Something the Cat Dragged In by Charlotte MacLeod

a number of exposures, from various artistic angles, of the unlovely spectacle on the embalming table.
    “Save some film,” Shandy told him. “We ought to get a shot or two of the wound after we wash the blood off. Got a basin or something?”
    “Leave that to me. It’s all in the day’s work, as we say in the trade.”
    Goulson brought hot water and a sponge, and deftly cleaned the back of Ungley’s head. “Say, Professor, you think there’s something peculiar about the way he died, don’t you?”
    “Well, Goulson, you’ve seen a lot more cadavers than I have. What do you yourself think?”
    “I think Fred Ottermole’s going to find himself wishing he hadn’t been in such an all-fired hurry to write this one off as an accident, since you ask me. I’m also wondering why Dr. Melchett was ready to swallow that yarn about the harrow without doing a complete examination.”
    Goulson stripped the covering sheet partly away, leaving Ungley’s body bare to the waist. “See what I mean? Now, you’ve seen that harrow and so have I. It’s nothing special, just an oldtime what they call a peg harrow that some blacksmith slung together out of a heavy roller and a bunch of iron spikes. I shouldn’t be surprised if it was one of the Flackleys out at Forgery Point who made it, but that’s neither here nor there. What I’m getting at is, those spikes are fairly close together. Now, I’m not saying Professor Ungley couldn’t have tripped and fallen backward like Fred claims, and bashed that hole in his skull on one of the pegs. What I do say is, how come we don’t see any bruising any place else? How did he manage to fall that hard and hit that one peg and none of the others?”
    “That’s an astute observation, Goulson. I’m also wondering why the hole made by a straight, round spike wouldn’t be somewhat smaller and neater than this,” Shandy replied, thinking of that loaded fox and what it might do with plenty of muscle behind it. “What I’m mainly thinking is that we’d better get both Melchett and Ottermole back here and find out whether they might not care to reconsider their assumptions. Sorry to put you out like this, Goulson, but that’s your penalty for being more intelligent than your neighbors.”
    “Shucks, Professor, it’s no trouble to me. Makes a break in the daily routine, as you might say. Embalming can be lonesome work. I’ll see if I can raise Doc Melchett on the phone right now.”
    He had no luck. Dr. Melchett was at the hospital seeing patients and wouldn’t be available till after lunch.
    “Then we’ll just have to wait,” said Shandy. “No sense in getting Ottermole over here by himself.”
    “In that case, I’d better slide the departed into the refrigerator, to keep him nice and fresh. Can I offer you a cup of coffee, Professor?”
    “Thanks,” Shandy told him, “but I have a class in about three minutes. See you later, Goulson.”

Chapter Six
    S HANDY COULD MOVE FAST enough in a pinch. He even managed to stop at the chemistry lab and leave his envelope of rust scrapings with Professor Joad before getting to class on the dot. No doubt he taught well enough, but when a couple of students came to ask questions afterward, he had some trouble fishing his brain for relevant answers. The only thing really on his mind was, “What the hell shall I do next?”
    As soon as he could decently escape from the classroom, he went. Rather, he started. He’d barely got one foot over the threshold when he was confronted by what the less discerning might have mistaken for a rampaging Tyrannosaurus Rex. Shandy didn’t even flinch, but merely remarked, “Hello, President. What’s eating you?”
    Thorkjeld Svenson merely jerked his massive head in the direction of his own sanctum. “Office.”
    Shandy followed. The presidential reception room was empty, the secretary having gone to lunch. Nevertheless, Svenson closed and locked his inner door before he ordered, “Sit.”
    “If