Mr. Landreth stood up when I came into his office. Sangeeta nodded at me and gave a nervous smile. The police officer fiddled with her notebook.

“Mr. Monk,” Mr. Landreth said. “Take a seat.” He indicated a chair facing the desk, interrogation-style. This was probably deliberate.

Mr. Landreth rocked on his heels a bit and clasped his hands.

“You know Sangeeta Prasad. This is Officer Gayle. Do you know why you are here?”

Obviously, I did. Equally obviously, I was not going to admit to anything until I knew what they knew, so I answered, “No, sir.”

“I’d like you to take a look at this.” He reached over to his desk and adjusted his computer screen so that I could see it. The picture was grainy, but it was clearly me: ten seconds of security film showing me walking quickly to the school’s rear gate. A counter in the bottom corner showed the time: 16:12:30.

And that was it. The book, which I had not stolen but simply reclaimed, was nowhere to be seen, because it was in my schoolbag over my shoulder. I had taken it to Roxy’s garage, and then brought it with me to Earl Grey House because I actually wanted to read it again.

“Before you say anything, Alfie,” said Sangeeta, “I want you to tell the truth.”

“Of course,” I said solemnly.

“Well?” said Mr. Landreth.

I looked at all three and kept my face steady. “What?”

“This film shows you leaving the school at more or less exactly the time that the apparent theft of Inigo Delombra’s book occurred.”

They were desperate, I could tell, but I had to stay calm.

“You are right, it does.” No! Too impertinent. I added: “I…I mean, yes. Sir.”

“Why were you leaving the exhibition so early?”

“I am sorry, sir, but I did not find it of great interest to me.”

“And why did you choose the rear gate? You live in the opposite direction.”

Hell’s fire. I had to think quickly.

“I…erm…” Quick, Alfie. “I wanted to avoid some boys who had threatened me. From another school, from Monkseaton High.”

This, I thought, was rather brilliant. In just a short while at this school, I have noticed that everyone on the staff is terrified of bullying, of accusations of bullying, and especially of not seeming to take bullying seriously. There is even a plaque on the wall of reception declaring the school is a “proud supporter of the Anti-Bullying Schools Initiative.”

“Are you being bullied, Alfie?” asked Sangeeta.

“Not exactly. But I wanted to avoid them.” I hung my head but could see that the adults were exchanging looks. This had thrown their investigation off track. Involving another school was genius, and I was feeling rather pleased with myself.

Too soon.

The police officer said the first words she had uttered so far. She flipped back a few pages in her notebook.

“What’s your full first name, Alfie?” she said. She had a pen ready to write it down. I thought she was just checking details.

“Alve. A-L-V-E. Mam’s idea.”

(Sorry, Mam. I just thought that a reminder of my orphan status would be helpful here. It was not.)

The police officer addressed Mr. Landreth. “What was the inscription inside the book, sir?”

She knew. She did not need to ask. Mr. Landreth played his part. “It read, To the dear reader, Alve, with my compliments, Charles Dickens.”

“A remarkable coincidence, wouldn’t you say, Alfie?” said the police officer.

I said nothing. Without the book, they could not prove anything. There was no evidence. Coincidence is not evidence.

“Do you have anything to say, Mr. Monk?” Mr. Landreth’s tone had hardened. His eyes narrowed, and he pursed his lips.

“I do not, sir.” I looked at him with an expression of what I hoped was puzzled hurt.

He turned to Sangeeta. “Very well. Miss Prasad?”

Sangeeta looked at me sadly as she bent down to her bag and took out A Tale of Two Cities.

“It was in your room at Earl Grey House, Alfie. I didn’t even have to look hard.”

Well, that changed things.