Nazrullah had no last name.” Captain Verbruggen looked up in approval and Richardson continued reading from Mr. Jaspar’s report:
“‘You know the rest. Week before exams Ellen ran away from college and we don’t know where she went. She wasn’t with the young man, because the detectives kept track of him until he sailed for Afghanistan. Later she turned up at her roommate’s in Connecticut with a little money and a passport. She borrowed twelve hundred dollars, which I later repaid, and then went to England. How she managed this we don’t know, because at this time ordinary people couldn’t get to England … I suppose the world is impressed by ridiculous adventurers, especially if they’re pretty girls. We haven’t heard a word from her since February, 1945.’”
Richardson shook his head dolefully. “No use reading the rest. Poor fellow never had a clue.”
“Any reports from Bryn Mawr?” Captain Verbruggen asked.
“Certainly.” Richardson brightened, shuffling a new set of papers into position. “Deans, professors, counselors all report the same: Ellen Jaspar presented no problems.” Satisfied with the completeness of his responses, the intelligence officer folded his file and smiled.
During the former F.B.I. man’s report I had been impressed by the detached air assumed by Nexler, the State Department career man. Now he coughed modestly, produced from an inside pocket a letter which he unfolded with care, and said, “In this case it isn’t quite proper to claim that no one had foresight. I made some inquiries at Harvard University, where a Bryn Mawr professor is spending his sabbatical. A routine check by our people there …” He turned condescendingly to Richardson and said in an offhand way, “After the meeting I’ll give you the letter. It could prove relevant.”
Richardson was justifiably furious that information had been withheld from him, but he masked his anger behind the ritual of lighting his pipe. “I’d like to hear what you’ve turned up,” he said with studied amiability.
“Probably of no consequence,” Nexler replied deprecatingly. “Comes from an assistant professor of music your people overlooked at the time. Here’s what he says now.
“‘I’m not surprised at what you tell me about the behavior of Ellen Jaspar, and without wishing toappear omniscient I must say that I foresaw almost everything that you report. In fact, I shared my predictions with her parents, but they paid no attention.
“‘When Ellen first joined our group she struck me as one destined for tragedy, but I was not satisfied then nor am I now that
tragedy
was the word I sought. I saw her as a girl of good intention who was determined to disaffiliate herself from our society, and I wondered if she were strong enough to find something better to rely on.
“‘I met her for the first time during the opening of college in 1941. Without my asking she said, “I want to get as far away from Dorset, Pennsylvania, as I can.” She spoke with transparent hatred, which did not disturb me at the time, for I encounter many young people who feel this way during their first year of college. But Ellen plunged into the field of medieval music with such intensity that I knew it was not the music she sought. I took the trouble to check with her other professors, and they found her to be normal and above average in performance. I therefore had to conclude that what I had witnessed was merely some temporary aberration.
“‘But when Ellen returned in her second year with increased bitterness, claiming that the world seemed pointless, as if it were interested only in a perpetual Saturday night dance at some cosmic country club, I began to take her malaise more seriously, and I asked my wife to talk with her. Ellen brought her young Haverford boy to dine with us and we found him charming, but were forced to agree with her that his ambitions were as ordinary as her father’s.
“‘My wife and I became so
“‘You know the rest. Week before exams Ellen ran away from college and we don’t know where she went. She wasn’t with the young man, because the detectives kept track of him until he sailed for Afghanistan. Later she turned up at her roommate’s in Connecticut with a little money and a passport. She borrowed twelve hundred dollars, which I later repaid, and then went to England. How she managed this we don’t know, because at this time ordinary people couldn’t get to England … I suppose the world is impressed by ridiculous adventurers, especially if they’re pretty girls. We haven’t heard a word from her since February, 1945.’”
Richardson shook his head dolefully. “No use reading the rest. Poor fellow never had a clue.”
“Any reports from Bryn Mawr?” Captain Verbruggen asked.
“Certainly.” Richardson brightened, shuffling a new set of papers into position. “Deans, professors, counselors all report the same: Ellen Jaspar presented no problems.” Satisfied with the completeness of his responses, the intelligence officer folded his file and smiled.
During the former F.B.I. man’s report I had been impressed by the detached air assumed by Nexler, the State Department career man. Now he coughed modestly, produced from an inside pocket a letter which he unfolded with care, and said, “In this case it isn’t quite proper to claim that no one had foresight. I made some inquiries at Harvard University, where a Bryn Mawr professor is spending his sabbatical. A routine check by our people there …” He turned condescendingly to Richardson and said in an offhand way, “After the meeting I’ll give you the letter. It could prove relevant.”
Richardson was justifiably furious that information had been withheld from him, but he masked his anger behind the ritual of lighting his pipe. “I’d like to hear what you’ve turned up,” he said with studied amiability.
“Probably of no consequence,” Nexler replied deprecatingly. “Comes from an assistant professor of music your people overlooked at the time. Here’s what he says now.
“‘I’m not surprised at what you tell me about the behavior of Ellen Jaspar, and without wishing toappear omniscient I must say that I foresaw almost everything that you report. In fact, I shared my predictions with her parents, but they paid no attention.
“‘When Ellen first joined our group she struck me as one destined for tragedy, but I was not satisfied then nor am I now that
tragedy
was the word I sought. I saw her as a girl of good intention who was determined to disaffiliate herself from our society, and I wondered if she were strong enough to find something better to rely on.
“‘I met her for the first time during the opening of college in 1941. Without my asking she said, “I want to get as far away from Dorset, Pennsylvania, as I can.” She spoke with transparent hatred, which did not disturb me at the time, for I encounter many young people who feel this way during their first year of college. But Ellen plunged into the field of medieval music with such intensity that I knew it was not the music she sought. I took the trouble to check with her other professors, and they found her to be normal and above average in performance. I therefore had to conclude that what I had witnessed was merely some temporary aberration.
“‘But when Ellen returned in her second year with increased bitterness, claiming that the world seemed pointless, as if it were interested only in a perpetual Saturday night dance at some cosmic country club, I began to take her malaise more seriously, and I asked my wife to talk with her. Ellen brought her young Haverford boy to dine with us and we found him charming, but were forced to agree with her that his ambitions were as ordinary as her father’s.
“‘My wife and I became so
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