Page 104 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

“Indeed,” Oliver replied. His gaze met Kalila’s, and he winked.

Winked.

Why was he winking?

“Your answer, Jennings?” Comerford prompted, after an awkward hush fell.

“I—well—” Jennings began to shuffle through Kalila’s paper.

“No need to locate it in the text,” Oliver said, his voice charming and relaxed. “I only want to hear your thoughts.”

Jennings glared from the podium, the silence deafening. Kalila’s heart began to hammer in her chest.

“What is he doing?” Dameer whispered.

“Perhaps another question, then,” Oliver said, explicitly ignoring Comerford’s earlier instructions.

He interrogated a different theory, and another silence followed. This cycle repeated itself for a torturous two minutes, during which Jennings looked as though he wouldn’t mind murdering Oliver in front of everyone in the hall.

“It’s odd,” Oliver said, tapping his chin, “that Mr. Jennings cannot seem to answer a single question about his own work.”

“You—you caught me off guard,” Jennings ground out. “That is all.”

“Oh?” Oliver pushed himself off the back wall and strolled to the front, his gait lazy. “Or could it be that this work belongs to another?”

An interested murmur broke out as people bent their heads to whisper to one another.

“Booth,” Comerford said in warning.

“What is he doing?” Dameer asked again.

Kalila took hold of his sleeve for support as she tracked the spectacle unfolding before them. If Oliver was about to do what she thought he was going to do, then—

“That is ridiculous,” Jennings snapped. “This work is mine.”

“And Rafiq’s,” Oliver added.

“Indeed,” Jennings growled. “You cannot credit another living soul for this work, Booth. So sit down.”

“Of course I can.”

This time, gasps and chatter rippled through the room.

“Stolen work?” someone to Kalila’s right whispered.

“What proof is there?” another person asked.

“Well, I think—”

“The credit is not yours, Jennings, nor is it Mr. Dameer Rafiq’s,” Oliver continued, unruffled even as Jennings turned an unbecoming shade of crimson next to him.

“Good God.”

That was Dameer, his mouth hanging open in shock.

Kalila couldn’t move, could barely breathe.

“What?” Jennings spat. “Have you gone mad, Booth?”