Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 49, No. 6. Whole No. 283, June 1967

Mr. Strang Performs an Experiment by William Brittain

In our March 1967 issue (the 26th Anniversary Issue) we introduced Mr. Strang, high-school science teacher with a fair for crime detection. Here is Mr. Strang’s second case, and it not only turns Mr. Strang into a series character but promises to give us one of the most interesting new detectives to appear in some time. For Mr. Strang’s second case is not just an ordinary one: it concerns a dangerous and disturbing situation that surely must have occurred in many high schools — indeed, its implications are deep and many-sided, and extremely important not only to students and teachers but also to parents and administrators...

Mr. Strang stood behind the demonstration table, a Satanic smile on his face, and held aloft the human skull in his hand. “Hugo, here,” he said, pointing to the fleshless jaws, “was probably a rather young man. You will note that his teeth are in excellent condition — he undoubtedly brushed after every meal and saw his dentist twice a year.”

Although one or two of the girls were turning a bit green, the twenty-eight students in Mr. Strang’s biology class laughed dutifully. Mr. Strang smiled appreciatively in return. The thin science teacher had enough of the ham actor in him to play to an audience — even to a captive one — when the occasion presented itself.

The bell rang, ending the period. The students shifted restlessly but did not rise from their seats. They had learned early in the semester that in Mr. Strang’s classes there was only one signal for dismissal. Mr. Strang took a long last look at the skull and murmured, “Alas, poor Yorick!” — while twenty-eight pairs of eyes stared fixedly at the black-rimmed glasses on the demonstration table.

Mr. Strang picked up his glasses and put them in his jacket pocket.

There was a scraping of chairs and a few minor skirmishes at the rear of the classroom as most of the students tried to get through the doorway at the same time. The man who was standing just outside the room, about to enter, was swept aside by the mass of teen-age humanity.

Finally the doorway cleared, and the man entered Mr. Strang’s room. Mr. Strang looked up, smiled, and placed the skull in a plastic bag on the table. “Come in, Russ,” he said, “and I’ll make you a cup of coffee. I’ve got a free period now, and my brew is better than that mud they make down in the Faculty Room.”

Mr. Strang busied himself heating water over a Bunsen burner and arranging filter paper in a glass funnel. He spooned coffee into the filter-paper cone and poured boiling water over it, watching the brown liquid flow down the stem of the funnel and into the flask below it. Only when each had been provided with a beakerful of steaming coffee did Mr. Strang ask his question.

“What’s bothering you, Russ?”

“It’s... it’s awful, Mr. Strang. I’ve got to talk to somebody. It just can’t be happening to me. But how did you know about it? Did somebody tell you?”

“Coelenterata!” muttered Mr. Strang, making Phylum IV of animal classification sound like a wizard’s magic word. “Russell Donato, do you take me for an idiot? You walk in here pale as a ghost, and with your hands shaking as if you had the St. Vitus’s dance. And then while you wonder how I know you’re worried, you keep gnawing at that thumbnail as if you want to leave nothing but a mashed stump. Now let’s not beat around the bush. What’s the trouble?”

“I’ve just come from Mr. Guthrey’s office,” said the younger man. “I’ve been suspended.”

“Suspended? What do you mean?”

“Mr. Guthrey just handed me a thirty-day suspension. I can’t teach here or anywhere else for the next month. Maybe never, for all I know.”

Mr. Strang’s jaw dropped. Although it was only the beginning of his second year at Aldershot High School, Russell Donato had the makings of an excellent chemistry teacher. He knew his field, he was a hard worker, and he had quickly learned to deal with his students without overstepping the thin line between friendliness and familiarity. The students not only liked him, they respected him, and to Mr. Strang, the second was far more important than the first. For Aldershot High School to lose him would be, in Mr. Strang’s eyes, little short of a crime. He ran thin fingers through his rapidly disappearing hair.

“Why, Russ?” he asked.

“Because of Sheila Palinger,” answered Donato.

“Who?”

“Sheila Palinger. She’s a sophomore in my seventh-period study hall. She told Mr. Guthrey that I... well, she was in my room and — how do you say a thing like that, Mr. Strang?”

“She accused you of molesting her. Is that what you mean, Russ?”

“Yes. And now I’ve been suspended while the Board of Education makes its investigation.”

Mr. Strang toyed for several seconds with a glass rod on the table. “Did you do it, Russ?” he asked finally.

