"Gosh, really?"

"Yeah! It's kind of nostalgic being back, honestly."

"I kind of want to talk to him too, if that's all right."

"I don't think Henslowe said much about Hickering. Just hinted that he knew where the box was. But of course the map to it was in the Hickering book on the shelf. Mrs. Henslowe didn't know of Hickering, so most likely they never even met."

"Yeah, I kind of expect that it was just a way of telling us to check the book. But my notes on your books have some other connections to Miskatonic University, so - seems worth poking around, at least."

"Um. I'm going to go to the library if that is okay with everyone? I'm not going to look at books that make you, um, forget things. I just. They have a really good rare book collection?"

"That sounds like a good idea, Mr. Aarons. Can you check if they have anything else by Edward Pickman Derby? Don't read them. Just check what they have. Okay?"

"Okay."

Well all of these options are awkward but he has suddenly noticed how little he knows the group so he's going to follow them the awkward questioning session even if he has nothing to contribute.

Every surface in Francis Hickering's office-- from the floor to the desks to the windowsill-- is covered with books, many of which are visibly Miskatonic University library books with a layer of dust that suggests that they were not returned in a prompt fashion. Papers drift around the floor in a manner that suggests that one could do a very interesting archaeological expedition.

"Hello!" he says. "--Oh, goodness, Mordred. It is absolutely wonderful to see you again! How have you been doing?"

How does one answer that question when one has had three nervous breakdowns in the last two months. "I'm doing alright."

"I would read your articles but I do not believe in knowing about history that happened after the seventeenth century. It stresses the mind. Who are your friends?"

"Mary Anemone Silverstring." And she is now capable of shaking people's hands, although her hands probably still look kind of concerning.

"Oswald Ferrier."

"Anemone is a researcher and collector of the strange, and Oswald is an accountant."

"Absolutely lovely to meet you all." He clears some books and papers off the chairs by shoving them to the floor, and gestures for them to sit. "Is this a social call?"

"We were actually wondering if you had any leads regarding a matter we've been looking into recently. Your name came up. I don't suppose you know a Douglas Henslowe?"

"Oh, yes. Wonderful young man. Had so many questions for me about exotic and occult drugs. Whatever happened to him?"

"...he's in an asylum in Savannah. Got caught up in -- matters involving a Hollywood cult in Los Angeles."

"Oh, that's an absolute shame. He was such a kind fellow. Excellent artist. I say, people I help with their researches have a real tendency to end up in asylums. I rather wonder if I'm cursed."

"It's quite a shame, yes. But he had some unfinished business that he's entrusted us with. Did you know anything about the drugs he was investigating?"

"Nothing at all! It is entirely dissimilar to any drug I have ever researched. I pointed him in the direction of the chemistry department but apparently they couldn't do anything either. Unskilled at anything that isn't explosions, that department."

Oswald does not ask if he has statistics on the number of people he's helped that have ended up in asylums because that question is insane.

"Exotic drugs are not my area of expertise anyway. At present I am focusing on some research in Ethiopia."

" - well that is either quite a coincidence or not a coincidence at all."