'That's the American—Davenport— isn't it?'
'That's right. Bob Davenport— Preacher Davenport, they call dummy5
him.'
'. . . to make it fruitful for the use of man. And the time will surely be—I tell you, my comrades—my brothers, I tell you all
—when all men shall willingly come in and give up their lands and estates, and submit to this community of goods.'
Frances clicked the button off. 'That's about as much as I could get of that. But it was all much the same—new stuff in old bottles.' She gestured from herself to Mitchell. 'Dressed up like us.'
Like them? Well, she was half-right there.
'Not new stuff.' Audley shook his head. 'That's the genuine article, word for word—pure seventeenth-century revolutionary communism. It's the Thoughts of Gerald Winstanley—'Digger' Winstanley. His big idea was that you can only achieve a political revolution through a social revolution, not vice versa.'
Mitchell laughed. 'I can't see Oliver Cromwell going on that much, any more than we would have done.'
We? Mitchell was certainly identifying with his fellow cavaliers, no doubt about that.
'He didn't,' replied Audley. 'They put him down damn quick. . . . What else have you got on Davenport, Frances?'
She shrugged. 'Not a lot. He puts over his stuff as though it just came into his head. And he's strictly non- violent—he'll preach all day, and help the wounded out of the battle too, but he won't carry a pike.'
dummy5
'The word is 'trail'—'trail a pike', murmured Mitchell. 'So Davenport is one of our possibles, then?'
'He is, oddly enough.'
Frances frowned. 'How did you come up with him? He doesn't seem quite the type for subversion ... in so far as there is a type.'
'You may well be right. It's just a hunch I'm starting on, there's no evidence to back it yet so far as I know.'
'What sort of hunch?'
'Maybe hunch isn't the right word— assumption might be better. An assumption of what precautions I would have taken if I'd hired someone to knock off James Ratcliffe the way it was done at Swine Brook Field.'
He had them both with him in the twentieth-century now: the Van Dyke aura was fading visibly.
'Go on, David,' said Mitchell.
'It's nothing very special. As a matter of fact, the police thought of it too and checked it out as far as they could. . . .
The killer obviously had very exact inside information about the place and the timing. So he obviously had precise information about the people as well.'
'Charlie Ratcliffe did, you mean,' said Mitchell.
'What people?' asked Frances.
'Henry Digby, for one,' said Mitchell quickly.
Trust Mitchell for that, thought Audley. And trust him also to dummy5
sit on it until he was good and ready.
'Henry Digby—exactly.' He nodded. 'If I was going to kill a man just twenty yards from a young police sergeant in front of thousands of people I should want to make very sure he was minding his own business.'
Mitchell nodded. 'Very true. I should want him tied hand and foot for choice.'
'I'm with you there,' said Frances.
'Well . . . I've gone over Digby's evidence twice, and there are just four people who attracted his attention at the material time—or distracted his attention, as the case may be. He was talking to two of the mock casualties, Philip Gates and David Bishop.' He looked questioningly at Frances.
'Don't know them.' She shook her head. 'The names don't ring any bells, anyway, not among the Angry Brigade people I've heard of yet.'
'They wouldn't be in the Angry Brigade. I don't know what the Roundhead Wing would call them, but according to Digby they were Labour Party moderates from the way they spoke.'
'Ah—well, they'd probably be Militiamen. Sort of ... well, moderate English Presbyterians. Meaning good Parliamentarians, but they don't want to get rid of the monarchy—would that be about right?'
'Spot on, exactly. And they hadn't much time for the Ironsides either, Digby said.'
dummy5
'That would be them.' Frances nodded vigorously. 'Militia regiments—there are half a dozen of them.'
Mitchell sniffed disparagingly. 'I'll never get the hang of your motley lot, Frances dear. In our army, we're all good King's men, and we're nearly all Church of England, and we're all good Conservatives. And that's that.'
Frances smiled sweetly at him. 'It's just a rumour about the Fascists, then?'
'Slander, more like. Got a few Monday Club supporters—
