They did not arrest Dyson in his rooms. Lomas refused to give him that advantage: walls of books, a desk between them, the little theatre of the learned man unjustly besieged. Instead, he sent a note requesting the Principal’s presence in the Chapter House.

The wording was scrupulously polite.

“‘To clarify certain matters, in light of new evidence,’” Makepeace read aloud as they walked across the Close. “Very bland.”

“Euphemism travels well in this place,” Lomas said. “Dyson will come to see whether it’s his kind or mine.”

The Chapter House seemed colder than usual. The black book lay on the table, flanked by statements: Tuttle’s, Mrs Henshall’s, the Dean’s, Corbett’s. Canon Price sat in a corner at Lomas...

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