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In the first episode of the new era ofUniversity Challenge, presented by Amol Rajan and broadcast on 12 July 2023, the new question-master asks the team from Trinity College Cambridge the following bonus question: ‘A murderer at the scene of his crime and two bowler-hatted men armed with a club and a net feature in which painter’s 1927 Surrealist workThe Menaced Assassin?’ It’s the detail of the bowler hats that allows the Trinity team to answer, with confidence, ‘Magritte.’
Three years and one fortnight earlier, on 27 June 2020, just days after non-essential shops were allowed to reopen following the first national Coronavirus lockdown, I came off the M6 at Coventry, parking on Brighton Street in Upper Stoke. Or is it Barras Heath, or perhaps Ball Hill? I don’t know, but the key thing was I was at least a mile from the centre of Coventry and parking was unrestricted. Plus, there was a good stretch of road with back gardens on one side and a high privet hedge on the other: I could park without inconveniencing anyone. Indeed, no one was actually parked here. There didn’t appear to be anyone around at all. I walked down towards Walsgrave Road, a high brick wall having appeared on my right to shield local residents from the noise of the traffic on Jimmy Hill Way. At Gosford Green I turned right and walked along Far Gosford Street, heading towards the Big Comfy Bookshop and hoping it would be open. I had done my research, which suggested it was supposed to be, but in June 2020 we were all more used to seeing shops closed than open.
It was open and it turned out to be a good bookshop to visit immediately post-lockdown, because it had a generous amount of floor space – concrete, painted red, if you want to know. There were even armchairs, also red, but they were taped off. ‘CAUTION,’ shouted the yellow plastic tape. ‘ATTENTION.’ My eye was caught by a more welcoming, handwritten sign affixed to a shelf of old books. ‘OLD BOOKS,’ it said. ‘Is there any better smell than that of old books? Come and browse for a while, you never know what you might find.’ I found a novel, in hardback,The Exhibitionist, by Henry Sutton. I could see that it couldn’t possibly be by my contemporary Henry Sutton, author ofThe Househunter andFlying and numerous other novels, unless he had been a child prodigy and written it when he was four. I decided to buy it and write to Sutton and ask him if he knew about it, maybe off