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hydrochloric acids, as well as potassium dichromate, trisodium phosphate and sodium hydroxide.”
    He had meant to be sensational; but Sigrid calmly referred to Tillie’s list and said, “Oh, yes, you must be Professor Vance. Printmaking.”
    “Which includes lithography and etching,” said Vance. “The acids and alkalis are to bite lines into metal plates.”
    Tillie had already discovered that no teacher could resist an opportunity to lecture, but he was stunned. “You let kids mess around with that stuff?”
    “Certainly!” Vance said blithely. “One learns by doing, Officer. An eye here, a hand there and the students get cautious.”
    “Stop being cute, Lem,” said Oscar Nauman. “It’s not as dangerous as it sounds, Detective Tildon. Our beginners work under close supervision. All chemicals are locked up except when Professor Vance or a graduate assistant is in the workshop.”
    “It’s the same for photography,” Sandy volunteered helpfully. “I guess some of those developer compounds must be poisonous because they’re kept locked up, too.”
    “Who has the keys?” asked Sigrid.
    “I do,” said the girl. “There in the top right drawer.”
    Sigrid fished them out and handed them to Tillie, who signaled to one of the lab personnel and slipped out to check on the chemical supplies.
    “Who knew where the keys were kept?” asked Sigrid.
    “Why, practically everybody,” Sandy replied. “Seniors and majors are supposed to work independently when classes aren’t in session, so they just reach in and take the room key they need. Of course, they’re supposed to sign for them; and as Professor Nauman said, they aren’t supposed to use any chemicals without supervision.”
    Her tone implied that the rules weren’t stringently enforced, and that was confirmed when Sigrid examined the clipboard in the same drawer. It hadn’t been signed since the week before.
    “1 suppose you never lock your desk?”
    “Only at night, “Sandy admitted unhappily.
    Sigrid pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward her. “We’ll take it from the top, I think.”
    There were groans and mutters of fatigue and hunger from her captives—all of whom had missed lunch—but Sigrid ignored them. “Now then, Miss Keppler, when you went downstairs at ten-twentyfive, who else was around?”
    More than ever Sandy Keppler was reminded of a third-grade teacher who had stressed precision and accuracy. “Professors Simpson and Vance were the only ones I actually saw,” she said carefully.
    “Don’t be tactful, my child,” said a genial Piers Leyden. “You knew Saxer and I were floating around somewhere.”
    “Okay, “said Sandy, tossing back a lock of golden hair. “You both were here, too, but so far as I know, that’s all. There were a couple of lecturers who finished at ten, and another graduate assistant was supposed to be here; but she went home at ten, too. Do you want their names?”
    “Not at the moment,” Sigrid said. She skipped to another name on Tillie’s list. “Professor Nauman was in class then, but what about you, Professor Ross?”
    Sigrid recognized that she and Andrea Ross were about the same age, but the professor made more concessions to femininity. She wore a well-cut navy pantsuit and a white ruffled shirt, which softened her thin face. Her short brown hair was slightly waved, and there was a porcelain quality about her complexion.
    “Did you come upstairs earlier?” Sigrid asked.
    “And help myself to poison in time to get back to the snack bar for breakfast before Sandy so obligingly set her tray down on my table? Sorry, Lieutenant. I arrived here with the coffee, not before.”
    Her tone was light, but Sigrid noticed her clenched hands and white knuckles as she toyed with an unopened pack of cigarettes.
    “Detective Tildon has given me the gist of Miss Keppler’s conversations with Professors Vance and Simpson,” she said, “but not with you.”
    “It wasn’t anything!” cried