ceiling, his hands clasped behind his neck, “I was just thinking: these questions pertaining to the split infinitive bring naturally to mind the controversy over the supposed use of the independent pronoun to express a relation of possession. In that matter, I must respectfully take issue with Gardiner’s views. I believe I can do so persuasively. Ahem.”
Gideon steeled himself, but the courageous Bruno took advantage of Haddon’s cogitative pause to change the subject.
“Say, did you ever find out any more about those bones?” he asked the director.
Gideon perked up a little. Bones?
Haddon turned abruptly snappish. “There was nothing to find out. It’s all been taken care of with no harm done.”
“What do you mean, nothing to find out? What about what it was doing there?”
“Honestly, Mr. Gustafson, it was no more than—”
“Seemed to me like something for the Skeleton Detective,” the impervious Bruno continued. He looked toward Gideon with a jocular wiggle of the eyebrows. “The Case of the Body in the Dustbin.”
Haddon smiled thinly. “I doubt very much if it would hold Dr. Oliver’s interest.”
He was wrong, of course. Bones could always hold his interest. And compared to Middle Egyptian split infinitives, they were spellbinding. “Actually—” he began.
“And what about that head?” Bruno asked. “I heard—”
Haddon yawned delicately, tapping his mouth with his fingers. “I do beg your pardon,” he said. “Obviously, it’s past my bedtime. And Dr. Oliver must be positively exhausted. How thoughtless of me to keep you up. Tomorrow’s another day.”
After that there wasn’t much to say other than good night.
The living quarters at Horizon House—twelve bunk-bed cubicles for graduate students and seasonal staff, eleven roomier but no less Spartan rooms for permanent staff and visitors, and the director’s two-room apartment—all opened off the handsome courtyard-patio with its arched portico, its fig and mango trees, and its tinkling, tiled Moorish fountain. Gideon and Julie’s room was in the north wing where the accommodations for visiting VIPs were located along with two rooms for married staff. Bruno, who was a visiting VIP if there ever was one, had chosen instead to stay at the New Winter Palace Hotel (or rather Bea had; if she was going to go traipsing around the Third World, she’d declared, she was damn well going to do it first-class). He headed for the front gate of the compound, where the guard would call him a taxi, leaving Gideon, TJ, and a yawning Arlo to walk across the tiled patio to their quarters.
Jerry Baroff, whom Gideon had met at dinner, was sprawled in one of the rattan garden chairs in the dark, feet up on a low table and placidly smoking his pipe.
“Hi,” he said, “how’d the seminar on Middle Egyptian go?”
Gideon smiled. “You mean the subject’s always the same?”
“Uh-uh, lucky guess. Sometimes it’s the Co-regency. I don’t know, tonight just felt like Middle Egyptian.” He pointed the bit of his pipe at them. “Verb forms, am I right?”
“Right on,” TJ said, laughing. “Right up until Bruno brought up the bones, and then it was ‘Good night, ladies.” “
“What was that all about?” Gideon said. “I didn’t have a chance to ask.”
“Good God, it’d take all night to tell,” Arlo said. “You must be falling off your feet.”
“Not really,” he said truthfully. “I’m dragging, all right, but I’m not sleepy.”
Jerry hooked a skinny ankle around another chair and pulled it toward Gideon. “Have a seat, then.” He got up in loosely coordinated segments and brought another one for TJ. Arlo, who seemed torn between staying and leaving, finally sat down too, but on the edge of the chair, prepared to leave at any moment.
Gideon was happy to stay outdoors for a while longer. Their room was on the musty side, and Julie would be profoundly, unwakeably asleep anyway. Out here the night air was
Gideon steeled himself, but the courageous Bruno took advantage of Haddon’s cogitative pause to change the subject.
“Say, did you ever find out any more about those bones?” he asked the director.
Gideon perked up a little. Bones?
Haddon turned abruptly snappish. “There was nothing to find out. It’s all been taken care of with no harm done.”
“What do you mean, nothing to find out? What about what it was doing there?”
“Honestly, Mr. Gustafson, it was no more than—”
“Seemed to me like something for the Skeleton Detective,” the impervious Bruno continued. He looked toward Gideon with a jocular wiggle of the eyebrows. “The Case of the Body in the Dustbin.”
Haddon smiled thinly. “I doubt very much if it would hold Dr. Oliver’s interest.”
He was wrong, of course. Bones could always hold his interest. And compared to Middle Egyptian split infinitives, they were spellbinding. “Actually—” he began.
“And what about that head?” Bruno asked. “I heard—”
Haddon yawned delicately, tapping his mouth with his fingers. “I do beg your pardon,” he said. “Obviously, it’s past my bedtime. And Dr. Oliver must be positively exhausted. How thoughtless of me to keep you up. Tomorrow’s another day.”
After that there wasn’t much to say other than good night.
The living quarters at Horizon House—twelve bunk-bed cubicles for graduate students and seasonal staff, eleven roomier but no less Spartan rooms for permanent staff and visitors, and the director’s two-room apartment—all opened off the handsome courtyard-patio with its arched portico, its fig and mango trees, and its tinkling, tiled Moorish fountain. Gideon and Julie’s room was in the north wing where the accommodations for visiting VIPs were located along with two rooms for married staff. Bruno, who was a visiting VIP if there ever was one, had chosen instead to stay at the New Winter Palace Hotel (or rather Bea had; if she was going to go traipsing around the Third World, she’d declared, she was damn well going to do it first-class). He headed for the front gate of the compound, where the guard would call him a taxi, leaving Gideon, TJ, and a yawning Arlo to walk across the tiled patio to their quarters.
Jerry Baroff, whom Gideon had met at dinner, was sprawled in one of the rattan garden chairs in the dark, feet up on a low table and placidly smoking his pipe.
“Hi,” he said, “how’d the seminar on Middle Egyptian go?”
Gideon smiled. “You mean the subject’s always the same?”
“Uh-uh, lucky guess. Sometimes it’s the Co-regency. I don’t know, tonight just felt like Middle Egyptian.” He pointed the bit of his pipe at them. “Verb forms, am I right?”
“Right on,” TJ said, laughing. “Right up until Bruno brought up the bones, and then it was ‘Good night, ladies.” “
“What was that all about?” Gideon said. “I didn’t have a chance to ask.”
“Good God, it’d take all night to tell,” Arlo said. “You must be falling off your feet.”
“Not really,” he said truthfully. “I’m dragging, all right, but I’m not sleepy.”
Jerry hooked a skinny ankle around another chair and pulled it toward Gideon. “Have a seat, then.” He got up in loosely coordinated segments and brought another one for TJ. Arlo, who seemed torn between staying and leaving, finally sat down too, but on the edge of the chair, prepared to leave at any moment.
Gideon was happy to stay outdoors for a while longer. Their room was on the musty side, and Julie would be profoundly, unwakeably asleep anyway. Out here the night air was
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