War Game

But wheras at thatte tyme for inasmuch as his Majestic hadde mayd treatie and peace with thee king of Spayne it beseemed to hime not opportune to advertise thee whych and he caused itte to be hydden and to noo manne tolde he of it bethynking himme that as tyme showld shewe dummy5

himme when and uppon what occasion he sh'd makke it knowne but he feeling thee comyng nighe of Dethe did tell mee of it.

And as nowe thee Lorde, to whom bee al prayse, hathe shewn unto mee the waye of righteousness and that Parliement doth strive mightilie in Hisse cause ageynst the wrongdoyng and persecution of the righteous by thee evil counselours of his Majestic it seemeth too me that trewe Religion and thee cause of Parliement requireth of mee that I sh'd place this treasyre atte the disposal and use of thee Lord's true servents as so vast a tresure the whych I doe assure Your excellencie nor never in the tyme of her late Grace did come into thisse realm beying twoe thousande pounds weght of golde.

But as certyn shyps thee whych adhere to thee cause of his Majestic make uncertain thee passage twixt Devonshyr and London it seemeth to mee it were not wise to sendyth so grete an cargo by see tho' thatte were in othyr time thee suryst route.

Wherforre will I brynge it mineself bye lande untoe yr Excellencie thatte it maye serve wel as maibe thee cause of thee Lorde and hys Righteouse to bee of use and servyce suche as seemeth wel to y'rselfe.

Writ by mine owne hand thee fyrst daye of August, the yr of thee Lorde 1643.'

So this was Charlie Ratcliffe's ace in the hole, thought Audley. A copy of a copy of a letter from Colonel Nathaniel dummy5

Parrott to John Pym . . . unsigned and unaddressed, but that was of no great matter in the circumstances. It might be a forgery or it might not, though with the run of the Earl of Dawlish's papers and the technical expertise of the KGB's draughtsmen that might never be established. It might even be genuine.

But it would serve as wel as maibe to make his case: 2,000

pounds of Spanish-American gold had been lost, and 2,000

pounds of Spanish-American gold had been found.

He looked up at Weston. 'A poor speller, but an interesting writer. Where did you find it?'

'On Henry Digby.'

'And what else did you find?'

'Nothing else.'

'Well then—that's all there was, I suppose.'

'Don't play games with me, Audley.' Weston's voice was cold, but well-controlled. He wouldn't be a man to let anger get the better of him ever. 'You know who he obtained this from, I take it?'

'Professor Stephen Nayler at Cambridge, I'd guess. I told him to have a word with the Professor.'

'The letter doesn't surprise you, then?'

'Not very much. I'd expect something like that to surface sooner or later. I couldn't get it out of Nayler, but I suppose Sergeant Digby had a more persuasive manner than I have.'

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'So he was investigating the gold, not the murder.'

'He was following my orders—' Audley lifted a finger quickly

'—which didn't take him anywhere near the Ferryhill Industrial Estate, Superintendent. He must have gone there on a private matter.'

Weston stroked his chin. 'You seem to have changed your tune in the last few hours.'

'I can play lots of different tunes on the same instrument.'

'Aye, I can believe that. But I preferred the first tune. It sounded truer to my ear.'

'That could very well be. I could play it again if you made it worth my while— just so long as you don't think you can force me to, that's all. Because you can't, you know.'

'You don't think so?'

'Not a chance. I may not look it, but I'm top brass, Superintendent. And not in the Home Office, either. And Henry Digby's killers are dead, too.'

'But not their killers.'

Audley shook his head. 'I can't give you them . . . any more than I can give you James Ratcliffe's killer.'

Weston pursed his lips. 'What can you give me, then?'

'First we have to make our deal, Superintendent.'

Weston shook his head. 'I don't make deals.'

'Better hear the deal before you turn it down. It won't stretch your conscience, I give you my word on that.'

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'I can listen.'

'Off the record—the way I listened to you beside the Swine Brook?'

'No. After Ferryhill the case is altered.' Weston shook his head again.

'I can close your mouth with the Official Secrets Act, man.'

'I wouldn't bet on it.'