Neith wanders down the corridor, touching the spines. She reaches the end: a plaster bust of Shakespeare, slightly chipped, rests in an alcove. She looks down, and finds, with a sense of impish certainty, Hunter’s own works arranged in a neat line. She scans the titles, letting her subconscious mind choose which ones to dip into from the throng: The Talking Knot, Mr. Murder Investigates, The Mad Cartographer’s Garden, Five Cardinals of Z and the last one, Quaerendo Invenietis . The Inspector makes a mental note that the contents of the house must be considered financially valuable and protected accordingly. She lifts her choices out of the shelf, Quaerendo on the top, and cradles them awkwardly against her chest with one arm.