The man sitting opposite Lowe triggered every single one of his class prejudices.

And it wasn't just the house that did it. Nor the . Not even Markian's voice or ostentatious clothing were wholly responsible for rubbing the Inspector up the wrong way.

Although - to be clear - they certainly helped develop the sizeable chip on his shoulder.

No, what was especially getting Lowe's goat wasMarkian Ulton's attitude of supreme self-confidence. There was a particular way of sitting that thoroughly pissed Lowe off, and the man in front of him was utterly embodying it. Oh, and that emotion was exacerbated by Lower having to accept a new shirt from the man to replace yet another one that hadn't survived being covered in his own blood.

"You know," Latham stage-whispered as the tea was served by Jeeves, "it might save time if you just started the day bare-chested. Easier to wipe clean, you know what I'm saying?"

"Or, you know, my fucking bodyguard could have faster reactions than a ninety-year-old man."

"Little man, you tried to forcibly enter the property of a house guarded by a . Even I couldn't foresee that particular moment of madness coming down the mountain. You're lucky I got there as fast as I did!" "Wanker."

"Tosser."

"Prick."

"Far be it for me interrupt your little . . . tiff, but I assume there is a reason why you have called upon me this afternoon?"

Lowe turned his attention back to Markian. He was, even he had to admit, a startlingly handsome man. Tall, dark and with the sort of chiselled features that made the Inspector want to take better care of himself. Maybe get a whole night's sleep occasionally. Drink water. Say 'hello' to a vegetable once in a while. Perhaps stop getting repeatedly punched in the face.

"Yes, Mr Ulton. I am investigating the death of Gianna d'Avec, the High Priestess of Gravalk." Lowe waited, wondering if that would cause a reaction.

Markian's face did not move any of its impressive muscles.

"During the course of this investigation, your name has been provided as someone we should seek to speak with. I wondered if you would have any comment on that?"

"Gianna d'Avec executed my brother."

Lowe held Ulton's gaze for an uncomfortable few moments.

Latham coughed, reaching for the plate of biscuits Jeeves had thoughtfully left behind. "We've come quite a long way if that was your only question, little man. I assumed you had any number of invasive and irritating questions. Would you like to check your notes?"

Lowe ignored him. "How did you feel about the death of your brother?"

"Are you asking if the High Priestess's actions might have given me a, how do you say, 'motive' for her murder?" Ulton said the word in much the same way as others might emphasise the phrase, 'child rapist'.

"Actually, I'm looking at things the other way around. Rather than you being all cut up about your brother's death and angry enough with the High Priestess to off her, I'm thinking that she helped you out and removed an obstacle in your way. I hear rumours you would have been implicated in Lord Falyn's death and that Trellen was going to share his thoughts there if the court case had gone on much longer. Seems d'Avec did you a favour when she burned him alive."

Markian smiled thinly. "Meaningless scuttlebut, Inspector. Had my brother had any evidence to back up his ludicrous claims, he would doubtless have sought to produce it at his trial."

"I'm sure he planned to. Obviously, your friend - the High Priestess - turned up the heat somewhat, and that quietened him right down."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"Perhaps. But we have no way of knowing that for certain, do we? Trellen is dead; what he may - or may not - have planned to say during his trial is wholly conjecture on your part. And, I might add, it was rather unprofessional of Mr Maybourne to share all of that with you. I wonder what his superiors would make of him breaking the duty he owed my brother's client confidence."

"I never mentioned where I received my information."

"No, you didn't. Funny that. I would suggest you ask the High Priestess to account for her own actions - rather than putting it on me - but she has rather lost her head late. Hasn't she?"

"I appreciate this is getting heated, but perhaps we should all speak of a fallen High Priestess with appropriate respect."

Lowe was surprised by Latham's comment and turned to look at the big man. Thus far, he had shown no inclination towards propriety regarding d'Avec. He'd joked repeatedly about her and the manner of her death. What was making him so po-faced now? Nevertheless, it was the impact of the words on Ulton that was even more surprising.

