He listened more or less in silence and when I'd finished, he made a rotating motion with his hand and said, "And...?"

"And what?"

"Did you? With Miss Kellogg? No, don't bother to lie, I can see it on your face."

"And this is the most important thing to you? That I f.u.c.ked this woman? The murder, the kidnapping, that's all irrelevant compared with where I stick my s.c.h.l.o.n.g?"

"No, but where you stick your s.c.h.l.o.n.g seems to determine the course of your life, and messes up the lives of a number of people I love. Hence my interest."

"Oh, I thought that f.u.c.king was the only only thing the church was interested in. Or were you not speaking ex cathedra?" thing the church was interested in. Or were you not speaking ex cathedra?"

"Yeah, you persist in thinking l.u.s.t is your problem. l.u.s.t is not your problem, speaking ex cathedra, and in a dozen or so years it'll have taken care of itself. It's a miserable little sin after all. No, your problem is acedia and it always has been. The refusal to do necessary spiritual work. You always took on the responsibility for every bad thing that happened to our family, probably including World War II, all by yourself...."

"You were in jail."

"Yes, but irrelevant. G.o.d wasn't in jail but you didn't ask for any help in that direction. No, you took it all on and failed, and you never forgave yourself, and so you think you're beyond all forgiveness, and that gives you the license to hurt all the people who love you because after all, poor Jake Mishkin is so far outside the pale, so bereft of all hope of heaven, that anyone who loves him must be delusional and thus not worth considering. And why are you grinning at me, you t.u.r.d? Because you've made me say the same thing I always say when you come up here and now you can forget it again, even though you know it's true. Sloth. The sin against hope. And you know it's going to kill you someday."

"Just like Mutti? Do you really think so?" A high-pitched grinding sound came from the machine shop below, where they repaired bicycles. He waited until it stopped and said, "Yes, I do. As you know. Like the man said, G.o.d who made us without our help will not save us without our consent. Either you'll cry mercy and forgive and be forgiven, or die the death."

"Yes, Father," I said, looking piously upward.

He sighed, tired of the pathetic old game I make him play. I was tired of it too but could not keep my clawed fingers away from the unendurable, unsalvable itch. He said, "Yes, you've manipulated me into preaching and you have therefore won yet again. Congratulations. Meanwhile, what are we going to do about this problem of yours?"

"I don't know. That's why I came to see you."

"You think this Russian, Shvanov, is involved?"

"As muscle, yes. But I can't figure out who's behind it."

"Why bother? The ma.n.u.script is gone, and this woman disappearing seems like a matter for the cops."

"I was told not to involve the cops. She said they'd kill her."

"And you feel it's your responsibility to rescue her."

"I said I'd protect her and I didn't; so, yes I do."

"You want to continue the affair. You're in love."

"What the h.e.l.l does that matter? She's a human being in mortal danger."

He steepled his hands against his chin and gave me an uncomfortably penetrating stare, which is what he does now instead of kicking my a.s.s. Then he said, "Well, of course I'll help in any way I can. I have a couple of contacts down at Police Plaza. I'll make some calls, get some background on this guy Shvanov, and also get the word out that this is serious-"

"No, don't do that! Don't involve the cops at all. You have other kinds of contacts."

"I do. All right, I'll see what the street has to say."

"Thank you. The main thing I'm worried about is Amalie and the kids. If they want to put more pressure on me..."

"I'll take care of that too," he replied, after a brief considerate pause. This, of course, is what I had come for. Paul knows a lot of tough kids, what they call original gangsters, in that neighborhood, and he has an odd relations.h.i.+p with them. He thinks they're exactly like the Germanic or Slavic barbarians that the missionaries who were sent out in the dark centuries met and converted-proud, violent, hungry for they know not what. In the early days of the mission Paul had to literally fight people on the street to demonstrate that he was tougher than they were, which he was. That he had a rep, that he was known to have stabbed people in prison, didn't hurt. That he had personally killed more people than all of them put together, and looked it, was another plus.

