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inched my way upstream through the crowd. O’Banyon didn’t seem surprised to see me. He said something to the officer he was talking with and came over to meet me.
    “I know it’s none of my business,” I said, “but I was wondering if you had any idea what’s going on?”
    “Not much, I’m afraid,” he said. “The police aren’t saying much. All I could find out is that one of our catalogers, Taylor Cates, somehow fell down the back stairs leading to the rear exit and apparently broke his neck.”
    “I thought the basement was closed,” I said. “What was he doing there?”
    O’Banyon shrugged. “The cataloging areas are off-limits to just about everybody,” he said. “They usually keep it locked, so Taylor was there in case some board member might want to give someone a guided tour. It was Irving McGill who found him.” He motioned with a head nod toward a tall, almost skeletal redhead deep in conversation with two of the Foundation’s board members. McGill, I’d read, was the library’s new Director and head librarian, who had been brought in from Chicago’s Newberry Library.
    “Then why would Cates be using the back exit stairs, I wonder?” I said.
    “Good question,” O’Banyon said. “I have no idea. That stairway leads to an emergency fire exit—no one can use it from the outside, and an alarm would have sounded if someone had tried to open it from the inside. I can’t imagine why he’d be back there.”
    “Maybe somebody was at the back door trying to get in?”
    “Unlikely. There’s a big sign on the outside of the door telling people to use the front entrance. As I said, they couldn’t get in, and Taylor couldn’t have let anyone in without sounding the alarm. Apparently the police checked, and the door was locked.”
    “Can the alarm be turned off?”
    “I imagine so,” he said, “though I don’t know that Taylor even knew where the switch was, or why he might want to turn it off even if he knew how.”
    “Well, I gather there are some pretty valuable manuscripts and documents down there,” I said. “Maybe Cates found something valuable and was trying to sell it.”
    O’Banyon looked skeptical. “I really doubt it. From what little I know, Taylor’s character was above reproach. He was totally dedicated to his work, and just didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who might do anything illegal.” He thought a minute, then said, “Of course there’s no doubt there’s a lot of valuable material down there, and that’s why the cataloging area is treated like it’s Fort Knox. But it’ll be months before anyone has even an idea of the value of what’s there. The fewer people who have access to that area, the less the chance of someone walking off with something.”
    The room had fairly well emptied out, and I saw Jonathan, who had apparently hung back waiting for me, talking with a policeman with a pad and pencil.
    “I guess I’d better get going,” I said. “Thanks again for inviting us, and I’m sorry about the accident.”
    We shook hands, and I moved toward the front entrance as Glen turned to walk over to join Irving McGill and the other board members.
    Jonathan stepped away from the cop as I came up.
    “Can I have your name, address, and phone number, please?” the cop asked politely. Since there’d been a death at a large gathering, I knew it was just routine, and I gave him the information, which he duly wrote down. Odds were overwhelmingly that Taylor Cates’ death had been an accident, but just in case, it was wise to know who had been in attendance if they had to do further checking.
    “I told the others to go ahead and we’d meet them at Ramón’s,” Jonathan announced as we went down the steps and started toward the car.
    *
    Sunday was kind of fun, actually. Thanks to Craig, who was sleeping on the couch, Joshua went running to him the minute he woke up, and Jonathan and I were able to sleep about half an hour later than normal. When we got