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Beardy, on account of the long tangle of dingy, yellow-gray hair that sprouted from his chin and neck and wound its way downward to come to rest in a matted point upon the protrusion of his belly.
    The gentleman to his right, being quite rotund, was known to me as Fat Cheeks, and the man who had taken the penitent’s stool was Shar-Pei, because he looked like one of those wrinkly, jowly dogs. I suspected his name was actually Professor Sharp, and my nickname for him had originally been a play on that, but I had not been to his class in months, and I could no longer remember.
    â€œThe volunteer constable complained to us earlier this afternoon,” said Beardy, who was the senior Fellow or the department head or something like that. “He said you accosted him with your bear and tried to trespass upon the scene of a murder. When you were denied entrance, you began harassing passersby. Is this true?”
    â€œI thought my assistance could be of use in catching the killer,” I said.
    â€œWell, that is certainly a disrespectful and inappropriate way to indulge one’s fascination with the macabre. And there’s no reason to search for horrible things to look at. I suspect you’ll see more death than you wish to, before long.”
    â€œWhat is disrespectful and inappropriate is your preoccupation with my minor eccentricities on a day when a murderer is stalking the campus. What efforts have you made to bring this monster to justice? What measures have you taken to ensure our safety?”
    â€œWhen last I checked, this College did not admit women, and the safety of individuals who are not affiliated with this institution is not a matter which falls within the purview of our faculty. In any event, I understand the dead girl’s family has hired a criminal investigator from London whose arrival, I’m sure, is imminent. A brutal murder in our small community is of concern to everyone, but there is no meaningful action we can take toward solving that problem right now, and we produce no benefit to anyone by milling about the murder house and generally being underfoot as qualified investigators pursue the killer.”
    â€œI cannot stand by and do nothing,” I said. “I was not born with a passive nature.”
    â€œIf you’re looking for something to occupy your time, maybe you should consider going to class once in a while,” said Fat Cheeks.
    â€œWhy?” I asked. “What possible good could that do?”
    â€œThat’s what we’ve scheduled this meeting to discuss,” said Beardy. “We’d like to help you to take advantage of the resources available here and to have a better College experience.”
    My title carried with it certain privileges. In addition to my superexcellent suite of rooms in Nevile Court, I was also essentially assured a degree at the conclusion of my tenure in Cambridge, without any regard to whether or not I committed to my studies or passed the examinations required of other students. This was England, and I was nobility. That was still important, perhaps more important than ever, in this tumultuous era of revolution. Failure, for me, was impossible by definition. These professors were merely vexed that I had refused to pay homage to their wisdom by appearing at their lectures; that I’d refused to pretend that their instruction was of any value.
    â€œYour time would perhaps be better spent holding a hearing of this sort for Mr. Leif Sedgewyck. He’s the worst kind of bootlicking social aspirant and a shameless drunkard. Also, I think he killed Felicity Whippleby.”
    â€œIn my experience, Mr. Sedgewyck is a decent young man and a dedicated student,” said Fat Cheeks.
    â€œAnd, regardless, we would not discuss another student’s situation in your presence, nor would we discuss your circumstances with him,” Beardy added. “This meeting is to assess your progress, Lord