Also, Paul claimed that compared with the montagnards, New York g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers weren't very tough. None of them had ever missed a meal and if imprisoned had been housed in what would have seemed luxurious spas to the average Hmong. He said his guys over there could have eaten all the Crips, Bloods, and Gangster Disciples for breakfast. And their pathetic bravado inspired compa.s.sion in him rather than the terror common among the better cla.s.ses. (Paul is not afraid of anything mortal, nor was he at ten.) But he took them seriously as tribes, and like the Jesuits of old he targeted their leaders, the most violent of the violent, and over time had come to a concordat of sorts with them, which was that there was to be no dope sold and no wh.o.r.es run within a certain pale around Paul's buildings, and that people fleeing the vengeance of the street could find sanctuary within. Some few of the street lords have actually been converted. A larger number sent their children or their younger brothers and sisters to be educated at his school. It was a very Dark Ages arrangement and perfectly natural to a man like my brother.

Now I could see that Paul, having made his decision to help, couldn't wait to get me out of there. Not a comfortable man, my brother, sort of like Jesus in Matthew, always at the run, impatient with the apostles, conscious of the shortness of the time, the need to get the successors up and ready for when the founder must leave the scene. He just turned away and started talking to some boys, and so I collected Omar and made my grateful exit.

In the car we headed west and south until the Columbia campus hove into view. I generally have a pretty good idea of Mickey Haas's schedule and so I knew that Thursdays he held office hours all morning. I called him and he was in and yes he'd be glad to have lunch with me, at the faculty club for a change. I have always found the dining room on the fourth floor of Faculty House at Columbia one of the more pleasant places to lunch in New York: a beautifully proportioned airy chamber, with one of the best views of the city from its high windows, and a perfectly adequate prix fixe buffet, but Mickey prefers our usual Sorrentino's. I think it's because he likes to get somewhat drunk at our lunches and prefers to do this out of sight of his peers. Perhaps he also enjoys having my limo sent for him. we headed west and south until the Columbia campus hove into view. I generally have a pretty good idea of Mickey Haas's schedule and so I knew that Thursdays he held office hours all morning. I called him and he was in and yes he'd be glad to have lunch with me, at the faculty club for a change. I have always found the dining room on the fourth floor of Faculty House at Columbia one of the more pleasant places to lunch in New York: a beautifully proportioned airy chamber, with one of the best views of the city from its high windows, and a perfectly adequate prix fixe buffet, but Mickey prefers our usual Sorrentino's. I think it's because he likes to get somewhat drunk at our lunches and prefers to do this out of sight of his peers. Perhaps he also enjoys having my limo sent for him.

Just before we reached the club, my cell rang and it was my sister.

"You were right," she said. "Osip would really like to meet you."

"That was fast," I said. "He must owe you a favor."

"Osip doesn't owe favors, Jake, he collects them. As a matter of fact, he he called me and asked me to set it up. That's not a good sign." called me and asked me to set it up. That's not a good sign."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," said I, not at all sure. "Where and when?"

"Do you know Rasputin's? On Lafayette?"

"You have to be kidding. That's like meeting John Gotti in a G.o.dfather's Pizza place."

"What can I say? Osip has a sense of humor. Anyway, he says he'll be there after ten tomorrow tonight. I would say 'be careful,' if it weren't too ba.n.a.l for words. But you will be will be careful, won't you? If not, I a.s.sume you'll want to rest beside Mutti in Green-Wood. I'll send the most vulgar wreath imaginable." careful, won't you? If not, I a.s.sume you'll want to rest beside Mutti in Green-Wood. I'll send the most vulgar wreath imaginable."

I recall that Mickey and I had the roast beef and shared a bottle of Melville cabernet, so appropriate, he joked, for a professor of English. Mickey was actually in a pretty good mood, and I asked him if his financial position had improved at all and he said it had: here followed a blizzard of information about hedge funds and REITs and commodities trading that went in one ear and out the other. Sensing my disinterest, he politely changed the subject and asked me what was new with me. In answer, I drew out the copy of Bracegirdle's letter I had picked up from Ms. M. that morning and slid it across the table. "Only this," I said. Mickey and I had the roast beef and shared a bottle of Melville cabernet, so appropriate, he joked, for a professor of English. Mickey was actually in a pretty good mood, and I asked him if his financial position had improved at all and he said it had: here followed a blizzard of information about hedge funds and REITs and commodities trading that went in one ear and out the other. Sensing my disinterest, he politely changed the subject and asked me what was new with me. In answer, I drew out the copy of Bracegirdle's letter I had picked up from Ms. M. that morning and slid it across the table. "Only this," I said.

