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

costume.”
    All the more reason for a swift intervention. “Emmie!” I cried. “Stop!”
    Reeves coughed. “Miss Emmeline is using the name Lily, sir.”
    “Lily!” I shouted, breaking into a run. “Stop! He’s an actor, not a Lizard Man!”
    The Lizard Man almost made it to the buildings, but I think he was having trouble maintaining his balance whilst running. The dinosaur head looked rather too large to me in proportion to the rest of his body. Over he toppled, rolling onto his back. Emmeline closed in and drew back her club.
    “No!” I shouted. “Don’t! He’s an actor!”
    “He can take it,” shouted Henry. “Let him have it.”
    “No!” screamed the Lizard Man. “Don’t hit me!”
    Emmeline paused, club still raised, and looked over her shoulder. She must have seen the camera. And the assemblage of people clustered around said camera watching. Not to mention the two headless Lizard Men sitting on a pile of rocks smoking.
    “Oh,” she said. And then put one perfectly formed foot on the Lizard Man’s chest and posed for the camera.
    “Cut!” shouted Ida. “You ruined Emmeline’s big scene, Lily!”
    Ida was in a minority of one. Possibly two if you counted the Lizard Man.
    I stopped running and joined in the applause that had broken out.
    “She’s a natural,” said T. Everett, much to his daughter’s displeasure.
    ~
    I waited for the applause to die down before breaking the news about Selden.
    “Sir Robert, Henry,” I said, toddling over. “I’m afraid we have a problem.”
    “What kind of a problem?” asked Sir Robert.
    I told him about the meeting with the constable.
    “Morrow?” said Sir Robert, looking around for the doctor. “Is this true? Do you know this man Selden?”
    Dr Morrow’s face took on the hue of an ailing oyster. “I do, Robert,” he said, turning to me. “You’re sure he said Harr y Selden? Not some other Selden?”
    “The constable called him the Clerkenwell Cat.”
    “That’s him,” said Morrow dejectedly.
    “Will he really come looking for you, Morrow?” asked Henry.
    “I fear he will. He has it in his head that I am his master — something which I assure you I never intended. It just ... happened.”
    “But how would he know you’re here?” asked Stapleford. “You’ve only been here for six months.”
    I mentioned the Daily Bugle article, but kept quiet about the shoes and the stomach. The air was charged enough as it was, and we consulting detectives don’t like to spread panic.
    “Is he dangerous?” asked Ida.
    Everyone looked at the unfortunate doctor. As did I. How does one say ‘deranged homicidal cannibal’ without causing panic?
    The good doctor appeared lost for words, but, fortunately, I hit upon a few optimistic ones to fill the tense silence.
    “The good news,” I said. “Is that he has eaten.”
    “I don’t understand,” said Ida. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
    “Morrow?” said Sir Robert.
    “Perhaps we should discuss this in private, Sir Robert,” said Morrow. “There are ladies present.”
    Ida stamped her foot. “No! Lily already knows. If she can take it, so can I.”
    “Very well,” said Morrow. “Selden is a troubled individual — delusional. He ... he thinks he’s a cat.”
    “Did you say cat?” asked Sir Robert.
    “I did. As I said, he’s delusional and ... he kills people.”
    “Does he chop their heads off like he did to Pasco?” asked Ida.
    I felt for Morrow. I’ve frequently been in a similar posish — wishing to put a gloss on a tricky sitch and finding no such mot juste exists.
    “Not exactly,” said Morrow.
    “Out with it, man,” said Henry. “We need to know what we’re up against. Is he a strangler? A cut-throat? A brawler?”
    “He ... kills like a cat,” said Morrow.
    There was a considerable intaking of breath from the gathering.
    “But he has eaten,” I said, deciding to move things along somewhat. “So no one’s in immediate danger.”
    “When you say