Something the Cat Dragged In by Charlotte MacLeod Page B

a nice enough guy when I met him,” Ottermole put in. “Just goes to show you never know, do you?”
    “Never know what?” said Shandy. “Where did you meet him?”
    “He’s an old army buddy of Silvester Lomax. They were in the MP’s together. Silvester’s wife had me and the missus and a few other people over night before last to meet him. He’s staying with her and Silvester till he can find a place.”
    Finding a place to live was no mean feat in Balaclava Junction. Most of the students lived in the dorms, but rooms and apartments were still at a premium because of the many comings and goings among staff and faculty, and because there weren’t many of them to start with. Mrs. Lomax probably had six or seven prospects already camped on her doorstep trying to rent Ungley’s flat.
    The logical person to have it would be Ungley’s heir, and maybe Alonzo Bulfinch had already thought of that. Surely, though, the new security guard hadn’t bumped off his uncle just to get himself a place to sleep.
    Ottermole was champing at the bit to do some more detecting. “Now what, Professor?”
    “We may as well take this cane of Hodger’s on up to Professor Joad, and let him test it along with Ungley’s,” said Shandy. “After that, it mightn’t be a bad idea to have a chat with Bulfinch, if we can find him.”
    “Yeah, we better nail that guy before he decides to skip town. Say, I wonder how much he stands to inherit.”
    “Plenty,” snarled Thorkjeld Svenson. The memory of that outrageous salary Ungley had milked from the college for so many years must still be rankling.
    Shandy decided a precise answer to Ottermole’s question mightn’t be such a bad idea, at that. “I expect Pommell will know how much Ungley had in the sock. Let’s go ask him. If he won’t tell, Ottermole can flash his badge and threaten to run him in for obstructing justice. I’d be surprised, though, if Hodger didn’t take time to give Pommell a fast phone call before going off to keep that urgent appointment.”
    “Come on,” said Ottermole. “Let’s move. Chemistry Department first, right?”
    The bank was only a few doors away, but they stuck to their original itinerary. Svenson was happy at getting to ride in the police cruiser. “Where’s the siren, Ottermole?” he demanded. “I’ll work it.”
    “Better not, President,” Shandy warned. “The students will think Ottermole’s running you in for disturbing the peace.”
    Svenson growled but subsided, perhaps reflecting on what Sieglinde would say if she found out. They got to the chemistry building without attracting undue notice. When Joad saw them coming, though, he ran to meet them, waving a full test tube with reckless abandon.
    “It’s blood, all right. Human, type AB negative. Minute traces definitely present on the cane handle, also in that iron rust you scraped off the harrow peg.”
    “What about the sample Goulson sent over?”
    “AB negative. I have to say also human, though coming from Ungley I must say I was rather surprised. I’ll break down the factors more precisely to remove all shadow of doubt, but I’d say you’ve got yourselves a murder weapon.”
    “Drat,” said Shandy, handing him the other cane. “I was rather hoping we might pin the killing on Henry Hodger. Test this one anyway, will you?”
    “Delighted. What happens to the evidence when I’m finished?”
    “I’ll impound it,” said Ottermole masterfully. “And I want a written report of what you just said. If you don’t mind,” he added in a meeker tone when he noticed Svenson’s eye boring at him.
    “Don’t mind in the least. Glad to oblige. We don’t get one like this every day.”
    Like Harry Goulson, Joad was relishing his part in the affair and making no bones about it. Well, why not? Ungley had afforded Balaclava little enough diversion during his lifetime. Maybe he was atoning by departing in a fashion so much more dramatic than his lectures could ever have