ing the Memorial Day weekend of 1968， Kate Shaw<br >~red a robbery that was， she conceded straightaway， "all<br >own fault." Living on one of the few privately owned<br >es of lakefront property in Thorpe， she had permitted a<br >ag hiker to spend Friday night camped on the shore. The<br > afternoon she went shopping. When she returned， the<br >r was gone， and so were her typewriter， camera， and<br >D.<br >spector Adams resisted the urge to lecture on the horrors<br > might have befallen an attractive young woman alone<br > a stranger in an isolated house. He commented that she<br >lucky her stereo was too big to carry， and warned that the<br >~giate secondhand market would probably swallow her<br >is without a trace.<br >he End， he thought， and as far as the case was concerned<br >was right. But two days later he passed her in the<br >cersity library where she returned his greeting， although<br >expression suggested she wasn t sure who he was. On<br >rday， at Professor Lacey s end-of-term party for present<br >former students， she not only recognized him but sought<br >out.<br >tello， Inspector，" she said with a smile. "You re like a<br >word." He raised his eyebrows inquiringly. "You know，<br >