down one of his Weekend Warriors.”

“Sam. How about going over and remind him to keep any characters off the site. I have a horror of having the news boys scoop us on this.”

Sam nodded and took off to talk with the Army. Dickson looked at Cartwell.

“Anything for me?” he asked.

[p83]“No. Just continue with your investigators. You can make the arrangements about having this thing hauled down to Everett, but check with me before you do. Okay?”

[p83]

[p

]

Dickson nodded.

“C’mon, Brice,” Cartwell said. “Let’s get Morgan and find out what the college professors can tell us about this screwy thing.”

They wrapped the piece of metal in Cartwell’s jacket and the three of them headed through the forest toward the road in the valley.

Professor Nichols was a wisp of a man who peered at them through small, bright eyes nearly hidden in fleshy folds. Although his body was about the shortest Brice had ever seen on a man, the brain beneath his crop of white hair had made him a giant. A linguist all his life, Professor Nichols spoke a dozen languages fluently, in addition to reading and writing them. Brice knew him by reputation and grinned at him as he came into the empty Dean’s office.

“Gentlemen?” He favored them with a smile. “I’m Nichols. Doctor Bendtolz said you wanted to speak with me.”

Brice introduced himself and the Federal men and, after a round of handshaking, Cartwell handed the chunk of metal to the professor.

“We’d like to know about the writing, Professor,” Sam put in.

Nichols examined the etching on the metal for some time before he looked up. His small eyes searched their faces in turn, then he smiled thinly as though witnessing a very bad gag.

“Are you gentlemen playing some sort of 

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