'And ... the servants...?' he said.

     'Couldn't have them bursting in, sir.'

     Downey nodded, half hypnotized  by the glassy  stare  and  the  pinhole eyeball. No, you  couldn't have them bursting in. And an Assassin might well face serious professional opposition, possibly even by people trained by the same  teachers.  But an  old  man and  a  maidservant who'd merely  had  the misfortune to be in the house at the time...

     There  was no actual rule, Downey  had to admit. It was just that, over the years, the Guild had  developed a certain ethos and members tended to be very  neat  about their work, even shutting  doors behind them and generally tidying up as they went. Hurting the harmless was worse than a transgression against the moral fabric of society, it was a breach of good manners. It was worse even than that. It was bad taste. But there was no actual rule...

     'That  was  all  right, wasn't it, sir?'  said  Teatime, with  apparent anxiety.

     'It, uh ... lacked elegance,' said Downey.

     'Ah.  Thank  you,  sir.  I  am always happy to  be  corrected.  I shall remember that next time.'

     Downey took a deep breath.

     'It's about  that I wish to talk,'  he said. He  held up the picture of ... what had the thing called him? ... the Fat Man?

     'As a matter  of interest,' he  said, 'how would you go about  inhuming this ... gentleman?'

     Anyone  else, he  was  sure, would have  burst out laughing. They would have said things like 'Is this a joke, sir?' Teatime merely  leaned forward, with a curious intent expression.

     'Difficult, sir.'

     'Certainly,' Downey agreed.

     'I would need some time to prepare a plan, sir,' Teatime went on.

     'Of course, and-'

     There was a knock at the door and  Carter came in  with another cup and saucer. He nodded respectfully to Lord Downey and crept out again.