A small rectangle of fine cardstock has been slipped under your RC door. It is an invitation, in elegant script, to a get-together with fellow . . . interested, parties.

It proceeds to detail an event in which agents will be given a chance to get to know one another. A bit like speed dating. If you have received the invitation, you are already on the list of participants, and a place has been set for you.

Of course, your attendance is at your discretion.

The interesting part for the inquiring-minded agent is this: the invitation gives directions to an address within central HQ (near the Lounge, in fact).

This address has never existed.

Your investigation leads you to a door of rich, warm mahogany, and inside you find a warmly lit room, lit largely by candlelight and low gaslight on the walls.

The ring of tables is covered with a deep red tablecloth, with a single lamp on each, and a card of the same material as the invitation marks your place at the table. It bears your name, in the same fine script. The candlelight is too bright in the shadow of the room to quite make out your partner's name.

The Mysterious Host sits at (his?) table at the back, the two halves of the ring sweeping towards his like wings. His table is slightly more shadowed, his chair richer and higher-backed and his table smaller. There may even be a place beside him.

All you can tell of his appearance is that he is dressed in elegant clothing, and seems to be smiling warmly. He raises his his glass, full of deep red liquid, in greeting, and brings it to his lips.

Of course, your attendance is at your discretion . . .