"When New Yorkers started getting strawberries out of season a couple of years back, those weren't strawberries, fella. Those were a special high-sugar yeast culture with true-bred color and just a dash of flavor additive. It was developed right here in this room.
"Twenty years ago Saccharomyces olei Benedictae was just a scrub strain with a lousy taste of tallow and good for nothing. It still tastes of tallow, but its fat content has been pushed up from 15 per cent to 87 per cent. If you used the expressway today, just remember that it's greased strictly with S. 0. Benedictae, Strain AG-7. Developed right here in this room.
"So don't call me a chemist. I'm a zymologist."
Despite himself, Baley retreated before the fierce pride of the other. He said abruptly, "Where were you last night between the hours of eighteen and twenty?"
Clousarr shrugged. "Walking. I like to take a little walk after dinner."
"You visited friends? Or a subetheric?"
"No. Just walked."
Baley's lips tightened. A visit to the subetherics would have involved a notch in Clousarr's ration pack. A meeting with a friend would have involved naming a man or woman, and a cross check.
"No one saw you, then?"
"Maybe someone did. I don't know. Not that I know of, though."
"What about the night before last?"
"Same thing."
"You have no alibi then for either night?"
"If I had done anything criminal, Officer, I'd have one. What do I need an alibi for?"
Baley didn't answer. He consulted his little book. "You were up before the magistrate once. Inciting to riot."
"All right. One of the R things pushed past me and I tripped him up. Is that inciting to riot?"
"The court thought so. You were convicted and fined."
"That ends it, doesn't it? Or do you want to fine me again?"
"Night before last, there was a near riot at a shoe department in the Bronx. You were seen there."
"By whom?"
Baley said, "It was at mealtime for you here. Did you eat the evening meal night before last?"
Clousarr hesitated, then shook his head. "Upset stomach. Yeast gets you that way sometimes. Even an old-timer."
"Last night, there was a near riot in Williamsburg and you were seen there."
"By whom?"
"Do you deny you were present on both occasions?"
"You're not giving me anything to deny. Exactly where did these things happen and who says he saw me?"
Baley stared at the zymologist levelly. "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. I think you're an important man in an unregistered Medievalist organization."
"I can't stop you from thinking, Officer, but thinking isn't evidence. Maybe you know that." Clousarr was grinning.
"Maybe," said Baley, his long face stony, "I can get a little truth out of you right now."
Baley stepped to the door of the balance room and opened it. He said to R. Daneel, who was waiting stolidly outside, "Has Clousarr's evening meal arrived?"
"It is coming now, Elijah."
"Bring it in, will you, Daneel?"
R. Daneel entered a moment later with a metal compartmented tray.
"Put it down in front of Mr. Clousarr, Daneel," said Baley. He sat down on one of the stools lining the balance wall, legs crossed, one shoe swinging rhythmically. He watched Clousarr edge stiffly away as R. Daneel placed the tray on a stool near the zymologist.
"Mr. Clousarr," said Baley. "I want to introduce you to my partner, Daneel Olivaw."
Daneel put out his hand and said, "How do you do, Francis."
Clousarr said nothing. He made no move to grasp Daneel's extended hand. Daneel maintained his position and Clousarr began to redden.
Baley said softly, "You are being rude, Mr. Clousarr. Are you too proud to shake hands with a policeman?"
Clousarr muttered, "If you don't mind, I'm hungry." He unfolded a pocket fork out of a clasp knife he took from his pocket and sat down, eyes bent on his meal.
Baley said, "Daneel, I think our friend is offended by your cold attitude. You are not angry with him, are you?"
"Not at all, Elijah," said R. Daneel.
"Then show that there are no hard feelings. Put your arm about his shoulder."
"I will be glad to," said R. Daneel, and stepped forward.
Clousarr put down his fork. "What is this? What's going on?"
R. Daneel, unruffled, put out his arm.
Clousarr swung backhanded, wildly, knocking R. Daneel's arm to one side. "Damn it, don't touch me."
He jumped up and away, the tray of food tipping and hitting the floor in a messy clatter.
Baley, hard-eyed, nodded curtly to R. Daneel, who thereupon continued a stolid advance toward the retreating zymologist. Baley stepped in front of the door.
Clousarr yelled, "Keep that thing off me."
"That's no way to speak," said Baley with equanimity. "The man's my partner."
"You mean he's a damned robot," shrieked Clousarr.
"Get away from him, Daneel," said Baley promptly.
R. Daneel stepped back and stood quietly against the door just behind Baley. Clousarr, panting harshly, fists clenched, faced Baley.
Baley said, "All right, smart boy. What makes you think Daneel's a robot?"
"Anyone can tell!"
"We'll leave that to a judge. Meanwhile, I think we want you at headquarters, Clousarr. We'd like to have you explain exactly how you knew Daneel was a robot. And lots more, mister, lots more. Daneel, step outside and get through to the Commissioner. He'll be at his home by now. Tell him to come down to the office. Tell him I have a fellow who can't wait to be questioned."