"This is it? The Bulstrode thing? Good G.o.d!" Naturally he could read the Jacobean scrawl as easily as you read Times New Roman, and he began to do so at once, rapt, and ignored the waiter when he came to ask about dessert, a unique occurrence in my experience. Twenty or so minutes pa.s.sed as he turned the pages, occasionally making a quiet exclamation-"Holy s.h.i.+t!"-and similar while I drank coffee and gazed at the diners and played eye games with an attractive brunette at another table. My inner theater was showing what it usually did after a meeting with my brother: a thoroughgoing denigration of him and his works, who did he think he was playing the great blue-eyed white G.o.d descending upon the ghetto unasked to bring salvation to the darkies! It was absurd, nearly obscene, nearly n.a.z.i in its colossal arrogance. The sad pleasure of this shadow play ceased only when Mickey beside me said "Wow!" loud enough to draw the attention of the brunette and several others.

He pounded the papers with a stubby digit. "Do you realize what this is?"

"Sort of. Miranda read it and explained its value, although I'm sure I don't have a scholar's sense of it."

"Miranda Kellogg? She's seen this?" He seemed a little upset.

"Well, yes. She's the legal owner of the original."

"But you have custody of it at present?"

So I related the events of the past twenty-four hours. He was stunned. "That's terrible," he said. "Absolutely catastrophic!"

"Yes, I'm extremely concerned about her."

"No, I meant the ma.n.u.script, the original original," he said, with a callousness worthy of a lawyer. "Without that, this is valueless," he added, tapping the pile of copy paper again. "My G.o.d, we have to get it back! Do you have any idea what's at stake?"

"People are always asking me that, and my answer is 'not really.' Ammunition in some literary squabble?" My tone was cold but he ignored it, for this was a new Mickey, no more the laid-back gentleman-scholar, amusingly contemptuous of how his confreres struggled to climb the greasy poles of academe. He had the fire in his eye. The new Mickey expatiated upon the colossal academic value of Mr. B.'s screed; I listened, as to someone describing the details of a complex and tedious surgical procedure.

At length I put in, "So it's a big deal if Shakespeare was a Catholic?"

"It's a big deal if Shakespeare was anything anything. I already went through this with you. We know almost nothing nothing about the interior life of the greatest writer in the history of the human race. Look...just one example of thousands, and bears on the matter at hand. A woman has recently written a book, she's an amateur scholar, but she's certainly done her research, and in this book she claims that nearly the whole corpus of Shakespeare's work, in particular the plays, is an elaborate coded apology for Catholicism and a plea to the monarch of the day for relief of the disabilities that Catholics then suffered. I mean she gives literally about the interior life of the greatest writer in the history of the human race. Look...just one example of thousands, and bears on the matter at hand. A woman has recently written a book, she's an amateur scholar, but she's certainly done her research, and in this book she claims that nearly the whole corpus of Shakespeare's work, in particular the plays, is an elaborate coded apology for Catholicism and a plea to the monarch of the day for relief of the disabilities that Catholics then suffered. I mean she gives literally hundreds hundreds of heterodox readings arguing this theory in reference to all the plays, of heterodox readings arguing this theory in reference to all the plays, and and she also proposes the protective hand of powerful contemporary Catholic peers to explain why Shakespeare wasn't called to account for writing this easily readable code for the public stage. I mean it's a complete and original picture explaining nearly all of Shakespeare's work. How about that?" she also proposes the protective hand of powerful contemporary Catholic peers to explain why Shakespeare wasn't called to account for writing this easily readable code for the public stage. I mean it's a complete and original picture explaining nearly all of Shakespeare's work. How about that?"

