Nora looked at him curiously. “Are you saying you know where it is?”

“I have a guess.”

“But you’ve never even been here before!”

“And what, pray, does that have to do with it?”

Nora was silent a moment. “Okay, I’ll bite. Where?”

“The first question to ask, Nora, is: Where is it not? It would not be in Smith’s room—he was gone all day in the mines, and in his room it would be insecure. Nor would it be hidden in the saloon: that area was too busy. The same for the kitchen. It would not be hidden elsewhere in the town—too risky—or in the surrounding hills, because people would see him going up there and wonder what he was doing. And left outside, it would be exposed to the elements. That leaves only one place: the basement.”

“But the basement was thoroughly searched! First by me and then by Huckey and those other two FBI guys.”

“Yes. Poor Huckey.” He looked at Fountain again. “I suppose dropping him down the well was your work. After all, you couldn’t have somebody—especially someone trained in uncovering evidence—wandering around the ghost town and possibly finding your precious rifle.”

When Fountain still said nothing, Pendergast looked back at Nora. “In any case, knowing the basement had already been carefully searched was a great help to me. It sharply narrowed down the possible hiding places.”

“But where, then?” Nora asked impatiently.

“The basement walls are made of adobe—dried mud—and very thick. Hiding something in them would be quite a simple matter, actually. You hollow out a space in the wall big enough to fit a rifle, put it in, and then mud it back up. A little touching up would disguise the cavity and make it look like the rest of the mud walls. But nineteenth-century mud cannot resist twenty-first-century metal detectors.”

Just then, a shout came from the site, and Nora could see everyone rushing into the basement. Through the door she could see one of the team was kneeling at the far wall, above where Gower’s body had been found. They began scraping at the mud and soon had broken through to a cavity. Now they were taking pictures and then—finally—a long rifle was removed from its hiding place as all the agents broke into applause.

Nora looked at Pendergast. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“I simply extrapolate the facts farther than most. That’s all. It’s like chess: a good player may think three plies ahead. A better player will think five.” He turned to Fountain, who was staring at the scene with astonishment and fury. “Well, Mr. Fountain, since your silence has done you no good—as you can see, we found what you’ve been searching for—you might consider if talking to us will serve you better.”

Fountain stared at Pendergast. “You’re the very devil.”

“Coming from you, sir, I’ll take that as a compliment.” And Pendergast gave the lawyer a small, formal bow.

63

PENDERGAST, HAVING DESCENDED deus ex machina on the scene as was his wont, had performed his minor miracle and returned to New York City. Corrie was back in Albuquerque, and Nora had just received a call from the president’s office. Dr. Weingrau, she was told, would like to see her as soon as it was convenient. It was convenient immediately: Nora jumped to her feet and—still holding the envelope she’d been about to open—went out from behind her desk and into the hall at a brisk walk.

The office of Dr. Marcelle Weingrau looked much as it had before, with the addition of a Salvador Dalí print on one wall. Nora took a seat in one of the leather chairs. She knew what this meeting was about, of course, and her heart was beating like crazy. She kept telling herself there was no reason to be nervous; in fact, there was if anything less reason, with all the accolades she’d received for her part in assisting the FBI in bringing the case to a close.

“Nora, so glad you could come,” Weingrau said, in a warm and welcoming voice. “Have you recovered from all the recent excitement?”

“Yes,” Nora said. “It’s embarrassing to recall how I asked you for two extra days to excavate that body at High Lonesome, and it ended up being weeks—”

Weingrau waved this away with her hand. “It ended up being nothing short of heroic. That was remarkable help you gave the FBI … and the publicity was invaluable for the Institute.”

“Thank you.”

Weingrau folded her hands on her desk. “I asked you here to speak to you about something else.”

Nora braced herself. This was it. This was about her promotion.

“As you know, Dr. Winters is retiring, and the position of chief of archaeology will be opening up.”

Nora nodded.

“Although I suppose I’m personally an exception to the rule, no doubt you’re aware that the Institute has a tradition of promoting from within. We don’t normally like to reach out beyond our family, so to speak, to fill positions, especially when we have the talent right here.”

“I think it’s a good policy.”

“Yes. Now, I’ve been in close consultation with the vice president and our board. The decision to fill this position is not mine alone, particularly since I’ve only been here for two months. A great deal of thought and discussion has gone on behind the scenes.”