"What's the matter--?" I started. Foster ignored me, waved to the proprietor, a short fat countryman. He came over to the table, wiping his hands on his apron. "A very interesting old building," Foster said. "We've been admiring it. When was it built?" "Well, sir," the publican said. "This here house is a many a hundred year old. It were built by the monks, they say, from the monastery what used to stand nearby here. It were tore down by the king's men, Henry, that was, what time he drove the papists out." "That would be Henry the Eighth, I suppose?" "Aye, it would that. And this house is all that were spared, it being the brewing-house, as the king said were a worthwhile institution, and he laid on a tithe, that two kegs of stout was to be laid by for the king's use each brewing time." "Very interesting," Foster said. "Is the custom still continued?" The publican shook his head. "It were ended in my granfer's time, it being that the queen were a tee-totaller." "How did it acquire the curious name--'the Ancient Sinner'?" "The tale is," the publican said, "that one day a lay brother of the order were digging about yonder on the plain by the great stones, in search of the Druid's treasure, albeit the Abbott had forbid him to go nigh the heathen ground, and he come on the bones of a man, and being of a kindly turn, he had the thought to give them Christian burial. Now, knowing the Abbott would nae permit it, he set to work to dig a grave by moonlight in holy ground, under the monastery walls. But the Abbott, being wakeful, were abroad and come on the brother a-digging, and when he asked the why of it, the lay brother having visions of penances to burden him for many a day, he ups and tells the Abbott it were a ale cellar he were about digging, and the Abbott, not being without wisdom, clapped him on the back, and went on his way. And so it was the ale-house got built, and blessed by the Abbott, and with it the bones that was laid away under the floor beneath the ale-casks." * * * * * "So the ancient sinner is buried under the floor?" "Aye, so the tale goes, though I've not dug for him meself. But the house has been knowed by the name these four hundred year." "Where was it you said the lay brother was digging?" "On the plain yonder, by the Druid's stones, what they call Stonehenge," the publican said. He picked up the empty glasses. "What about another, gentlemen?" "Certainly," Foster said. He sat quietly across from me, his features composed--but I could see there was tension under the surface calm. "What's this all about?" I asked softly. "When did you get so interested in local history?" "Later," Foster murmured. "Keep looking bored." "That'll be easy," I said. The publican came back, placed heavy glass mugs before us. "You were telling us about the lay brother finding the bones," Foster said. "You say they were buried in Stonehenge?"