Donato turned suddenly. His face showed hurt and anger. “Of course not,” he snapped. “What do you think I am?”

“That’s what the Board of Education has thirty days to find out,” said Mr. Strang. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Donato shrugged. “There’s not much to tell,” he said. “I was working late in my classroom yesterday, correcting some examination papers I wanted to give back this morning. About four o’clock Sheila Palinger walked in and asked me if I’d help her with some footnotes for an English term paper. I suggested that she see her English teacher, but she said everybody had gone home, and she needed the information right away.”

“Does Sheila take chemistry?”

“No, she’s majoring in art. Anyway, I wasn’t too sure about footnoting myself, but I hauled out an old book I had on forms for written reports and found what she wanted. She wasn’t in the room more than five minutes.”

“But surely Mr. Guthrey knows that not much could have happened in five minutes.”

“Mr. Strang, you ought to hear the story Sheila told. According to her, she spent almost half an hour in my room after school yesterday. And she sounded pretty convincing, believe me. She told things about the way the room looked that even I couldn’t remember. But when I checked this morning, she was absolutely perfect — one hundred per cent. What was on my desk, the exact way the seats were arranged — everything.”

Mr. Strang looked thoughtfully at the skull in its transparent bag. “Russ,” he said finally, “I wouldn’t worry too much about this. The principal and the Board aren’t completely against you. But after all, an accusation has been made. You can’t expect them to ignore it. Let me see what I can find out from Mr. Guthrey.”

“But can they do this, Mr. Strang? Can they kick me out just on the word of one kid?”

“I’m afraid if it comes to a showdown, they can, Russ. You haven’t got tenure yet, and until you get it, the Board of Education can suspend you or even fire you just because they don’t like the style of shoes you wear or the color of your socks. But don’t get too excited until I see Mr. Guthrey. Tell me one thing. Is there any reason why Sheila Palinger would make trouble for you?”

Donato shook his head. “None that I can think of,” he said. “Oh, she’s kind of a pain-in-the-neck in the study hall. Keeps coming up with idiotic questions about her work, hangs around my desk most of the period — things like that. But she’s never made any real trouble. I just can’t understand it.”

“Well, Russ, don’t be in too much of a hurry to leave the school. I may want to talk to you again later. But right now, I want to hear what Mr. Guthrey has to say.”

As he went down the stairs toward the main office, Mr. Strang found it hard to keep the worried expression from his own face. In the outer office he passed the Lost and Found Box and noticed that a chemistry textbook topped the pile of misplaced articles. He walked through the door marked Marvin W. Guthrey without knocking, an action that was not likely to endear him to the principal of Aldershot High School, and sat stiffly in a chair in front of Guthrey’s enormous desk.

Behind the desk Guthrey, a small man with a head of wavy, snow-white hair of which he was inordinately proud, was talking on the telephone. His eyebrows shot up in surprise at the sight of the science teacher.

“I’ll call you back on this, Fred,” he said into the phone, “or maybe we can talk about it just before the Board meeting. In the meantime I’ll try to find out what I can at this end.” The principal hung up the phone. “Now then, Mr. Strang,” he said, turning in his swivel chair, “perhaps you can tell me the meaning of this. I’m not in the habit of having—”

“I’m here about Russ Donato,” interrupted Mr. Strang.

“I suppose Donato has told you what the trouble is,” said Guthrey, “so there’s nothing more for me to add. Fred Landerhoff — he’s on the Board of Education, you know — has been on the phone all morning. He just finished his fourth call to me when you walked in. He’s the one who ordered me to suspend Donato.”

“So what happens now, Mr. Guthrey? How do you go about finding out whether Donato is innocent or guilty?”

Guthrey let out a long breath. “I wish I knew, Mr. Strang,” he said. “A situation like this is hard on everybody. As soon as word leaks out, I’m going to get a hundred calls asking why I hired Donato in the first place. Of course, if there’s no proof of guilt, we’ll keep Donato on — at least, until the end of the year. By that time, the good citizens of Aldershot will probably make it so hot for him that he’ll have to leave.”

“Shades of Alice in Wonderland,” muttered Mr. Strang.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I was just thinking of Alice’s trial, where the Red Queen says ‘Sentence first — verdict afterwards.’ The analogy seems to apply.”