I shrugged and asked, "So-is she right?"

"I don't know! n.o.body knows!" This a semishout, provoking more looks from the peers. I could now see why Mickey might hesitate to dine here. "That's the f.u.c.king point point, Jake! She could could be right. Or someone could write a book demonstrating through just as thorough an a.n.a.lysis of the same plays that Shakespeare was gay, a good Protestant f.a.ggot. Or a monarchist. Or a lefty. Or a woman. Or the Earl of Oxford. That's the basic, intractable problem with be right. Or someone could write a book demonstrating through just as thorough an a.n.a.lysis of the same plays that Shakespeare was gay, a good Protestant f.a.ggot. Or a monarchist. Or a lefty. Or a woman. Or the Earl of Oxford. That's the basic, intractable problem with all all Shakespeare studies that bear on intent or biography, and now this!" Tap tap tap. "If genuine...I say Shakespeare studies that bear on intent or biography, and now this!" Tap tap tap. "If genuine...I say if if genuine, it will be the greatest single event in Shakespeare studies since...I don't know, since genuine, it will be the greatest single event in Shakespeare studies since...I don't know, since forever. forever. Since the field was born as a rational ent.i.ty in the eighteenth century." Since the field was born as a rational ent.i.ty in the eighteenth century."

"This letter does that?"

"Not as such. It's just the first taste, the first tiny opening taste of paradise. But Jake"-he lowered his voice and moved his mouth closer to my ear in a near parody of a man seeking confidentiality-"Jake, if this guy spied spied on William Shakespeare, if he wrote down reports, if he described Shakespeare's life the way he described his own miserable life...oh, Jesus, that would be something on William Shakespeare, if he wrote down reports, if he described Shakespeare's life the way he described his own miserable life...oh, Jesus, that would be something real real. Not just speculation based on the use of images in the second act of King King f.u.c.king f.u.c.king Lear Lear, but actual data. Who he saw, what he said, his ordinary speech, what he believed, what he ate and drank, was he a big tipper, how long was his d.i.c.k...Jake, you have no f.u.c.king idea."

"Well, I have some idea what that ma.n.u.script play would be worth." He rolled his eyes and made a show of fanning his face. "Oh, that that. We are not going to even think about that that. No, I will be creaming in my panties if we can even get hold of those ciphered letters he mentions. No wonder old Bulstrode was playing it so close, the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Not to speak ill of the dead, but you might've thought that after all I did for him he would've given me a little peek when this fell into his hands."

"It must've driven him crazy. He didn't say anything to his niece either."

"Yes. Poor woman. You don't have any idea where these spy letters could be?"

"I don't, but what I want to know now, and maybe you can help me here, is why a Russian gangster is interested in them enough to commit a federal crime. He's probably not in the Modern Language a.s.sociation."

"An organization brimful of gangsters and worse," said Mickey, smiling. "But I take your point." He paused, and a peculiar dreamy expression came over his face for just an instant, as if he had just inhaled a mouthful of opium, eyes partly closed, as if contemplating a paradise just out of reach. He came back, however, with an almost audible snap and said, "Unless..."

I knew just what he meant. "Yeah, unless Bulstrode discovered something on his trip to England that established the existence of the...Item. The Item, let's say, really exists, and these guys, or someone hiring these guys, knows about it and wants it. But it turns out that the ciphered letters are part of the trail that leads to it. Do we even know if they were with this letter?"

"You're asking me?"

"Well, yeah. You know more about all this stuff than anyone else but Bulstrode himself and possibly Miranda, both of whom are currently out of reach. Obviously, someone offered Bulstrode a ma.n.u.script. What if there were others in the bundle, and he declined to buy them?"

"Impossible! He would've sold both his grandmothers for a package like that."

"Yes, but absent a bull market in grandmothers, how much would he have had to offer, say for just the Bracegirdle original?"

"I don't know...fifty grand, maybe, if the seller wanted instant cash. At auction, G.o.d knows what it would have fetched. Maybe twice that, three times..."

