Most Secret by John Dickson Carr

Killigrew lifted his heavy goblet of dark-green glass, “a bumper of brandy, judiciously swallowed, does some little to offset the ill humours of cooks.”
    “Your health, then!”
    “As you please.” He drank and sat down, adjusting his laced pantaloons. “Now, sir, how can I serve you?”
    “If I may crave the indulgence of a great favour …?”
    “If you must, I suppose you must. But be short, pray; I am much vexed and harassed. What’s the favour?”
    “I would present a young friend of mine. Mr. Kinsmere, may I make you known to Mr. Thomas Killigrew, Most Worshipful Master of the King’s Company of Players, true wit and true judge of skills? My young friend, sir, would desire—”
    “Would he indeed?” The little man’s monkey-bright eyes lifted to survey my grandfather. “Well, Mr. Kinesear,” he said, “and what will you read for me?”
    “Read?”
    “You are a brisk and hearty-seeming young man, not ill to look upon. It will be no fopling’s role you would essay, I’ll warrant, nor yet a comic one. Shall it be Celadon in The Maiden Queen ? Almanzor in The Conquest of Granada ? Or some harsher and cruder part, Hamlet or the Moor of Venice, from the old plays that begin to disgust our refined age?”
    Against a rattle of voices in the background, the tinkling of little bells on several gingleboys rose loudly and then died away.
    “ Tapster ,” bellowed a distant voice.
    “ Sir? ”
    “ Tapster! Did you not hear those bells stop? The jacks are empty, God damme, Tapster! ”
    “ Anon, sir! By and by, sir! ”
    “Mr. Killigrew, Mr. Killigrew,” Bygones Abraham exclaimed with horror, “already we are neck-deep in misunderstanding. My young friend is of the Cavalier landed gentry. He gives his patronage to the stage. But he is not an actor.”
    “Zounds, zounds, much thanks for that .” Tom Killigrew sighed. Drawing a gold comb from the pocket of a green velvet coat, he fell to combing the curls of his dark-brown peruke. “Could you guess how much my time is wasted by dolts and jack-puddings, you would pity me from the bottom of your heart. Well, well! Mr. Kinsear is no dolt or jack-pudding. But did he desire only the favour of being presented to me?”
    Bygones, standing against the table, lowered his head above his tankard as though he prayed.
    “If we might have,” he rumbled, “perhaps a trifle of information?”
    “Say on, then! But be short; I am much vexed and harassed.”
    “My friend did this day request me to accompany him to the King’s House. Will the performance repay our trouble?”
    Mr. Killigrew stopped combing and suppressed a yawn.
    “The play is but Julius Caesar , one of the old stock pieces we share with the Duke’s Company. And yet! To guide and govern these wilful stage folk, I do assure you, is no light or simple task. Behold! Look upon this!”
    From another pocket he took a crumpled note, and spread it out on the table.
    “Look upon this, I say! Saw you ever the like?”
Thos. Killigrew, Esq.,
    Sir:
    Beg leave to inform you the whole Roman Senate are getting drunk at the “Rose,” and swear, Damn their eyes if they’ll play today.
    Yrs. respectfully,
    J. Meaney
    “Now what a thing,” cried Mr. Killigrew, “is the temper of the artist! Even my stage hands are afflicted with it. Unless you be strict with ’em, as like as not they’ll dash on and interrupt somebody’s dying words by fetching away the bed. And, if aught more than another galls the artist’s mind or exacerbates his spirit, it’s to have his dying words cut off before he has thoroughly expired. However! You will do well to give ’em your countenance this day. The king and the court are to attend,”
    “You are sure o’ that, sir?”
    “I had it from His Majesty’s self this morning, while he was being shaved. I acquainted him with our difficulties. (Zounds, zounds, was ever a man so vexed or harassed?) ‘We must make shift as best we can, sire,’ I said, ‘since it’s your