“Broken my code?” scoffed Franklin. “Very well—out with it, if you please.”

John Quincy glanced for approval to Jefferson, who nodded for him to proceed.

“First, the delivery of the message by Mme Helvetius,” said Quincy proudly. “She tried to arrive privately. When all the world recognized her, you admitted you had a message. But to throw the spy off the trail, you focused on the French version of the song, thereby diverting attention from the words in English—‘Are you sleeping, are you sleeping, Brother John, Brother John.’ That would give a wholly different meaning.”

“And precisely what would that be?” said Franklin, with a pleased smile.

“The mention of ‘Brother,’” explained Quincy. “It’s the word by which Freemasons greet one another, with no titles like Seigneur, for all men are thought equal, regardless of their circumstances of birth. Then there was the repetition ‘Brother John, Brother John.’ This would refer to the two patron saints of the Freemasons—St. John the Baptist and St. John the Evangelist—whose saint days are celebrated at summer and winter solstices, indicating a message meant for Masonic, not just Scottish, ears. So ‘Are you sleeping,’ and ‘Morning bells are ringing’ would mean ‘Wake up, Brothers!’ I’m afraid in our decipherment, this is as far as we’ve come.”

“Excellent!” Franklin commended him. “You have covered much ground.”

“But, my dear doctor,” said Jefferson, “we don’t know the real meaning of the message sent by the Masons of Scotland. For surely if there was a spy in our midst, as you say, your story by now has likely raised many eyebrows among London’s cohort at this side of the channel—‘Bonnie Prince Charlie sailing on the morning tide to become first emperor of the United States!’ Do you think anyone swallowed that?”

“I hope so, for it’s quite true!” said Franklin. “I should know. I myself was initiated into the very Rite of Kilmarnock I spoke of, not long after my evening in Annapolis in 1759, when I went up to St. Andrews University on the Scottish coast to receive my honorary doctorate. The Bonnie Prince still has an enormous following there, and in America—though not, of course, with General Washington, myself or our fellow Masons. The arrival of a prince of the blood on our shores could be devastating at this moment—so soon after our revolution, with as yet no fixed government and a gaggle of factions bickering like brainless geese. Hence, the urgency of my warning from the Scottish Masons. What better hope have we than to stop the problem before it arrives? And what better chance than to place a bug into the ear of King George III and his British Secret Service? The idea of a Scottish king on the throne of his former colonies should frizzle George’s wig something proper!”

“So one coded message was hidden within another,” Quincy observed. “‘A coup is under way, and the Masonic brethren must awaken to the call!’”

“It has traditionally been our way,” Franklin agreed, “to conceal layers within layers…often within other layers.”