"And did Bulstrode have that kind of cash?"

"h.e.l.l, no. He was skinned by the lawyers over that phony Hamlet Hamlet business. I had to advance him money on his salary when he came over here. Wait a minute...!" business. I had to advance him money on his salary when he came over here. Wait a minute...!"

"Yeah, right. If he didn't have serious money, how did he get hold of the ma.n.u.script? Two possibilities. Either he paid a far lower price to an owner who didn't know what it was, in which case, when the seller was conned into thinking that the Bracegirdle wasn't worth that much, and if he had the ciphers, he didn't offer them to Bulstrode at all. Or, Bulstrode sees the whole package and the seller knows the real value and he wants major bucks for it. So why doesn't Bulstrode go to the Folger? Or to his good pal Dr. Haas for that matter?"

A bitter laugh here. "Because he knew I was broke too?"

"Did he? But let's say it was because the provenance is shaky. The seller is something of a crook himself, but he knows the value of these letters as a key to something even more gigantic. So Bulstrode goes to Mr. Big and sells him on a deal-help me buy the package and we'll find the most valuable item on earth and-"

"That's ridiculous! I mean, sure, Andrew could have lowballed a naive seller, but he couldn't possibly have known any Mr. Bigs. He hardly knew anyone in New York."

I thought about this and agreed that Mickey was probably right. Miranda had said much the same thing. I thought for a while and said, "Then there has to be a tertium quid."

"You mean someone who knew the value of what Bulstrode had and also knew gangsters? And wanted the big payoff. Are there people like that?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm a person like that. I know a distinguished professor of English literature, you, and I also know some hard boys. It's probably not as uncommon as we'd like to believe. Stockbroker types never seem to have trouble finding a thug to knock off their wives. Or vice versa. In any case, Bulstrode may have gone to this person and confided that he had the Item within reach. This person, for whatever reason, lets the hard boys know about it. Bulstrode goes to England and comes back. He knows he's being followed, so he stashes the package with me. Then the gangsters grab him and torture him enough to get my name out of him, which is why I'm in their sights and why Miranda was taken, and why they want to get their hands on the ciphers."

"Which neither she nor you have, since Bulstrode didn't. Do we know they even exist?"

"Mr. Tertium obviously does. Tell me, did Bulstrode ever mention to you the name of the person who sold him the ma.n.u.script?"

"Never. Christ! Why didn't didn't he come to me? It would've been the easiest thing in the world to arrange a purchase at any reasonable price." he come to me? It would've been the easiest thing in the world to arrange a purchase at any reasonable price."

Here I told him what Miranda had related to me about Bulstrode's shame over the fake Hamlet Hamlet affair and the extent of his paranoia. Mickey shook his head. "That poor a.s.s! G.o.d, he'd be alive now if he had. But, you know, it shouldn't be all that hard to learn the name of the seller. Andrew had an appointment diary. Or he could've given the seller a check. The trouble is that his diary and checkbook are still being held by the cops." affair and the extent of his paranoia. Mickey shook his head. "That poor a.s.s! G.o.d, he'd be alive now if he had. But, you know, it shouldn't be all that hard to learn the name of the seller. Andrew had an appointment diary. Or he could've given the seller a check. The trouble is that his diary and checkbook are still being held by the cops."

"Yes. But there may be ways around that. It occurs to me that I'm the lawyer for the Bulstrode estate and the lawyer for its heiress. I'll see whether the cops will let me examine that material."

