“How did Balliol’s gate get here?” I said.

“This is Merton’s pedestrian gate.”

I squinted at the gate. Right again. It was a turnstile gate, designed to keep bicycles out.

“The nurse said you were time-lagged, but I had no idea… No, this way.” He took hold of my arm and propelled me along the path.

“The nurse?” I said.

“Mr. Dunworthy sent me over to Infirmary to fetch you, but you’d already left,” he said, guiding me between buildings and out onto the High. “He wants to see you, though what use you’ll be to him in your condition I can’t quite see.”

“He wants to see me?” I said, confused. I had thought I was the one who wanted to see him. I thought of something else. “How did he know I was in Infirmary?”

“Lady Schrapnell phoned him,” he said, and I dived for cover.

“It’s all right,” Finch said, following me into the shop doorway I’d ducked into. “Mr. Dunworthy told her you’d been taken to the Royal Free Hospital in London. It’ll take her at least half an hour to get there.” He pulled me forcibly out of the doorway and across the High. “Personally, I think he should have told her you’d been taken to Manhattan General. How do you put up with her?”

You keep a sharp eye out, I thought, following Finch into the walkway next to St. Mary the Virgin’s and keeping close to the wall.

“She has no sense of the proper way of doing things,” he said. “Won’t go through the proper channels, won’t fill up requisition forms. She simply raids the place-paper clips, pens, handhelds.”

And historians, I thought.

“I never have any idea of what supplies to order, if I had time to order anything. I spend all my time trying to keep her out of Mr. Dunworthy’s office. She’s in there constantly, harping on something. Copings and brasses and lectionaries. Last week it was the Wade Tomb’s chipped corner. How did it get chipped and when did it get chipped, before the raid or during it, and what sort of edges does it have, rough or smooth? Must be completely authentic, she says. ‘God is—’ ”