'No,” Joly said again, this time with a wary edge to his voice.
'Oh-oh,” John murmured from outside the jellyfish-ring. “Looks like another case of cleidocranial whatsamatosis.'
The circle of trainees surged silently forward with interest, all at the same time, like a jellyfish flexing inward.
Gideon looked at Joly. “Inspector, I know who this is.'
Joly looked down his nose at him, head tilted back, lips pursed, eyes narrowed. “You knew who it was yesterday.'
'I was wrong,” Gideon said.
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SEVENTEEN
* * * *
THERE was a ripple of anticipation around the circle. They had been through three sessions with Gideon, and they knew that he was not above the occasional use of a dramatic device to make a point. But this time they waited in vain.
'I think,” Joly said, “this is something the professor and I had best talk about alone. I'm sure you understand.'
'Good idea,” Gideon agreed. What he had to say was going to test Joly's newly acquired tolerance to its limit, and it would never do for the dignified
When they had left, buzzing, Joly closed the door behind them, silently walked the length of the room back to the table, looked at John, looked at Gideon, and sighed.
'I know I'm going to regret this...” He tipped his head towards the table, looked back at Gideon, and elaborately formed his lips into a circle, as if he were about to blow a smoke ring.
'Who?” he said suspiciously.
Gideon decided that the best way to tell him was just to tell him.
'I think it's Guillaume du Rocher.'
After a brief moment of stunned silence, John smacked his big hands together and yelped with joy.
Joly's lips continued to form their fishlike O for a few seconds, then wavered and shut. He subsided slowly into one of the scattered chairs with another immense sigh.
'This—” Gideon began.
But Joly was resignedly holding uphis hand. “By Guillaume du Rocher,” he said patiently, “I imagine you mean... I pray fervently you mean... some long-lost relative—of whose existence only you happen to be aware, of course— who happens to have the same name as the Guillaume du Rocher who drowned last Monday in Mont St. Michel Bay?'
'No, I don't—'
'Because you
'No, I don't mean that Guillaume either.'
'Come on, Doc,” John laughed. He too dropped into one of the black plastic-and-chrome chairs. “What do you mean? Who is this guy?'
'What I mean,” Gideon said, “is that unless I'm way off base the man who drowned in the bay wasn't really Guillaume du Rocher.'
Their expressions were so artlessly baffled—jaws dropping, brows soaring, like a couple of ungifted actors simulating astonishment—that he burst out laughing. In all fairness, he remarked to himself, being the Skeleton Detective of America did have its moments.
'I'm pretty sure
'Well—but—” John stammered. “You said you met him yourself a couple of years ago—'
'What I met was somebody who called himself Guillaume du Rocher.'
'And are we permitted to know,” Joly asked, recovering his equilibrium, “how you deduced that the man who was known as Guillaume du Rocher for as long as anyone can remember—to his family, his attorney, his servants, his doctor, and scores of others who knew him well—was not the ‘real’ Guillaume du Rocher?” He pulled out a fresh pack of Gitanes and tore it open; rather testily, it seemed to Gideon.
'I deduced it from the simple fact that these bones belonged to the real Guillaume. Therefore, nobody else could be him, no matter how many people recognized him or think they recognized him. He's been down in that cellar for almost fifty years. At least that's the way it looks to me,” he added circumspectly, mindful that less than twenty-four hours ago he'd been telling them the bones were Alain's. “John, do you remember what Loti said to us?'
The ends of Joly's mouth moved slightly down. He was not pleased to hear that they had been interviewing the