And so on and so on. I'm fairly sure that's where the idea of checking on who sold the papers came up. After I left Mickey, I received a call on my cell phone from Detective Murray returning mine of the previous night. He had, of course, heard about the break-in, theft, and abduction and wanted to talk to me. I concocted a story for him. There had been no abduction, I said. Ms. Kellogg had called me and said she was fine, that she had left the apartment before the a.s.sault, that she had the papers in her possession. They were her property, technically, and there was really no reason for us to get alarmed because a grown woman had decided to take a hike. He said that was a good att.i.tude because there was clearly no connection at all between the brouhaha around my old papers and the death of Andrew Bulstrode, the investigation of which was closed as of today. He'd been killed by a nineteen-year-old h.o.m.os.e.xual prost.i.tute named Chico Garza, who was in police custody and had made a full confession, and it was just as they'd thought, a s.e.xual game gone sour. The boy had been caught trying to use Bulstrode's Visa card. So he had been right, I agreed, using a relieved tone. A street mugging, an attempted burglary and a.s.sault, a missing woman: all coincidences. I apologized for doubting him, and he graciously replied that citizens, taught by the plots of thrillers, usually tried to complexify things, while and so on. I'm fairly sure that's where the idea of checking on who sold the papers came up. After I left Mickey, I received a call on my cell phone from Detective Murray returning mine of the previous night. He had, of course, heard about the break-in, theft, and abduction and wanted to talk to me. I concocted a story for him. There had been no abduction, I said. Ms. Kellogg had called me and said she was fine, that she had left the apartment before the a.s.sault, that she had the papers in her possession. They were her property, technically, and there was really no reason for us to get alarmed because a grown woman had decided to take a hike. He said that was a good att.i.tude because there was clearly no connection at all between the brouhaha around my old papers and the death of Andrew Bulstrode, the investigation of which was closed as of today. He'd been killed by a nineteen-year-old h.o.m.os.e.xual prost.i.tute named Chico Garza, who was in police custody and had made a full confession, and it was just as they'd thought, a s.e.xual game gone sour. The boy had been caught trying to use Bulstrode's Visa card. So he had been right, I agreed, using a relieved tone. A street mugging, an attempted burglary and a.s.sault, a missing woman: all coincidences. I apologized for doubting him, and he graciously replied that citizens, taught by the plots of thrillers, usually tried to complexify things, while real real crimes were typically stupid and simple, as here. Happens all the time. crimes were typically stupid and simple, as here. Happens all the time.

I agreed that it probably did and presumed that, since the investigation was completed, there would be no objection to me, as the lawyer in the case, looking into some of his papers on estate business? No objection at all, he said.

THE S SECOND C CIPHERED L LETTER.

My Lord, be a.s.sured I am well rebuked by your cypher of 16th Jan Jany & will endeavour to pleaze you better hereafter by writing briefer: for as I am but recently come to this intelligenceing I know not what to put and what is dross & unworthy of yr. wors.h.i.+pes regard. Oure strategem proceedeth thus: upon the Princesse Elizabeth her name-daye as you foretold, there was projected celebratioun & feastinge at White-Hall & we are commanded to playe Much Ado abt. Nothinge & some masques of Mr. Johnson. Since the tyme that last I wrote I have become of the company, not a clerke of the bookes onlie but also as indeed all the otheres are too a factotum: I lift & carry, paint & build & beyond these mechanickal labours I also serve to swell a scene, as soldier, attendant-lord, &c. with trumperie robes, basinnets, tinne swords, &c. at perill of my sowle I think, but G.o.d will comprehend it and forgive, for I doe not give speche upon the stage. In these weekes I am much with W.S., for he favours me & keepes me at his howse by Black-Friers. On the daye afore-mentioned I am to be of the Watch & also Lord Attendant to Don Pedro; but verie neare the houre of performance oure Mr. Ussher falls from the stage by mischance & can not stand & soe I must play the Boy as well, that is a speakeing parte, but two lines, & I sware I would rather face the tercio of Seville in full battel than speke before an audience & this a royal one too; but I did wel enow though I quaked. & will endeavour to pleaze you better hereafter by writing briefer: for as I am but recently come to this intelligenceing I know not what to put and what is dross & unworthy of yr. wors.h.i.+pes regard. Oure strategem proceedeth thus: upon the Princesse Elizabeth her name-daye as you foretold, there was projected celebratioun & feastinge at White-Hall & we are commanded to playe Much Ado abt. Nothinge & some masques of Mr. Johnson. Since the tyme that last I wrote I have become of the company, not a clerke of the bookes onlie but also as indeed all the otheres are too a factotum: I lift & carry, paint & build & beyond these mechanickal labours I also serve to swell a scene, as soldier, attendant-lord, &c. with trumperie robes, basinnets, tinne swords, &c. at perill of my sowle I think, but G.o.d will comprehend it and forgive, for I doe not give speche upon the stage. In these weekes I am much with W.S., for he favours me & keepes me at his howse by Black-Friers. On the daye afore-mentioned I am to be of the Watch & also Lord Attendant to Don Pedro; but verie neare the houre of performance oure Mr. Ussher falls from the stage by mischance & can not stand & soe I must play the Boy as well, that is a speakeing parte, but two lines, & I sware I would rather face the tercio of Seville in full battel than speke before an audience & this a royal one too; but I did wel enow though I quaked.