"Quite right, . I am sorry for speaking out of turn." Markian picked at a piece of imaginary fluff on his crossed legs as he spoke, clearly disconcerted to have been upbraided.

That was interesting. Lowe decided to press on, using the impetus Latham's intervention had caused. "Did you have anything to do with Lord Falyn's death?"

There was a tense silence, during which time Jeeves reappeared in the giant drawing room, carrying a tray of crumpets. Markian watched the put them down in the middle of the occasional table, removing the empty plate of biscuits that Latham had pretty much inhaled. The slow speed at which the old man was moving made somewhat of a mockery of the pincushion he had turned Lowe into, using nothing more than his fingernails and a can-do attitude.

"Do you really expect me to answer that question?"

"I don't know, mate. In my experience, most people like to clear it up sharpish that they had nothing to do with murder. Those who get all 'no comment' about it tend to have something to hide. But you do you."

Markian was not finding Lowe's approach charming. "Inspector, I have a long history of supporting the Security Services. Why, just the other day, I was saying to Commander Cenorth during our regular round of golf that I was always happy to add my financial backing to any hardship funds that might exist. Do you play golf? Well, I was thinking that arrangements should be made for those who, from no fault of their own, find themselves Classless, for example. Would such a bursary be of interest to you, perhaps?"

"Putting that unsubtle attempt at both intimidation and bribery to one side, I'm still not hearing an unequivocal, 'No. I had nothing to do with the murder of Lord Falyn.'"

Lowe bit into one of the crumpets, dripping butter down the new shirt Markian had just arranged for him. By the look on the face, there probably was not going to be a second offer.

"Was there anything else, Inspector? It turns out I have a prior appointment after all. Jeeves, please show these gentlemen out." Markian stood and was making his way out of the room. Jeeves moved to intercept Lowe, who followed, firing questions. "Did you have Lord Falyn killed, blame it on your brother and then have your lover cover it up? Were you in a relationship with the High Priestess?"

Markian whirled around, his handsome face now twisted into something more like a sneer. "A gentleman never kisses and tells, Mr Lowe. Doubly so when the lady in question is no longer around to protect her own reputation. I would have thought someone of your scruples would respond to that instinct. I am sure your young lady friend - Arebella, is it? - appreciates your discretion in such matters. Particularly since your fall from grace. Such a shame, Mr Lowe. Such a promising career thrown away on a point of principle. Tut, tut, Mr Lowe."

Lowe was dimly aware that Latham was wrestling with Jeeves again. However, all his focus was on his white-hot rage towards this smug man. It was like his vision had narrowed to a pinprick of anger.

"Are you threatening my friend, Mr Ulton?"

"I do not deal in threats, Inspector. I have people for that. Now, if there is nothing else . . ."

Fuck it, thought Lowe. "Mr Ulton, it is my duty to inform you that you are currently a person of interest in the matter of the death of Gianna d'Avec. I am unsatisfied with your answers concerning the murder of Lord Falyn, and I have concerns as to how you are currently funding your lavish lifestyle. What is more, I suspect you may be involved in attempts to thwart a lawful investigation - namely, with organising various assaults upon my person and threats made against those close to me. I also don't like your face."

Power swelled around Lowe as he activated the Skill that he had missed the most when stripped of his Class. To be scrupulously honest, he thought, it was not his Skill per se, but rather one that was connected with his job - no matter how temporarily reactivated - in the Security Services.

"I am placing you under an immediate Restriction Order."

With an explosion of choral music, the text above Markian's head went a bright red as the Restriction Order took hold. The man literally sagged to the floor as the weight of the restriction landed on him.

Lowe strode forward until he stood over him, leaning forward to whisper into the stricken man's ear. "I trust you will be more forthcoming when next we speak. Oh, and 'no'. I don't fucking place golf."

With no further ado, Lowe snatched another crumpet, turned and left the building. Latham extricated himself from this battle with Jeeves and hurried to follow after him, doing his best to keep the goofy grin off his face.