Free Irish Gilt by Ralph McInerny Page A

“I have a suggestion,” he said instead.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œLet’s tell Roger Knight about this.”
    Walsh was immediately on his feet, nodding. “Good idea.”
    Walsh called the Knight apartment before they left the archives. Listening, Boris was surprised at the fluency with which Walsh told Roger that he had to see him immediately. Something very odd had happened.
    â€œBoris Henry will be coming with me,” Walsh said before hanging up.
    Walsh locked the door of the archives and then glanced at Boris. Such precautions seemed a little late.
    â€œDoes Kittock have a key to that door?” Boris asked.
    â€œOf course not.”
    No one could use materials from the archives unless Greg or one of the other archivists was on the premises. It wasn’t stated that this amounted to keeping an eye on anyone working with archival materials, but that, of course, is what the reason for the rule must originally have been.
    At the Knight apartment, they were greeted by Roger. The expression on Greg Walsh’s face was soon matched by concern on the massive countenance of the Huneker Professor of Catholic Studies.
    â€œSome Zahm letters are missing from the archives,” Walsh announced.
    â€œThe very ones I came here to see,” Boris added.
    â€œWell, well. Do you have a suspect?”
    Boris let Greg make the accusation. “I told you about Kittock,” he said. “But you hadn’t met him.”
    â€œNo, I hadn’t.” Roger paused. “I’ll put on coffee.”
    He made a production of it, and until he was done and the coffee ready the conversation was suspended. Boris had the idea that Roger Knight had wanted this time to ponder what he had been told. When they all had their coffee, they sat in Roger’s study. The professor took the specially built swivel chair in which he could move easily from computer to desk to bookshelves.
    â€œFrom the beginning,” he suggested.
    The beginning Greg Walsh chose was two weeks before when X. Kittock had first shown up at the archives. As an alumnus, he was, of course, welcome, and there was no need for formal permission to use the archives. Ever since, for half of each day, he had made use of the workroom, from time to time asking for new materials and surrendering those he had already examined.
    â€œHe always asked for Zahm materials?”
    Greg thought. “Not always. Sometimes he wanted back issues of the Scholastic. ” He made an impatient gesture. “I suppose those contained Zahm materials. Reports of a talk he had given on campus, perhaps the transcript of a lecture. I’ll check.”
    â€œYou keep a record of what materials anyone asks for?”
    â€œOf course.”
    Roger hummed for a moment, then began to speak as if to himself. It was not impossible, he said, that Kittock did not understand the rules governing use of archival material. Greg might be shocked at the thought, but it could well be that Kittock just took a folder of letters in order to peruse them overnight. “In that case, they will be right back where they belong tomorrow morning.”
    â€œTomorrow is Sunday.”
    â€œWell, Monday, then. Of course, if you can’t bear to wait you could talk to Kittock.”
    â€œ Moi? ” Greg laid a hand on his chest. He seemed relieved to be able to appeal to his speech impediment.
    â€œDo you know where he’s staying?” Boris asked.
    Greg didn’t know. Since he hadn’t asked Eggs to register, there would be nothing in the archives to tell them where he was staying. Boris said nothing. The upshot of the meeting was that they would wait out the weekend and see if the letters were back in the appropriate box on Monday morning.
    Boris had hoped for more than this. In the Morris Inn he called the Jamison Inn and asked for Mr. Kittock.
    â€œOne moment, sir.”
    He listened to the phone ring, wanting to hear Eggs answer so he could hang