"Two, neither of them heavy users and both of them elderly men-one a widower, the other a bachelor. Arrived last year around the end of May, beginning of June, took the baths, sunbathed regularly-in short, did everything that according to the statistics should have exposed them to the maximum danger. But the fact is both returned safe and sound. And I shouldn't forget to mention that one was allergic to pollen and the other to strawberries!"

"How disastrous!" exclaimed Barth, but neither of us was in the mood to laugh.

"You figured it was the allergy, didn't you? So did I."

"What kind of drugs were they taking?"

"Marijuana in the case of the one with the strawberry allergy. The one with hay fever was taking LSD, but only once in a while. His supply ran out just before he flew back to the States; that's probably why he quit the baths and left ahead of schedule. In Naples he couldn't get his hands on the stuff. The police had just busted up a huge Middle Eastern ring based in Italy, trafficking had stopped, and the suppliers who hadn't been arrested were lying low."

"And the one with the strawberry allergy . . ." mumbled Barth. "Well, that takes care of that. What about those with mental problems?"

"Negative. Oh, you know as well as I do there's bound to be something in everyone's family closet, but that would be stretching it too far. All the patients in question-victims as well as survivors-were mentally sound. A few neurotics and insomniacs, but that's about it. Among the men, that is. Among the women patients we found one case of melancholia, one case of depression a.s.sociated with menopause, and one suicide attempt."

"A suicide attempt, you say?"

"One of those false alarms on the part of a typical neurotic. Poisoned herself under circ.u.mstances where she was sure to be saved. With the others it was just the opposite: not one of them had gone around proclaiming a suicidal mania. On the contrary, the repeated attempts give evidence of a ruthless determination."

"Why only in Naples?" Barth asked. "Weren't there any cases reported in places like Messina or Etna?"

"No. Naturally we couldn't check out every sulfur spring in the world, but a special group was a.s.signed to investigate the ones in Italy. An absolute blank. There was a case of someone dying of a shark attack, another in a drowning accident."

"Coburn died in a drowning accident, too, didn't he?"

"Yes, but while temporarily deranged."

"Has that definitely been proved?"

"Almost. We know relatively little about the man. Only that when he was served breakfast that time in his room, he hid his toast, b.u.t.ter, and eggs in an empty cigar box, and later put some food on the window sill before going out."

"Of course! He suspected poison and wanted to see if the birds . . ."

"And he probably wanted to take the box to a toxicologist but drowned before he had a chance to do so."

"What about the experts' reports?"

"Two thick, typewritten volumes. We even resorted to the Delphi method of polling the experts."

"Well?"

"The majority argued in favor of some unknown psychotropic drug similar in its effect to LSD, though not necessarily having a similar chemical composition."

"An unknown drug? What a strange diagnosis."

"Not necessarily unknown. These same experts believe it might be a combination of several known substances, since the symptoms of a synergy can seldom be deduced from the effects of its individual ingredients."

"What was the minority opinion?"

"An acute psychosis of unknown etiology. You know how loquacious doctors and specialists can be when they're in the dark about something."

"Only too well. Would you mind giving me another rundown based on the typology of cause of death?"

"Not in the least. Coburn died an accidental or premeditated death by drowning. Brunner jumped from a window but survived it-"

"Excuse me, but whatever became of him?"

"He's back in the States, in bad health but still alive. He has a vague recollection of certain things but doesn't like to be reminded of them. All he can remember is having taken a waiter for a member of the Mafia and the feeling of being constantly shadowed. Shall I go on?"

"Please do."

"Osborn was the victim of a hit-and-run accident. The driver of the car has never been found. Emmings twice tried to commit suicide. Died of a self-inflicted gun wound. Leyge, the Swede, drove to Rome and fell from the Colosseum. Schimmeleiter died in the hospital of natural causes, of a lung tumor, after going berserk. Heyne nearly drowned, then slashed his wrists in the hospital. Pulled through but later died of pneumonia. Swift escaped injury. Mittelhorn also tried to commit suicide twice-once with an .overdose of sleeping pills, the second time by consuming iodine. Died of internal burns. t.i.tz was killed in a highway accident. Lastly, Adams died in his hotel room at the Hilton in Rome, apparently from suffocation of unknown cause. The Brigg case is still a mystery,"

"Thank you. Of those who escaped alive, do any remember the initial symptoms?"

