The Relic Murders(64)

'Mistaken identity!' Boscombe sneered.



'Perhaps,' Benjamin replied. 'However, we now come to another matter: Berkeley's murder. You lured the goldsmith out into that lonely copse north of the Tower. The Orb you had stolen from Malevel was a forgery: Henley the professional relic-seller had told you so when he met you in that tavern. He must have been surprised to see the Orb of Charlemagne given to him for scrutiny but his surprise turned to laughter when he realised it was a fake.'



'Henley?' Boscombe retorted. 'I don't know any Henley!'



'Oh, you not only knew him but killed him,' Benjamin retorted. 'And then, full of fury, you and your accomplice - and you do have an accomplice, don't you? - lured the hapless goldsmith to that lonely glade where you tortured him. Asking the same question, time and time again: where was the real Orb?'



'Very interesting.' Boscombe got up and moved towards the wine vats. 'Thirsty work, Master Daunbey, do you wish some wine? My good friend, Roger?'



We both refused. Benjamin now stood up, his sword out, but Boscombe coolly filled his goblet and returned to his stool. I noticed he moved it a few inches nearer the wall. He toasted us both silently but there was something in his eyes that convinced me my master was right. Boscombe was the Slaughterer and he was only biding his time.



'You eavesdropped,' Benjamin continued, 'on our conversations. When Roger expressed a desire to meet the Lord Charon you happily obliged. Now, the Lord of London's underworld should have been pleased that Roger was ready to offer him the Orb of Charlemagne but he wasn't. Why? Because he already had it. Roger was, therefore, an unnecessary nuisance and had to be despatched. He would have been, if it hadn't been for that dog. The rest you know: except that Cerberus, Charon's lieutenant, on the brink of death, gave Roger information on how to contact the Slaughterer.' Benjamin paused, watching Boscombe sip his drink. 'Only then did you become afraid. Perhaps the net was closing in? Notley was stupid, a possible threat, so you killed him and used his corpse to frighten Roger before you attacked him in the Church of the Crutched Friars. However, being disturbed, you fled and, once out into the darkened lane, became again Boscombe the genial taverner, the purveyor of wine and pies.'

"The pies!' I exclaimed. 'Of course, master, the pies!' I half rose from my stool. 'You bought pies from Imelda and Oswald - I have eaten them here myself - that's how you could get into their shop so easily.'

'I noticed the same,' Benjamin declared. 'And after Oswald and Imelda were killed, I realised someone had entered their house who knew them well. Friendly, genial Boscombe coming round to place another order. However, once you were in the house you became the Slaughterer: a dagger thrust here and another there, and an entire family was wiped out. Then you stole their accounts. Why, Boscombe? Was there something which had to be left hidden? Or, in their conversation with you, had they let drop that they'd seen something wrong at Malevel Manor? I don't know how you killed those soldiers but, for some reason, you spent a great deal of time cleaning that kitchen, scrubbing down the traunchers, washing out the blackjacks. Why, Boscombe?' Benjamin advanced towards him. 'More importantly, who did you work for? Who hired you? How did you get in and out of Malevel so easily?'



Boscombe shook his head and stared into his wine cup.



'Master Daunbey, this is a merry tale for a dark evening. Yet, it's nothing more than old wives muttering round the fire and gossiping. Go through this tavern, search my private chamber, you'll find nothing untoward.'

'Oh, I agree.' Benjamin declared. 'Much suspected, nothing proved. Indeed, it all rests on coincidence: if Roger had not met the relic-seller and then come here; if we had not hired chambers at the Flickering Lamp after our return from Malevel.' He smiled thinly. 'But God is good. Perhaps he grew tired of your bloody-handed ways and Roger is his vengeance.'



'I'll say nothing!' Boscombe yelled.



'You could be taken to the Tower,' I retorted. 'Spread out on the rack like Cerberus was whilst royal messengers are sent to the West Country, to discover all they can about Andrew Boscombe.'



The taverner stared at me round-eyed. 'Is that so, Roger? Now tell me, what do you think I'll do? Saunter into the barge, sit in the Tower and tell all to Fat Henry's questioners? Oh yes.' He clapped his hands together. 'Have mercy on me for I am a traitor and an assassin. I stole the Orb of Charlemagne. I sold it to the Lord Charon.' He paused and grinned. 'I shouldn't have said that, should I? I'm not supposed to know that, dearie, dearie me!'



One second Boscombe was shaking his head, the next the wine cup went flying at Benjamin's head. Boscombe sprang across the room, snatching his sword and dagger from his war-belt. He came back, moving sideways like a dancer.