“Unfortunately, that’s true. Words like ‘perversion’ and ‘sex maniac’ are going to be tossed around pretty carelessly. Donato will have a rough time finding another teaching job if we have to let him go. Oh, if he leaves, I’ll write him a good recommendation, of course.”

“Protozoa, Mesozoa, Porifera,” growled Mr. Strang. His face turned an angry red. “Make up your mind. If he attacked the girl or did anything at all improper, he’s not fit to be in a classroom — any classroom. If he didn’t, give him a chance to defend himself. But don’t hang the man on the unsupported testimony of a child.”

Guthrey stuck out his chin belligerently. “Mr. Strang,” he rumbled, “you burst in here without permission to question me about Donato. Taking into consideration your friendship with him as well as your years of service to the school, I overlooked this breach of the rules and decided to discuss the matter with you. But I do not intend to... to—”

Guthrey raised his hand dramatically and then let it fall slowly to the desk. “Oh, hell, Leonard,” he said, looking sadly at the science teacher. “They’ve got me over a barrel. You know there isn’t a chance in a thousand of getting any evidence. It’s just Donato’s word against Sheila’s. And you won’t find a parent in a thousand who thinks his child — his flesh and blood — would lie about a thing like this. The kids know it, and there are some — only a very few, fortunately — who are just waiting for the chance to take advantage of it.”

Marvin Guthrey looked forlornly at Mr. Strang and seemed tiny and lost in his huge swivel chair. For the first time in many years the science teacher could find it in his heart to feel sorry for his principal.

There was a thick silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Then Mr. Strang banged his fist loudly on Guthrey’s desk.

“No!” he shouted.

“What is it, Mr. Strang?” asked Guthrey.

“Are we going to let a man’s reputation — his whole future — be ruined? Are we going to let the good name of this school be dragged through the mud, with every teacher afraid to be pleasant and helpful with his students because of the possible consequences? Are we all going to cringe every time some asinine accusation is made? No! No! No!” He pounded the desk three times to punctuate his last words.

Guthrey looked at the teacher as if he’d lost his senses. “But what can you do, Mr. Strang?” he asked, a worried look on his face.

“There must be some indication somewhere of what really happened yesterday, and we’re going to find it. If Russ Donato is guilty, at least we’ll have cleaned our own house. And if he’s innocent — which I’m sure is the case — we’ll serve notice that nobody can make such a bald accusation and get away with it. Mr. Guthrey, can you get somebody to take over my classes for the next couple of periods? Anybody in the department ought to be able to describe that skull as well as I can.”

“What are you going to do?”

“We,” said Mr. Strang, indicating Guthrey and himself, “are going to have a little talk with Sheila Palinger. She’s still in the building, isn’t she?”

Guthrey smiled wryly. “You must have passed Sheila and her mother when you came through the outer office,” he said. “They were camped at my door when I got here this morning. I spent over an hour listening to them go on and on about Donato, and my secretary says they want to see me again as soon as I’m free. Between those two and Fred Landerhoff, I haven’t had time to take a deep breath yet today.” He spread his hands helplessly. “I don’t know what I can tell them that they haven’t already heard.”

“You won’t have to say a word, Mr. Guthrey,” the teacher replied. “But if that girl’s as big a liar as I think she is, I’d just as soon have a witness to what’s said here during the next few minutes.”

Mr. Guthrey called his secretary, and a few minutes later Sheila Palinger entered the office. She was wearing a simple cotton dress and a tragic expression that would have done credit to an actress playing Camille. Behind her came her mother, a look of self-pity on her face.

After the introductions had been made, Mr. Strang turned to the girl. “Sheila,” he began, “according to Mr. Guthrey, you’ve made a rather serious charge against Mr. Donato. I wonder if you’d tell me about it.”

“Sheila already told him everything,” interrupted Mrs. Palinger, indicating Guthrey with a jerk of her thumb, “and I gave Fred Landerhoff the whole story on the telephone last night. Fred’s a good friend of mine. I can’t see any sense in repeating it all and disturbing the child. I just want to find out what you’re going to do about that... that teacher.”

“No, Mother,” said Sheila. “I’ll tell them. I want to cooperate in any way I can. I feel I owe it to my classmates and to the school.”

Mr. Strang had all he could do to keep from shouting, “Academy Award!”

“What is it you want to know?” Sheila asked.

“Just tell us in your own words what happened, Sheila,” said Mr. Strang in a kindly voice. “Right from the beginning.”

