“As you can imagine, Morgan’s book didn’t go down well with the Masons,” he went on. “His publisher was threatened, and William Morgan—who was going to go through with his project come hell or high water—was kidnapped.” He snapped his fingers. “Vanished, just like that. Never to be seen again. The story was that a couple of Masons got to him and killed him, probably in upstate New York. That way they could shut him up for good.”

“Did anyone ever find out what really happened to him?” Quinn asked.

Noah shook his head. “It almost didn’t matter, because everyone just assumed the Masons were responsible. Guilty. There was a big public hue and cry because no one was being brought to justice, which only fueled the fire that the Masons were sinister, a secret society that needed to be reined in. The talk got uglier and eventually a third political party—called, to no one’s surprise, the Anti-Masonic Party—came to be. That’s how bad it was. They had one presidential candidate, William Wirt, in 1832 who lost. Abysmally. After that the party fell apart and died.”

“Then what happened?” I asked.

“Nothing. Wirt had actually been a Mason and sort of defended the Masons at his nomination. He said George Washington never would have belonged to the kind of organization the Anti-Masons were describing. So after he lost the election Wirt faded from view.”

“That’s a hell of a story,” Quinn said. “At least it happened a long time ago.”

“Maybe so, but you can still find plenty of stories right now—especially on the internet—about the Masons being run by men who still secretly want to control the government, or that they were infiltrated by the Illuminati centuries ago in Europe. Then there are the conspiracy theories about Masonic symbols being hidden in government buildings in Washington and that the city was built based on a pentagram, which is sacred to the Masons. Or that All-Seeing Eye on the back of the one-dollar bill is a Masonic symbol of power.”

“I’ve heard some of that,” I said.

“So have I,” Quinn said.

“The irony is that talking about politics or religion is forbidden at Masonic meetings,” Noah said. “And though it’s true George Washington and Pierre L’Enfant were Masons, they didn’t design the city based on some secret hoop-de-doop. L’Enfant was in love with Paris. That was his inspiration.” His paper cup was now a tight little ball.

For someone who had left the Masons, he sounded almost too defensive, and I wondered why.

Quinn nudged me. “We should probably be going.”

I nodded. “Yes. We should let you get back to … everything, Noah. And thanks for delivering the trees and all the greenery tomorrow.”