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Authors: Aaron Elkins
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Americans meet socially on foreign soil, a different level of cordiality is called for, and Gideon’s heart sank at the prospect of the serious, plodding Arbuckle horning in on his Dorset evenings with Julie. Having a sexy, interesting Englishman around didn’t seem so hot either.
Nevertheless, Gideon smiled and offered his hand. "What brings you to Charmouth?"
"Business, naturally," said Paul (naturally), and frowned behind round, rimless spectacles. As many people do, he looked like what he was, with his thick glasses, his rumpled clothes, and his innocuous, vaguely porcine face (Porky-the-pig-like, really). "I don’t know whether you heard, but I’m not at Michigan anymore. I’ve been director of field archaeology for the Horizon Foundation since July. I’ve been running a terrific dig in France, but I’ve had to put it aside and come here on…business."
He indicated the other man. "And this is Frederick Robyn, secretary of the Wessex Antiquarian Society."
When they had all sat down facing the fire, the Englishman said, "I wonder if you know why we are both in Charmouth."
"I suppose you’re here to conduct the Stonebarrow Fell inquiry Thursday."
Arbuckle looked extremely surprised, Robyn mildly so. It was Robyn who spoke, raising a cool eyebrow. "And how do you happen to know that?"
"There was an article about it in the
Times.
"
Robyn’s suavity faltered. "The
Times!
Good Lord!"
Gideon laughed in spite of himself. "The
West Dorset Times,
Mr. Robyn, not the
London Times.
"
"Still, it’s unfortunate that the press should have it at all. Publicity can do no one any good." He shook his handsome head. "I suppose it was Marcus himself who told them. The man is unable to restrain himself." He looked at Gideon and smiled. "But of course it’s precisely that which has necessitated this entire unhappy process."
At that point Andy Hinshore scurried in with a sherry for Robyn and a lager for Arbuckle. "Oh, hello Dr. Oliver," he said. "Sorry, I didn’t know you were here. Can I get you something?"
"A Scotch and soda would be nice, thanks."
As he left, Arbuckle said to Gideon, "This article on Stonebarrow Fell… what was the gist of it?"
Gideon had barely begun when Hinshore returned with his drink on a tray. "Perhaps you’d move that thing, sir? I wouldn’t want to knock it off the table, God forbid."
Gideon looked down at the ammonite he’d absentmindedly placed on the table near his chair, and put it in his pocket. "It’s just a fossil from the beach, Andy."
Hinshore shook his compact head vigorously. "Oh, no, I know the way you scientists are with your fossils. Indeed I do. Last month I almost put a mug of beer down on one of Professor Arbuckle’s, and I thought he was going to skin me alive." Chuckling, he put the glass in front of Gideon.
Paul Arbuckle was at times the most literal-minded of men. "Oh," he said, with a wondering, mildly aggrieved air, "I don’t think I was going to skin you alive."
"Well," Hinshore said affably, "you could have fooled me."
"You were here last month, Paul?" Gideon asked. "Has this thing with Nate been going on as long as that?"
"Oh, it had nothing to do with the inquiry; just a routine field audit. I visit all our sites quarterly."
"I hadn’t realized you’d been here before, either," Robyn said with interest. "How did things look to you then?"
"Everything was fine. Marcus hadn’t made any of his strange statements yet—or only a few—and the dig itself was absolutely ship-shape. You know what a fine technician he is."
"More’s the pity," Robyn said absently, his eyes on the fire blazing in a metal box in the grand but inefficient Tudor fireplace of vaulted stone. Gideon stole a look at his watch. Not that he was worried, but where the hell was Julie anyway?
Hinshore had remained in the room, listening with open interest. "Oh!" he said suddenly, producing a newspaper from under his arm. "I heard you ask about the
Times
article on Stonebarrow Fell. I
Nevertheless, Gideon smiled and offered his hand. "What brings you to Charmouth?"
"Business, naturally," said Paul (naturally), and frowned behind round, rimless spectacles. As many people do, he looked like what he was, with his thick glasses, his rumpled clothes, and his innocuous, vaguely porcine face (Porky-the-pig-like, really). "I don’t know whether you heard, but I’m not at Michigan anymore. I’ve been director of field archaeology for the Horizon Foundation since July. I’ve been running a terrific dig in France, but I’ve had to put it aside and come here on…business."
He indicated the other man. "And this is Frederick Robyn, secretary of the Wessex Antiquarian Society."
When they had all sat down facing the fire, the Englishman said, "I wonder if you know why we are both in Charmouth."
"I suppose you’re here to conduct the Stonebarrow Fell inquiry Thursday."
Arbuckle looked extremely surprised, Robyn mildly so. It was Robyn who spoke, raising a cool eyebrow. "And how do you happen to know that?"
"There was an article about it in the
Times.
"
Robyn’s suavity faltered. "The
Times!
Good Lord!"
Gideon laughed in spite of himself. "The
West Dorset Times,
Mr. Robyn, not the
London Times.
"
"Still, it’s unfortunate that the press should have it at all. Publicity can do no one any good." He shook his handsome head. "I suppose it was Marcus himself who told them. The man is unable to restrain himself." He looked at Gideon and smiled. "But of course it’s precisely that which has necessitated this entire unhappy process."
At that point Andy Hinshore scurried in with a sherry for Robyn and a lager for Arbuckle. "Oh, hello Dr. Oliver," he said. "Sorry, I didn’t know you were here. Can I get you something?"
"A Scotch and soda would be nice, thanks."
As he left, Arbuckle said to Gideon, "This article on Stonebarrow Fell… what was the gist of it?"
Gideon had barely begun when Hinshore returned with his drink on a tray. "Perhaps you’d move that thing, sir? I wouldn’t want to knock it off the table, God forbid."
Gideon looked down at the ammonite he’d absentmindedly placed on the table near his chair, and put it in his pocket. "It’s just a fossil from the beach, Andy."
Hinshore shook his compact head vigorously. "Oh, no, I know the way you scientists are with your fossils. Indeed I do. Last month I almost put a mug of beer down on one of Professor Arbuckle’s, and I thought he was going to skin me alive." Chuckling, he put the glass in front of Gideon.
Paul Arbuckle was at times the most literal-minded of men. "Oh," he said, with a wondering, mildly aggrieved air, "I don’t think I was going to skin you alive."
"Well," Hinshore said affably, "you could have fooled me."
"You were here last month, Paul?" Gideon asked. "Has this thing with Nate been going on as long as that?"
"Oh, it had nothing to do with the inquiry; just a routine field audit. I visit all our sites quarterly."
"I hadn’t realized you’d been here before, either," Robyn said with interest. "How did things look to you then?"
"Everything was fine. Marcus hadn’t made any of his strange statements yet—or only a few—and the dig itself was absolutely ship-shape. You know what a fine technician he is."
"More’s the pity," Robyn said absently, his eyes on the fire blazing in a metal box in the grand but inefficient Tudor fireplace of vaulted stone. Gideon stole a look at his watch. Not that he was worried, but where the hell was Julie anyway?
Hinshore had remained in the room, listening with open interest. "Oh!" he said suddenly, producing a newspaper from under his arm. "I heard you ask about the
Times
article on Stonebarrow Fell. I
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