PROFESSOR NICHOLS WAS a wisp of a man who peered at them through small, bright eyes nearly hidden in fleshy folds. Although his body was about the shortest Brice had ever seen on a man, the brain beneath his crop of white hair had made him a giant. A linguist all his life, Professor Nichols spoke a dozen languages fluently, in addition to reading and writing them. Brice knew him by reputation and grinned at him as he came into the empty Dean’s office.
“Gentlemen?” He favored them with a smile. “I’m Nichols. Doctor Bendtolz said you wanted to speak with me.”
Brice introduced himself and the Federal men and, after a round of handshaking, Cartwell handed the chunk of metal to the professor.
“We’d like to know about the writing, Professor,” Sam put in.
Nichols examined the etching on the m
