Beaupierre's the director now and he's given me his blessing to talk to the whole staff and ask them anything I want. I'm hoping I can come up with some answers."
"I would also be interested to know—"Joly began.
"Lucien, let me ask
you
something. What's with all this interest in the Old Man of Tayac? You don't think—or do you think—there's some connection between the institute and Mr. X back there in the cave?"
Joly plucked a shred of tobacco from his lips and leaned back in his chair. "Let me show you something." From the inside pocket of his suit jacket he took an unsealed white envelope. Inside were three black-and-white photographs of the same object that he laid out side by side on the tablecloth. He waited for their response.
"A rusty trowel," Julie said after a moment.
"Lying on the ground," said Gideon.
"Keenly observed," said Joly. "It was found by one of my officers in the brush about twenty-five meters from the entrance to the
abri
in which we were this afternoon. Now look at this one, the enlargement. What do you see burned into the handle?"
Gideon turned the photo to read the letters. "Initials… I.P." He glanced back up at Joly. "Meaning?"
"Institut de Préhistoire!" Julie said.
"Very good, madame—ah, Julie. So I also concluded. And when I took it there, Monsieur Beaupierre took one look at it and identified it as having originally come from their tool bin." He turned to Gideon. "There's your connection, my friend."
Gideon let this sink in for a moment. "Twenty-five meters away. You can't exactly call that the scene of the crime."
"Approximately eighty feet," Joly said. "About as far, wouldn't you say, as a man might be expected to throw it, if he had just come out of the cave and wished to get rid of it at once?"
Gideon shook his head. "Sorry, Lucien, I think you're reaching. These people have run digs all over the place around here. Archaeologists are always leaving stuff like this behind, or having it ripped off, or just losing it." He gathered up the photographs and handed them back to the inspector. "My guess is that what you've got here is a simple coincidence."
"Good," said Joly, pocketing the envelope. "Excellent. I love simple coincidences. I delight in simple coincidences. Whenever I see a simple coincidence I smell a commendation in the offing."
For a few minutes they all digested quietly, Joly smoking and Julie and Gideon sipping wine, all three ruminating over their thoughts. The tray of cheeses was removed, the demitasse cups brought.
"I've been thinking a-bout the issues we were discussing earlier," Joly said. "
Was
Neanderthal a human being? Was he
not
a human being?" He followed this with one of his elaborate Gallic shrugs—eyebrows, chin, and shoulders all going up at the same time, mouth going down. "Forgive me, but there have been no Neanderthals for tens of thousands of years, what does it matter?" He ground out his cigarette, already smoked two-thirds of the way down. "To speak frankly, it hardly seems something that sensible people would quarrel over."
"Sensible people, no," Julie said, "but we're talking about Paleolithic archaeologists. It's against their principles to agree with each other."
Gideon laughed along with her. "She's right, they get nervous when everybody has the same theory. They haven't even agreed on whether 'Neanderthal' should have an 'h' in it or not; there are the old-guard pro-'h' and the radical anti-'h' camps. You know, the institute's holding a public symposium at the community lecture hall tomorrow, Lucien. Why don't you come to it? You'll get some idea."
"What is the subject?"
"It's called 'Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon: Differences and Similarities.'
Joly pursed his narrow lips. "'Neanderthal' with or without the 'h'?"
"With, I think. They're traditionalists on that point."
"Even so, I'm sorry to say I have other business." His eyes lit up. "Ah, dessert. Prepare yourselves."
The market town of Les Eyzies winds for
"I would also be interested to know—"Joly began.
"Lucien, let me ask
you
something. What's with all this interest in the Old Man of Tayac? You don't think—or do you think—there's some connection between the institute and Mr. X back there in the cave?"
Joly plucked a shred of tobacco from his lips and leaned back in his chair. "Let me show you something." From the inside pocket of his suit jacket he took an unsealed white envelope. Inside were three black-and-white photographs of the same object that he laid out side by side on the tablecloth. He waited for their response.
"A rusty trowel," Julie said after a moment.
"Lying on the ground," said Gideon.
"Keenly observed," said Joly. "It was found by one of my officers in the brush about twenty-five meters from the entrance to the
abri
in which we were this afternoon. Now look at this one, the enlargement. What do you see burned into the handle?"
Gideon turned the photo to read the letters. "Initials… I.P." He glanced back up at Joly. "Meaning?"
"Institut de Préhistoire!" Julie said.
"Very good, madame—ah, Julie. So I also concluded. And when I took it there, Monsieur Beaupierre took one look at it and identified it as having originally come from their tool bin." He turned to Gideon. "There's your connection, my friend."
Gideon let this sink in for a moment. "Twenty-five meters away. You can't exactly call that the scene of the crime."
"Approximately eighty feet," Joly said. "About as far, wouldn't you say, as a man might be expected to throw it, if he had just come out of the cave and wished to get rid of it at once?"
Gideon shook his head. "Sorry, Lucien, I think you're reaching. These people have run digs all over the place around here. Archaeologists are always leaving stuff like this behind, or having it ripped off, or just losing it." He gathered up the photographs and handed them back to the inspector. "My guess is that what you've got here is a simple coincidence."
"Good," said Joly, pocketing the envelope. "Excellent. I love simple coincidences. I delight in simple coincidences. Whenever I see a simple coincidence I smell a commendation in the offing."
For a few minutes they all digested quietly, Joly smoking and Julie and Gideon sipping wine, all three ruminating over their thoughts. The tray of cheeses was removed, the demitasse cups brought.
"I've been thinking a-bout the issues we were discussing earlier," Joly said. "
Was
Neanderthal a human being? Was he
not
a human being?" He followed this with one of his elaborate Gallic shrugs—eyebrows, chin, and shoulders all going up at the same time, mouth going down. "Forgive me, but there have been no Neanderthals for tens of thousands of years, what does it matter?" He ground out his cigarette, already smoked two-thirds of the way down. "To speak frankly, it hardly seems something that sensible people would quarrel over."
"Sensible people, no," Julie said, "but we're talking about Paleolithic archaeologists. It's against their principles to agree with each other."
Gideon laughed along with her. "She's right, they get nervous when everybody has the same theory. They haven't even agreed on whether 'Neanderthal' should have an 'h' in it or not; there are the old-guard pro-'h' and the radical anti-'h' camps. You know, the institute's holding a public symposium at the community lecture hall tomorrow, Lucien. Why don't you come to it? You'll get some idea."
"What is the subject?"
"It's called 'Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon: Differences and Similarities.'
Joly pursed his narrow lips. "'Neanderthal' with or without the 'h'?"
"With, I think. They're traditionalists on that point."
"Even so, I'm sorry to say I have other business." His eyes lit up. "Ah, dessert. Prepare yourselves."
The market town of Les Eyzies winds for
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