Murder in the Queen's Armes

'I said,” Nate enunciated loudly, “that he is too damn incompetent to fill in a find card correctly.'

Gideon let that sink in for a few seconds. Then he said, “He strikes me as kind of bright. Didn't he win a Grabow Award a few years ago?'

'Grabow Award,” Nate grumbled. “He's glick and he's slib, that's all he is.'

'Pardon?” Gideon said again.

'I said,” Nate practically shouted, “that he is gl... slick and glib, that's all. Wants to jump to grand conclusions without going through all the grubwork.” He swallowed a long draught of the stout and studied the glass somberly. “Hell, who doesn't? But that's what archaeology is: recording and counting and sorting. And,” he added with a fierce look at Julie, “housekeeping.'

'I'm sure it is,” Julie said politely.

'Damn right.” Nate closed his eyes and seemed to doze.

The barmaid brought their Ploughman's lunches: warm rolls, butter, big crumbly, blue-veined wedges of Stilton, pickled onions, tomato, and chutney. “ ‘Kew,” she said. “You don't suppose the gentleman wants another glass of stout?'

'I don't think so,” said Gideon.

'That's good,” she responded sensibly, and went away.

'What do we do now?” Julie asked.

'Eat, I guess, and let Nate enjoy his snooze. I'll get him back to the Cormorant when we're done. It's only a couple of blocks.'

Julie thoughtfully sliced into a large pickled onion. “Poor, poor man. Do you still believe he didn't do it himself? Plant the skull, I mean?'

'Yes, I do. Even though Frawley says he did.'

Nate had begun to snore softly. Gideon turned his own chair slightly away from him and cut off a section of cheese. He was extremely hungry. “The Stilton's good, isn't it?'

'Mmm, fabulous. I suppose you're going back up to Stonebarrow Fell after lunch? No country walks today?'

'I think I'd better.” He smiled and caressed the back of her hand with his fingertips. “Poor Julie. I've been ignoring you, haven't I?'

'Oh, that's okay; I know Abe needs you. You know what I'd really like to do, though?'

'Speak,” Gideon managed, with his mouth full of roll and chutney, “and it's yours.'

'Do you remember that beautiful meadow on the way to Wootton Fitzpaine, where we sat on a log for a while?'

Gideon nodded. “Dyne Meadow.'

'Uh-huh. Well, there's a full moon tonight. I looked it up; it comes up at seven-oh-four. Wouldn't it be lovely to go back there, sit on that log, and watch the moonrise? The sky's clear and it's not very cold. Am I being silly?'

'I think,” Gideon said, “it sounds like a great idea. We'll have dinner early and take along some brandy and a thermos of coffee.'

Julie smiled and fell happily to her chutney.

'Grubwork,” Nate announced startlingly, “and Hillyer thinks he's too damn brilliant to be bothered with it. That's his problem. Archaeology is ninety percent grubwork and ten percent brainwork.” He inhaled noisily. “And fifty percent housework. Leon thinks it's a hundred percent intell... intellectualization.'

'Yes,” Gideon said. “he told me that the two of you have had a few friendly arguments about that.'

'Friendly arguments?” Astonished, Nate stared woozily at Julie. “You hear that? Friendly arguments! Ha, ha.'

'They weren't friendly?” Gideon asked.

'Unfriendly arguments, that's what they were. I told him last summer, back at Gelden, oh, yeah.” He looked accusingly at his glass. “You bet I did.'

'Told him what, Nate?'

'Told him,” Nate said, “that unless he showed me on this dig that he was at least trying to learn how to do the grubwork, I wasn't going to approve his dissertation, and I was going to recommend that he be fulnk...flunked out. And...and he hasn't made one goddamn effort—not one. So's gonna be good-bye, Leon. Ho, ho, ho.'

'Wait a minute, Nate. You're telling me Leon is flunking?'

'Damn right. I don't give a damn how many Grabows he wins. Archaeology is ninety percent grubwork, eighty percent—'

'And he knows you're flunking him?'

'Well... sure...'

'Leon Hillyer!” Gideon whispered fiercely. Why hadn't it occurred to him before? Nate had practically leveled an accusing finger at Leon ten minutes ago—without knowing it, of course—and it had gone right by Gideon. He jumped up and went to the bar.

'Do you have any candy?'