley Quinn wouldn't have shared authorship of a grocery list."

"Frigid bitch! You're just jealous because he passed you over."

"Surely you could invent a more crushing line, Jake," Professor Ross smiled icily. With her crisp curls and feminine clothes she looked like a porcelain doll; but beneath her artful makeup her face was pale. "You may have done ninety per cent, but that's just the donkey-work. Much as I despised Quinn, I have to admit he was a brilliant historian. His ten per cent will bring it all together, make the book a success. Maybe you can stick your name on his work, but none of his brilliance will rub off on you. My advice is to enjoy it while it lasts. Just don't try to write another book all by yourself, Jake, or Lieutenant Harald might have to arrest you for indecent mental exposure!"

Saxer sprang to his feet and for a moment actually seemed about to slap her, but Nauman grabbed his wrist with an unexpectedly strong grip and straight-armed him back into his chair with an ease that belied the force he had used.