The Aunt Paradox (Reeves & Worcester Steampunk Mysteries) by Chris Dolley

twenty-nine Aunt Charlottes, Reeves, I’m pretty sure you can have two HG Wells. Maybe Gertie is in it with him! And I wouldn’t rule out the butterflies.”
    ~
    Reeves was not buying the HG Wells theory.
    “Mr Wells has no motive, sir. The time machine has been in his possession since 1894. He can use it whenever he wants. Why would he now be desirous of removing his associates from history?”
    Reeves just did not understand that ‘least likely suspect’ trumped ‘motive’ every day of the week.
    I was about to tell him when I was struck by one of the brainiest notions I’d ever had. I’m not sure if it was one of those ladders, or perhaps the fish I’d consumed for lunch, but there it was — like the Sword dangling at the Gates of Damocles.
    “So, Mr Wells has no motive, says you?” I said, drawing myself up.
    “Not that I can discern, sir.”
    “Well, how about this. What if The Traveller was going to oil back into the future with his time machine? He says, ‘What ho, Bertie. I’m off now. Thanks for all the help, what?’ and offers his hand for the parting shake... And Bertie cuts up rough. He wants the machine for his own, so he shoots him. Bertie then dumps the body in the future and denies all to his friends. All’s well for ten years, until Moley perfects his fuel cell. With me so far?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Good. With this fuel cell onboard they can now take the time machine for daily spins. And one of the chaps — it might be Moley, it might be one of the others — says, ‘How about taking the time machine back to 1894 and finding out what happened to The Traveller?’ Bertie panics and starts bumping them all off.”
    Sherlock Holmes after a fish supper could not have come up with anything more brilliant. Even Reeves was impressed (see eyebrows).
    “That would be a motive, sir. But why engage our services?”
    “Because his Aunt Charlotte stole the machine before he could bump them all off! Prepare the Stanley, Reeves. It’s time to beard Bertie in his den.”
    “Before we undertake anything precipitous, sir, I suggest we ascertain who the descendants of Algernon Throgmorton-Undershaft, Jasper Evershot, and Percy Baekeland are. A detour via the British Library, or, perhaps, the Royal Society to ascertain the forebears of Mr Arbuthnot, Mr Dawson, and Miss Traherne...?”
    I had to be firm.
    “Reeves, now is not the time for ascertaining or deliberating. It is a time for action, while we’re still here with a full set of antecedents. As the bard says, ‘There is a tide in the affairs of men which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; omitted, all is bound in shallows and porpentines.”
    “Miseries, sir.”
    “What?”
    “Shallows and miseries, sir. The fretful porpentine belongs to Hamlet.”
    “Hamlet has a pet porpentine? I don’t recall an aquatic scene in Hamlet.”
    “I shall prepare the Stanley, sir.”
    ~
    While Reeves topped up the Stanley’s water tank, I looked up HG’s address in Who’s Who . It was listed as 13 Hanover Terrace, Regent’s Park. Not far at all. A little over a mile.
    Before I joined Reeves, I slipped into my bedroom and retrieved my service revolver. If HG Wells was going to be armed, then so was I. I might not have any bullets for it — Reeves keeps on hiding them — but I could still point it menacingly.
    Off I ran to the Stanley and leaped aboard.
    “Next stop, Hanover Terrace, Reeves.”
    I drove the Stanley as fast as the traffic would allow, taking the odd corner on two wheels.
    “A two-pronged attack, I think, Reeves. You locate the time machine — it’ll probably be locked in his cellar — while I keep HG busy above stairs. As soon as you find it, give me the nod, and we’ll confront him. ‘Ho!’ we will say. ‘Someone’s stolen your time machine, have they? Well, what’s it doing in your cellar?’ He will fold, Reeves. And if he doesn’t, I have my service revolver handy.”
    “Stop the car, sir,” said Reeves.
    “What?