"Has anyone seen Shelbourne this afternoon?" Lombard asked as he stepped into Prof. Coville's office. He was greeted with blank looks from Prof. Coville and the Hardy boys. "I was expecting to see him and he doesn't appear to be on campus." As no one had anything to offer, Lombard settled into a wooden swivel chair.

Prof. Coville addressed them. "We have news from the police. Lt. Korman tells me that the dive team has been in the water all day and they have found nothing near the pier. If there was a body it was carried out by the tide. In the absence of any more leads, Lt. Korman is considering the case a suicide."

"But you don't really think that," objected Joe.

"We brought you two onto the case to lead us to Dr. Heinze," said Lombard. "It seems to me that you have followed the trail admirably and it leads to the pier at Pelham Bay Park. Your involvement in the case, then, should be at an end."

"Prof. Coville, you're familiar with Prof. Lombard's office?" asked Frank. "Could you tell us what the picture was that hung at the spot on the wall where there's a darker area of paint?"

Prof. Coville looked puzzled. He rose out of his chair as if to walk to the other office, but Lombard stopped him. "Allow me," he said. Still unperturbed, Lombard left the office and came back carrying a framed photograph. It was a photograph of a table in a restaurant or nightclub. Seated at the table were a young Negro woman in a sleeveless dress with decorative ruffles at the shoulders, a blond woman in a simple, low-cut dress, Martin Lombard and Otto Heinze. They were joined by other revellers in the background.

"Why did you remove Mr. Heinze's student record from the archives?" questioned Frank. "Does it have anything to do with the move to take away his scholarship?"

"How did you find out about that?" Lombard snapped.

"It was in the student newspaper. I'm beginning to put the pieces together now. The problem with the scholarship board wasn't that Mr. Heinze went to nightclubs. Or drank. Or had a girlfriend. It was this particular girlfriend."

"Her name is Olivia Simmons. She's the young colored woman in the photograph. She's a singer in the clubs. Otto was very enthusiastic about music in those days. He would go to all the clubs looking for the latest bands and singers."

"They look like a lovely couple to me," said Joe.

"There are those in this country who find it objectionable, regrettably."

"Then he's alive and staying with her, and her son."

"The boy is his son as well. Yes, I suppose he's with her. I last saw Otto on Tuesday. He said that he was going to find her. He must have done so, that night. The fake suicide was intended to throw the spies, and any others, off his trail and give him some time."

"The clues were a little too simple and too convenient."

"Well," Lombard made a wry grin, "we've had much less experience fabricating mysteries than you have had solving them. We were hoping that the two of you and the police would quickly follow the trail to the pier, come to the conclusion that it was a suicide and close the case. I did what I could to prevent you from making the connection to Miss Simmons."

"Was the telegram genuine?"

"Yes, his wife agreed to that. Their marriage has been essentially over for some time."

"You removed the file two weeks ago," wondered Joe.

"Otto dropped hints in his letters that he was intending to do this. He had to put it in a way that seemed innocuous to a stranger but had a clear meaning to me."

Prof. Coville had been silent through this. He said at last, "I'm embarrassed that you boys have been deceived. I'm hearing these facts for the first time. You have my apologies."

"I accept your apologies but I don't enjoy being played for a fool," said Frank.

"Now that you boys know the truth, would you consider following the case to the finish?" asked Lombard.

"You were trying to send us off packing a while ago," retorted Joe.

Lombard said coolly, "We all want to see that the situation is finally resolved safely."

"We do want to follow this through, but for Mr. Heinze's sake. You don't know where they are yourself?"

Lombard shook his head. "She used to sing at a club called 'Paradise' but it closed years ago. I certainly haven't kept track of her."

They passed over a bridge back into Manhattan. Constellations of lights marked the city skyline against the deepening backdrop of twilight. Following them out of the Bronx, the 9th Avenue elevated train rumbled and clattered overhead.

"That got me a little steamed," Joe said. "I felt like telling Lombard that Heinze was his friend and if he wanted to be found he would have told Lombard himself."