Reggiecide (Reeves & Worcester Steampunk Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page A

nearly closing time and my pressure is getting low.”
    “Tomorrow then. What do you think about an eye patch?”
    ~
    Back in the flat that evening I was sipping a postprandial port and feeling in a reflective mood when Reeves came into the study with extra logs for the fire.
    “I’m not sure if I’m in favour of it, Reeves.”
    “What are you not in favour of, sir?”
    “Prometheans. Reviving much-loved pets I can understand. But one has the feeling that the sort of people who’d insist on having their clogs unpopped would be exactly the sort of people whose clogs should be buried with a ‘Do Not Unpop’ warning. Aunt Bertha for one. Could you imagine Aunt Bertha being reanimated in perpetuity? I shudder at the very thought!”
    “The process does appear to be open to abuse, sir.”
    “Three score and ten — that’s what the bible says, doesn’t it, Reeves? Nothing about three score and ten per innings.”
    “I believe Methuselah was reported to have lived for 969 years, sir.”
    “A Promethean, do you think?”
    “The Bible makes no mention of it, sir.”
    “I expect King James glossed over it.”

Four
      next day had barely arrived when Reeves appeared in my bedroom.
    “Miss Emmeline is at the door, sir.”
    “What?” I said, poking an inquisitive nostril above the sheets.
    “Miss Emmeline, sir. She’s at the door and requesting your immediate presence.”
    I sat bolt upright. “Has she escaped?”
    “She didn’t say, sir. But she is most insistent.”
    I dressed swiftly — not even stopping to choose a flower for my buttonhole — and ran downstairs to the door to the street.
    “What is it, Emmy? Are you on the run?”
    “Ha!” she said. “I’ll tell you about that later. No, it’s you I’m worried about. Have you seen your door?”
    I hadn’t until then. A note was pinned there by what looked like a poker. The handwriting was crude and the paper was blackened where the poker had pierced it.
    Mr Fawkes doth not concern you. Stay away if you know what be good for you.
    M.
    “Is it to do with your case? It sounds a corker if they’re already threatening you.”
    Reeves appeared at my shoulder.
    “Have you seen this, Reeves?” I asked.
    “No, sir. Most disturbing.”
    “Who’s M?” asked Emmy.
    I had no idea. “Do we know any M’s, Reeves?”
    “Not that I recall, sir.”
    “Well that’s dashed odd. And why’s he using ‘doth?’ He’s not another ancient Promethean, is he?”
    “Your case involves ancient Prometheans?” asked Emmeline.
    I brought Emmeline up to speed viz. the case, omitting the full details of the scene between Farquharson and the reverend gentleman on the grounds of good taste and possible legal action.
    “Do you think Guy Fawkes will try to blow up the Houses of Parliament again?” asked Emmeline.
    I hadn’t until then.
    “The Queen will be there tomorrow to open Parliament,” she continued. “Just like in 1605. I bet this ‘M’ is one of his co-conspirators.”
    “Mr Snuggles is of the opinion that no other Prometheans of a similar age exist, miss.”
    “Ha!” said Emmeline. “That’s what he says. I bet his first name begins with an M.”
    I made a mental note to find out.
    But why sign the note at all? Threatening letters were traditionally unsigned. Unless...
    “What does that note tell you, Reeves?” I asked, thinking the moment opportune to give a masterclass in the art of deduction.
    “That someone does not wish us to continue our investigations, sir.”
    “Exactly! But what else, Reeves?”
    “One would surmise that the person in question has strong feelings upon the matter, sir.”
    “You see, Emmy, this is where the brain of a consulting detective comes into its own. Reeves sees the note, I see the mind of the person who penned it.”
    “You do?”
    “We consulting detectives have an eye for such things. The man, and it must be a man that wrote this note, is a criminal mastermind.”
    I could see that Reeves was about to