foreman, reliving the previous night’s date with the well-stacked blonde. It was life.
And I wondered what life ever was to men like Simon Ark. Did he have a woman somewhere, anywhere, to rest him when the burden got too tough? Even as I thought it, there was a knock on the door and he was standing there, looking the same as yesterday, the same as when I’d first seen him twenty years ago.
“A pleasant morning,” he said.
“Pleasant.” I started dressing, turning over the random thoughts that were running through my mind. “Simon?”
He’d settled into one of the hotel chairs and crossed his hands as if in prayer. “Yes, my friend?”
“Have you ever had a woman, Simon? I’ve known you for all these years, and yet I really know so little about you.”
I don’t know what reaction I’d expected, but I was surprised when he dropped” his eyes to the carpeted floor. “A woman? Well, now it has been a long time … I am very old, you know, so very old …” And then his eyes lifted, and he went on. “Did you know, my friend, that in ancient Greece the women of the streets—prostitutes—sometimes carved messages on the soles of their sandals, so when they walked along they imprinted messages in the sand or dirt of the streets?”
“What kind of messages?”
“Usually something like follow me or words to that effect.”
“It’s a queer world.”
“Yes, and perhaps there is always a woman at its center. Perhaps woman is the real ruler of man. At least they need each other, and always will.”
I nodded and put on my shirt. “Until someone comes up with a foolproof method of artificial insemination.”
I’d said it mostly as a joke, but Simon didn’t smile. “Most methods of artificial insemination are quite immoral,” he said, and then fell silent a moment, as if deep in thought.
An idea struck me and I turned away from the window. “Simon, we know that Wilber has been working on experiments concerning birth and the life process. Is it possible that when we saw him bending over the coffin yesterday he was really studying Cathy’s skull? Is it possible he intends to attempt to bring her back to life?”
Simon smiled a bit at that. “All things are possible in this world, my friend, but I fear you are being overly influenced by the current offerings of movies and television. I doubt very strongly if Professor Wilber is contemplating anything like that.”
“So, where do we go from here?”
“It’s a holiday. Why go anywhere?”
“Seriously, Simon, who do you think killed her?”
“If I told you, I doubt if you’d believe me. I hardly believe myself.”
“Then you know!”
But he shook his head. “I have a suspicion, nothing more. A suspicion that cannot yet be put into words.”
The phone buzzed and I picked it up, wondering who’d be calling us on this holiday morning. It was Henry Mahon, downstairs in the lobby and waiting to come up. I told him to come ahead.
“Mahon,” I told Simon.
“Interesting.”
“Very.”
He came, a few moments later, looking somehow worn and red-eyed. I wondered if he’d been drinking the night before. “Good morning,” he mumbled, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed.
“Hello, Hank. What brings you down here at this early hour?”
“I … well, I thought you might have gotten the wrong idea about our conversation yesterday. I do care about my sister-in-law’s death, really! I don’t want to give the impression that I’m more interested in raising money for the University than in tracking down her killer.”
He was nervous today, even more so than the last time we’d seen him, and all the familiar wildness seemed gone from him. Perhaps Cathy’s death had hit him harder than we’d thought. Perhaps, but I doubted it.
“We have some leads,” Simon told him. “Despite our reluctance to act as detectives, we have uncovered a few interesting facts.”
“Oh, have you?” He was interested now, and I couldn’t help feeling
And I wondered what life ever was to men like Simon Ark. Did he have a woman somewhere, anywhere, to rest him when the burden got too tough? Even as I thought it, there was a knock on the door and he was standing there, looking the same as yesterday, the same as when I’d first seen him twenty years ago.
“A pleasant morning,” he said.
“Pleasant.” I started dressing, turning over the random thoughts that were running through my mind. “Simon?”
He’d settled into one of the hotel chairs and crossed his hands as if in prayer. “Yes, my friend?”
“Have you ever had a woman, Simon? I’ve known you for all these years, and yet I really know so little about you.”
I don’t know what reaction I’d expected, but I was surprised when he dropped” his eyes to the carpeted floor. “A woman? Well, now it has been a long time … I am very old, you know, so very old …” And then his eyes lifted, and he went on. “Did you know, my friend, that in ancient Greece the women of the streets—prostitutes—sometimes carved messages on the soles of their sandals, so when they walked along they imprinted messages in the sand or dirt of the streets?”
“What kind of messages?”
“Usually something like follow me or words to that effect.”
“It’s a queer world.”
“Yes, and perhaps there is always a woman at its center. Perhaps woman is the real ruler of man. At least they need each other, and always will.”
I nodded and put on my shirt. “Until someone comes up with a foolproof method of artificial insemination.”
I’d said it mostly as a joke, but Simon didn’t smile. “Most methods of artificial insemination are quite immoral,” he said, and then fell silent a moment, as if deep in thought.
An idea struck me and I turned away from the window. “Simon, we know that Wilber has been working on experiments concerning birth and the life process. Is it possible that when we saw him bending over the coffin yesterday he was really studying Cathy’s skull? Is it possible he intends to attempt to bring her back to life?”
Simon smiled a bit at that. “All things are possible in this world, my friend, but I fear you are being overly influenced by the current offerings of movies and television. I doubt very strongly if Professor Wilber is contemplating anything like that.”
“So, where do we go from here?”
“It’s a holiday. Why go anywhere?”
“Seriously, Simon, who do you think killed her?”
“If I told you, I doubt if you’d believe me. I hardly believe myself.”
“Then you know!”
But he shook his head. “I have a suspicion, nothing more. A suspicion that cannot yet be put into words.”
The phone buzzed and I picked it up, wondering who’d be calling us on this holiday morning. It was Henry Mahon, downstairs in the lobby and waiting to come up. I told him to come ahead.
“Mahon,” I told Simon.
“Interesting.”
“Very.”
He came, a few moments later, looking somehow worn and red-eyed. I wondered if he’d been drinking the night before. “Good morning,” he mumbled, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed.
“Hello, Hank. What brings you down here at this early hour?”
“I … well, I thought you might have gotten the wrong idea about our conversation yesterday. I do care about my sister-in-law’s death, really! I don’t want to give the impression that I’m more interested in raising money for the University than in tracking down her killer.”
He was nervous today, even more so than the last time we’d seen him, and all the familiar wildness seemed gone from him. Perhaps Cathy’s death had hit him harder than we’d thought. Perhaps, but I doubted it.
“We have some leads,” Simon told him. “Despite our reluctance to act as detectives, we have uncovered a few interesting facts.”
“Oh, have you?” He was interested now, and I couldn’t help feeling
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