Magnus Ridolph considered. "Exactly what do you require of me?"
"Find the murderer! Get me out of this mess!"
"These requirements might be contradictory."
Pascoglu sank into a chair, passed a hand over his eyes. "Don't make me out puzzles, Mr. Ridolph."
"Actually, Mr. Pascoglu, you have no need of my services. You have interviewed the suspects, you have at least a cursory acquaintance with the civilizations which have shaped them."
"Yes, yes," muttered Pascoglu. He brought out the list, stared at it, then looked sidewise at Magnus Ridolph. "Which one? Diasporus? Did he do it?"
Magnus Ridolph pursed his lips doubtfully. "He is a knight of the Dacca, an amateur gladiator evidently of some reputation. A murder of this sort would shatter his self-respect, his confidence. I put the probability at one percent."
"Hmph. What about Fiamella of Thousand Candles? She admits she set out to kill him."
Magnus Ridolph frowned. "I wonder. Death by means of amorous attrition is of course not impossible - but are not Fiamella's motives ambiguous? From what I gather, her reputation was injured by Bonfils' disinclination, and she thereupon set out to repair her reputation. If she could harass poor Bonfils to his doom by her charm and seductions, she would gain great face. She had everything to lose if he died in any other fashion. Probability: one percent."
Pascoglu made a mark on the list. "What of Thorn 199?"
Magnus Ridolph held out his hands. "He was not dressed in his killing clothes. It is as simple as that. Probability: one percent."
"Well," cried Pascoglu, "what of the priests, Banzoso and Impliega? They needed a sacrifice to their god."
Magnus Ridolph shook his head. "The job was a botch. A sacrifice so slipshod would earn them ten thousand years of perdition."
Pascoglu made a half-hearted suggestion. "Suppose they didn't really believe that?"
"Then why trouble at all?" asked Magnus Ridolph. "Probability: one percent."
"Well, there's Starguard," mused Pascoglu, "But you insist he wouldn't commit murder in front of witnesses..."
"It seems highly unlikely," said Magnus Ridolph. "Of course, we could speculate that Bonfils was a charlatan, that the paleolithics were impostors, that Starguard was somehow involved in the deception..."
"Yes," said Pascoglu eagerly. "I was thinking something like that myself."
"The only drawback to the theory is that it cannot possibly be correct. Bonfils is an anthropologist of wide reputation. I observed the paleolithics, and I believe them to be authentic primitives. They are shy and confused. Civilized men attempting to mimic barbarity unconsciously exaggerate the brutishness of their subject. The barbarian, adapting to the ways of civilization, comports himself to the model set by his preceptor - in this case Bonfils. Observing them at dinner, I was amused by their careful aping of Bonfils' manners. Then, when we were inspecting the corpse, they were clearly bewildered, subdued, frightened. I could discern no trace of the crafty calculation by which a civilized man would hope to extricate himself from an uncomfortable situation. I think we may assume that Bonfils and his paleolithics were exactly as they represented themselves."
Pascoglu jumped to his feet, paced back and forth. "Then the paleolithics could not have killed Bonfils."
"Probability minuscule. And if we concede their genuineness, we must abandon the idea that Starguard was their accomplice, and we rule him out on the basis of the cultural qualm I mentioned before."
"Well - the Hecatean, then. What of him?"
"He is a more unlikely murderer than all the others," said Magnus Ridolph. "For three reasons: First, he is non-human, and has no experience with rage and revenge. On Hecate violence is unknown. Secondly, as a non-human, he would have no points of engagement with Bonfils. A leopard does not attack a tree; they are different orders of beings. So with the Hecatean. Thirdly, it would be, physically as well as psychologically, impossible for the Hecatean to kill Bonfils. His hands have no fingers; they are flaps of sinew. They could not manipulate a trigger inside a trigger-guard. I think you may dispense with the Hecatean."
"But who is there left?" cried Pascoglu in desperation.
"Well, there is you, there is me and there is - "
The door slid back; the bonze in the red cloak looked into the room.
V
"Come in, come in," said Magnus Ridolph with cordiality. "Our business is just now complete. We have established that of all the persons here at the Hub, only you would have killed Lester Bonfils, and so now we have no further need for the library."
"What?" cried Pascoglu, staring at the bonze, who made a deprecatory gesture.
"I had hoped," said the bonze, "that my part in the affair would escape notice."
"You are too modest," said Magnus Ridolph. "It is only fitting that a man should be known for his good works."
The bonze bowed. "I want no encomiums. I merely do my duty. And if you are truly finished in here, I have a certain amount of study before me."
"By all means. Come, Mr. Pascoglu; we are inconsiderate, keeping the worthy bonze from his meditations." And Magnus Ridolph drew the stupefied Pan Pascoglu into the corridor.
"Is he - is he the murderer?" asked Pascoglu feebly.
"He killed Lester Bonfils," said Magnus Ridolph. "That is clear enough."
"But why?"
"Out of the kindness of his heart. Bonfils spoke to me for a moment. He clearly was suffering considerable psychic damage."
"But - he could be cured!" exclaimed Pascoglu indignantly. "It wasn't necessary to kill him to soothe his feelings."
"Not according to our viewpoint," said Magnus Ridolph. "But you must recall that the bonze is a devout believer in - well, let us call it 'reincarnation'. He conceived himself performing a happy release for poor tormented Bonfils, who came to him for help. He killed him for his own good."
They entered Pascoglu's office; Pascoglu went to stare out the window. "But what am I to do?" he muttered.
"That," said Magnus Ridolph, "is where I cannot advise you."
"It doesn't seem right to penalize the poor bonze... It's ridiculous. How could I possibly go about it?"
"The dilemma is real," agreed Magnus Ridolph.
There was a moment of silence, during which Pascoglu morosely tugged at his mustache. Then Magnus Ridolph said, "Essentially, you wish to protect your clientele from further application of misplaced philanthropy."
"That's the main thing!" cried Pascoglu. "I could pass off Bonfils' death - explain that it was accidental. I could ship the paleolithics back to their planet..."
"I would likewise separate the bonze from persons showing even the mildest melancholy. For if he is energetic and dedicated, he might well seek to extend the range of his beneficence."
Pascoglu suddenly put his hand to his cheek. He turned wide eyes to Magnus Ridolph. "This morning I felt pretty low. I was talking to the bonze ... I told him all my troubles. I complained about expense - "
The door slid quietly aside; the bonze peered in, a half-smile on his benign face. "Do I intrude?" he asked as he spied Magnus Ridolph. "I had hoped to find you alone, Mr. Pascoglu."
"I was just going," said Magnus Ridolph politely. "If you'll excuse me..."
"No, no!" cried Pascoglu. "Don't go, Mr. Ridolph!"
"Another time will do as well," said the bonze politely. The door closed behind him.
"Now I feel worse than ever," Pascoglu moaned.
"Best to conceal it from the bonze," said Magnus Ridolph.