of, but—"
"Gideon, there are reports from all over the world on flying saucers, and Adolf Hitler, and...well, all kinds of things. Even photographs, but that doesn't prove they're really out there."
"No, of course it doesn't, but why would Howard have left it behind? And are you saying he took the codex out of the chest, threw it down the steps to the bottom, collapsed the tunnel on top of it, and then just walked away from it? What would be the point? How could—"
"I don't know, I don't know,” she said, laughing and exasperated both. “I'm trying to be creative. Look, maybe Howard didn't cave in the stairwell. That is, not on purpose. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe he—now wait, just hear me out—you said that one of the supports had already been knocked out accidentally, right? Well, maybe they weakened some more when he was smashing the lid to get at the codex, and maybe they just collapsed by themselves. Isn't that possible? Maybe...maybe he dropped it and it fell down the stairs, and then the wall caved in on it and he had to leave it because he had no choice."
"Then why not just stick it out and say he had nothing to do with it? Why run off?"
"Well...hmm. I'll have to work on that."
"It's creative, all right, I'll say that.” Gideon lifted his snifter to his face, inhaled, and thought about it. “If you accept the premises, it even has a certain bizarre logic."
She laughed. “I love it when you get carried away."
"No,” he said, smiling back, “I think you have a point. Except—"
"I knew it."
"—why would Howard write a letter to Horizon bragging about stealing the codex, when he didn't?"
"Because...” She paused, groping. “...because he wanted you all to think it was gone.” She brightened, taken with the idea. “He didn't want anyone to look for it and find it before he could come back and dig it up himself. And nobody did,” she finished triumphantly. “Did they?"
Gideon lowered his glass to the table and turned to look at her. “No, they didn't, Julie,” he said slowly. “And so you think it's Howard himself who's been digging, trying to get to the codex before we do?"
"Well, he's the only one who'd know it was still there—if it is still there. It makes sense, doesn't it?"
For a moment Gideon almost thought it did. Then he sank back against the chair. “No, I don't think so. Aside from everything else, the timing's all wrong. Why would he wait until now, the very worst possible time, to try to get it? He could have given things a couple of years to blow over, come back to dig it up with no one around, and be long gone by now."
"True,” Julie admitted after a few seconds. She leaned back in the chair and began rocking again. “Back to the drawing board. Or, on second thought, I think I'll just let you solve it."
"Ah, come on. Coming up with ideas isn't any fun. I'd rather criticize yours."
On the veranda a fluid tenor had joined the guitarist; a sweet, soft version of “El Venadito” floated up to them. They reached across to clasp hands and slowly rocked, listening to the old folk song.
Soy un pobre venadito que habita en la serrani-i-i-a. Como no soy tan mansito...
Gideon sighed, took a long, sleepy stretch, and stood up. “Ready for bed?"
"Whew, again? The tropics really agree with you, don't they?"
"I was thinking,” he said, “of going to sleep.” He held out his hand to lift her out of her chair, and pulled her into his arms. She rubbed her forehead against his cheek and slid her hands slowly up and down his back.
"On the other hand,” he said, “I suppose I could be coaxed."
Julie smiled at him. “Why don't we finish our brandies and then see how we feel? Or if you're still awake."
"Good thinking."
Inside the room, they pulled the louvered balcony doors shut behind them, and Gideon crossed to the front door to flick on the light and start the slow ceiling fan they liked to have on when they slept. Not for the breeze, which was nil, but the lazy
"Gideon, there are reports from all over the world on flying saucers, and Adolf Hitler, and...well, all kinds of things. Even photographs, but that doesn't prove they're really out there."
"No, of course it doesn't, but why would Howard have left it behind? And are you saying he took the codex out of the chest, threw it down the steps to the bottom, collapsed the tunnel on top of it, and then just walked away from it? What would be the point? How could—"
"I don't know, I don't know,” she said, laughing and exasperated both. “I'm trying to be creative. Look, maybe Howard didn't cave in the stairwell. That is, not on purpose. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe he—now wait, just hear me out—you said that one of the supports had already been knocked out accidentally, right? Well, maybe they weakened some more when he was smashing the lid to get at the codex, and maybe they just collapsed by themselves. Isn't that possible? Maybe...maybe he dropped it and it fell down the stairs, and then the wall caved in on it and he had to leave it because he had no choice."
"Then why not just stick it out and say he had nothing to do with it? Why run off?"
"Well...hmm. I'll have to work on that."
"It's creative, all right, I'll say that.” Gideon lifted his snifter to his face, inhaled, and thought about it. “If you accept the premises, it even has a certain bizarre logic."
She laughed. “I love it when you get carried away."
"No,” he said, smiling back, “I think you have a point. Except—"
"I knew it."
"—why would Howard write a letter to Horizon bragging about stealing the codex, when he didn't?"
"Because...” She paused, groping. “...because he wanted you all to think it was gone.” She brightened, taken with the idea. “He didn't want anyone to look for it and find it before he could come back and dig it up himself. And nobody did,” she finished triumphantly. “Did they?"
Gideon lowered his glass to the table and turned to look at her. “No, they didn't, Julie,” he said slowly. “And so you think it's Howard himself who's been digging, trying to get to the codex before we do?"
"Well, he's the only one who'd know it was still there—if it is still there. It makes sense, doesn't it?"
For a moment Gideon almost thought it did. Then he sank back against the chair. “No, I don't think so. Aside from everything else, the timing's all wrong. Why would he wait until now, the very worst possible time, to try to get it? He could have given things a couple of years to blow over, come back to dig it up with no one around, and be long gone by now."
"True,” Julie admitted after a few seconds. She leaned back in the chair and began rocking again. “Back to the drawing board. Or, on second thought, I think I'll just let you solve it."
"Ah, come on. Coming up with ideas isn't any fun. I'd rather criticize yours."
On the veranda a fluid tenor had joined the guitarist; a sweet, soft version of “El Venadito” floated up to them. They reached across to clasp hands and slowly rocked, listening to the old folk song.
Soy un pobre venadito que habita en la serrani-i-i-a. Como no soy tan mansito...
Gideon sighed, took a long, sleepy stretch, and stood up. “Ready for bed?"
"Whew, again? The tropics really agree with you, don't they?"
"I was thinking,” he said, “of going to sleep.” He held out his hand to lift her out of her chair, and pulled her into his arms. She rubbed her forehead against his cheek and slid her hands slowly up and down his back.
"On the other hand,” he said, “I suppose I could be coaxed."
Julie smiled at him. “Why don't we finish our brandies and then see how we feel? Or if you're still awake."
"Good thinking."
Inside the room, they pulled the louvered balcony doors shut behind them, and Gideon crossed to the front door to flick on the light and start the slow ceiling fan they liked to have on when they slept. Not for the breeze, which was nil, but the lazy
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