'Oh, that's Jesse Karp,' she said, and I thought she sniffed. 'He's the principal of our high school now — would you believe it?'
'They were close friends?'
'Well. . they were friends, I guess.'
'And this priest with Godfrey — is he the Reverend Stokes?'
'That's right. He helped Godfrey get into the seminary.
He helped Godfrey in so many ways. The poor m a n. . '
I looked up.
'I thought you said he's retired?'
'Oh, he is. But doing, ah, poorly.'
'I'm sorry to hear it.'
'You're not planning to talk to him, are you?'
'I wasn't planning to, no, ma'am.'
'Well, he's not all there — if you know what I mean.'
'Ah. Too bad. Senile?'
'Not exactly,' she said, examining the pink nails on her plump fingers. 'I'm afraid the Reverend Stokes drinks a little more than is good for him.'
'What a shame,' I said.
'Isn't it?' she said earnestly. 'And he was such a fine man. To end his days like t h a t. . So if you do talk to him, Mr Leopold, please keep that in mind.'
'Tabatchnick,' I murmured. 'I certainly shall.'
I turned to a page of six snapshots, each showing a young, confident Godfrey with a muscular arm about the shoulders of a different and pretty girl. The posture was possessive.
'He seems to have been popular with girls,' I observed.
'Oh law!' she cried. 'You have no idea! Calling him at all hours. Hanging around outside the house. Sending him notes and all. Popular? I should say! No flies on Godfrey Knurr.'
One of the six photos showed Godfrey with a girl shorter and younger than the others. Long, long flaxen hair fell to her waist. Even in the slightly out-of-focus snapshot she looked terribly vulnerable, unbearably fragile. I looked closer. One of her legs was encased in a heavy iron brace.
'Who is this girl?' I asked casually, pointing.
'Her?' Goldie Knurr said too quickly. 'Just one of Godfrey's friends. I don't recall her name.'
It was the first time she had actually lied to me. She was not a woman experienced in lying, and something happened to her voice; it weakened, became just a bit tremulous.
I closed the album.
'Well!' I said heartily. 'That was certainly interesting, and I thank you very much, Miss Knurr, for your kind cooperation. I think I've learned what I need.'
'And Godfrey will get the money?' she asked anxiously.
'Oh, that isn't my decision to make, Miss Knurr. But I've certainly discovered nothing today that will rule against it. Thank you for your time and hospitality.'
She helped me on with my coat, handed me my hat, went through the rigmarole of unlocking the door. Just before I left, she s a i d. .
'If you see Godfrey again, Mr Leopold…'
'Yes?'
'Tell him that he owes me a letter,' she said, laughing gaily.
I went next to McKinley High School. It occupied an entire block with its playgrounds and basketball courts. As I marched up the front steps, the plate glass door opened and a black security guard, uniformed and armed with a nightstick, came out to confront me.
'Yes?' he said.
'Could you tell me if Mr Jesse Karp is principal of this school?' I asked.
'That's right.'
'I'd like to talk to him if I could.'
'You have an appointment?'
'No, I don't,' I admitted.
'Better call or write for an appointment,' he advised.
'Then they know you're coming — see? And you go right in.'
'This is about the record of a former student of McKinley High,' I said desperately. 'Couldn't you ask?'
He stared at me. Sometimes it's an advantage to be diminutive; I obviously represented no threat to him.
'I'll call up,' he said. 'You stay here.'
He went back inside, used a small telephone fixed to the wall. He was out again in a moment.
'They say to write a letter,' he reported. 'Records of former students will be forwarded — if you have a good reason for wanting them. Please enclose a stamped, self-addressed envelope.'
I sighed.
'Look,' I said, 'I know this is an imposition and I apologize for it. But could you make another call? Please?
Try to talk to Mr Karp or his assistant or his secretary. The student I want to ask about is Godfrey Knurr. That's K-n-u-r-r. I'd like to talk to Mr Karp personally about Godfrey Knurr. Please try just one more time.'
'Oh man,' he said, 'you're pushing it.'
'If they say no, then I'll go away and write a letter. I promise.'
He took a deep breath, then made up his mind and went back to the inside telephone. This time the conversation took longer and I could see him waiting as he was switched from phone to phone. Finally he hung up and came out to me.
'Looks like you clicked,' he said.
A few moments later, through the glass door, I saw a tall skinny lady striding towards us. The guard opened the door to let me enter just as she came up.
'To see Mr Karp?' she snapped.
'Yes, ma'am,' I said, taking off my hat. 'I'd like to — '
'Follow me,' she commanded.
The guard winked and I trailed after that erect spine down a waxed linoleum corridor and up two flights of stairs. Not a word was spoken. From somewhere I heard a ragged chorus of young voices singing 'Frere Jacques.'
We entered a large room with a frosted glass door bearing the legend: PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE. My conductress led the way past three secretaries, typing away like mad, and ushered me to the doorway of an inner office. The man inside, standing behind a desk piled high with ledgers and papers, looked up slowly.
'Mr Karp?' I said.
'That's right,' he said. 'And you?'
I had my business card ready.
'Leopold Tabatchnick, sir,' I sang out. 'Attorney-at-law. New York City.'
He took the proffered card, inspected it closely. 'And you want information about Godfrey Knurr?'
'That's correct, sir.'
I launched into the Stilton Foundation spiel. Through it all he stared at me steadily. Then he said:
'He's in trouble, isn't he?'
I almost collapsed. But I should have known it had to 383
happen eventually. 'Yes,' I said, nodding dumbly, 'he's in trouble.'
'Bad?'
'Bad enough,' I said.
'Had to happen,' he said.
He went to the door of his office and closed it. He took my hat and coat, hung them on an old-fashioned bent-wood coat tree. He gestured me to the worn oak armchair, then sat down in a creaking swivel chair behind his
