They took the book to the Chapter House room the police had claimed. They barred the door. Lomas, Makepeace, and a single constable who could be relied upon not to gossip sat around the table as if convened for some secret rite.

“You read,” Makepeace said. “I’ll copy out what matters. Nichols can bring tea and pretend he is deaf.”

Constable Nichols nodded solemnly. Lomas opened the book again and began at the beginning.

“First page,” he murmured. “Index of sorts. Not very precise. S.K. – Dean. R.G. – Prec. B.D. – Coll. V.B. – Org. ‘Boys’ – group.” He snorted softly. “He’s made himself a little universe.”

He turned the pages, reading aloud entries, dates, shorthand notes. Some were familiar...

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