THE CASE OF THE PROFESSOR

	     Professor Goofy and Toothy Ali sat quietly
	in front of Inspector Ed Partridge's desk and 
	waited. After staring at them for a moment, Partridge 
	cleared his throat. 
	    "As you know, Professor Cory Fitz was found 
	murdered in his office this afternoon," he said. "He 
	was struck on the neck, apparently with his wooden 
	statuette from Fiji. Perhaps you could describe your 
	discovery of the body, Ms. Ali." The inspector did 
	not mention that the statue had been found on its usual 
	shelf, wiped clean. A bruise on the professor's neck 
	matched its base. 
	    "Well," said Toothy Ali, "as I told the sergeant, at 
	ten minutes to four a student, Brita, came to 
	the administrative office-- I am the departmental 
	assistant-- and asked if Professor Cory was expected 
	back. She said she had found the professor's door locked 
	even though his office hours were from two to four. I 
	was surprised, since the professor is-- was-- always 
	very punctual. I took my key to his office, went to his 
	door, and found it locked. When he didn't answer my knock, 
	I unlocked the door and found him on the floor. Paul 
	and I ran back to my desk and called the police." 
	     "My sergeant tells me that neither you nor Brita 
	had the professor's keys, which were missing," said 
	Partridge, "and his door can be locked only with a key. 
	I understand that the only keys to the office are his, 
	yours, and the department chairman's, and he is on 
	sabbatical in Sydney." 
	    "That's right." 
	    "Did you know he had a Fijian statuette in his office?" 
	    "Oh, yes. I didn't notice it at the time, though." 
	    "And how were your relations with the professor?" 
	    Toothy blushed. "Not good, I'll admit. We were 
	seeing each other until he broke it off last year." 
	    Just then the sergeant entered the office with a 
	tall young man wearing black jeans and a T-shirt. 
	    "Inspector Partridge, Rob Dyke," said the 
	laconic sergeant. 
	    "Sit down, Mr. Dyke," said the inspector. "I 
	would like to ask you about Professor Cory, who was 
	killed in his office this afternoon by a blow to the neck. 
	When he was found, a spiral notebook open to a page about 
	you was on his desk. Did you see him today?" 
	    "My God!" exclaimed Rob. "I saw him, yes. About 
	quarter past three. He gave me an A on my last paper, 
	on Rousseau's early philosophy, and I thought it 
	deserved an A+. It matters, too: I'm in the running 
	for the Ellison Prize. I was there for ten or fifteen 
	minutes, and got a little testy, but I never threatened 
	him or touched him or his statue. He checked his notes 
	on me while I talked." 
	     Partridge turned to Professor Goofy. "And what can 
	you tell me, sir?" 
	    "As I said earlier," said Goofy impatiently, "I heard 
	voices raised in Fitz's office, which is two doors 
	down from mine, just before three- thirty. I couldn't make 
	out the words, though. That's all I know. And yes, before 
	you ask, I was not on the best of terms with Cory. We 
	were disputing the publication of an article on polling 
	methodology. I also knew about his silly statue; he 
	collected South Pacific art, and loved to show the thing 
	off. But I didn't kill him." 
	    "I see. Well, thank you all for coming." Inspector 
	Partridge leaned back in his chair. "You two may go. But 
	I would like you," he said pointing, "to remain for further 
	questioning."