He looked at the items on display on the wall of the office. There were diplomas, of course, and trophies from athletic competitions. He noted that few of the works of art had that look that said they had come from somebody’s hobby. Most appeared to be quite old.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Smith.” Gustaf came in, closing the door behind him. He hung his lab coat on a hanger, then took a seat across from Hamilton.

“Now, I suppose this is about the old Bath and Garter, isn’t it? Farrell told me about your visit yesterday. It was all right for him to do that, wasn’t it? He said you didn’t ask for confidentiality.”

“Oh, sure. That’s fine.” Hamilton waved nonchalantly. Actually, he had intended to ask Cooper to respect the convention, but he had been running late for basketball practice and afterward a round of committed pleasure reading, and he had forgotten.

Today he had uncharacteristically rushed through his work at the bank and left early.

“Now, about your ritual club. Mr. Cooper makes some claims about its antiquity that are, frankly, hard to believe. Lying to a credentialed researcher is a crime, you know. Perhaps you can explain his extravagant story?”

Gustaf nodded seriously. “Oh, I’m sure Farrell meant no harm. Perhaps he got a little carried away and misinterpreted some of the facts.

“You see, Mr. Smith, the Bath and Garter has been registered as a ritual club for nearly three hundred years. That’s about the same age as our Total Social World State.”

“I see. So your members are justifiably proud to be part of one of the oldest clubs. Perhaps that explains Cooper’s flights of fancy.” Actually, Hamilton was a little disappointed. He had hoped for something more unusual.

Gustaf nodded. “Of course, the precursors of the society go back several thousand years before the Amalgamation. There were the English Knights of the Bath, of course, and the Fujiwara clan, which held the curtain to the Chrysanthemum throne…”