"Yes. One symptom was a trembling of the hands and a noticeable change in the taste of food. We found that out from Swift. Brunner definitely recalls the food's having an 'off taste' but remembers nothing about any trembling of the hands. His testimony is probably the result of a residual psychic effect. At least that was the opinion of the medical experts."

"The cause of death covers quite a spectrum, and the suicide victims always seemed to resort to whatever means was available at the time. Did you conduct an investigation based on the cui podest principle?"

"You mean did we investigate those who stood to gain financially? That would have been pointless, since there was nothing in the way of evidence to connect any of the heirs with the individual deaths."

"Any press coverage?"

"A total news blackout. Of course the local papers ran obituaries on each of the fatalities, but these got lost among all the other accident reports. We were worried they might interfere with the investigation. Only one paper in the States, the name of which escapes me, made any mention of the tragic fates met by the patients of Dr. Stella. Stella himself insisted it was the work of some unscrupulous compet.i.tor. Even so, last year he didn't send a single patient to Naples."

"So he stopped! Doesn't that look suspicious?"

"Not necessarily. One more incident and the publicity could have cost him more than he stood to make on the deal. He couldn't have been making very much on the kickbacks."

"I now propose we play the following game," suggested Barth. "We'll call it 'How to die a mysterious death in Naples.' The purpose of the game will be to find out how one qualifies for such a death. Will you help me out?"

"By all means. The list of qualifications will include a person's s.e.x, age, build, physical disabilities, financial status, plus some other characteristics that I'll try to specify. To qualify one would have to be a male in his fifties, rather tall, the athletic or the pyknic type, a bachelor, a widower, or divorced, but in any case single during the time spent in Naples. As is evident from the Schimmelreiter case, financial prosperity is not an absolute requirement. Nor should one know any Italian, or if so, only a smattering."

"None of the victims was fluent in Italian?"

"Not one. Now for the more specific characteristics. To be a candidate one should not be a diabetic."

"Is that so?"

"There wasn't a single diabetic in the whole series. On the other hand, there were five known diabetics among the rheumatic patients sent to Naples by Dr. Stella, all of whom returned home safely."

"How do your experts explain that?"

"I'm not really sure I can answer that. Some ascribed it to the patient's metabolism, to the formation of acetone derivatives that might possibly have acted as an antidote, though this was challenged by some of the less distinguished-but in my opinion more honest-experts. Acetone derivatives form in the blood when an organism begins to suffer the effects of an insulin deficiency. But nowadays every diabetic is warned to take his prescribed medicine regularly. The next requirement is an allergy. Hypersensitivity to gra.s.s, hay fever, asthma. But then there were people who met all of the above conditions and still managed to escape unharmed. Take the patient with the strawberry allergy, or the one with hay fever."

"Single, well-to-do men who took the mineral baths, were athletic in build, suffered from an allergy, and didn't know Italian?"

"They even used the same antihistamines as the others, in addition to Plimasine."

"What's that?"

"An antihistamine with the added ingredient Ritalin. Ritalin is a-phenyl-a-piperidineacetic acid methyl ester hydrochloride. The first substance in Plimasine, Pyribenzamine, neutralizes the symptoms of allergic reaction but causes drowsiness and a diminution of the reflexes. That's why drivers are advised to take it in combination with Ritalin, which is cla.s.sified as a stimulant."

"You're quite a chemist, I see!"

"I've been taking Plimasine for years. Anyone who has an allergy is to some extent his own doctor. In the States I used to take an equivalent medication, since Plimasine is manufactured in Switzerland. Charles Decker, the man with the hay fever, was also on Plimasine, yet no one touched a hair on his head. Wait a moment,"

I sat there with gaping mouth like a moron. Barth stared at me in silence.

"They all showed signs of baldness," I said at last.

"Baldness?"

"The beginning stages, at least. Wait a minute. Right, Decker had a bald spot, too ... at the back of the head. But that still doesn't . . . oh, never mind."

"But you're not exactly bald," observed Barth.

"Sorry? Oh, right-I'm not. That was an oversight. But if Decker escaped injury . . . even though he showed signs of baldness . . . But what connection could there be between baldness and insanity?"

"Or between insanity and diabetes?"

"You're right, doctor, that's not a valid question."

"Was the question of baldness completely overlooked?"

