“That's a queer kind of fiction you're mulling over,” I remarked. “I'm looking up a recipe for stuffed eggs,” said the Goblin, without a quiver. “Our Common Room steward does them so poorly.” “Well, don't let me interrupt you,” I said. I sat down in a corner of the room with a volume of the Britannica. When I next looked up the Goblin was gone. As usual, I wasted my time with the encyclopedia. I got interested in the articles on Wages, Warts, Weather, Wordsworth, and Worms. By the time I got to Wolverhampton it was closing time. I did just seize the information that the town was founded in 996 by Wulfruna, widow of the Earl of Northampton. Then I had to leave. I got back to the Boar about ten-thirty. The coffee-room was empty. The landlord said that Whitney and Forbes were out, but that Mr. Carter had gone upstairs. Falstaff and I were rooming together, and when I went up I found him reading in bed. “Hello, Wulfruna!” he said, as I came in. Evidently he, too, had been reading up some history. Just as I got into bed he fell asleep and his book dropped to the floor with a thump. I crept quietly across the room and picked it up. It was “Memorials of Old Staffordshire,” by Philip Kent, F.S.A., the very copy that I had looked for at the Library. I skimmed over it and then put it carefully back by Falstaff's bedside. Was he on the antiquarian trail, too? I began to realize that these rivals of mine would take some beating. The next morning (Sunday) I found a note waiting for me on the breakfast table. Three indignant Scorpions were weighing it, studying the handwriting, and examining the stationery like three broken-hearted detectives. “It's not Kathleen's hand, but I'll swear it's the same notepaper,” Forbes was saying. Under a venomous gaze from all three I took the letter out of the room before opening it. Forbes was right: it was the well-known Bancroft Road notepaper. It ran thus: 318, BANCROFT ROAD, WOLVERHAMPTON Saturday Evening. DEAR MR. BLAIR, Mr. Dunton, the vicar of S. Philip's, has just told me of your visit to him. I am so glad to know that you take an antiquarian interest in this region. Curiously enough, only this afternoon we had two wires from our cousin Joe in Oxford, one of which mentioned your being here. That gives us additional reason for looking forward to making your acquaintance. Mrs. Kent wants you to come to lunch with us to-morrow, at one o'clock. Unfortunately I myself am laid up with rheumatism, but some of the family will be delighted to take you to see the quite surprising relics in this vicinity. Joe has probably told you all about Fred, who is really quite one of the family. The poor fellow needs exercise dreadfully; you must take him with you if you go tramping. Charlie and Oliver, my boys, are away at school. Don't attempt to reply to this, but just turn up at one o'clock. Sincerely yours, PHILIP KENT.