The next day I travelled to Castle Acre and called at the Willow, a dingy tavern where my good friend Dr Quicksilver, whom I had summoned from London, had taken chambers. Now Quicksilver was villainy incarnate. A consummate actor, a born liar, a cunning man who knew every trick of the fair. Thin as a beanpole, with long, straggling grey hair, Quicksilver had the face of an ascetic and a skill even the great physicians of Salerno would have envied. His eyes were innocent, the soft skin of his face freshly shaven, and his lips always twisted into a most benevolent smile. You know the sort, often seen on the faces of vicars and chaplains, especially when they're giving unctuous advice to one of their underlings. Quicksilver also dressed the part. He wore a jacket with a round neck, edged with precious fur, the sleeves gathered at the shoulders into thick pads which made him look broader. Underneath was a waist-length doublet, tight and padded; on his spindly legs were hose of the same colour. On his head he wore a broad-brimmed hat which further increased his air of respectability and grandeur. One thing I noticed: his hands and wrists were always hidden under ornate cuffs. He met me in the Willow taproom. "Roger, my dearest, dearest, dearest boy.'

Quicksilver grasped my hand and shook it warmly. I smiled and told the bastard to give me the ring he had just taken off my finger. The charlatan smiled and passed it back.

'And keep your hands well away from my purse,' I growled. And none of your games, Quicksilver. Don't start running up bills to send for me to pay.' I placed two gold coins before him. These are for now, and three more when you've finished.'

The coins disappeared in a blink of an eye: hence the fellow's name.