It had been a cold, wet April day. Sheets of stinging rain, blowing almost horizontally, drove icy rivulets between neck and collar. He had quickly climbed the smooth, stone steps that led to the huge oak door of the house on Fleet Street. He hammered the brass knocker then hunched his back against the rain and waited impatiently. Just as he was reaching again for the knocker the door swung open and a doorman beckoned him in. He strode inside, waited while the doorman struggled to close the heavy door against the storm and then was ushered into the plush inner office of the Earl of Oxford, First Lord of the Admiralty. A well-stoked fire on the hearth radiated welcome heat into the room.

The Earl, heavy jowled and hard eyed, had looked up from the papers on his desk and, for some moments, studied him intently. He made a slight nod to the doorman who took Vance’s sodden, woolen cloak and tricorn then left. The snick of the door latch resonated in the quiet room.

Vance bowed gracefully and said, “Milord,” then glanced at the tall, thin-lipped man standing to the right of the large rosewood desk and waited for someone to speak.

“I believe you know Sir John Somerset, Lord keeper of the Seal?” the Earl said and indicated a chair.

Vance had bowed to the Lord Keeper before sitting. Yes, I know him all right. We’ve rolled together through every sex house in London. Somerset, you bastard, you ought to be bowing to me. Images flashed through Vance’s mind. Somerset lying naked on the canopied bed, the urgent thrust of the drunken whore’s hips as she smeared her dirty privates across his mouth, the knife she held poised between his legs and her threats if he didn’t get his tongue working.‘Twas me who pulled her off and saved your balls, Somerset. You owe me, my friend, and this had better be some sort of payoff and not an aim to use me and drop my ass into the shit pot.

“Sir Roger and I are old and dear friends, milord,” Somerset replied easily. He smiled and winked at Vance then slightly nodded his head. Vance’s guard didn’t slip an iota.

Lord Oxford had leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk. His joined hands appeared to be in prayer and his stubby index fingers just touched his thick lower lip. “Let me come to the point Sir Roger. We need you to handle a little mission for us. Sir John says you’re the man for the job and I’ve relied on his judgment before.”

Vance knew the cards had already been dealt. Now it was up to him to figure out the game and how to play it. With men of power, sometimes the best answer was to be silent. He waited for Lord Oxford to continue.

The man smiled grimly and glanced at Somerset. “Sir John said you were a man of wits and caution. I’m beginning to see why.” He shifted in his chair, opened a desk drawer and withdrew a packet that had once been sealed. “What do you think of this?”

Vance had taken the packet and unfolded the letter contained therein. He was surprised to find he couldn’t read a line. Yet it wasn’t in some foreign language.... more like a code of some sort. He laid the packet and the letter on the desk. “I’ve never seen writing like this before, milord. I can’t help you.”

“Oh, we know that Sir Roger. Forgive me a small deceit. As a matter of fact, it is in code.... but we have the key. This letter was sent to.... ah.... an associate of ours to pass on to the appropriate people.” He glanced at Somerset and smiled widely. “As it turns out, we’re the appropriate people.” He passed another sheet of paper to Vance. “This is the actual message.”

The letter, as decoded, was dated five months prior, November 9, 1702. The name of the person addressed had been omitted.