"The situation was like this. We compared those who died with those who left Naples unharmed. The question of baldness certainly came up. The problem was that verification was possible only in the case of the victims, since most of the survivors would have been reluctant to admit they were wearing a toupee. Human pride being what it is, this is one area where people tend to be extremely sensitive, and getting people to submit willingly to an on-the-spot examination would have been tricky. Also, it would have meant trying to locate the place where the wig or hair transplant had been ordered, and we simply had neither the time nor the staff for that."

"Wasn't it considered very relevant?"

"People were divided. Some thought it was a waste of time trying to establish whether any of the survivors was anxious to conceal his baldness, and didn't see what connection that would have with the tragic fates of the others."

"Well, then, if you had taken the hair factor into consideration, why did you act so startled a moment ago?"

"It was a negative correlation, I'm afraid. What startled me was that none of the deceased had tried to conceal his baldness. Not one of them had worn a toupee or undergone a hair transplant. There are such operations, you know."

"So I've heard. Anything else?"

"Nothing-except that all the victims were in the process of going bald and made no effort to conceal it, whereas the survivors included both those who were balding and those with a normal head of hair. A minute ago I was reminded of Decker's bald spot, that's all. For a moment I thought I'd stumbled onto something. It wouldn't have been the first time, either. You see, I've been at this for so long that now and then I begin seeing things, phantoms. . . ."

"Oh, that smacks of magic spells, spirits from the other world. . . . But maybe there's something to it."

"Do you believe in the existence of spirits?" A long and hard stare.

"It's probably enough if they believed in them, isn't it? Let's suppose some fortuneteller was operating in Naples, someone who went after rich foreign clients. . . ."

"All right. Supposing there was such a person," I said, sitting up in my chair, "what then?"

"Let's a.s.sume this fortuneteller tries to win people's confidence through various kinds of tricks and seances, gives away samples of some miraculous elixir imported from Tibet, some type of narcotic that makes the client totally dependent on him or is pa.s.sed off as a cure-all for every conceivable ailment. . . . Now let's suppose that out of a hundred such cases there are some ten or eleven who rashly consume an overdose of the stuff. . . ."

"Right!" I exclaimed. "But in that case wouldn't the Italians have been wise to his little game? The Italian police, I mean? The fact is that in some cases we were so familiar with the victim's routine we knew exactly when he left the hotel, what he liked to wear, which were his favorite newsstands and even which papers he bought, which cabin he used for changing clothes at the beach, what and where he ate, which opera performances he saw. . . . Now we might have missed such a quack or guru in one or two instances, but not in every single case. No, there never was any such person. Besides, the whole thing sounds too far-fetched. It's not just that none of them knew Italian; but would a Swede with a university education, a rarebook dealer, and a respectable businessman be likely to visit an Italian fortuneteller? Besides, none of them would have had the time. . . ."

"Refuted but not defeated. Here goes another wild shot." He sat up in his chair. "If something had them hooked, then it must have strung them along gently and without leaving a trace. Right?"

"Right."

"No what else could have hooked them in a purely private, intimate, and casual sort of way but-s.e.x!"

I hesitated before answering.

"No. Granted, there were a few brief erotic encounters, but that's hardly the same thing. Believe me, we did such a thorough background cheek we couldn't possibly have overlooked anything as 'big' as a woman, a s.e.x orgy, or a brothel. No, it must have been something else, something utterly ba.n.a.l. . . ."

I was a little surprised by these last words of mine, since I'd never thought of it in such terms before. But it turned out to be grist for Barth's mill.

"Ba.n.a.l but lethal . . . Yes, why not! Some shameful and hidden desire, some secret l.u.s.t that had to be satisfied . . . Not shameful to us, perhaps, but something that might have meant a horrible scandal for others if it were ever made public . . ."

"The circle has closed," I said. "Because now you've come around to the very same position you forced me to abandon a while ago, namely, psychology. . . ."

Someone honked outside. Looking very young at that moment, the doctor stood up, peered down below, and shook his finger threateningly. The honking stopped. I was surprised to notice it had already grown dark. I consulted my watch and was shocked to discover that I'd taken up three hours of Barth's time. I stood up to say good-bye, but he refused to hear anything of the sort.

"Oh, no, you don't. First of all, you'll stay with us for dinner. Second, we didn't settle anything. And third, or, rather, first and foremost, I'd like to apologize for reversing the roles and grilling you like some examining magistrate. I'll admit I had an ulterior motive, one not exactly worthy of a host. . . . I wanted to find out certain things-both about you and from you-things I couldn't get from the files. It's always been my feeling that only a person can convey the atmosphere of a case. At times I was even out to provoke you a little, to needle you, but I must say you took it very well, though you haven't nearly as good a poker face as you imagine you do. ... If there's anything that can redeem me in your eyes, then let it be my good intentions, because I'm ready to offer you my services. But let's sit down until dinner's served. They'll ring when it's ready."

