While the students were leaving, she saw Marshall outside the classroom, with a middle-sized, mid-twenties, brawny-good-looking, very good-looking-down-timer at his side. Then they both entered the classroom.
"Nikki," Marshall said, "This is Wolfgang Hilliger, your new student.
"Wolfgang, das ist Nikki Bourne, deine neue Lehrerin."
They shook hands. Nikki tried to divert her gaze from the down-timer. "Wolfgang, nice to meet you. But, Marshall, you haven't introduced new students to me personally before."
Marshall closed the classroom door.
"There are two reasons. Wolfgang, sorry for speaking English now.
"First: Wolfgang has to speed up in American language very fast. He's taking over the foundry from Master Loffler. He will direct the research on better bronze alloys, so he needs to scan through the Tech Center books on that issue very soon. He also needs a special vocabulary on metallurgy. So you two will have at least two hours of private lessons every workday."
Nikki looked up. Private lessons. With this very, very good-looking guy. O. .kay. Nikki, stop it. He's too old for you.
While she was still thinking, Marshall continued.
"And second: Yesterday's 'accident' was in fact not an accident. Somebody sawed on the steering axle, and so the wheel broke off."
Nikki's eyes widened. "What? Who did that?"
Marshall frowned. "'Whodunit.' Yeah, that's exactly the question. The night before yesterday, that steam car was locked up in a metal workshop. But one of the windows was open, so nearly everybody could have come in.
"But one somebody used a hacksaw. Took it off a toolbox, and put it back; we found no traces of an intensive search. So the person apparently knew where to find the saw in near darkness." He stopped.
Nikki looked at him then at Wolfgang.
"Yes," Marshall continued now changing to German. "Wolfgang arrived here yesterday. He's the only one completely free from suspicion. And you."
"Because I'm American?"
"No, because you never have been in the metal workshop. And even if you had, have you ever sawed a steel pipe?"
"What?"
"That's what I thought. It was done by someone who knew what he did and considerably exceeds your physical strength."
Nikki frowned. Her "physical strength"-or better the lack thereof-had always been one of her biggest-ha! — flaws. In the meantime, she had discovered that "Puppchen,"which the Four Johns had called her, meant "dolly." Perhaps they meant it to be friendly, nevertheless it was nearly insulting.
"And you want us," she pointed to Wolfgang and herself, "to play Holmes and Watson? Or better Wolfe and Goodwin? Not that I would call Wolfgang fat."
Not in the least, with all those bulging muscles. .
"Entschuldigung," Wolfgang interjected, "what do these names mean? Will they help us?"
"No," Marshall laughed. "They are 'consulting detectives.'"
"Yes, what?"
"Oh, I forgot. There is nothing like 'criminal investigation' in this century, only torture. Okay. Here's an example: Have you heard about Cain and Abel?"
"Genesis four? Certainly. Who hasn't?"
"Okay. How do you know what happened there? Who told the author of the Bible? Did he ask Cain? Why should he tell him 'I murdered my brother'? And don't even think about torturing Cain."
"There were witnesses."
"Very good. First rule of a detective: find witnesses; ask them. But keep in mind: All witnesses lie, or at best tell what they think is the truth. So find as many witnesses as possible, ask them, compare their testimonies and ask again if you find differences.
"But if there weren't any witnesses? The world was very sparsely inhabited at that time. What else is there?"
Wolfgang frowned, and then beamed. "The weapon! 'Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him.' Perhaps he used a weapon."
"Okay. Second rule: find objects related to the deed. Look at the corpse-I won't tell you what they did up-time-perhaps you can see what kind of weapon was used. Then look for appropriate objects. If you can find something at the scene, you have to find evidence about who used it. If you find a weapon in the possession of a suspect, you need to prove that it is the murder weapon.
"That doesn't apply here, but that's the way a detective ought to think. Do you understand me?"
Wolfgang nodded slowly, smiling. "I think so. It's the way of thinking like Daniel in the crime stories did."
Nikki and Marshall looked at each other puzzled.
Wolfgang continued. "Daniel thirteen, where he solves Susanna's case, by proving that two witnesses lied, and Daniel fourteen, where he convicts the priests of Bel from their footprints."
Nikki shook her head. "In our Bible, Daniel ends with chapter twelve. But it seems he in fact was an early predecessor of Holmes."
Then to Marshalclass="underline" "I've got The Complete Sherlock Holmes at home in Grantville."
"Very good," Marshall smiled, "send a telegram to your Mom and have her send the books here. The company will pay for it all. Then you can use them for Wolfgang's private lessons."
Every time he used that term, Nikki flinched a little.
"But don't get me wrong," Marshall continued. "I don't want any of you to get into danger. Perhaps we have an agent here from a foreign government, or it's a case of greed or hate. Nikki, you'll brief Wolfgang in detective methods, and you can chat with your students about this. Wolfgang, you'll try to investigate."
The next day
"They are different!" Wolfgang was astonished. The black stains on the glass looked similar from a distance, but using a magnifying glass, he could see different patterns. "Arches, loops and whorls," that little girl had called them.
Hmmm. That little girl is not a child; she's eighteen. She has been in school for twelve years. She knows much more about these science things than me. And she's schnuckelig. Wolfgang, stop it. She's too young for you.
Aloud he said, "And you say that no two of them are alike in the whole world?"
"Yes, even with the six thousand million people in our world, nobody ever found two fingerprints from different people that were the same. And all of your ten fingers have a different pattern."
And it was surprisingly easy. He had used some fine iron filings from the metalworking shop, and a very soft brush to distribute them over the glass. The bottle he had held before now showed black stains at each point he previously had his fingers on. And at other places. Perhaps the glassmaker had touched the bottle or somebody who had cleaned it. That led to another thought.
"But how can I find out whose fingerprints are the others here?"
Nikki frowned. "That's exactly our problem in this century. It was the same in our own, but the FBI had a big database, where all known criminals were registered with their prints."
"The what had what?"
"Never mind. But we've got fingerprints on that hacksaw and on the steering axle and as soon as we have a suspect, we can ask him for his prints."
"Give him a bottle? Or two bottles at the same time?"
Nikki laughed. "Did you watch too many episodes of Columbo? No, it's much simpler."
She opened her desk, fetched a sheet of paper, and an inkpad. "Give me your hand and extend one finger."
Her hand was petite and soft. She seized his hand, rolled the finger onto the inkpad and then on the paper. There it was. His fingerprint saved for eternity. Or at least until the paper was burned.
Wolfgang checked with the magnifier. Yes. It had the same pattern as his forefinger's stain on the glass.