The Unpleasantness at Baskerville Hall (Reeves & Worcester Steampunk Mysteries Book 4) by Chris Dolley

before events turn rummy.
    “He might have entered by the mire gate and knocked at the servants’ door,” said Morrow.
    Sir Robert strode purposefully into the hall. “Berrymore!” he shouted.
    The ancient b. appeared a few seconds later. I wasn’t sure if it was his age or his extreme height, but Berrymore in motion always looked like a man walking into a strong headwind.
    “Have you seen the constable, Berrymore?” asked Sir Robert.
    “What constable, sir?” said Berrymore, tacking slightly to the left.
    Sir Robert turned to me. “He did say he was coming straight here, didn’t he?”
    “He did. When we left him he was heading this way. He couldn’t have been more than a half a mile from the Hall, wouldn’t you say, Reeves?”
    “Perhaps a thousand yards, sir, but no more than that.”
    “He wouldn’t have strayed into the mire, would he?” asked Emmeline.
    “He’d have no reason to,” said Morrow. “The track is straight and well marked. You can see the Hall tower from a mile away. He couldn’t have got lost.”
    The drawing room door opened and out came Lady Julia. “What is the reason for this commotion?” she said. And then she noticed me and her eyes narrowed. “Oh, you’re here, are you? I might have known. Who have you lost this time — the coachman?”
    “No, a policeman,” I said. “He was on his way here to warn everyone about the escaped convict.”
    Sir Robert brought his sister-in-law up to speed viz Selden and his unusual eating habits. She took the news considerably better than Berrymore, whose knees almost gave way the moment Selden’s name was mentioned.
    Sir Robert sent Berrymore off to question the servants about the missing policeman. Babbacombe was despatched to question the outdoor staff, and check the lawns for any signs of stomachs or regurgitated helmets.
    “Did this policeman give his name?” asked Sir Robert.
    “No,” I said. “We didn’t chat for long.”
    “I wonder if it was Hatherleigh,” said Sir Robert. ”Was he a large, square jawed chap with a ruddy complexion and a helmet.
    “I wouldn’t call him square jawed. Or of a ruddy complexion. But spot on about the helmet and being large.”
    “But where was he coming from?” asked Morrow. “You say he was coming across the moor from the north, but there’s nothing to the north of here for fifteen miles.”
    “Perhaps, with the bridge down, that was the only way someone could get news to us,” said Sir Robert. “Or he crossed the moor from the east — from the prison, perhaps — and took a circuitous route to avoid the mire.”
    “And perhaps Roderick made it all up,” said Lady Julia. “Did anyone else see this policeman?”
    “Reeves and I did,” said Emmeline. “I expect there are footprints where we met to prove it.”
    “Size twelve footprints,” I added.
    “No one doubts Roderick’s word, Julia,” said Sir Robert. “Morrow can vouch what he said about Selden is true. And we all heard the siren last night.”
    Reeves coughed.
    “You have an observation, Reeves?” I asked.
    “Indeed, sir. I was reflecting upon the constable’s complexion.”
    I braced myself. It had been several hours since Reeves had last topped up his pressure, and this opening sentence didn’t sound like Reeves in mid-season form. An automaton with low pressure was very much like Stiffy Trussington-Thripp after one too many bots of the good stuff — that is, prone to distraction and lengthy reminiscences of the inconsequential.
    I feared William of Ockham might get an outing.
    “Although one would not expect every constable to have a ruddy complexion,” continued Reeves. “One would expect a modicum of facial colouring resultant from a life spent largely out of doors.”
    I considered intervening, but Lady Julia beat me to it.
    “Why are we listening to a valet, Robert?” she said. “Has the world gone mad?”
    “I apologise for my circumlocution, milady,” said Reeves. “To get to the nub, is