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

coughed. “At what time, sir, did you first become aware of its disappearance?”
    “Twenty minutes ago. I last saw it yesterday evening.”
    “Perhaps there has a been a change of timeline, sir? Maybe your time machine has ‘disappeared’ rather than been stolen.”
    Reeves gave me an odd look. I was still trying to decipher its meaning when HG replied.
    “The timeline can’t have been rewritten,” he said. “I’ve had the time machine in my cellar the whole time.”
    Reeves coughed again. “Perhaps Mr Worcester has an opinion on where your time machine may be, sir?”
    Mr Worcester was still baffled. Was this deja vu or one of those timeline changes? But everyone was looking at me, so I had to say something.
    “What about your Aunt Charlotte?” I asked. “Did you show her how to fly your machine?”
    “You know my Aunt Charlotte?”
    “I deduced you had an Aunt Charlotte. We consulting detectives do this all the time. I could tell by your shoes that you’d either just returned from India or had an aunt called Charlotte.”
    Reeves coughed disapprovingly.
    “My shoes? How?” said HG.
    “It would take too long to explain. Either one can deduce, or one cannot.”
    “Oh,” said HG, taking one long last look at his shoes. “No, it can’t be Aunt Charlotte. I’ve made a point of not mentioning anything to her since receiving a letter two years ago warning me against her.”
    “The Traveller?” I said.
    “Good Lord! How did you know that?”
    I was rather enjoying this. “It’s the kind of letter he would have written.”
    “You know him?”
    Reeves intervened. “I’m sure Mr Worcester could deduce the present location of your time machine, sir. If he put his mind to it.”
    “I think not, Reeves. I need more information first.”
    “Ask me anything, Mr Worcester. It’s imperative we recover this time machine as soon as possible.”
    “Righto,” I said. “Ever recall wearing a dress?”
    “You will have to excuse Mr Worcester, sir,” interrupted Reeves. “His brain is differently wired. I think what he meant to ask was ‘Is there any danger of the time machine running out of fuel?’”
    “Oh,” said HG. “Not so much now. The original batteries we built with the Traveller’s assistance were very quick to drain. And very expensive to make. But we’ve been working on a new fuel cell for the past five years. We perfected it last week. It’ll run for years now on a single fuel cell.”
    “You said ‘we,’ sir. Would that be your associates from the Royal Society who first helped you repair the machine?”
    “It would. You seem remarkably well informed Mr...?”
    “Reeves, sir. It was a deduction. You were saying about your associates?”
    “We’ve worked together on and off for ten years. More off than on, I’m afraid, due to the recurring problem with the batteries. No one wanted to risk being stranded in the past if the battery failed.”
    “Quite, sir. Would any of these gentlemen have a key to your cellar?”
    “No, not since I received that letter from The Traveller. After that we decided it best to change the lock and have just the one key.”
    “Might I trouble you for the names of these associates, sir?”
    “You can’t possibly suspect them. I’ve known them for years.”
    “We consulting detectives suspect everyone,” I said. “Even ourselves.”
    “Quite, sir, and it is always possible that one of your associates may have inadvertently vouchsafed information to a third party.”
    HG nodded. “There is that. Very well, my colleagues are Simeon Arbuthnot, Nathaniel Dawson, Edward Molesworth and Beatrice Traherne.”
    “Did you say Molesworth?” I asked.
    “Yes, Edward Molesworth.”
    “Any relation to Henry Molesworth,” I asked, digging the photographic plates out of my pocket.
    “Not that I know of. I haven’t met any of Edward’s family.”
    I showed him the picture. “Do you recognise him at all?”
    “I can’t say I do. He looks a little like