The poisoned chalice

who has drunk too much wine knows how the mind plays tricks.'
    'Nonsense!' Clinton, his face now white as a sheet, sprang to his feet and stared round. 'What nonsense is this? Even if I did that, how would I know Falconer would fall to his death?'
    'Oh, that was an unexpected gain,' Benjamin replied. 'If he had not and had stayed in his room, the dream effect would have worn off. He would have fallen into a coma and died in his sleep without any visible sign of poison. His death could have been dismissed as due to natural causes. After all, the wine was untainted and who would think of examining the cup?' Benjamin stared at the top of the table for a while. 'Yes, you were very clever, Sir Robert. Oh, please do sit down, I haven't finished yet.'
    Clinton slumped back in his chair. I kept my eyes on Lady Francesca. She now sat next to her husband, head bowed, clasping and unclasping her hands.
    'Very clever,' Benjamin murmured, 'to poison someone by playing on their fantasies. And most subtle of you to arrange it from scores of miles away.'
    'And the Abbe Gerard?' Dacourt barked, now recovering some of his bluster.
    Benjamin held up a hand. ‘I can say no more than that the abbe's death was easy to arrange. Once again it was Lent; the abbe, too, was fasting. He received gifts, one of them a flask of wine from Sir Robert sent just before he and Lady Clinton returned to London. Now the good abbe opened the wine after Easter Sunday, once Lent was over. It was only a small jar, perhaps two or three cups at the very most. Under the influence of the poison in the wine, the same poison Falconer drank, the good abbe turned to his constant absorption with the miracles of Christ, particularly the miracle of Jesus walking on water.' Benjamin stared at Clinton. 'As the abbe's friend you would know all about that, wouldn't you, Sir Robert?' Benjamin didn't wait for an answer. 'The good abbe, while hallucinating, went out to the carp pond and tried to walk on water. He was an old man and the shock of the cold water, not to mention the effects of the poison he had drunk, would have killed him in minutes. He struggled but was weak and so quietly drowned. Murder was not suspected, the body removed for burial. The cup he drank from fell into the water with him and was cleansed, whilst the wine jar was thrown out like any piece of rubbish. Once the abbe was dead, Vauban and the Luciferi began to search for the book.' Benjamin paused and smiled to himself. 'But the old priest was astute. He really valued that book, so he hid it.' Benjamin looked straight at Clinton. 'Oh, yes, Sir Robert, I have the book in safe keeping.'
    Do you know, I have confronted many murderers, men and women, who have dabbled in the blood of others. They have the arrogance of Cain, who could challenge God and proudly declare that he didn't know where his brother was. Nevertheless, there's a point when such arrogance will suddenly crumble as the murderers realise they have lost control of the game. So it was with Clinton. He stared at Benjamin, mouth half-open, like some weak, senile man devoid of wit and reason.
    'I found the book,' Benjamin repeated. 'And I have seen what is written in it. Your first wife's surname was Harpale and, if you play with the letters of her name, as Falconer tried to, you can form the word Raphael.' Benjamin smiled coldly. 'I'm sure,' he continued, 'a scrutiny of papers and letters addressed to your wife would establish that you used such an anagram as a term of endearment towards her.' He coughed and drank some wine. 'Isn't that so, Roger?'
    'Yes, yes,' I confirmed, though I still watched Clinton, especially his hands. 'Once Falconer had established that the spy used the term Raphael, you decided to silence the Abbe Gerard. You knew about his book. I suspect he had shown it to you with the name Harpale written in the back. Who knows? He may even have remembered that you called your first wife Raphael.'
    Lady Francesca now began to cry quietly, her whole body shaking with sobs. 'Of course,' I continued remorselessly, 'others had to be silenced. Drunken Waldegrave, who might have learnt more from Falconer than you thought. His was an easy death to arrange. You went across to see him one night when he was in a drunken stupor and smeared his robes with pig's blood. The sottish priest did not resist. Perhaps he was incapacitated by something more powerful, like a sleeping potion. Once his robes were stained with blood, you took him across