His rusty fingers manipulated the tumblers clumsily, but after a few minutes began to remember their old reflexes. In the old days he’d have picked a lock like this one in seconds. The lock and knob rattled as he worked in the dimness. Finally it yielded with a satisfying clack.

Seth paused a moment before setting to work on the dead bolt. He reached up with his right hand to sweep a strand of hair off his forehead. His fingers came back wet with perspiration, and abruptly he was aware of perspiration on his upper lip and the cold damp spots under his arms.

After taking a deep breath, Seth drew his face close to the dead bolt and studied it. He leaned down and pulled a small penlight flashlight from his briefcase. The extra light enabled him to get a look at the markings and the construction. The deadbolt was cheap, its only purpose to block entry to a room that contained old books, obsolete equipment, extra chairs, complete sets of Tony Bradford’s National Geographies dating to 1946, Seth Ridgeway’s forwarded mail and newspapers that were too voluminous to stack on his desk, and a painting of inestimable worth.

As he pondered the attack on the deadbolt, voices drifted down the stairs. Seth turned out the flashlight and froze. The voices grew louder, a man’s and a woman’s. Moments later, he heard the light clack of a woman’s heels and then the softer, heavier tread of a man’s feet as the couple started toward the basement. Seth gathered his tools and briefcase and hurried into the farthest shadow under the stairs.

The couple’s words grew more distinct as they neared the bottom. Her roommate was tired of being asked to leave so they could use her apartment. Why didn’t he move out of the fraternity house and get his own apartment? All they needed was a quiet, dark, comfortable place, he said, maybe there was an office open in the building. Seth thought he recognized the male voice as that of one of his students. The couple reached the bottom of the stairs and continued their discussion. She thought the idea of furtive sex in offices that had accidentally been left unlocked, was degrading and unromantic. The male voice, which had sounded so much like a man’s at first, gradually degenerated into an adolescent whine. Seth definitely recognized the male voice now. He had heard the same whine many times before. He identified it as belonging to a below-average student of his who was headed for academic suspension.

The couple continued their bartering at the foot of the stairs.

Go away, Seth thought, as he looked at the luminous dial on his watch. Time was creeping fast. It was already past 10 P.M. Stratton’s man wouldn’t wait forever.

And still they negotiated, promises for passion. From what Seth could tell she was getting the best of the bargain. She was even slipping in references to marriage. In his fever, the boy was agreeing to things he would later try unsuccessfully to deny. His concessions made her more agreeable to his suggestions.