“Well,” Sheila began, her voice becoming low and confidential, “it was about five minutes to four yesterday. School had been out for almost an hour, and the halls were completely empty. I had some questions about an English assignment, and Mr. Donato was the only one I could find in the building, so I went to his room. He was there — alone.”

“So nobody saw you go into the room?” asked Mr. Strang.

“Nobody,” answered Sheila. “When I was inside, Mr. Donato asked me to sit down. He walked over to the windows and pulled down the shades. I didn’t know why at the time.

“While I was waiting, I noticed a pile of examination papers on Mr. Donato’s desk. He had corrected about half of them. The paper on top had a mark of eighty. He also had a chemistry book propped open to page seventy-three.”

Mr. Strang’s eyes widened. The girl seemed to have total recall concerning all the details of the meeting. “Did you happen to notice the color of Mr. Donato’s necktie?” he asked sarcastically.

“Oh, yes. It was blue, with little red squares on it. Each square had a white dot in the center. I thought it went well with his gray suit.”

Mr. Strang couldn’t even remember the color of the tie he was wearing today. He looked down to check. Brown, with green acid stains.

“Mr. Donato came over to my desk with a book,” Sheila continued. “I remember thinking how dim the room was with the shades down and the lights out. But still I could see that gold college ring Mr. Donato wears, and I thought it was funny that the ring should shine in such a soft light.

“As he leaned over my desk to help me, he pointed to the book with one hand. But he kept brushing my hair very lightly with the fingers of the other hand.”

And since he was leaning over the desk, he probably fell flat on his face, thought Mr. Strang, since he couldn’t use either hand to prop himself up. But the science teacher remained silent.

“Pretty soon,” the girl went on, “he closed the book and just stared into my eyes. I began to get a little frightened. But I didn’t dare say anything. After all, Mr. Donato was a teacher. Then he said... he said—”

“What did he say?” Mr. Strang asked gently.

“He began telling me how — how lovely he thought I was — and how it meant so much to him to be alone with me. Then he began to touch me. He... he— Oh!” She buried her face in her hands.

Guthrey cleared his throat loudly. “And what did you do, Sheila?”

“I didn’t know what to do, Mr. Guthrey. I remember getting up and backing away from Mr. Donato toward the door. Then I ran out.”

“But you did remember to take your books, didn’t you?” asked Mr. Strang.

“I must have. That part isn’t too clear.”

“You seemed to remember every little detail of what went on in the room before... er... anything happened.”

Mrs. Palinger burst into the conversation. “That’s not too unusual, is it? After all, the child’s had a severe emotional upset. And now you two are almost acting as if you don’t believe her.”

Mr. Strang ignored the interruption. “Sheila,” he said, “how long were you in Mr. Donato’s room?”

“It must have been at least half an hour.”

“Mr. Donato said that you were there no longer than five minutes.”

“He’s lying!” cried the girl. “Why, he even had time to do his old experiment before he started talking to me.”

“Experiment?” said Mr. Strang. “I don’t recall Mr. Donato saying anything about an experiment when he talked to me. What experiment was it, Sheila?”

“How should I know? I don’t take chemistry. But anyway, he did it while I was there. That ought to prove I was in the room more than five minutes.”

“But there was no sign this morning of any experiment having been done,” said Guthrey.

“Hummph,” snorted Mrs. Palinger. “He probably cleaned it all up before anybody saw it. Just the thing you’d expect of a snake like him.”

“Do you remember anything about the experiment, Sheila?” asked Mr. Strang.

“Well, he had an iron stand on the table, and under it was one of those burners—”

“A Bunsen burner?”

“Yes, I guess so. There was this big glass thing like a bottle on the stand, and some tubes and — oh, I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to explain. It was like what you see in the mad-scientist movies. But I could draw you a picture of how it looked.”

“Splendid,” said Mr. Strang. He gave Sheila a pencil and a piece of paper from Guthrey’s desk. The girl busied herself with them, and in a few minutes she showed the results to Mr. Strang.

If Sheila Palinger knew nothing about chemistry, she was an excellent artist. The picture showed a ring stand over a Bunsen burner. On the stand was a large flask with a rubber stopper in it. A glass tube and a funnel were stuck through holes in the stopper. At one side of the flask were two bottles. Although the labels on the bottles were visible, their small size in the drawing had made it necessary for Sheila to omit the printing on them. But the extreme realism of the sketch made it certain that Sheila had seen the experiment somewhere. Guthrey looked worriedly at Mr. Strang.

