Page 36 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

“Suspect initials.” Sidney flipped through the diary again. “But I doubt he was meeting with them.”

“Perhaps it’s the days he observed things he wished to pass along?” Bishop clicked her tongue. “There must be more here somewhere. Where might a dear old librarian hide his secrets?”

Sidney hadn’t considered the man’s profession when conducting his search but would certainly not admit that now. “False book, maybe?”

“Perhaps, though that seems almost too obvious.” Bishop paced the room, hands clasped behind her back. She wore a dark sweater and slim trousers under a long coat, far more casual than the dresses she seemed to favor, but her air of a schoolmistress about to lecture made Sidney inwardly groan. There was no point in hurrying her along; let her have her say, and then finish what he’d started.

Suddenly, she stopped and pointed at the wellies by the door. “Why are those there?”

“I put them back best I could remember,” he insisted, but she waved this off.

“No, I mean why are they there? All the other shoes are lined up by the dresser. By the bed to assist with removal, or by the back door to reduce mud through the house would make more sense. That particular location seems inconvenient, as your haphazard entrance proved.” Her eyes glinted in the dark. “And the rest of this room is exceptionally orderly. Everything makes sense.”

Before Sidney could formulate a reply, Bishop reclaimed her torch. She crouched by the door and moved the wellies. With the light, it was easy to see the edge of one floorboard did not quite sit under the skirting board.

“Bingo,” Bishop breathed. From her pocket, she slipped out a flat, thin piece of metal and pried it into the plank’s side.

Sidney knelt beside her. “Did you buy a spy kit?”

She flashed the light in his eyes, and he scowled.

“Nail file,” she said. “Now help me.”

With a gentle wriggle, the plank pulled loose, revealing a cavity underneath. Sidney was half-awed, half-disgruntled that Bishop should find it so easily, but he could not fault her methodology. She had noticed something he had not.

Bishop shone the torch upon a cardboard box within the gap. “Shall you do the honors or shall I?”

“You found it.”

“Yes, I did,” she said, pleased, and reached inside. Carefully, she set the box beyond the open plank and scooted over, handing Sidney her torch. Despite being bested, Sidney was intrigued. If there was more information the Rook hadn’t yet seen, they might crack open this mystery tonight and be done.

Bishop opened the box, and bits of newspaper gleamed in the light. These she pulled out one by one and arranged on the floor in a neat line. It was an odd assortment of clippings. The first was a photograph of Watkins shaking an older woman’s hand, captioned underneath:

BELOVED NURSE LEAVES ELLESMERE COTTAGE HOSPITAL TO JOIN LADY MARGARET HALL, OXFORD.

The don looked rather grim dressed in black with a matching cloche, and the camera had translated the intensity in her eyes as a flat, dull glare that made her nearly unrecognizable. Sidney felt the same when caught unawares by a camera bulb’s flash.

“That’s quite a shift from nursing to teaching,” he said.

“I think a lot of people and places served as they were needed. At one point, part of my home was requisitioned for a recovery ward.” Bishop set the picture aside with a small frown and picked up the next item.

This was a list of names abbreviated to their first initial and surname, Neville among them, and Bishop identified this as the results of the 1948 World Chess Championship in Moscow. “He said he watched Botvinnik play,” Bishop said. “He didn’t mention playing in the tournament himself though. Golly.”

“So he’s strategic, and good at thinking several moves ahead.”

“Indeed.” Bishop wrinkled her nose. “If I had known whom I was up against, I would have concentrated better.”

Next was a recent excerpt from a student publication, citing Lewis Hughes’s addition to the dramatic society.

This performance of Julius Caesar promises to be less tedious than previous turns upon the boards. After John Armentrout took a bad fall in the Steeplechase, American Lewis Hughes has assumed the role of Caesar. Though this correspondent is dubious about his accent, it can’t be worse than Armentrout’s interpretation of Puck in the most appalling transgression of Shakespeare ever reviewed by this paper.

“So, Hughes is also a thespian,” Bishop mused. “Well, well…” She stopped, frozen over the last clipping, and snatched it closer to the torch. “I saw this article in Marion Kirk’s room, I’m sure of it. She had dozens of them, but this one seemed important.”

Sidney peered closer over her shoulder.

CHRIST CHURCH IN MOURNING

Quintin Jones of Christ Church College was found dead in Hollywell Cemetery after a mishap involving a handful of students. Disciplinary action has been taken against the instigator, and Dean Honeywell is expected to address further repercussions. A private funeral will be held by the family in Sussex.