rationale, however.” He turned his frank, clear, blue eyes expectantly on Gideon.
'Well,” said Gideon. He coughed gently and looked surprised. “Is that the Poundbury skull over there?'
'What?” Professor Hall-Waddington looked over his shoulder at the case with the golden fragment of bone in it. “Why, yes, of course it is. I keep forgetting you're a physical anthropologist and not another fuddy-duddy old antiquary like me.” He chuckled pleasantly. “Here you are, come all this way to pay homage to old Pummy, and I've been prattling on about bellows.'
'Not at all,” Gideon said quickly. “It's been fascinating.'
'Kind of you to say so, but now let's have a look at him, shall we?'
There was, however, one obstacle still to be negotiated— an exhibit consisting of what seemed to be two vicious-looking pitchforks chained together scissors-fashion, and Professor Hall-Waddington was unable to ignore it in passing.
'Know what this is?” At the absence of Gideon's usual courteous murmur, he spoke a little louder. “It's an old hay-devil. Used for bringing hay from wagon to rick, you see...'
Gideon hardly heard him. He was staring at the Poundbury skull fragment only a few feet away. Something was wrong with it, so wildly wrong that it had him momentarily doubting his senses. “Poundbury Man,” he whispered, unaware that he was speaking aloud. “Isn't it supposed to be an elderly man, long-headed...?'
'Supposed to be?” Professor Hall-Waddington echoed, bewildered. “Of course it is. Le Gros Clark himself aged it, and sexed it, and estimated the cranial index. Sir Arthur Keith verified it, and so did your own Hooton.'
Gideon was well aware of all this. He had himself studied photographs and casts of Poundbury Man and had never doubted the original analysis. “Professor,” he said, “would it be possible to take it from the case—to handle it?'
The curator used a key at his waist to unlock the small, ordinary padlock, and raised the glass lid of the case. He turned aside four simple spring-clips that held down the black-velvet-covered block to which the time-stained bone was attached by two loops of wire. Looking oddly at Gideon, he stepped back and gestured politely at it. “Please,” he said.
Gideon picked up the block and turned it so that he could look at the back of the fragment more closely. He needed only a second to confirm his impression.
'It isn't Poundbury Man, sir.'
'Not Poundbury Man?” The old archaeologist laughed tentatively. “Not Poundbury Man?'
'I'm afraid I don't see how it can be.” Poundbury Woman, maybe, or Poundbury Girl, but not Poundbury Man. There was no doubt in Gideon's mind that what lay in his hand was the left rear half of a woman's skull—not elderly at all, but in her twenties. And clearly broad-headed, not long-headed.
'Look at the nuchal crest,” he said, “or rather, the absence of it—and the supra-auricular ridge. They're not nearly pronounced enough to be male—'
'But Le Gros Clark himself stood right here, right where you are... Or was it in my office...?Yes, in my office —'
'And look, sir,” Gideon persisted gently, “you can see for yourself that none of the sutures show even incipient closure, so she's probably no more than twenty-four or twenty-five—'
'But of course it's Poundbury Man. It
'Hard to say,” Gideon's fingers brushed the fragment's edges with seeming carelessness. “It's old, all right. Not thirty thousand years, but a good two or three thousand anyway. On a guess I'd say she might be from one of the brachycephalic Beaker populations, one of the later groups, maybe 1400 or 1500 b.c.'
'No, no.” Professor Hall-Waddington shook his head querulously. “It's quite impossible, I tell you. How could... how...?'
His voice sputtered to a stop as he took his first good look at the skull. “Why,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at it, “that's
He snatched it from Gideon. “Do you know what this is? It's from Sutton Bell—you know Sutton Bell? A later Beaker site near Avebury—1500 b.c. or thereabouts. Look here.” He hunted briefly along the skull's jagged perimeter and found some faded, tiny numbers written in pen: SB J6-2. “You see? But how very odd! How did it get into Pummy's case? And where's Pummy?'
'This fragment—is it from the museum's collection?'
'Yes, of course, but it ought to be in storage in the basement.” The tense skin around his eyes relaxed slightly. “Someone must have accidentally exchanged the two, don't you think? Why, Pummy must be right downstairs in the basement.'
The run to the basement was made with a speed and directness of which Gideon had thought Professor Hall- Waddington incapable. Once there, the doors of a metal storage cabinet were thrown ajar, the contents hastily rummaged through, and finally the lid of a dusty cardboard box labeled SB J6-2 was flung heedlessly across the room. Professor Hall-Waddington thrust his face into the box.
'Empty! Pummy...Pummy appears to have been...” He held the box in trembling hands and looked up at Gideon with wondering eyes. “But why would anyone steal a thirty-thousand-year-old parieto-occipital calvareal fragment?'
[Back to Table of Contents]
TWO
* * * *
