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properly flavorful Dutch broth. The cheese was a white New Ostend cheddar, extraordinarily sharp, the way Victor knew I liked it. I nodded at the tang, then broke off a piece of the crusty bread. Llysette took the consomme in precise spoonfuls, interspersed with the red wine.
    “Johan, why is it that you showed no interest in Professor Miller? She always wished to talk with you.”
    I finished chewing the bread before answering. “I could not say, not exactly. But she seemed to show a certain lack of discipline. In any case, she appeared far more interested in Gerald Branston-Hay.” The first part was certainly true—I couldn’t say exactly why I hadn’t been attracted. The second part was a polite way of saying that she was a lazy and round-bottomed widow who was required to support herself in any way she could, but who was really looking for a husband. My background and hers certainly would not have fit.
    “Considering that the good Doktor Branston-Hay is thoroughly married,” Llysette laughed, “you retain the manners of a public servant.”
    “At your service, my lady.” I gave her a head bow. Like Llysette, I had wondered about Miranda’s more than passing interest in Gerald Branston-Hay, as conveyed by Llysette. The man must have had some charm, although I had seen more manners than charm in my assorted conversations with him. I refrained from mentioning that I knew Llysette had spent more than a luncheon or two with him. “Professor Branston-Hay is indeed a gentleman of the old English stock.” I finished my soup.
    “Ah, yes. He is very polite.” Llysette’s voice was measurably cooler.
    “And far more reserved than Professor Miller, I presume.”
    “She is, she was, not reserved, I think.”
    I glanced at my watch, my father’s old Ansonia that still kept perfect time, and rose.
    Llysette glanced at the clock on the post centre. “Do you not have a half hour before your two o’clock?”
    “Ah, yes, dear lady, but duty calls. I must stop by the post centre before class because I must attend a meeting of the curriculum review committee after class.”
    “This is the committee which nothing does?”
    “The very same.”
    “Yet you attend when nothing will be done; is this not so?”
    “Absolutely. Then we can claim that we have met, and that the best course of action was to do nothing.”
    “Like your government.”
    “Exactly. Except it appears that people get killed at universities, while I cannot recall the last time a public servant was murdered, not when it was apparent. Will I see you for dinner?”
    “Not this evening, Johan. I must complete previews for student juries.”
    “I had hoped …”
    “You always hope, Johan. One of your best traits.” She smiled.
    “Thank you.” I bowed and turned.
    Although I had hoped that the monthly pension cheque had arrived, the only item in my postbox was a long, narrow brown envelope, the type I had seen too many of in Columbia. Of course, it had no return address. I took a deep breath and locked the box.
    “Ye find anything interesting?” asked Maurice from behind the counter.
    “You know better than I would. You saw it first.” I grinned at the post handler. He grinned back.
    I hurried back to my office, grateful for the cool breeze.
    I smiled toward Gilda as I passed the front office, but she was engaged in a conversation about nouveau-Dutch painting with Andrei Salakin, and with his accent, listening alone was a full-time occupation. Once back in my office, I closed the door firmly.
    Except for the clipping from the Columbia Post-Dispatch , the brown envelope was empty. I laid the short clipping on the desk.

    COLUMBIA (RPI)—Representative Patrice Alexander (L—MI) announced a shadow investigation into charges that the Austro-Hungarian Empire has infiltrated Columbian universities. “Through such blatantly transparent ruses as the Austro-Hungarian Cultural Foundation and the Global Research Fund, Ferdinand VI is encouraging the