"I figured
the odds against that being chance. There are a lot of variables that
might affect it one way or another, but ten to the fifteenth power is
what I get for a sort of median figure."
"Did you give that story to the _Valley Times?_" he asked Fitch,
suspicion rising and dragging anger up after it.
"Of course, I did," Fitch said. "I'll admit, I had to go behind your
back and have some of my postgrads get statements from the boys in
your history class, but you wouldn't talk about it yourself...."
Tom Smith was standing beside him. He was twenty years younger than
Chalmers, he was an amateur boxer, and he had good reflexes. He caught
Chalmers' arm as it was traveling back for an uppercut, and held it.
"Take it easy, Ed; you don't want to start a slugfest in here. This is
the Faculty Club; remember?"
"I won't, Tom; it wouldn't prove anything if I did." He turned to
Fitch. "I won't talk about sending your students to pump mine, but at
least you could have told me before you gave that story out."
"I don't know what you're sore about," Fitch defended himself. "I
believed in you when everybody else thought you were crazy, and if I
hadn't collected signed and dated statements from your boys, there'd
have been no substantiation.
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