Reggiecide (Reeves & Worcester Steampunk Mysteries) by Chris Dolley Read Free Book Online Page B

the lobby where I could sit and observe. Emmeline was next in line at the counter. The man ahead of her departed and Emmeline stepped forward.
    “Good afternoon, sergeant,” she said. “I’d like to report a plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament.”
    “It’s not Guy Fawkes again, is it?”
    “No, it’s the suffragettes.”
    The sergeant shook his head. “I wouldn’t worry yourself about that, miss. Women can’t build bombs. It’s too complex for the female mind.”
    “Pardon?”
    “Building bombs, miss. It’s something only men can do.”
    “I have never heard such patronising twaddle,” said Emmeline. “Have you never heard of Marie Curie?”
    “On the music hall, is she, miss?”
    “No she is not on the music hall, sergeant. She is a world famous scientist who won the Nobel prize for Physics this year! She could build a better bomb than any man.”
    The sergeant laughed. It has been my observation that earnest young ladies in full flow do not appreciate laughter.
    Emmeline snatched the sergeant’s pencil and, with a flourish, snapped it in two.
    “Here! What did you do that for, miss?”
    “I’m only a woman, sergeant. How could I possibly have the strength to snap a big manly pencil? You must have done it.”
    “Now look here—”
    “Watch out, sergeant. I expect you’re about to throw your helmet out onto the street next.”
    Knowing the deep bond that exists between a policeman and his helmet, I thought it time to intervene.
    “Nefertiti!” I cried, striding over to the counter. “Time to go home.”
    Emmeline turned and glared at me. If I’d had a pencil on me I would have feared for its safety.
    “Do you know this young lady, sir?” asked the sergeant.
    “She’s my sister, Nefertiti Blenkinsop of the Cairo Blenkinsops. Come Nefi, time to go home.”
    “I will not go home! Where’s Reeves? He can fetch my chain.”
    “Reeves isn’t real, Nefi. You know he’s imaginary.”
    “Like your beard?” said Emmeline. “This is a point of principle, Nebbie . I’m not leaving until the sergeant takes this bomb threat seriously.”
    “Wait a minute!” said the sergeant, eyeing me suspiciously. “Weren’t you in here earlier? I recognise that buttonhole of yours. What are you up to?”
    There comes a time when one knows for certain that the game is up. The only card I had left in my hand was the truth, and it’s been my experience that the truth never plays as well as it should.
    “You’ve got to stop the opening of Parliament, sergeant,” I said. “It’s not just Guy Fawkes. It’s Sir Roger Mortimer, too. He has this red-hot poker. I don’t know where he intends to put it, but—”
    “Constable!” shouted the sergeant. “Get the cells ready. We’ve got a proper pair here and no mistake.”
    “Excuse me, sergeant,” said the unmistakable voice of Reeves who had suddenly materialised by my shoulder. “I am Doctor Freud and these two are my patients. Come, Nefertiti, Nebuchadnezzar, leave the good sergeant alone.”
    “I am not leaving!” said Emmeline.
    “It is your choice, miss,” said Reeves. “You can either be locked up by the sergeant or return to the sanatorium with me.”
    “Sanatorium?” said the custodian of the law.
    “Yes, sergeant, you may have observed that both these persons are somewhat disturbed. Nefertiti is a danger to both herself and others. And Nebuchadnezzar is an idiot.”
    “I say!” I said. “Steady on.”
    “If your constable would hold open the door, sergeant, I will escort them both from the premises.”

Six
    returned to the flat in a dark mood. How could we warn the police if no one believed us! And was that the reason such larger-than-life characters as Guy and Sir Roger had been recruited — to ensure any warning given to the authorities would be treated with ridicule?
    And, to make matters worse, we’d run out of gin.
    “Are you sure, Reeves?”
    “Positive, sir. Would you like some warm milk? I hear it is beneficial