He evaded neatly. "I am not seeking a killer as such. Relative to that facet of the case, I am more interested in Henry Reamer himself. A very wise man once said, 'If you would understand violence, look also into the heart of the murdered'. A man carries the seeds of his destiny in his own soul." "And you intend to prove it?" "I am finding more proof every day. Soon I shall publish a paper which will startle the thinking world." I could see the Professor wasn't one to be backed into any corners. "And how can I help in this work?" "I am tracing at the moment, certain details in the life of Mabel Tutworthy, an aunt of Silas Reamer. Unauthenticated legends indicate she killed an eight-point buck once, with her bare hands, and dragged it home across ten miles of forest." "I've heard that, and it's probably true. You think it has something to do with what happened to Silas?" "--_And_ his son Henry." "I think you'll find what you want in that section by the south window. It's devoted to local history." "Thank you, my dear." He moved away, reminding me somehow, of a happy retriever going into a lake after a duck. Halfway to the shelves, he halted suddenly and turned. "Did you know that seventy percent of the accidents happen to twenty percent of the people?" I didn't, but I refused to admit such backwardness. "I certainly do. Amazing, isn't it?" "That is one of the pillars upon which my work is based." "And there are others?" "Seven in all." He didn't tell me what the other six were. Instead he disappeared into local history and left me with the latest best seller I was reading under the counter lest some child come in and be stripped of all innocence by one glance. It was two hours before Professor Waits reappeared. He carried a small blue notebook in one hand and a stub pencil in the other. He was positively beaming. "A gold mine," he said. "A veritable gold mine. Did you know that Ezekial Webb, a cousin of William Tutworthy was gored by a bull in the year 1862?" "No--really?" Then I was truly ashamed of myself. He was such a pleasant, sincere little man and he got such fun out of life. But he misinterpreted my boorishness for true enthusiasm and said, "It's a fact! Imagine! Walking in here and finding one of the links I've hunted for months. I'm indebted to you, my dear, for directing me to that book shelf." I could have told him he was under no obligation; that I got, each week, the coolie stipend of twenty eight dollars for doing just that; but I didn't want him starting an investigation into peonage system practiced in libraries and schools. Then something in the little man's manner, sobered me. "Professor--exactly why are you doing this?" He blinked. "I have plenty of money. I have the time. It interests me. And I feel it a worthy occupation; gathering knowledge through which people may know the true causes of misfortune; may throw off the yoke of superstition." "You feel, then, that nothing happens by chance?"