‘All those glasses of wine you poured out, Fanshawe? From the bottle? Easy enough for a smart operator like yourself to dispense a noxious substance with which he is very familiar and to which he has easy access through his employment. The death capsules. I’m sure you have been issued with one or two? I must ask you to do a little stocktaking, Bacchus. Account for Fanshawe’s hand-out, would you? Your job is largely of a secretive nature and has been known on occasion to require a certain readiness to get one’s hands dirty. How dirty is your pouring hand, Fanshawe, after tonight’s events? You were holding both glass and bottle. Easy enough to hold a broken capsule at the neck of the bottle and remove it when you’ve spiked a particular glass. If so, it was, as you’d say, neatly done. And I would expect nothing less of a man of your training. I must say I observed nothing untoward myself and I was watching closely.’ His words were unemphatic but Fanshawe’s lips tightened. ‘Though I wouldn’t rule out the possibility … not when a clearly inimical and dangerous man is about to spill information the Branch would kill to keep quiet.’
Fanshawe was unable to speak. Bacchus made an offended grunting sound. The CID men maintained a mystified silence.
Only one voice was raised in objection. Lily managed to splutter: ‘Sir! That’s barmy! It’s unfair. How can you say that? Sorry, sir, but Fanshawe wouldn’t … he couldn’t …’
‘Wentworth, he would and he could if the circumstances demanded it,’ Joe explained kindly. ‘Now — barmy, you say? Quite agree. Unfair? Completely. So let’s all relax and be sensible, shall we? Enough villains out and about to blame for this fiasco — absolutely no need to go looking for anyone nearer home, Rupert old man. I think we need at this stage to consider the prince’s plate again. Yes, I think it would enlighten us all if you were to account for the sleight of hand with the plates, Miss Wentworth,’ he suggested. ‘It worried Fanshawe and it worries me. Clear up our confusion will you?’
‘Instinct, sir.’ Seeing both Sandilands’ eyebrows shoot up, she hurried to add: ‘Sorry … that’s unclear. Say rather I was being over cautious. I know your agent was right there at the scene and she “tipped him the wink”, as the prince himself put it, indicating that all was well as she ladled out the food. I saw her do it. Her eyes made contact with mine too. She knew who I was. “One of Sandilands’,” the prince told me. But all the same, in spite of the reassurance, I had a feeling that-’
‘Wait a minute, Wentworth. Just go back a bit. Agent? What agent?’
‘The waitress who was putting out the food. There were two of them, a boy and a girl. Brother and sister, I think. Italian. Or putting on a convincing accent.’
‘Anything to do with you, Bacchus?’
‘No, sir. You had our list. All four of our operatives were men. We only use English males. You know that.’
‘Get them in for interview first thing tomorrow morning. Describe her behaviour, Wentworth.’