chest with a bony, elegant forefinger. “Me, I'm interested in skulls that disappear from museums and turn up in the ground, instead of the other way around. If Hall-Waddington wants to drop it, that's his business, but me, I'm still interested. And for this kind of interest, believe me, nobody's going to kill me.'
Abe put a chip in his mouth and chewed it slowly. “Listen, Gideon, I was thinking...'
'Oh-oh,” Gideon muttered.
Abe looked up in innocent surprise. “ ‘Oh-oh'? What, ‘oh-oh'?'
'Oh-oh, whenever you tell me you've ‘been thinking,’ in that particular tone of voice, it means you've cooked up something for me that's going to get me in trouble.'
'Me?” The old man's moist eyes opened wider. “Julie, listen how he talks to me, his old professor, who taught him everything he knows,” He turned back to Gideon and spread his hands. “What did I cook up? Nothing. I was only thinking you might like to help me with the shutdown, spend a little time up there—maybe two days, maybe three days. I could use somebody I can trust. Frawley and the others...frankly, I'm not too impressed.'
Ordinarily, Abe would have applied a good deal of embellishment to such a request: He was an old man, his powers were failing, he needed an alert, bright young man beside him, someone he could lean on in his infirmity, et cetera. This time, however, he seemed to think that coaxing was unnecessary.
And of course he was right. Gideon was just as curious, just as interested in poking around Stonebarrow Fell as Abe was. But Gideon had more than buried skulls on his mind. The uncomfortable feeling of being responsible— albeit unknowingly and unwillingly—for Randy's death had not subsided, and a couple of days up on the dig, mixing naturally with the crew, might provide answers that Bagshawe, in his official capacity, would have difficulty finding. Just how much the inspector would appreciate his assistance Gideon didn't know, but that was the inspector's problem.
Julie made a resigned but reasonably cheerful sound. “Okay, I've been wanting to see some of the Hardy things we never got around to, anyway—the cottage at Bockhampton, things like that. Maybe I'll do a little touring on my own while you two do your Sherlock Holmes thing up there.” Her hand found Gideon's knee under the table. “But you're going to have to promise to be careful.'
He covered her hand with his. “Of course we'll be careful, but Abe's right. There's nothing to be careful about.'
'And remember, you're not a detective.'
'She's right,” Abe put in.
Gideon shook his head despairingly. “Why does everyone find it so necessary to keep reminding me of that? When did I ever claim to be a detective?'
The barmaid cleared away the dishes, and Gideon refilled the flowered teapot from the metal pitcher of hot water that had been served along with it, pouring the water directly onto the two gigantic, soggy teabags—each one big enough for three pots of American tea. “There is one thing, Abe,” he said. “I hope it's okay with you if I don't start until Saturday. Tomorrow Julie and I are going over to Lyme Regis. I want to see if I can hunt down the omniscient editor of the
Abe spread his hands and appealed to Julie. “You see the way it is? One minute you give them a job, and the next minute they're asking for time off.'
[Back to Table of Contents]
FOURTEEN
* * * *
STONEBARROW FELL AGAIN
MYSTERY SKULL A HOAX
The “Mycenean Man of Stonebarrow Fell” was revealed yesterday to be a hoax that has left the anthropological establishment reeling with embarrassment. The much-heralded Bronze Age relic had in fact been stolen from the Greater Dorchester Museum of History and Archaeology and secretly implanted at Stonebarrow Fell, where it was subsequently “discovered” by expedition director Nathan G. Marcus.
In a tense scene at the dramatically isolated site high above Charmouth Beach, American physical antropologist Gideon P. Oliver denounced his countryman's find as a fraud, and was immediately supported by representatives of the Wessex Antiquarian Society and the Horizon Foundation, the expedition's joint sponsors. The abducted skull, actually some 27,000 years older than the British Bronze Age, has since been restored to its place of honor in Dorchester.
Professor Marcus has refused comment, but the Times has learned that he has been suspended and recommended for censure by the two sponsoring organizations. In his stead, Dr. Abraham I. Goldstein, Professor Emeritus, Columbia University, assisted by Professor Oliver . . .
With a sigh, Gideon put the word-processed draft on the desk. “This will be in today's edition?'
'Yes,” Ralph Chantry said, elbows on the desk, chubby fingers steepled in front of his lips. “I trust you have no objections?” Despite the overheating in his office, he was burrowed into a thick woolen sweater-vest.
Gideon shook his head. “No, I have no objections.” What difference did it make? It would soon enough be front-page news in the small world of anthropology anyway, and that was the only world that would matter for Nate. “Well, maybe one. I don't know that I exactly ‘denounced’ the thing.'
Chantry took the paper, turned it toward himself, looked down his short, wide nose at it, and sniffed. “What would you say to ‘condemned'?'
'How about ‘indicated'?'
Chantry made a face. “Not enough drama. ‘Revealed'?'