“Sheila,” said the teacher, “About those two bottles. What was in them?”

“Let me see. Oh, yes. One of them had ‘Hickle’ on the label.”

“Hickle?”

“Yes. And the other one was full of a black powder called ‘Fess’.”

“I never heard of ‘Hickle’ and ‘Fess’,” said Guthrey. “Mean anything to you, Mr. Strang?”

Mr. Strang’s eyebrows narrowed in a frown. He reached into a pocket and dragged out a battered briar pipe and a pouch of tobacco. Ramming tobacco into the bowl of the pipe, he lit it and sent clouds of smoke billowing into the small office. Guthrey and Mrs. Palinger wrinkled their noses disapprovingly, but Mr. Strang ignored them. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Several minutes passed, and Guthrey was just about to inquire if Mr. Strang was feeling all right when a smile spread over the face of the science teacher. He chuckled softly, and then not so softly. Soon he was emitting gales of laughter while his slender body shook with mirth.

“Hickle and Fess!” he gasped when he could catch his breath. “Sounds like a vaudeville team, doesn’t it, Mr. Guthrey?”

“Let me in on it, Leonard,” replied Guthrey. “What’s so funny?”

Instead of answering, Mr. Strang took the drawing and made some rapid marks on the back of it with his pen. “Is this what you saw on the labels, Sheila?” he asked, showing her the paper.

“Yes, that’s it.”

Mr. Strang turned the paper so that Guthrey and Mrs. Palinger could see it. Printed on the paper in red ink were the two chemical symbols, HCl and FeS.

“‘Hickle’ — HCl,” explained the teacher, “is the chemical symbol for hydrochloric acid. And FeS is ferrous sulfide. I’m afraid Sheila made words out of the chemical symbols.”

“That still doesn’t prove anything against her,” said Mrs. Palinger. “Sheila couldn’t be expected to know — she told you she doesn’t take chemistry.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Mr. Strang agreed. “Now then, Sheila, what did Mr. Donato do with the Hickle and Fess?”

“He mixed them together in the big bottle.”

“It’s called a flask, Sheila. What happened then — to the experiment, I mean?”

“Mr. Donato put it over the flame. But I don’t remember anything else about it. That was when he started to — you know.”

“I see,” said Mr. Strang. “Well, you’ve been very helpful, Sheila, and I think we have a pretty good idea of what really happened. I wonder, though, if it would be possible for you to come back to school this evening — with your mother, of course — just to tie up a few loose ends. Say, about eight o’clock?”

Mother and daughter looked at one another and shrugged. “Eight o’clock will be all right,” said Mrs. Palinger finally. “Just so long as Mr. Donato is dismissed from this school. The very idea of letting a man like that teach our children!”

“I assure you, Mrs. Palinger, that the entire truth of the situation will be brought to light this evening. And you mentioned Mr. Landerhoff on the Board of Education. Would you mind bringing him along? We’ll be meeting in Mr. Donato’s room.”

“If it’ll help get rid of that — that monster, I’ll see that Fred Landerhoff’s there,” replied Mrs. Palinger. She stood and patted her daughter’s head lovingly.

“Until tonight, then,” smiled Mr. Strang, holding the office door open.

When the Palingers had left, Guthrey leaned across his desk and scowled at Mr. Strang. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he rumbled. “Parents, kids, a member of the Board — what’s on your mind, Leonard?”

“You forgot one other person I’m inviting to the meeting,” said the teacher.

“Who’s that?”

“My principal. See you tonight at eight, Mr. Guthrey.”

The gathering in Mr. Donato’s science room that evening resembled a meeting between the legendary Hatfields and McCoys at the height of their feud. In one rear corner of the room sat Russ Donato. He was looking daggers at Sheila Palinger and her mother, who were sitting as far removed from the accused teacher as the walls of the room permitted.

In the center of the room Marvin Guthrey whispered nervously to Board member Landerhoff. From behind the demonstration table Mr. Strang grinned at his strange assortment of “students” like some diabolic gnome while he busily arranged the materials of the experiment Sheila Palinger had described earlier.

When he had completed his preparations, Mr. Strang rapped for order. An uneasy quiet descended on the room. “I believe you all know each other,” he said, “so introductions will be unnecessary.”

