Free The Immorality Engine by George Mann Page B

supports and champions our cause. I have no hesitation in recommending the fellow, and whilst he may not be my first choice for a dinner companion, he is a fine and upstanding member of our society.”
    Bainbridge nodded. “When did you last see him here at Packwood, Sir Enoch?”
    Graves looked thoughtful. “I’m not really sure, to be honest, Sir Charles. A few weeks ago, perhaps? I’m terribly sorry I can’t be more specific. I’ve had so much on my mind. I’m running for government, you see. And what with the party last night … I suppose I haven’t really been paying attention. Sykes moves in different circles.”
    “If I may, sir?” All four of them turned to see one of the butlers, an older man dressed in a smart black suit and white gloves, who had been clearing a table just to the left of their small circle. He looked incredibly nervous.
    “Go on,” said Bainbridge, leaning on his cane.
    “I believe I saw Mr. Sykes here last night, at the party. He arrived late, after dinner had already been served. He joined some others by the fire for drinks.” The man’s voice wavered as he realised Graves was glaring at him. “Um, although it was only the most fleeting of glimpses. I could, of course, be wrong.”
    There was a warning in the delivery of Graves’s response that was impossible to miss. “Thank you, Edwards, but I fear you are mistaken. Please carry on.” He watched the butler scuttle away with an armful of napkin rings clutched tightly to his chest, then turned back to the others. “Edwards is getting on a bit. Not the most reliable memory, but a stalwart all the same. One of the fixtures and fittings around here, really.” A moment’s pause. “I can absolutely assure you that Edwin Sykes was not here at the clubhouse last night. We haven’t seen him for some time.”
    Newbury seemed to take this in. “That would be entirely consistent with our findings, Sir Enoch. We’re currently holding Edwin Sykes’s body in the police morgue.”
    The colour seemed to drain suddenly out of Graves’s face. He appeared to momentarily lose his composure. “Oh … oh dear…,” he stammered, as if unable to order his thoughts. “What … what happened?”
    “As yet we’re not entirely sure. But we suspect foul play,” Newbury answered, clearly choosing to omit any details. Veronica had the impression he might be attempting to lead Graves into a trap, or at least find out if the premier knew something pertinent that he was trying to hide.
    “Foul play?” Graves sounded deeply concerned by this eventuality.
    “Yes. Murder.” Newbury kept his voice level, calm.
    “When?”
    “Three days ago, or thereabouts.”
    “Good God.” Graves looked genuinely appalled. “Good God.” He glanced at Bainbridge. “Have you any notion who’s responsible?”
    “We’re following up a number of leads.” Bainbridge lied in response, and again Veronica realised her two companions were playing a clever game with Graves, trying to get him to trip himself up, circling him like hunters closing in on prey. It was fascinating to watch. “Perhaps you could help us. Do you know of anyone who might have had a quarrel with Sykes, or a reason to want him dead?”
    Graves shook his head. His voice hardened. “The only quarrel I’m aware of was with you, Sir Charles. Is there any reason Scotland Yard would want him dead?”
    Veronica winced. That wouldn’t sit well with Bainbridge, and clearly Graves was not beyond playing his own game, trying to rile the chief inspector and lead the conversation in a different direction.
    To his credit, Bainbridge allowed the comment to wash over him and continued with his questions. “Did he ever keep a room here at Packworth House?”
    Graves shrugged. “We all do, on occasion. But certainly not in recent months. As I say, he moved in different circles. We hadn’t seen a lot of him about. But I’m sure he was working to further our cause, whatever he was up to.”
    The