STANDING BEFORE THEM, a grizzled beard all but hiding his surly features, was the person who had allegedly drowned. He looked different. He was no longer dressed in white, and his khaki clothes were tattered and soiled. His panama hat was gone and he had exchanged his white shoes for a pair of hiking boots. One might have mistaken him for an island beachcomber, but there was no mistaking the bulldog jaw.
“You know, you're a real piece of work,” Fitzhugh said. “Since I seem to have stymied the police, I would have thought I could fool a Harvard professor. But you must not be the typical professor who is all wrapped up in theories.”
“There is nothing wrong with theories, as long as they are sound,” Spearman objected. He was more composed now and a bit riled at the ivory tower inference. “In fact it was economic theory that pointed to you as the murderer.”
“I'm impressed, Professor. When I was in school, I thought economics was a bore. Maybe I should have studied it more carefully. But apparently the police are not taken with your theories. My friendly radio tells me that the police have fingered a couple of blacks as the perpetrators—as they say in the media.”