“Quite clear,” Seddons said. McNeil nodded.

“Very well.” Coleman glanced at the autopsy table, then at the others. “Our own objective is to advance medical learning. The family of the deceased, for its part, gives us the body in trust, expecting that it will be treated with care, respect, and dignity.” As he paused there was silence in the room. McNeil and Seddons were standing very still.

“And that is the way we will treat it, gentlemen.” Coleman emphasized the words again, “With care, respect, and dignity.” He went on, “At all autopsies the face and genitals will be draped and there will be no smoking in the room at any time. As for your own demeanor, and particularly the use of humor”—at the word Mike Seddons flushed a deep red—“I think I can leave that to your imagination.”

Momentarily Coleman looked directly at each man in turn. Then, “Thank you, gentlemen. Will you carry on, please?” He nodded and went out.

For several seconds after the door had closed neither spoke. Then, softly, Seddons observed, “We appear to have been skillfully taken apart.”

Ruefully McNeil said, “With some reason, I think. Don’t you?”

As soon as they could afford it, Elizabeth Alexander decided, she would buy a vacuum cleaner. The old-fashioned carpet sweeper she was using now collected the superficial dirt, but that was about all. She pushed it back and forth a few more times over the rug and inspected the result critically. Not very good, but it would have to do. She must remember to have a talk with John tonight. Vacuum cleaners were not terribly expensive, and one extra monthly payment shouldn’t make all that difference. The trouble was, though, there were so many things they needed. It was a problem, deciding which should come first.

In a way, she supposed, John was right. It was all very well to talk of making sacrifices and doing without things so that John could go to medical school. But when you came right down to it, it was hard to manage on any reduced income once you became accustomed to a certain standard. Take John’s salary at the hospital, for example. It certainly did not put them in the big brackets, but it had made their life together comfortable and they were able to enjoy small luxuries which a few months ago had been out of reach. Could they surrender those things now? Elizabeth supposed so, but it would be difficult all the same. Medical school would mean another four years of struggling, and even after that there would be internship and perhaps residency, if John decided to specialize. Would it be worth it? Weren’t they perhaps better off taking their happiness as they found it at this moment, accepting a role—even if a modest one—in the here and now?

That made sense, didn’t it? And yet, somehow, Elizabeth was still unsure. Should she still continue to urge John to aim higher, to enter medical school, at whatever cost? Dr. Coleman obviously believed he should. What was it he had said to John?—If you feel like this, and don’t go to medical school while you have the chance, it may be something you’ll regret the rest of your life. At the time the words had made a deep impression on Elizabeth and, she suspected, on John too. Now, remembering, they seemed more significant than ever. She frowned; perhaps they had better talk over the whole subject again tonight. If she were convinced of what John really wanted, maybe she could force him into a decision. It would not be the first time Elizabeth had had her own way about things that concerned them both.

Elizabeth put the sweeper away and began to move around the apartment, tidying and dusting. Now, dismissing more serious thoughts for the time being, she sang as she worked. It was a beautiful morning. The warm August sun, shining brightly into the small but comfortable living room, showed off to advantage the new draperies she had made and had hung last night. Elizabeth stopped at the center table to rearrange a vase of flowers. She had removed two blooms which had faded and was about to cross to the tiny kitchen when the pain struck her. It came suddenly, without warning, like a blazing, searing fire and worse, much worse, than the day before in the hospital cafeteria. Drawing in her breath, biting her lip, trying not to scream aloud, Elizabeth sank into a chair behind her. Briefly the pain went away, then it returned, even—it seemed—more intensely. It was as if it were a cycle. Then the significance dawned upon her. Involuntarily she said, “Oh no! No!”

Dimly, through the enveloping anguish, Elizabeth knew she had to act quickly. The hospital number was on a pad by the telephone. Suddenly the instrument on the other side of the room became an objective. Biding her time between each onset of pain, grasping the table for support, Elizabeth eased out of the chair and moved across. When she had dialed and a voice answered, she said, gasping, “Dr. Dornberger . . . it’s urgent.”

There was a pause and he came on the line. “It’s . . . Mrs. Alexander,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve started . . . to have . . . my baby.”

David Coleman knocked once on the door of Dr. Pearson’s office, then went in. He found the senior pathologist seated behind the desk, Carl Bannister standing alongside. The lab technician’s face had a taut expression; after a first glance he studiously avoided looking Coleman’s way.

“You wanted to see me, I believe.” Coleman had been returning from doing a frozen section on the surgical floor when his name had been called on the public-address system.

“Yes, I did.” Pearson’s manner was cool and formal. “Dr. Coleman, I have received a complaint concerning you from a member of the staff. Carl Bannister here.”

“Oh?” Coleman raised his eyebrows. Bannister was still looking straight ahead.

Pearson went on, “I understand you two had a little brush this morning.”

“I wouldn’t call it exactly that.” Coleman kept his voice casual and unperturbed.

“What would you call it then?” There was no mistaking the acidity in the old man’s tone.

Coleman said levelly, “Frankly, I hadn’t planned to bring the matter to your attention. But, since Mr. Bannister has chosen to, I think you had better hear the whole story.”

“If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble.”

Ignoring the sarcasm, Coleman said, “Yesterday afternoon I told both serology technicians that I planned to make occasional spot checks of laboratory work. Early this morning I did make one such check.” Coleman glanced at Bannister. “I intercepted a patient’s specimen before delivery to the serology lab and divided the specimen into two. I then added the extra sample to the listing on the requisition sheet, showing it as an extra test. Later, when I checked, I found that Mr. Bannister had recorded two different test results when, of course, they should have been identical.” He added, “If you wish, we can get the details from the lab record now.”

Pearson shook his head. He had risen from his chair and was half turned away; he appeared to be thinking. Coleman wondered curiously what would happen next. He knew that he himself was on perfectly secure ground. The procedure he had followed was standard in most well-run hospital labs. It provided a protection for patients and was a safeguard against carelessness. Conscientious technicians accepted lab checks without resentment and as a part of their job. Moreover, Coleman had followed protocol in telling both Bannister and John Alexander yesterday that the checks would be made.

Abruptly Pearson wheeled on Bannister. “All right, what have you got to say?”

“I don’t like being spied on.” The answer was resentful and aggressive. “I’ve never had to work that way before and I don’t figure I should start now.”

“And I tell you you’re a fool!” Pearson shouted the words. “You’re a fool for making a damn silly mistake, and you’re an even bigger fool for coming to me when you get caught out.” He paused, his lips tight, his breathing heavy. Coleman sensed that part of the old man’s anger stemmed from his frustration at having no choice but to support what the younger pathologist had done, much as he might dislike it. Now, standing directly in front of Bannister, he snarled, “What did you expect me to do—pat you on the back and give you a medal?”