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through the crowd. I followed him.
    The “British power” chanters quieted when the young man spoke again, but the others did not, and kept shouting as if to heckle him. “What are we going to do with these Jews? Send them off to Germany because we’re too weak to deal with them? Throw them on the bonfire!”
    “Oh no!” Betsy said, turning back. The crowd around us was very dense, and surging forward. Nobody seemed to be smiling anymore, and everyone seemed to be shouting.
    “Normanby! Farthing!”
    “British power!”
    “Come on!” Sir Alan said, tugging Betsy’s arm and letting go of mine.
    “Jews on the fire!”
    “Farthing! Normanby!”
    I don’t know which side started the fighting. I was swept away from Betsy and Sir Alan immediately. I had trouble keeping on my feet. Nobody was trying to hit me, but it was sometimes hard to dodge badly aimed blows. I’d made it almost to the edge of the melee when a glancing blow caught me on the side of the head and I felt myself falling. “British power!” I heard, as I went down.

4
     
    “Are you sure the riot wasn’t incited by communists?” Carmichael asked.
    “As sure as it’s possible to be at this stage, sir,” Ogilvie said. His frown made his flat face seem very dour. “I could ask what communists, because with Russia collapsed communism seems rather old hat to most of the young troublemakers today. But what communists there are, we’re keeping a close eye on them just like we’re supposed to and I didn’t hear a whisker of anything from them about this march. I knew you’d want to see me about this so I came in early and checked back through, and there’s sod all there, sir, excuse my French, not a mutter, not even a mention.”
    Ogilvie was painfully thorough and conscientious, as Carmichael had cause to know. He sighed. “So if you’re right, how did it happen? We have nine deaths, twenty-seven people in hospital, three hundred and ninety-two rioters in the cells, and a lot of broken windows along Oxford Street. Something set them off.”
    “I haven’t had time to look into it in detail, but from what I know so far, it seems as if they started fighting among themselves. The Mets on duty just started slinging everyone into the Black Marias as soon as they could, indiscriminately, and practically everyone they scooped up is an Ironside, so far as I’ve had a chance to see. Maybethere were two groups of them with a grudge against each other for some reason—these city boys can be a bit thuggish you know, sir. Or something small touched it off maybe, the wrong word, and once fists started swinging the rest of them just joined in for the fun of it.”
    “I want a proper report sharpish,” Carmichael said. “Get it to me by five this afternoon. I want to know exactly what happened and why, and how we can prevent it happening again. And check the communists again too. We can’t have this sort of thing.”
    One of Carmichael’s telephones rang, sharply insistent. “Five past nine,” Ogilvie said. “Someone’s eager.”
    “My turn to be on the carpet,” Carmichael said, reaching for the receiver. “Go on. Find out as much as you can, Ogilvie, and get back to me.”
    Ogilvie left, leaving the door open behind him. Carmichael took a deep breath and answered the phone on the fourth ring. “Carmichael here.”
    “Hold for the Prime Minister,” said a young female voice, and then almost immediately, the familiar silky tones Carmichael knew and hated. “Are you there, Carmichael?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Well, how about if you stop being there and start being here right now and tell me how that happened?”
    “I don’t have enough information yet, but I have a man preparing a report on the riot now, Prime Minister, and I should be able to give you full details by this afternoon,” Carmichael said, keeping tight control on his voice. “Shall we say five o’clock?”
    “No, we shan’t, because I shall be expected to speak to the