school any good and I kept thinking that we could ease you out and still keep it under cover. We were going to tease you along to the end of the semester and then we were going to lower the boom. But you want it lowered now.”
“What on God’s green earth are you talking about?”
Connell stood up and leaned his knuckles on the desk. “We pulled you from the Colorado field trip, Tanner, because it’s our policy not to send out research groups of students unless they’re under competent instructors.”
“And I’m not?”
“Where did you get your degree?”
“Wisconsin.”
“Can you prove it?”
Tanner sank down in a chair, enormously tired. “What’s the story, Harry?”
Connell’s mouth was so tight with anger it was almost invisible. “The name is Mr. Connell, Tanner. And the reason why I don’t call you ‘Professor’ is because you’re not one.” He ran a shaking hand through his thinning hair. “It was a routine check—I don’t know what made me do it. You had applied for the Colorado position and we wrote to Wisconsin asking for any experience you might have had on field trips before.” He paused. “They never even heard of you. They don’t have a single record of you. I’ve read about impersonations before but I never thought …”
Tanner was desperate. “You couldn’t have checked everything!”
“We even went through the annual … .”
“I never had my picture taken for it.”
“That’s a little unusual, isn’t it? And you didn’t go out for any school activities, either, did you? We checked all of them.”
“I was never much of a rah-rah boy. But you could’ve checked with Professor Palmer in the Anthropology Department. He could have told you.”
Connell picked up a letter from his desk top and waved it at him. “He told us he never heard of you. Read it yourself.”
“My thesis is on file here,” Tanner said slowly. “You must have checked that.”
“We checked it—that is, we tried to. There wasn’t a thing. Not a thing.”
“I filed it when I applied here, it should have been there!”
“Then why don’t you go and look? And when you find it, bring it back here and I’ll apologize.” He picked up a narrow slip of paper from his desk and handed it to Tanner. “Here’s a check—you’re paid up to date. We’re breaking your contract right now. You’re through, both here and on the Project. You’re lucky the board doesn’t prosecute but it would make the university look foolish for having hired you in the first place.”
Tanner took the check and stared blankly as the little man turkey-walked back to his desk. All his records had been checked at one time, he thought, confused. They never would have hired him without doing that. Connell must realize that. Or maybe it was just that … that …
That Connell didn’t remember.
His thesis wasn’t listed in the card catalogue and when he checked in the stacks, he couldn’t find it there, either. There was the row of neatly typed and bound theses, thick with dust, but there was no gap where one had been taken out. So far as he could determine, it had never been on file.
He sat in the stacks for half an hour before he got to his feet and walked outside. There was nothing to do but make plans to leave, to close down his bank account and get out of town. What he would do after that he didn’t know and didn’t care. But maybe now the waiting and the suspense was over. The Enemy had won and he was off the committee and in disgrace. No job, no source of income, no money coming in.
Down, but not quite out. At least, he wouldn’t starve.
The teller at the bank took his book and came back a moment later, looking puzzled.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Tanner, but there seems to be some sort of a mix-up. We have no records here of any account for you.”
The sun was shining and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, Tanner thought, but it was still going to be a lousy day. “Where do you think I got the
“What on God’s green earth are you talking about?”
Connell stood up and leaned his knuckles on the desk. “We pulled you from the Colorado field trip, Tanner, because it’s our policy not to send out research groups of students unless they’re under competent instructors.”
“And I’m not?”
“Where did you get your degree?”
“Wisconsin.”
“Can you prove it?”
Tanner sank down in a chair, enormously tired. “What’s the story, Harry?”
Connell’s mouth was so tight with anger it was almost invisible. “The name is Mr. Connell, Tanner. And the reason why I don’t call you ‘Professor’ is because you’re not one.” He ran a shaking hand through his thinning hair. “It was a routine check—I don’t know what made me do it. You had applied for the Colorado position and we wrote to Wisconsin asking for any experience you might have had on field trips before.” He paused. “They never even heard of you. They don’t have a single record of you. I’ve read about impersonations before but I never thought …”
Tanner was desperate. “You couldn’t have checked everything!”
“We even went through the annual … .”
“I never had my picture taken for it.”
“That’s a little unusual, isn’t it? And you didn’t go out for any school activities, either, did you? We checked all of them.”
“I was never much of a rah-rah boy. But you could’ve checked with Professor Palmer in the Anthropology Department. He could have told you.”
Connell picked up a letter from his desk top and waved it at him. “He told us he never heard of you. Read it yourself.”
“My thesis is on file here,” Tanner said slowly. “You must have checked that.”
“We checked it—that is, we tried to. There wasn’t a thing. Not a thing.”
“I filed it when I applied here, it should have been there!”
“Then why don’t you go and look? And when you find it, bring it back here and I’ll apologize.” He picked up a narrow slip of paper from his desk and handed it to Tanner. “Here’s a check—you’re paid up to date. We’re breaking your contract right now. You’re through, both here and on the Project. You’re lucky the board doesn’t prosecute but it would make the university look foolish for having hired you in the first place.”
Tanner took the check and stared blankly as the little man turkey-walked back to his desk. All his records had been checked at one time, he thought, confused. They never would have hired him without doing that. Connell must realize that. Or maybe it was just that … that …
That Connell didn’t remember.
His thesis wasn’t listed in the card catalogue and when he checked in the stacks, he couldn’t find it there, either. There was the row of neatly typed and bound theses, thick with dust, but there was no gap where one had been taken out. So far as he could determine, it had never been on file.
He sat in the stacks for half an hour before he got to his feet and walked outside. There was nothing to do but make plans to leave, to close down his bank account and get out of town. What he would do after that he didn’t know and didn’t care. But maybe now the waiting and the suspense was over. The Enemy had won and he was off the committee and in disgrace. No job, no source of income, no money coming in.
Down, but not quite out. At least, he wouldn’t starve.
The teller at the bank took his book and came back a moment later, looking puzzled.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Tanner, but there seems to be some sort of a mix-up. We have no records here of any account for you.”
The sun was shining and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, Tanner thought, but it was still going to be a lousy day. “Where do you think I got the
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