We sat down again. I felt enormously relieved.

"I'll work on the case," he continued, "though I don't believe we'll have much luck. . . . May I ask exactly how you envision my role?"

"This is a case lending itself to a multifactorial a.n.a.lysis," I began cautiously, selecting my words with care. "I'm not familiar with your program but I am familiar with a number of GPSS-type programs, and I a.s.sume your computer is somewhat a.n.a.logous. The problem is not so much a criminal as an intellectual one. Obviously the computer won't be able to identify the culprit, but it might be able to eliminate the culprit as an unknown factor. Solving the case would mean positing a theory to account for the fatalities, a law governing these deaths. . . ."

Dr. Barth looked at me almost with sympathy. Or perhaps is was only the way the light fell from above, gently modulating his features every time he made the slightest movement.

"When I said we I had in mind a team of men, not electrons. I've a.s.sembled a brilliant interdisciplinary team, including some of the best minds of France, and I'm sure they'd jump at the chance. . . . But as for the computer . . . True, we've managed to program one, and so far the test results have been satisfactory, but with such a case-never. . . ." He shook his head. "Why not?"

"Very simple. The computer won't work without hard data." He spread out his arms. "And what are we supposed to use as hard data in this case? Let's suppose a new narcotics ring is operating in Naples, that a hotel is being used as a drop, and they are delivering the stuff by subst.i.tuting it for the salt in certain salt shakers. Now isn't it possible for the salt shakers to get switched around occasionally on the dining-room tables? In that case wouldn't only those who like salt on their food run the risk of getting drugged? And how, may I ask, is a computer supposed to process this if the processing data include nothing about the salt shakers, the drugs, or the culinary habits of the victims?"

I looked at him with admiration. How adept he was at manipulating such ideas. The dinner bell rang, louder and louder till it reached a shrill intensity, then suddenly stopped, and a woman's voice could be heard scolding a child, "It's time for us to go downstairs. . . . We always eat on schedule."

The dining room was lit by a long row of pink candles on the table. On the way down Barth whispered that his grandmother would be joining them for dinner, adding that for a ninety-year-old woman she was still extremely fit, if a little on the eccentric side. I took this as a warning of sorts, but before I had a chance to reply I found myself being introduced to the other members of the family. Besides the three children whom I'd already met, and Mrs. Barth, who was already seated across the table in a hand-carved chair identical to the one in the library, I saw an elderly lady dressed in a gown of royal purple. An old-fashioned lorgnette trimmed with diamonds glittered on her chest, and her small black eyes transfixed me like a couple of shiny pebbles. She held out her hand, but so high and with such enthusiasm that I kissed it, something I otherwise never do; and in a surprisingly deep and masculine voice, one that sounded as false as a voice in a poorly dubbed film, she said: "So you're an astronaut, are you? I've never sat at the same table with an astronaut before."

Even the doctor was taken by surprise. Mrs. Barth was quick to remark that the children had announced my arrival. The old lady told me to sit down next to her and to speak in a loud voice, as she was hard of hearing. Next to her table setting was a kidney-shaped hearing aid, but at no time during the meal did she use it.

"You can keep me entertained," she said. "I doubt whether I shall have a similar occasion so soon again. Please, be so kind as to tell me how the earth really looks from up there? I don't trust the photographs."

"And rightly so," I said, pa.s.sing her the salad bowl, secretly charmed by her blunt and unceremonious manner. "No photo can ever match it, especially not when the orbital path is close and the earth gradually takes the place of the sky. It doesn't block the sky, it becomes the sky. That's the impression one gets."

"Is it really as beautiful as they say?" Her voice expressed doubt.

"It was to me, anyhow. What impressed me most was the emptiness of it, the desolation. Not a sign of any cities, highways, or seaports-nothing but oceans, continents, and clouds. By the way, the oceans and continents look much the same as we were taught at school. But the clouds ... I found the clouds to be the most uncanny thing of all, maybe because they didn't look like clouds."

"What did they look like?"

"That depends on the alt.i.tude. From very far away they look like the old and wrinkly hide of a rhinoceros, all cracked and bluish-gray. But the closer you get, the more they look like different shades of sheep's wool after it's been combed out."