A sneer crossed Tarquin’s face. ‘Ah, yes. It’s all over the campus, you know. Why on earth would Marsh, of all people, want the Cypher Manuscripts? He couldn’t read even the simplest volumes.’

‘Just hand over the damn file,’ I said, unwilling to gossip with Tarquin.

‘We’ve been through this. His file was checked out. Your partner didn’t want to say who took it. It’s your problem, not ours.’

‘Let me see the logbook again,’ I demanded.

Tarquin grinned. ‘Make me.’

I shrugged. ‘Okay.’ I pulled back my shoulders and raised my voice, ensuring that everyone in the HR office could hear me. ‘I am here from Arcane Branch, investigating the most serious matter that the Order has experienced for decades.’ That was probably true; I couldn’t say for sure. Whatever: it sounded impressive. ‘If you continue to obstruct this grave investigation, I shall have no option but to arrest you and assume that you…’

‘Fine!’ Tarquin snapped.

I smiled. Winter might think I could charm the pants off Tarquin but all that was actually needed was the threat of public humiliation.

He pushed back his chair, sending it flying into the poor woman sitting behind him, and stomped over to the Records section. I tailed behind him so closely that I stepped on his heels. He glowered but didn’t say anything. Ha! He was learning.

Tarquin grabbed the logbook and thrust it at me. ‘Here.’

I took it and found the page that Price had shown us earlier. I tracked my finger along the line: it was definitely Oscar Marsh’s file that was noted and the signature, which was almost illegible, could belong to Tobias Worth-Jones. It would be possible to alter the logbook using magic but I had the feeling that such a spell would be more trouble than it was worth. The logbook was probably warded against such magic. Worth-Jones’s signature didn’t look as if it would be easy to replicate free hand and Winter didn’t seem to think there was anything untoward about his casual denial of involvement.

I adjusted my grip on the book while Tarquin looked on, amused. The darn thing was bloody heavy. As I moved my thumb, I realised that the page opposite was indented from the writing on the other side. I flipped back, then forward, then back again. No magic at all: Worth-Jones had been implicated through an action that even a child could manage.

‘What is it?’ Tarquin asked.

‘You lot are incompetent,’ I said. ‘Don’t you pay any attention to who wanders in and takes files out?’

‘That’s Rebecca’s job,’ he answered, gesturing irritably at the receptionist.

Always passing the buck, that was how people like Tarquin worked. Everything was someone else’s fault. I sighed and pointed to the previous page. ‘Look. Here is Tobias Worth-Jones checking out the file for someone in his department. See?’

Tarquin reluctantly looked over my shoulder. ‘Yeah? So?’

He was a plonker. I turned back to Marsh’s entry. It matched perfectly. ‘Someone went over his signature, pressing down so that it would appear on the next page. Then they traced over it and made it look like Worth-Jones had taken away Marsh’s file. It was probably a bonus that his handwriting is so appalling.’