The King falleth asleep in Act III which they tell me he doeth always but the Quene & Princesse clap full l.u.s.tilie & after-ward wee are fed cakes & malmsey wine in a side chamber. Now comes in a n.o.ble lord Sir Robert Veney, dressed verie fine & he is of my lord the Earl of Rochester's partie. He hath speche with W.S. & Mr Burbadge & then W.S. beckons me with a confuzed looke upon his face & I go as bid & this Veney carryes me a little way across the chamber & askes me if I know what is afoot. Yea, sir, saies I: for you have told me of it in youre cypher, my Lord, & he giveth me privilie (but onlie seeminge privilie) a sealed letter & he saith boy I would see feare upon thy face now, as one seeing a ghost. And he departs & I thrust the letter into my bosom & it takes no schill at playinge for me to tremmble & shew a timorous face.

Then they all wished to learn what the Lord Veney hath sayde to me, but I would not, sayinge tis a private matter & they all of them mock me, what private matter doth a lord have with lykes of thee save venerie & they make much witt on this, grasping theyre cods & cavorting & callinge me Lord Veneries punk. But I see W.S. doth not join, or but a littel, & regards me some thinge solemn.

Next daye in Black-Friers he cometh in to the closet where I sit alone at my countynge bookes & sitts him down: quoth he d.i.c.k you are a brave-looking fellowe but not I thinke so prettie as to make rampant the l.u.s.tes of Sir Robert Veney & besides you are made to tupp maydes. Come, then, have I not ben your goode cosen? Tell me what hath pa.s.sed between you & this gentleman; or if you cannot upon your honour tell it in fulle then do you drawe the matter lightly, so I maye know its shape & that it concernes not me & this company. Why think you, sir, saies I, that it might concern you & he then toucheth the sign royal upon his liverie coate & saies lad you are no lack-wit. We are the Kinges Men & this Veney is in the bosom of my Lord Rochester & my Lord rules the King as all men know. Now if My Lord need anie conversation with oure company he will send to me, or Mr Burbadge, or Mr Hemmynge, or anie sharer: so must I aske why he calleth oute a boye; a boye lately come to us, with a storie he is my cosen; a boye who when he sits to meate maketh privilie the sign of the cross upon his harte. Soe my cosen, cozzen me not. And he lookes at me verie close & severe as I have not before seen hym looke at anie man: and I bethinke me he sees alle, I am undone; but I draw up my courage thinkeing too: ah he snaps at the bayte.

Whereupon I fall upon my knees crieing oh my cosen spare your wrath though I am a traitoure; I am set to spye on thee for My Lord Rochester. He groweth pale: how cometh this, saies he, I have done nothinge against that n.o.ble lord & it seemeth he still doth smyle upon me. Quoth I: oh sir it has all to doe with weightie matteres of faith & politicks & the devizes of the great & I am just a poore boye a s.h.i.+p-wracked mariner & how come I to meddel with these thinges: & I commence to weepe: & these reale teares, I trowe. He asketh, art my cosen in dede or wase that false invention? I say no twas all trewth & sware on my motheres grave that the Earle hath chose mee for that reasoun soe thou might truste mee the mor.

