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looks to most of us. Years ago, he was a student of Hale’s—Ted positively idolized Hale. He was three years behind me at Prescott.” He shook his head as if referring to someone who had gone on to that big classroom in the sky. “I never would have believed his metamorphosis if I hadn’t seen it and experienced it.”
    “You are of course speaking about his philosophy,” Wolfe translated.
    Cortland nodded. “After graduation, Ted went off to Stanford for a doctorate, then taught at one of those excellent small colleges in Ohio—Kenyon or Oberlin, if I recall correctly—for a few years before coming back and joining our faculty. Those were great times, with Hale, Ted, and me all teaching and giving seminars and writing. In a cover story on ‘The New Right,’ Time magazine even called us ‘Prescott’s All-Star Team.’ That mention really irked the hell out of left-wing faculty members, and the school administration, too.”
    “But somewhere along the way, Mr. Greenbaum became an apostate?”
    “Lord, I haven’t heard that word for ages,” Cortland said, gazing admiringly at Wolfe. Realizing he had been distracted, he hurried on. “But, yes, that’s exactly what Ted became. About eight years ago, maybe nine, he turned his back on us, and for that matter on everything to which he’d previously been dedicated. I’ve never seen anything like it. His shift seemed to come virtually overnight. I think it hit Hale almost as hard as Lois’s death.”
    “What motivated the change?”
    “Ambition,” Cortland said with feeling. “I didn’t see it in him earlier, but Ted was driven to be a success above all else. And he apparently felt that even though the three of us had received generous accolades, being a conservative at Prescott was not the way to get ahead in the academic world. I’ve always suspected Orville was the big influence behind his left turn, although I can’t prove it, and I’ll be damned if I’d ever ask either one of them about it.” He crossed his thin arms defiantly.
    “How did Mr. Greenbaum get along with Mr. Markham after his defection to the liberal camp?”
    Cortland’s expression was an answer in itself. “About the way you would expect. Hale thought of him as a turncoat, which is of course what he was. In departmental meetings, they sniped at each other incessantly, and Orville, who presided, pretty much let them have at it without interceding. I think he enjoyed seeing Hale get exercised.”
    Wolfe was looking even grumpier than before. “I don’t suppose you can think of any reason Mr. Greenbaum would want to push your mentor over a precipice?”
    “Not really,” Cortland said, frowning. “He’s an unprincipled ass, and he and Hale hadn’t spoken a civil word to each other for years. But as for murder…”
    “I thought as much,” Wolfe muttered, gripping the chair arms and levering himself upright. “Sir, I must excuse myself because of a previous engagement.”
    “But what about Hale? What next?”
    “What indeed?” Wolfe said, shooting me one of his I’ll-deal-with-you-later looks. “I suggest at this point you and Mr. Goodwin decide on a course of action.” Cortland, who now was on his feet too, began to sputter, but his protests bounced off the broad expanse of Wolfe’s back as he passed through the doorway and into the hall.
    “He’s angry at me, isn’t he?” Cortland whined. “But I was only being honest. As was obvious, I have a good deal of antipathy toward the men I mentioned, but I veridically have a difficult time picturing any of them—or anybody else I know, for that matter—as villainous enough to carry out a premeditated murder. That’s why I came here in the first place. In the hopes that he, and you, of course, could cut through this conundrum.”
    “That’s the business we’re supposed to be in, all right, cutting through conundrums.” I was beginning to wonder if the little professor ever tried to say anything simply.