The scent of flowers became heavier on the air.

A clock ticked loudly.

“Well?”

“All right.” Preston Haller sighed, and it was, clearly, a sigh of immense relief. He rose. “But let’s go somewhere to talk. Wait here and I’ll tell Dad.”

He returned in a while and they walked down the street to a small, dark bar called Ada’s and ordered beer.

Preston Haller said, “He’s got to be stopped?” It was almost a question.

“He’s got to be stopped,” Driscoll said.

“Yeah.” The young man took a large swallow of beer and licked his lips slowly. Then he said: “I met him in Switzerland. We were both attending the University of Zurich. Adam—”

“Never mind about Adam for a while,” Driscoll interrupted. “Tell us about you first. It’s important.”

“Well, I was there on a scholarship. I’d been majoring in philosophy at the university here and, I don’t know, they had a lot of lectures lined up, a lot of important people. The truth is, I went there to get away from death.”

Driscoll waited.

“My father’s a mortician, you know that. So’s my uncle. They wanted me to take over the business—only, I didn’t care for the idea. On the other hand, I wasn’t able to come up with anything better. I mean, if I’d said to them, ‘I can’t cut it because I want to be a doctor’—or a trumpet player, or something—anything—Dad would have understood. But it wasn’t that simple. All I knew was what I didn’t want to do; and that wasn’t enough. I thought that if I went away, maybe I could figure it out.” He paused. “You want to hear about all this?”

“Yes,” Driscoll said. “You keep talking, Mr. Haller. When I think you’re off the track, I’ll let you know. Okay?”

Preston Haller said “Okay,” dubiously, and went on: “Anyway, it didn’t work too well. I played with the idea of becoming a professor, but professors are supposed to know things; and the more I went to school, the more I realized I didn’t know anything at all.