"Assistant professor only, no cobwebs yet." Why did he answer with a bad joke, he wondered—postponing something?
"How do you do. I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but we're trying to identify a young man who was found dead this morning. I was told that someone of his description was a teaching assistant in the history department, and that you knew him best."
The voice was sympathetic, but Kintyre stood very quietly for a moment. Then: "I know a lot of young men, but perhaps—Bruce Lombardi?"
"That's the name I was given," said Moffat. "I'm told you were his faculty adviser."
"Yes." Kintyre pawed blindly after a cigarette, meeting only his jacket. "How did he come to die?"
"If it is him. Do you think you could identify him for us? I warn you, it isn't pretty."
"I've seen dead men before," said Kintyre. "Come on." He started toward the street.
"Your clothes," said Moffat gently.
"Oh, yes. Yes. Thanks." Kintyre fumbled at his equipment. He threw it on the grass. "Put this junk away for me, will you, Trig?" His voice was uncertain. "I'll call you later."
"Sure," said Yamamura in a low tone. "Call me anytime."