Page 47 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

“Is that not what you wanted?” Gin asked.

The corner of the Rook’s mouth twitched. “Of course. Only I must admit you’ve worked even more efficiently than I anticipated.”

More efficiently than he anticipated given Sidney’s stubbornness at their last meeting. Ginevra bit back a smile.

Sidney lounged back against the pew and shrugged. “It’s all about the proper motivation.”

“Of course,” the Rook said, giving them both a measured glance. He placed his briefcase on the pew, clicked it open, and pulled out a wide envelope that he handed to Ginevra. “That’s for you.”

She slid out a pair of photographs: one of a group of uniformed officers and the other of a man leaning against a car. This one, the Rook tapped.

“Meet Robert Crowne, or Die Krone to those inside Vosburg.”

The man wore a soft white polo shirt and beamed at the camera as though laughing at the photographer. Dark hair fell over his face, and he had been captured mid-motion, fingers sweeping across his forehead.

“Who was he?” Gin asked.

The Rook shrugged. “A lad from Shropshire. He entered Oxford in 1925 to read Greats and joined the Damocles Club, but he was sent down in 1927 over an incident involving a student’s death.”

Sidney leaned closer to the photo. “He killed someone?”

“Not exactly.” The Rook held up a newspaper clipping, the same one from Marion’s room and Tolliver’s hidden cache of documents. “I wasn’t sure of this article’s significance when you sent it last week, Mr. Braithwaite, but I can tell you now: Robert Crowne was the student expelled over this affair. He was found with the dead boy in Hollywell Cemetery but claimed it was a sconcing incident gone awry.”

“Sconcing?” Gin echoed.

“It’s a stupid game where lads penalize each other for silly mistakes,” Sidney said. “I was sconced as a first-year for using the wrong Latin phrase. Usually, you down a couple of pints in one go, and that’s it.”

“In this instance, the boy who died drank a great deal of vodka, but his parents later informed the police he couldn’t consume anything that contained grain without becoming very ill.” The Rook set down the article, shaking his head. “The coroner corroborated that a violent allergic reaction was the likely cause of death.”

“And Robert was expelled for an accident? That seems unfair,” Gin said.

The Rook shrugged. “The dead boy’s family raised quite a stir. They had just promised a handsome donation to Christ Church, and there was fear it would be rescinded if the punishment meted out wasn’t harsh enough.”

“Sounds about right,” Sidney muttered.

“After that,” the Rook said, “Robert fades from records for about ten years. He turns up as an ambulance driver back in Shropshire, and then he enlisted in 1938.” He paused as though ensuring he had their attention. “Samuel Neville had already been conscripted from his position at Oxford to work in intelligence on the front lines. He requested that Crowne become his orderly.”

“Is that like a valet?” Gin asked.

“It’s part valet,” Sidney said, “part driver, and part errand boy. An orderly’s life is easier than that of a foot soldier, and you can be promoted faster.”

Ginevra sank back, pondering this. Dr. Neville would have known Robert Crowne very well indeed then.

“Their unit was imprisoned in Vosburg from 1940 to 1943,” the Rook continued. “It was Neville who overheard the Germans talking about their new stool pigeon, die Krone. Michael Leland was his senior officer at the time, and their unit held an informal tribunal inside the prison. Crowne was not hung,” the Rook said carefully, “but handed over to the Germans for keeping elsewhere inside Vosburg. When everyone was released in ’43, the army dismissed him with disgrace. Crowne returned to Shropshire until his death six months later when he took his own life.”

“Golly,” Gin breathed. “That’s all rather tragic. I could see why Marion might be interested in the story about the boy’s death, given how much she hates the Damocles Club. She told me they turn to rot everything they touch.”

“But what does that story have to do with Tolliver and our leak now?” Sidney asked.

“That is the question,” the Rook said. “Robert Crowne is not a household name, but people who knew him at Oxford or in the army probably followed the story. Tolliver was already a librarian when Crowne was a student. Neville would have been both a classmate and his officer.”

“Which was why he requested him as his orderly?” Gin asked. “Because he knew him?”

“They were also both members of the Damocles Club. Those ties can run very deep. Neville might have thought he could help Crowne better his position in life after the expulsion.”

“I see.” Gin examined the picture of Robert Crowne again. He seemed so at ease leaning against the car, his smile bashful as though the person taking the photo had made him laugh. But to go from expulsion over a student’s death to treason against your fellow soldiers was a dark trajectory. It was a chilling reminder of how hard it was to really know a person sometimes.

She shivered and turned to the other photo.