“I can be trusted if the price is right,” I corrected. “And the price shall be one thousand ducats, after you marry Portia and take possession of her fortune.”

“Agreed. How will you do it?”

Now the tightrope to walk, to reveal the special set of skills that I had acquired without giving up so much that should it get back to Antonio, who might suspect the royal fool was still among the quick. Had I boasted to Antonio of my training as a cutpurse and a burglar? And as a forger, trained by monks at the abbey at Dog Snogging to copy manuscripts? I couldn’t remember. Perhaps if I had done less drinking during my tenure in the sinking city . . .

I might have said, “I will scale the walls, climb onto the veranda, razor off the seals, discern the content, and report back to you which casket to choose.” Which was, in fact, what I would do, but which also would require that I divulge details of a very unlikely past for a Venetian Jew, so I went with a more direct explanation.

“Monkeys,” said I.

“Monkeys?” he repeated.

“Surely you’ve seen the thieving monkeys of Giudecca, at least heard of them? We Jews have been training them since the time of King David. How do you think we gain our wealth?”

“Monkeys?” repeated Bassanio, like some simpleton with a single word in his repertoire.

“Signor, I tell you, I have worked all my life in the training of the thieving monkeys, and I know they are equal to the task. They will ascend to the veranda, razor open the caskets with their clever monkey hands, reseal them, leaving them undetected, and report to me their contents, which I will report to you.”

“How?”

“I just bloody told you, you nitwit, they’ll scale the bloody walls—”

“No, how will they report?”

Bollocks. I hadn’t thought out that bit. “Hebrew,” I explained.

“Your thieving monkeys speak Hebrew?”

“No, of course not. You see, the Hebrew language, in its written form, was originally developed from a series of stamps made from monkeys’ paws. The entire alphabet can be printed with a monkey hand dipped in ink. That’s how they report. It has always been so. You should see the inner walls of La Giudecca, covered with their monkey profanities in Hebrew.” I paused, breathless from my bullshit, and held forth Jessica’s note again, pointing to the seal, which was stamped with a menorah. “See the four fingers on each side and the monkey thumbs on the side?”

“I do see,” said the handsome, yet deeply stupid young merchant. “Make it so—what is your name?”

“Lancelot,” said I, extending my hand. “Lancelot Gobbo.”

“A thousand ducats, Lancelot Gobbo,” said Bassanio.

“You shall receive a message before you depart for Belmont, revealing which casket holds the lady’s picture.”

“I will be at Antonio’s.”