Then he raiseth me up to chayre, saying, now doe you be a true man, my lad & tell me all. Soe saie I to hym all we have agreed between us my lord what was all writ in your last cypher, viz: the King desireth a Catholic match for Prince Henry in the cause of peace, the which the Puritans in Parliament right hartilie contemn; my lord the Earle favours this and hath the charge of it, for which the Puritans hate him all; these knaves crie out the late Quene did not treate us so (though I thinke she did, but theyre memorie fadeth with tyme), & mutter this King is but a brat of a papist wh.o.r.e; the King groweth wearie with the comparisoun & with the despisinge of the Quene his mother & wishes to shew himself a greater monarch than Elizabeth. Now my lord Earle hath conceived a plan. What if a playe should be made upon Queen Mary of Scotland, such as would shew her in a better light & shew olde Bess as a tyrannous harridan enslaved to canting Puritans, which when it be broadlie heard shall temper the feelinges of the people toward the Quene of Scotland. For such thinges hath been done before: wase not Harry Bolingbroke the usurper made n.o.ble and Crookback d.i.c.k shown vile cruel caitiff? And would such a playe not discomforte the Puritan factioun & turn the people gainst them? And who in Englande writes best such playes?

At this he catches my meaning & cries what, he desires me to write this playe? I saie yes cosen, His lords.h.i.+p the Earle thus commands thee. But W.S. cries him such a playe was ne'er heard of before. You know the King hath dismissd the Black-Friars boyes & ruined theyre company for a slight gainst Scotland in theyre Edward Second, what should he doe to a playe that slighteth greate Elizabeth & the Protestant church entire? Zblood! I believe thee not, boye; this mustbe some practice upon me by mine enemies.

At this wase I some-wyse discomfited, my Lord, for I see he is close to uncovering our strategems, but I saie, nay, sir, it is by the Earles own command, for lookest thou: this is why my lord Veney approached me and not you or another sharer. Wee are all overlooked by spyes & this can not be seen to come of the Earle. It must be wrote out in secret, onlie I knowinge & thee & shewn to the Earle & he will soften the King to let it playe. For his majestie is timorous; he would crush the Puritans but dare not, or not now. For this projected playe is but parte of a grander complot that needeth more tyme to hatch: the Spanish marriage, new-made bischops, new lawes gainst Puritain conventicles & relief for papists. As I sayde this I study him close but could find nothinge revealled in his face. Quoth he, why should the King favour papists now, who near slew him in the Yeare Five? And I answer, why should he give his sonne to them that paid Guy Fawkes his fee? It is policie cosen, and the lykes of us can not compa.s.s it, but muste do as we are bid by the greate. But one thynge is sure: the King must have his bischops to rule the church & here is he closer to the papists than to the Puritans. And he saies still I can not credit it & heere I take out from my bosom the letter forged with my lord of Rochesters seale: credit then this, saith I & give it over. Soe he doth reade it; & after saith, my lord desires it by Christmas. Quaere: Canst thou do it by then? Aye, saies he, I have a smale thinge to be done with, a playe of the New Worlde & s.h.i.+p-wracke & magickal islandes & thy boat-swaine in it too, another fort-nighte sees it done. Then maye I starte upon this & maye G.o.d keepe us alle, upon sayinge so he doth crosse himselfe as doe I, the while thinkynge now sir we have thee.

Then his face that was cast in lines of care doth clear of a sudden & he smileth sayinge you promised to shew me how to worke arithmetick in the new stile & he grasps at the proper word & I say algorism thou meanest & he writes it in hys booke & asks in what tongue is that word & I saye my maistre sayed it wase Arabian & he saith it some few tymes. Soe we commence to studie arithmetick & methinkes my lord that we must go earlie to the field & have oure witts about us if we are to catch this onne. For never saw I man soe close-barred & deep-moated gainst the examination of other men. Mr Burbadge playeth his parte upon the stage to be suire, yet when dismounted is plain d.i.c.k: but this Shaxespure playeth ever & all ways & I thinke no man can see the man who lieth beneathe the player. With alle honour & my humble duty to yr. Lords.h.i.+p & may G.o.d confound thy enemies & the foes of alle trew religion from London this Friday the 26th Januarye 1610 Richard Bracegirdle Januarye 1610 Richard Bracegirdle