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wing. She introduced me to the late quartets of Beethoven.”
    “They’re really difficult,” Toni remarked.
    “Yeah,” Adam agreed, again impressed by the breadth of her knowledge. “And most especially since I didn’t even know the
early
quartets.”
    “Do they have any kids?” Toni asked.
    “Me, I guess.”
    “Then you gave them something very special too.”
    “I hope so, and if I ever qualify for the title of human being, it’s because of their generosity.”
    “And?” Toni queried.
    “And now it’s your turn to be up close and personal,” he responded, hoping his candor had eased her own inhibitions.
    But she suddenly pleaded lateness for work, she had to be at the Department of Justice in fifteen minutes. They would talk again that evening. Adam let go reluctantly,half suspecting that she would use the day to rebuild her psychic barricades.
    He was right. It had been like dancing with someone at a costume ball who went home without taking off her mask. And, ironically, though he knew the intimate details of Toni’s life, he knew less than nothing about the woman herself. Indeed, when the time came for him to go back to Boston, he could not resist venting his frustration with a farewell dig:
    “Well, Toni, it’s been nice
not
knowing you.”
    Naturally, he did not leave until the third blood tests came through. They were—in Penrose’s words—“squeaky clean.” He and Adam agreed that it was safe to tell the patient that his recovery was certain.
    Hartnell was overwhelmed. After spending an hour with his beloved “Skipper,” he summoned Adam for a private conversation.
    “Now you listen, Coopersmith, and listen good. I’ve got a hell of a lot of influence, and thanks to your chief, I’m going to be around to wield it for a long time. I owe him. Now tell me, what would Max Rudolph want most in the world?”
    Adam moved closer to the bed and said almost in a whisper, “The humanoid mouse is just one of Max’s many scientific achievements. I don’t think anyone alive deserves the Nobel Prize more.”
    “No problem,” the Boss murmured.

5
 
ISABEL
    Once more the demons had been awakened in Raymond da Costa. After his son had gone off to school and his wife to work, he was free to nurture his daughter’s genius.
    One of the advantages of his nonacademic appointment in the Physics Department was that he was not obliged to punch a time clock. Therefore, except for his obligatory presence during certain afternoon lab hours, he could build the apparatus for use by the physics professors even late at night if he wished. And, indeed, this freedom was an important aspect of the new regimen he began.
    He was constantly testing Isabel, desperate to see how far the horizon of her intelligence stretched.
    When they were on the floor playing with various blocks, he placed half a dozen of the red wooden cubes in a row, under which he placed another line with three white ones.
    “Isabel, how many red boxes are there?”
    She counted to six cheerfully.
    “How many white ones?”
    “Three.”
    “But how many are there altogether?”
    She pondered for a moment and then answered, “Nine.”
    “I’ve read the books, honey,” Raymond reported that evening to Muriel. “And the association of differentcolored shapes as a group is a skill they expect from a seven-year-old.”
    Muriel smiled. “Are you sure you didn’t coach her?”
    “Don’t be silly. I’ll let you see for yourself.”
    Isabel had been playing in the living room when he summoned her, and placing a big leaf of drawing paper on the table, wrote:
    6
+
5
=
    She took the paper and immediately scribbled
11.
    Raymond glanced at his wife. “Well,” he remarked with pride, “we have a budding Einstein, don’t we?”
    “No,” she corrected him, “we have a flowering Isabel da Costa.”
    At first both of them took delight in Isabel’s gift. Except now and then Muriel felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of her poor, sweet but