“Only Charlie, now that the play’s run is over.” He stood and held out his hand, glancing briefly at my sling. “How are you, Ms. Langslow? Not a broken arm, I hope.”

“Meg,” I said, taking the outstretched hand. “And the sling’s only to help my semidislocated shoulder heal faster. Michael sent me to release you from your vigil.”

“Ah! Thank you,” he said. “They’re predicting more bad weather. My plan is to put a few hundred miles between me and the closest snowflake by nightfall.”

He fished into his pocket and handed over a key ring with an elegant bow that would have been fully in character for the courtier he’d played in Hamlet.

“Mi casa, su casa,” he said. “At least the subterranean part of it. And I told Michael to feel free to use the refrigerator upstairs or the dishes if you need to. Hope the private getaway is a success. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, I think— Wait. Yes,” I said. “Could I ask you a couple of questions? Quick ones,” I added. “I know you have a storm to miss.”

He looked surprised, but gestured to the chair in front of his desk and sat down again himself.

“Ask away,” he said.

“You’re the registrar,” I said. “Is your office where someone would check to make sure a job applicant really had a degree from Caerphilly?”

“Not anymore, thank goodness,” he said. “All the paperwork involved in sending transcripts used to be the bane of our existence, but these days we outsource it. There’s a central national clearinghouse for degree verification. We send them the data on all the degrees we award—and then every year when our hundreds of graduates send out thousands of resumes in their initial job searches, the clearinghouse answers all the queries from interested employers—for a modest fee.”

“So if I suspect someone has lied about his degree, I should start by finding out if his employer bothered to check with this clearinghouse.”

“Correct,” he said. “Most large employers do. Smaller ones…” He shook his head. “The most common mistake is to take everything a job applicant provides at face value. We had an applicant show up here once with a stellar résumé, complete with what looked like copies of completely authentic reports from the clearinghouse on both his undergraduate and graduate degrees. Fortunately, we ran a check anyway. And did not offer employment. Here”—he picked up a pen, jotted something on a notepad, then handed it to me—“if you really think someone is committing degree fraud, you could start by checking him out here.”

“Or advising his employer to.” I took the paper, which contained a Web site’s URL. “Thanks.”

I stood, and Charlie followed suit.

“I hope your suspicions are unfounded,” he said, offering his hand.

“Caerphilly would be a better place if they are,” I said as we shook hands.