Fred Landerhoff raised his hand. Although he was here representing the Aldershot Board of Education, the sight of the thin science teacher in the front of the room made him feel like a schoolboy who didn’t have his lesson prepared.

“This is highly irregular, Mr. Strang,” he said. “I’d like to make it quite clear that I’m here at Mrs. Palinger’s request. While I’m naturally interested in getting to the bottom of this incident, I’m here to see that—”

“We’re all here to see that justice is done, Mr. Landerhoff,” interrupted Mr. Strang, “and although the circumstances of this meeting are unusual, it’s my opinion that recent events warrant it. I would like it noted, however, that the idea for the meeting was my own. Mr. Guthrey had no part in it.”

The nervous principal let out a sigh.

“Today,” Mr. Strang continued, “Mr. Donato was accused of — shall we say — making improper advances yesterday toward Miss Palinger, here. The school administration followed the only course of action open to it. Mr. Donato was suspended, pending an investigation.”

Mr. Strang removed his glasses and polished them on his necktie. Holding the glasses between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, he examined them closely. Then he inserted his other hand deep into his left jacket pocket and leaned across the table, shaking the glasses at the group in front of him. He was ready to teach his “class.”

“The difficulty in a situation like this,” he went on, “is the lack of evidence. Nobody witnessed the alleged incident — for all intents and purposes, the building was empty. And if there is no evidence, Mr. Donato can neither be proved innocent nor guilty.

“But consider the effect of the accusation itself. Should the parents of this community be asked to entrust their children to a man who is guilty of the charge made against Mr. Donato? Absolutely not. On the other hand, if the accusation is false, what of Mr. Donato’s reputation? The man is damned without proof.

“No, the whole situation is intolerable. And for that reason I began to look for something that would confirm Mr. Donato’s guilt or innocence. I believe I’ve found it.”

Mr. Strang reached into a drawer of the demonstration table and pulled out the sketch of the experiment Sheila had made earlier. “When I saw this drawing, which Sheila made,” he went on, “I couldn’t help noticing the striking resemblance to a picture in the chemistry textbook used in Mr. Donato’s classes. Look.”

He took a book titled Elements of Chemistry from the drawer and opened it to a previously marked page. The page showed a photograph of an experiment in progress. Holding Sheila’s drawing next to the photograph, he continued.

“Notice the position of the bottles in the drawing and in the photograph,” he said. “Look at the shadow cast by the ring stand. It goes off at the same angle as the one in Sheila’s sketch. There are other points of similarity I might draw to your attention, such as the fact that all the objects in the photograph are in the same relative places as they are in the drawing, but I think you can see my point. It is possible that Sheila drew not from life, but from this photo in the textbook.”

“But why on earth would my daughter do a thing like that?” demanded Mrs. Palinger angrily.

“Simply in order to ‘prove’ that she had spent half an hour in this room, rather than the five minutes claimed by Mr. Donato.”

Fred Landerhoff peered closely at the book and the drawing. “It’s possible, Mr. Strang,” he said, “but hardly conclusive. It could be just coincidence.”

“True,” said the teacher. “But let’s go a step further. According to the description of the experiment in the book, one of the bottles in the photograph contains hydrochloric acid — notice the HCl label — and the other is filled with ferrous sulfide, chemical formula FeS.”

“But my daughter told you all that this morning,” cried Mrs. Palinger, “so how do you know she didn’t see that very experiment being done by Mr. Donato right here in this room?”

“As a matter of fact,” replied Mr. Strang, “I’m proceeding on the assumption that she did see it here, rather than in the book. And in order to clear up any confusion as to what really happened yesterday, I’d like to re-enact the events just as Sheila described them — including this experiment.”

“No!” cried Sheila. “I won’t let that man—”

“I will play the part of Mr. Donato,” said Mr. Strang gently. “You have nothing to fear from me, Sheila. Now according to the way the experiment is described in the book, we first dump in some... er... fess.” He removed the stopper from the flask and poured in a black powder from a bottle labeled FeS.

“Now for the hydrochloric acid.” Mr. Strang replaced the stopper and poured a generous amount of liquid from the acid bottle down through the funnel. “And finally the flask goes on the stand over the flame.” He lit the Bunsen burner.

“Now what?” asked Landerhoff.

“I pull down the shades,” said Mr. Strang. “You did say they were down, didn’t you Sheila?”

“Yes, that’s right.” The flask on the front table bubbled gently. Mr. Guthrey wrinkled his nose and peered furtively at Landerhoff.

