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‘Sorry, sorry,’ said an unshaven elderly gentleman. He was dressed in an open-neck plaid shirt and baggy corduroy trousers held up by a pair of red braces, while wearing two different-coloured slippers. But there the appearance of age ended, as the sharp penetrating eyes, lined forehead and silver-grey hair suggested this wasn’t a man to be trifled with.

‘Good morning, sir,’ said Miles.

‘Good morning, young man,’ said Rosenberg. ‘Welcome to my humble abode.’

Miles couldn’t remember when he’d last been calledyoung man.

He followed the professor into the house and along a dark corridor that displayed several academic citations and lifetime awards, illustrating a long and distinguished career. The professor led his guest into a room that didn’t appear to have any walls, just books stacked from floor to ceiling, while others were randomly scattered all over the place, with a few – very few – in neat piles. The old man didn’t seem to notice as he took a circuitous route to the only two chairs in the room, which stood in front of a fireplace with ashes waiting to be cleared. He collapsed into one of the chairs, which was already occupied by a large, furry ginger cat who clearly knew her place.

‘Forgive the mess,’ he said. ‘It’s never been the same sinceMaud died, and I’m afraid the cleaner only comes once a week.’

When Miles sat down in the other chair, a cloud of dust rose to greet him.

‘May I say from the outset, Mr Faulkner, how flattered I am that you took the trouble to cross the Atlantic to see me.’

‘I’ve wanted to meet you for some time,’ said Miles, who had only recently heard of Saul Rosenberg.

‘So do tell me, how can I assist you?’

‘Perhaps I should begin, sir, by asking you to sign my first edition of your prize-winning book,Monticello, which is among my most treasured possessions and which I have read several times over the years.’

‘I’d be delighted to do so,’ said the old man.

Miles bent down, took a book out of his bag that he’d purchased recently,of which he’d only read one particular chapter on the plane. He passed it across to the professor and Rosenberg took his time turning to the title page of a volume that didn’t look as if it had been read several times. He squiggled his signature, adding the date before passing it back to his guest.

‘Thank you,’ said Miles, ‘I’ll treasure it. In return, may I present you with a small memento, written by one of our greatest statesmen, whose alma mater I had the honour of attending.’ Miles handed over a black, gold-leafed, leather-bound volume.

‘Churchill’sMy Early Life,’ said the professor, handling the book with great care. ‘I have a copy, of course,’ he added, looking around the room, ‘but not a first edition, and certainly not signed. I’m most grateful.’

‘It’s an inadequate gift to thank you for the pleasure you have given me over so many years.’

The professor didn’t comment, other than to say, ‘But how can I possibly return such munificence?’

‘I wondered,’ ventured Miles, setting about his purpose, ‘if I might be allowed to ask you one or two questions about your life’s work?’

‘Yes, of course. Do you have any particular period in mind?’

‘Thomas Jefferson and the Declaration of Independence – as you’re considered the leading authority in the field.’

‘I’m flattered, and will do my best to press a tired old brain back into action.’

‘I was fascinated to discover when readingMonticellothat you were in no doubt that, in 1776, Jefferson must have written a Fair Copy of the Declaration for Congress to consider before they took the final vote on their future as an independent nation.’

‘Absolutely no doubt,’ repeated the professor. ‘After all, it’s been well documented over the years. Indeed, I have proof at hand – if you would be kind enough to turn to page 171 ofMonticello, you will find the facsimile of a letter written by Jefferson to Benjamin Franklin in early May 1776, stating unequivocally that, as his clauses had been rejected, he intended to send his Fair Copy to a friend in England to show him that at least he tried and request it should be returned to him in the fullness of time. That individual has never been identified, and search as I might for any clue to his name or whereabouts in other letters, journals or any relevant documents of the period, I have been unable to unearth who Jefferson was referring to when he wrote to “a friend in England”. I have collated a shortlist of seven possible candidates,’ mused the professor, ‘but it’s not a historian’s responsibility to hazard a guess.’

Miles could have told him which of the seven it was, buthad no intention of enlightening the old man. He satisfied himself with, ‘Do you consider it possible that the Fair Copy could still be out there somewhere?’

‘I suppose it could be languishing in some French chateau or holed up in an English country house, as both Jefferson and Franklin spent many years in London and Paris, making several friends on both sides of the Channel.’

‘You pointed out in your book, sir, that Jefferson’s Fair Copy included an important clause on his strongly held views on slavery. You even went so far as to suggest that, had Congress included this clause, the Civil War might have been avoided,’ said Miles, trying to prove he’d read the book and not just one chapter.

‘The privilege of hindsight is the historian’s most reliable source,’ said the professor. ‘However, it’s well known that Congress did debate at great length how the new government should deal with the problem of slavery, not least because Jefferson had several slaves himself at the time and, after the death of his wife, lived with a black woman who bore him six children, only four of whom survived. But that didn’t stop the great man drafting the clause you refer to, because he felt slavery was an anathema and should be abolished. Sadly, Congress ignored his advice.’ The professor leant back, closed his eyes and raised his hands until the tips of his fingers touched as if in prayer. ‘Let us pray my memory does not fail me.

‘The King has waged cruel war against human nature itself, violating its more sacred rights of life and liberty in the persons of a distant people who never offended him, captivating and carrying them into slavery in another hemisphere, or to incur miserable death in their transportation thither, this piratical warfare, the opprobrium of infidel powers, isthe warfare of the Christian King of Great Britain, determined to keep open a market where men should be bought and sold, he has prostituted his negative for suppressing every legislative attempt to prohibit or restrain this execrable commerce.’

Professor Rosenberg opened his eyes, lowered his hands and began stroking the cat, who rewarded him with loud purrs.

‘That was worth the trip alone, sir,’ said Miles. ‘But can I ask, if the Fair Copy were to be found after all these years, would you be able to authenticate it?’