They had talked productively, and FW awarded him the teaching job he needed, then further helped him acquire a postgraduate scholarship so that he could complete his dissertation with a research trip. Calvin came from a good family with some property and a few shares, but ready cash was always tight, so he was grateful for the patronage. Later in their association, as Calvin got to know Professor Walters better, he found some of his ideas on Intelligent Design, the Rapture, and Creationism a little extreme, and he was certainly alarmed when Walters expressed publicly that the horrors of 9/11 could be laid as much at the feet of the pagans, the feminists, and the gays as at any Islamic terrorists—although he never expressed such concerns to his patron. He had been taken into FW’s confidence on a number of matters, and he liked to be there. But their association had recently blossomed afresh when Calvin had mentioned, in passing, the death of an English cousin, and a key with a fascinating history, which had narrowly missed descent to Calvin’s mother. It should have followed the female line, he explained, but had gone to a male cousin in England, breaking a pattern of centuries. He believed it might be linked with books and papers that his illustrious ancestor would have thought were too sensitive to release into the doctrinally riven world of the early seventeenth century, and FW expressed surprise that Calvin hadn’t told him of its existence before this.

As the waiter put Calvin’s napkin on his lap, he thought how deeply he was becoming involved with this man. Walters seemed to be in a jovial mood as he invited Calvin to order. He had already chosen an old-fashioned English breakfast himself. “Love these link sausages—can’t get anything like them back home,” he commented. Calvin wondered what was on his mind. It was unlike FW not to get straight to the point.

“Got any further with your English cousins and Dr. Dee?” Walters, between bites, never took his eye off Calvin, judging his every reaction.

“Can I take your order, sir?” The waiter was poised, and Calvin about to speak up for the eggs Benedict. Walters cut him off before he could mouth the first vowel.

“He’ll have English breakfast, fried eggs sunny-side up, link sausages, and hot buttered toast. Make sure it’s hot buttered.” Walters ignored the waiter’s close proximity and added to Calvin without lowering his voice: “These Brits don’t understand about hot buttered toast.”

“Oh, we Brits do, sir.” The waiter smiled quietly. “It’s when the toast is buttered straight out of the toaster so that the butter melts into the bread, making it limp and soggy. Anything else, sir? Coffee, decaffeinated, or regular?”

Calvin nodded his thanks before Walters said crisply to the waiter: “That will be all. Thank you.”