"True; it would be interesting to see if records had been kept to indicate whether A--the Headmaster spent three weeks on a drunk sugar high at those times, as well." Since it's already been noticed, he does give in and press on a temple. "Yes... apparently I expelled some memories rather forcefully, just before I was brought here. Accessing their remnants can be a bit disorienting."
"Nothing," he says, sitting back in relief as it does. And then coming forward to eye it narrowly again. "Of course, I've no idea if the other one responded to pencil or not..." He opens the drawer on the little rolling table/desk, pulls out his marginalia quill (an exceptionally fine point, spelled to be gentle on aging paper), and a bottle of ink labeled Black, Faded. Opening the book more or less at random, he quickly finds a suitable page, and traces lightly over individual letters in the sequence he needs, ignoring those in-between.
The hUnt for the greEn Lion is OutriGht TwadDle and a wasTe of countlesS lives.
When no outraged rejoinder, expression of fervent and regretful agreement, or inquiry into his identity appears, he relaxes and starts cleaning the quill. "It seems to be unoccupied."