“Now, Sheila,” smiled Mr. Strang when the shades had been pulled down, “pretend that I’m Mr. Donato. What happens next?” The teacher noticed that Donato was chuckling to himself, while Mrs. Palinger had taken a perfumed handkerchief from her purse and placed it over her nose.

“Why—” Sheila began to shift restlessly in her seat. Her eyes were on the bubbling flask in the front of the room. “Why, Mr. Donato came over to the desk—”

“Like this?” Mr. Strang walked slowly up beside Sheila. Those in the rear of the room started coughing loudly. Fred Landerhoff fanned the air in front of his face with a small notebook.

“Yes, sir,” replied Sheila. “Then he touched my hair with his hand.”

The chemicals in the flask were bubbling more violently now.

“And then?”

“He put his face down into my hair. He said it smelled like... like—”

“Rotten eggs!” cried a voice.

“What?” said Mr. Strang gently. “I’m afraid you’re out of order, Mr. Landerhoff.”

“Maybe so, but that kid’s out of her mind if she wants me to believe that-somebody made love to her in a room where there was a stink like this! It smells like all the rotten eggs in the world! Mr. Strang, I’m willing to agree that Donato’s not guilty of anything. Just let me out of this room before I suffocate. What is that stuff, anyway?”

Without waiting for an answer he dashed to the door, flinging the movable desks aside in his hurry to escape the overpowering stench. He was followed in rapid succession by the Palingers, Guthrey, and Donato.

Mr. Strang remained behind only long enough to pour the bubbling mixture from the flask into the small sink and throw open all the windows of the room; then he too dashed into the hallway and took several deep breaths of comparatively fresh air.

Later, in Guthrey’s office, Landerhoff repeated his question. “I’ve asked Sheila and her mother to wait outside,” he said. “Now what was that stuff, Mr. Strang?”

“Hydrogen sulfide,” said the teacher. “It’s a gas formed when hydrochloric acid is combined with ferrous sulfide and heated. As you noticed up in the classroom, it’s the same gas that gives rotten eggs their characteristic odor. I admit to using a bit more of the chemicals than is ordinarily used, but I think my point was made. One good whiff of that gas is enough to dispel all thoughts of l’amour.”

“When did you first catch on that Sheila was lying?” asked Landerhoff.

“Just as soon as I realized that the experiment she was describing was the manufacture of hydrogen sulfide. She said that Russ began the experiment shortly after she entered the room. But I knew she couldn’t have lasted in there for thirty minutes with a smell like that.

“Of course, when I saw that picture she drew, I knew she’d gotten it from the textbook — I’ve taught enough chemistry to know that book by heart. She’d have been better off if she hadn’t been such a good artist. Fortunately for Mr. Donato, she didn’t know the devastating effect that hydrogen sulfide has on the olfactory nerves.”

“But why didn’t Donato recognize the experiment?”

“She never mentioned it to him. It was only after Mr. Guthrey had sent Donato out of the office that Sheila realized time might be an issue. It wouldn’t have been hard for her to find the chemistry text in the Lost and Found Box while she and her mother were waiting in the outer office. It was just too bad for her that she happened to turn to that particular experiment.”

“But why would Sheila do a thing like this?” asked Donato.

“Maybe it was a way of getting into the limelight among her friends. Or it could be as simple as her coming home late and blaming you so she wouldn’t be punished. Also, you’re a fairly handsome young man, Russ. Perhaps it was a case of puppy love, and she carried her daydreaming too far. Perhaps Sheila herself doesn’t know the real reason.”

“What happens now, Fred?” Guthrey asked Landerhoff.

“Well, Mr. Donato will be reinstated with our apologies, of course,” replied Landerhoff, “and I think I can convince Mrs. Palinger that Sheila should have a psychiatric examination. But what I’m wondering is what will happen if a similar situation comes up in the future.”

“That’s up to you, Mr. Landerhoff,” said Mr. Strang. “You have a duty as a member of the Board of Education not only to the children of the district but to the men and women who teach them. Given an accusation without proof, who will you believe — the child or the teacher?”

Landerhoff looked from Mr. Strang to Donato and back again. He couldn’t give an answer to Mr. Strang’s question. He just didn’t know.

Mr. Strang smiled. The look of doubt in Landerhoff’s eyes was enough for him. Just a reasonable doubt.

That was enough.