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“I see lots of room for improvement,” Izzy said.

Ms. Doveen inquired very sensibly if it might be possible for someone to be concocting a potent aphrodisiac in the lab without the knowledge of management.

I told her such a thing was possible but not very probable given the protocols in place for developing and testing such a drug before it would be allowed on the market.

“But you don’t know for certain?” Professor Athol spoke in an accusatory tone.

“That’s true,” I said, “any more than you would know for certain whether one of your deans was downloading pornography into the hard drive of his office computer.”

Ariel Dearth revived from an uncharacteristic somnambulence. “But if such a drug were under development in the lab, it would be in your interest to cover it up, wouldn’t it?”

“I resent your insinuation,” I replied. “And what possible motive could we have for covering up that or any other research?”

Mr. Dearth smiled. “What I mean, Mr. de Ratour, is that should you be experimenting with anything like a powerful aphrodisiac, then the museum could be liable for wrongful deaths.”

Izzy gave a snorting “ha!” Then he said, “And what rich postmortem pickings there would be for you, Ariel, and the members of your … profession.”

It was Father O’Gould who stepped in to point out that we were meeting to offer advice to the Genetics Lab, if it were needed, and not to indulge in accusations based on speculation.

I thought at that point the meeting might be over or move on to something else, perhaps whether the university’s health coverage should pay for sex-change operations and that sort of thing. Instead, Professor Athol brought up Bert and the chimp’s participation in the development of ReLease, and, with that, the ethical issues surrounding the use of animals in medical experiments.

Father O’Gould, I noticed, leaned forward, evincing a close interest in what I had to say. “Well, first,” I began, “we subscribe, as I’ve noted, to all the provisions of the Animal Welfare Act. Additionally, we take every measure possible to assure the comfort both physically and psychologically where the latter applies of the organism in any experiment.”

Father O’Gould nodded. “The question is one of stewardship. We need always balance the mercy due our fellow creature with the mercy due our fellow man …”

“And woman,” Ms. Brattle interjected.

Ms. Schanke, visibly agitated, burst forth: “What you’re both really saying in fancy language is that it’s all right for us so-called human beings to torture other animals, even those that share ninety-eight percent of our DNA, so that booze-swilling men don’t have to suffer hangovers …”

“Even sinners deserve mercy,” Father O’Gould said gently.

“… and so that big price-gouging companies like Pyramed can make billions in profit …”

“We don’t torture animals,” I replied coolly.

“I think inducing fellow creatures to drink alcohol to excess could be called torture,” said Ms. Brattle, the expert on blame.

“What did you give him to drink?” asked Izzy.

“Vodka in orange juice.”

“And you don’t call that torture?” Ms. Schanke demanded.

Ms. Doveen, an unexpected ally, turned to Ms. Schanke and asked, “How do you know? Maybe he liked getting high. I mean all they do is sit around all day like prisoners.”

“Well,” I said, correcting her gently, “we do have an exercise yard where they spend considerable time together.”

“How do you keep them from breeding?” Professor Athol asked.

“The females are fixed,” I replied, without thinking. “With the exception of one or two that are on special medication.”

“You spayed them?” Ms. Schanke asked with outraged incredulity.

“Yes.”

“Without their permission?”

I shook my head, wondering what Alice in Wonderland realm I had stumbled into.

“Why didn’t you fix the males instead?” Ms. Brattle joined in, sensing blood.

“We followed the recommendations of a respected consultant.”

“A man, no doubt,” said Ms. Schanke.

I ignored her and said something to the effect that the committee might be interested to learn that the museum had