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See, the West Wing is sort of like an old luxury liner. There’s beauty under the rust—you just have to know how to look for it. And Dr. Strachey knew how to do that. He had a thing for architecture, he had.”
    “Was construction ready to get under way?”
    “Under way?” Albright laughed. “The demolition’s been going on for over a month.”
    “Did he hire the workmen himself?”
    “That he did.”
    “I see.” Logan thought for a moment. “It all seems pretty quiet at the moment. I suppose they’ve stopped temporarily because of the tragedy. And of course they’ll need to find someone to take Strachey’s place.”
    “Oh, they’ve stopped, right enough. But it’s not because of Dr. Strachey’s death.”
    Logan looked at the site manager. “Excuse me?”
    “A few days before he died, Dr. Strachey put a stop to the work himself.”
    “He did?”
    “He did and all. Sent the workers packing.”
    “Did he give a reason?”
    “Something about problems with structural integrity.”
    Logan frowned. “But I thought the West Wing was sound.”
    “I’m no engineer. But I’d lay odds that it is.”
    A pause. “Could I talk to some of these workers?”
    “Doubt you could find them. They were paid off, all scattered to the four winds now.”
    “Really? You mean, after all the work of assembling them, they were just dismissed?”
    “Yes.”
    Odd
. “Was Strachey planning to hire a structural engineer to inspect the wing?”
    “Can’t say. I’d imagine so.”
    Logan thought back to the paperwork he’d gone through the night before. He’d seen nothing referring to this sudden development.
    “This general contractor you mentioned. How can I contact him?”
    Albright thought a moment. “He worked out of Westerly. Let’s see…Rideout. Bill Rideout. He probably has most of the working files.”
    “I’ll get in touch with him.” Logan paused thoughtfully. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Albright,” he said after a moment. “You’ve been most helpful.”
    “I’ll see you out.” And—hoisting himself off the edge of his desk—Albright opened the door and led the way down the metal staircase.

11
    It was eleven o’clock on his third evening at the think tank when Logan—duffel slung over one shoulder, rolled blueprints and plans and printed schedules under his other arm—walked down the main first-floor corridor of Lux. It was a weeknight, the dining room had closed its doors well over an hour before, and there were no scheduled lectures in the plush-chaired, velvet-bedecked Delaveaux Auditorium that evening. As a result, the associates and Fellows had—true to form—all retired to their various rooms for the night. Save the occasional passing maid or member of the cleaning staff, Logan had Lux’s public areas to himself.
    Late that afternoon, he’d made a detailed tour of the East Wing, noting the extensive changes that had resulted from the midseventies renovation. While it retained much of the grandeur of the main massing of Dark Gables, it had clearly been designedto be a more utilitarian space: recessed fluorescent lighting had replaced wall sconces, and—in the offices and labs, at any rate—the gothic moldings and other ornamentation had been largely removed, creating a cleaner, more functional—if less visually interesting—look. Externally similar in shape and size to the West Wing, it had three stories and a single basement, as compared to the main building’s four stories and multiple basement levels.
    Based on the plans Logan had looked over, Willard Strachey and his architectural partner had a completely different idea for the remodeling of the West Wing. In its initial realization, the wing had been the most eccentric of Edward Delaveaux’s conceptions. Logan had peered at old black-and-white photographs of the West Wing, taken in the months directly before and after Lux bought the mansion, and he could picture it now in his mind. On stepping in from its grand