"Gideon? This is… ahum…"

"Lucien?"

"Yes, that's right. I'm pleased that you recognize my voice."

"Well, of course I would."

Actually, it wasn't the voice, or even the accent; it was that "ahum." Lucien Joly, a formal type, wasn't all that comfortable referring to himself by his first name. Gideon had considered it a major accomplishment that afternoon in the little French village of Dinan, when the inspector had first done it. At the time, Joly had been been attending a forensic sciences seminar in St. Malo a few miles away, where Gideon had been one of the speakers. Afterward they'd worked together on a case and had become friends of a sort. Later Joly had been transferred to Perigueux, the capital city of the departement of the Dordogne, and when Gideon had made his current plans to go to nearby Les Eyzies to research the celebrated archaeological hoax known as The Old Man of Tayac, he had telephoned him to suggest that they get together. They had agreed to meet for dinner at the restaurant Au Vieux Moulin in Les Eyzies, one of Joly's favorites, on October 7. That was still five weeks away.

"Is there a problem with the seventh?" Gideon asked. "Need to change our date?"

"Change the date?" Julie said from the sofa. "No way, it's taken me a week to work everything out as it is. Besides, I'm only halfway through my French lessons."

"Not a problem, exactly, no," said Joly. "But do you suppose you might come a little earlier?"

"Could be. When did you have in mind?"

"The sooner the better. I was thinking of next week."

"Next week?"

"Next week?" echoed Julie. "Absolutely not! Gideon, I'm warning you, you're in very dangerous territory here."

"Yes," said Joly, "I was hoping you could make France your first stop instead of your last."