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around a bend, along another shadowy stretch of corridor, then around yet another bend.
    "What a real cheerful place," observed Joe, who was bringing up the rear.
    Halting, Jenny reached out and opened a heavy wooden door. "Professor Bookman's office." She turned on the lights. "We can start — Oh!"
    The office was large and painted green, like the halls. Along one wall stood a row of filing cabinets. All the drawers hung open and empty.
    Frank went to look into them. "Not a folder or a memo left." He shook his head.
    "Could the university have cleaned them out?" suggested Joe. "Or the police have taken them?"
    "No," said Jenny. "They didn't."
    Frank asked her, "You're sure?"
    "His daughter would've mentioned it to me." Jenny knelt, picking up a framed photo from the floor. She glanced at it, then placed it facedown on the desk. "I wouldn't have sneaked us in if I'd known about this."
    Joe circled the large metal desk. "They got to this, too," he announced, pulling out drawers. "Nothing but paper clips and rubber bands."
    Jenny walked around the office. "Somebody's definitely trying to suppress what Professor Bookman knew."
    Frank leaned against the filing cabinet. "But it doesn't prove our father's innocent," he said. "The police will just say he came back here after the murder and stole the stuff too."
    "He couldn't have," said Jenny. "The files were here yesterday."
    "How do you know that?"
    "I was here, with the professor's daughter."
    "Neither of you took anything?" Joe asked.
    "She took a few personal things, that's all."
    Frank said, "We might find something of interest in Dr. Winter's office."
    "It's a possibility." Jenny opened the door.
    "His office is upstairs. They stack professors by rank, highest on top and so on." She turned off the light in the office.
    "Funny thing about Bookman's office being cleaned out like that," said Frank. "How'd they get in here to do it?"
    "We got in," Jenny reminded him.
    "So our file collector either has to work here or know someone who does," said Frank. "That narrows down the field of suspects."
    Halfway up to the next level, Joe said, "I left something back in the office. Go on ahead. I'll catch up."
    "Dr. Winter's office is B-Six," said Jenny. "Meet you there."
    "Right." Joe hurried back down the stairs.
    He hadn't left anything behind — he was just anxious to get a look at the picture Jenny had picked up and put facedown on the desk.
    About ten feet from the late professor's office, he slowed. The door was half-open, and a faint glow spilled into the corridor.
    Holding his breath, Joe moved cautiously toward the opening and heard someone inside Bookman's office. He was searching the desk with a flashlight, Joe saw when he stole up closer.
    Joe decided to jump the guy, nail him, and then call Frank.
    Joe threw open the door, ready to attack. But the intruder was also ready and pivoted, flinging the flashlight.
    Joe ducked, but the heavy metal caught him on the side of the head. He staggered back, tripped, and sat down hard.
    The black-clad figure barreled out of the office and kicked out at Joe before taking off down the long corridor.
    Joe struggled to his feet and pursued the intruder. The guy had long hair and was lanky. He matched Frank's description of one of the thugs from the island. But Frank hadn't mentioned that the guy was a sprinter—and fast.
    The side door was now wide open, and the man in black ducked out into the foggy night.
    Without hesitating, Joe bounded after him right into a spotlight, which froze him in its harsh glare.
    "That's far enough, son," barked a gravelly amplified voice. "Freeze!"

Chapter 7
    BEHIND THE GLARING SPOTLIGHT was a campus patrol car that had been parked upon the lawn.
    Shielding his eyes, Joe called out, "You ought to be chasing the other guy."
    "I want those hands behind your head, son." A slim, balding man in khaki pants and cap came trotting up to him. He carried a nightstick.
    "I was right, Mike, absolutely right," a plump,