“All right, then, explain Drbal’s Phenomenon,” Bruno Gustafson demanded.

“Urn… Drbal’s Phenomenon?” Gideon said.

“The fact,” Bruno said, his ruddy face aglow with the pleasures of scholarly debate, “that if you leave an old razor blade in the Great Chamber of Cheops’ pyramid, oriented exactly north-south, in twenty-four hours it comes out sharp as new. This is a known fact, proved by Drbal. He could shave two hundred times with the same Gillette Blue blade.”

“Oh,” Gideon said, “that Drbal.” He sipped his Scotch-and-water. “Well-”

Bruno’s wife saved him, for the moment at least. “I thought it was Khufu’s pyramid,” Bea Gustafson said matter-of-factly.

“Same guy,” Bruno said. “But the thing is, it could have been anybody’s pyramid. Drbal made himself a mint selling little cardboard razor-blade sharpeners shaped like pyramids. Czechoslovakian patent number 91304. Don’t ask me why I remember.”

“Fascinating,” Rupert Armstrong LeMoyne said, beaming over his white wine. “Absolutely fascinating.”

That had been about the level of Rupert’s participation so far. This, Gideon thought, was understandable behavior from the University of Washington’s vice-president for development in the presence of Bea and Bruno Gustafson of Walla Walla, the alumni couple whose contributions to the school had been $150,000 in each of the last two years. Gideon also understood why the Gustafsons had been treated to a string of receptions over the past two days, had been given twelfth-row seats smack on the fifty-yard line for Saturday’s sell-out game between the Huskies and Arizona, and were now being entertained with drinks and hors d’oeuvres in the faculty club bar, prior to being escorted upstairs for dinner.

What Gideon didn’t understand was what he was doing there. He and Julie.