“Pumps? Of course. Pumps aplenty. All sorts of pumps. Chain pumps and suction pumps and cylinder pumps. I do not yet have an efficient pump, an elegant pump, which will perform its allotted task with simplicity and grace.”

“So what about these fens? What is used there?”

“Oh, that,” he said almost scornfully. “That is a different matter entirely. Of little interest at all in matter of technique.” He glanced at me, and remembered, again, why I was there. “But, of course, all the better an investment for that, as it requires no novelty. The problem is a simple one, you see, and simple problems should best have simple solutions. Do you not agree?”

I agreed.

“Many areas of fenland,” he said, “lie beneath the level of the sea, and properly should actually be underneath the sea, very much as the greater part of the Low Countries should be, because, if not, they would have to change their name.”

He chuckled at his little joke awhile, and I joined in politely. “You know this, of course. Now, it is easy enough to prevent more water from entering by building dikes; the Hollanders have been doing this for centuries, so it cannot be very difficult. The problem is to evacuate the water that is already there. How is this to be done?”

I confessed my ignorance, which pleased him.

“Rivers are the simplest; you cut a new river, and the water flows away. Pipes are another. Wooden pipes underground which collect the water and allow it to flow off. The problem with that is that it is both expensive and slow. What is more, the land around (you remember) is higher, as is the sea. So where is this water to go?”

I shook my head again. “Nowhere,” he said with vehemence. “It cannot go anywhere, for water will not flow uphill. Everyone knows that. This is why much of the fenland has not been completely drained. With my pumps, you see, the problem can be overcome and in the contest between man’s wishes and nature’s desires, nature can be made to yield a victory. For water will indeed flow uphill, and be carried off, leaving the land useful.”

“Excellent,” I said. “And very profitable.”

“Oh, indeed. Those gentlemen who have formed a company for the drainage of their lands will become prosperous indeed. And I hope to turn a profit myself, for I have some land there, in Harland Wyte. Sir? Are you all right?”

I felt almost as though I had been struck a heavy blow in my stomach, for the mention of Harland Wyte, my family land, the heart of my father’s entire estate, was so unexpected that it left me breathless, and I fear must almost have given myself away by the way I turned pale and gulped for air.

“Forgive me, Sir Samuel,” I said, “I am prone to this momentary light-headedness. It will pass.” I smiled reassuringly, and pretended to be recovered. “Harland Wyte, you say? I do not know it. Have you owned it long?”

He smirked cunningly. “Only a few years. It was a great bargain, for it was going cheap and I saw its value better than those selling it.”

“I’m sure you did. Who was the seller?”

But he brushed my question aside and would not be drawn, preferring to expand on his cleverness than on his turpitude. “Now I will complete the drainage, then sell it on, and pocket a handsome profit. His Grace the Duke of Bedford has already agreed to purchase it, since he already owns most of the land all around.”

“I congratulate you on your good fortune,” I said, giving up the line of enquiry and trying another approach. “Tell me, sir, how you know Dr. Wallis? I ask as he has tutored me on occasion. Does he consult you on his experimentations and mathematics?”

“Good heavens, no,” Morland replied with sudden modesty. “Although I am a mathematician myself I freely admit that he is my superior in all respects. Our connection was very much more worldly, for we both at one stage were employed by John Thurloe. Of course, I was a secret supporter of His Majesty’s cause, whereas Dr. Wallis was a great man for Cromwell in those days.”

“You surprise me,” I said. “He seems a loyal subject now. Besides, what services could a priest and mathematician provide for someone like Thurloe?”

“Many and varied,” Morland said with a smile at my innocence. “Dr. Wallis was the finest maker and breaker of codes in the land. He was never beaten, I think; never yielded to a stronger in cryptographical technique. For years Thurloe used his services; bundles of letters in code would be sent to him in Oxford, and the translations would come back on the next coach. Remarkable. We almost felt like telling the king’s men that they really should not waste their time putting letters into code at all, for if we captured them, Wallis could always read them. If he is your tutor, you should ask to see some; I’m sure he has them still, although he naturally does not advertise such records of his past activities.”

“And you knew Thurloe as well? That must have been extraordinary.”

He was flattered by the compliment, and this goaded him to try and impress me the more. “Indeed. I was almost his right-hand man for three years.”

“You are a family connection of his?”

“Oh, dear me no. I was sent as an envoy to Savoy to plead on behalf of the persecuted Protestants. I was there for several years, and kept my eye on exiles there as well. So I was useful, and became trusted and was offered the post when I returned. Which I kept until I fled when discovered passing intelligence to His Majesty.”

“His Majesty is lucky in his servants, then,” I said, despising the man suddenly for his self-satisfaction.

“Not all of them, by any means. For every loyal man like myself, there was another who would have sold him for a bag of sovereigns. I unmasked the worst of them by making sure that some of the documents Wallis produced were seen by the king.”

I was so close, I knew it. If I could only keep calm so that his suspicions were not aroused, I knew I could tease unheard-of treasures from him.

“You hint that Dr. Wallis and yourself are no longer on good terms. Is it because of what happened in those days?”

He shrugged. “It no longer matters. It is all past now.”

“Tell me,” I said, insisting, and I knew the moment the words were out of my mouth that I had pushed too far. Mor-land’s eyes narrowed, and the air of eccentric good humor drained out of him like sour wine from a bottle.

“Perhaps you have acquired more interests at Oxford than in your studies, young man,” he said quietly. “I would advise you to go back to your Dorset estate, and concern yourself with that, if indeed any such estate exists. It is a dangerous business for any man to occupy himself with matters that are none of his affair.”

He took me by the elbow and tried to guide me to the front door. I shook my arm free scornfully, and turned to confront him. “No,” I said, confident that he would be no match for me, and that I could shake the information out of him if I so wished. “I wish to know…”

The sentence went uncompleted. Morland clapped his hands, and instantly a door opened, and a rough-looking man came into the room, a dagger thrust obtrusively in his belt. He said nothing, but stood awaiting orders.

I do not know whether I could have defeated such a man; it is possible, but it was just as possible that I would not. He had the air of the old soldier about him, and was certainly far more experienced in swordplay than I was myself.

“You must excuse my conduct, Sir Samuel,” I said, controlling myself as best I could. “But your stories are fascinating. It is true I have heard many tales at Oxford, and they interest me greatly, as they must all young men. You must forgive the enthusiasm and curiosity of youth.”

My words did not conciliate him. His suspicion, once aroused, could not be laid to rest. In his years of deceit and duplicity he had no doubt learned the value of silence, and he was not to be tempted into taking any risk. “Show this gentleman out,” he said to the servant. Then he bowed to me politely, and withdrew. I was back on the noisy street outside a few moments later, cursing myself for my stupidity.