Percival Lovell-Wynthrop and Sir Archibald Courtenay stared at each other like two pugilists before a championship fight. Percival refused to be cowed by his superior and or back down an inch, even allowing for the risk of losing his high-powered and privileged employment. Percival did not usually come into work on a Saturday afternoon. Still, he had made an exception to stage this showdown.
“You went out of your way to assure Qamar that his life was in no danger, Sir Archibald, yet here we are a matter of days after your assurance, and Yunosov is in his grave.” His voice caught. “He was my friend.” He choked on the last word.
friend“My dear chap, I understand your feelings, and you have my sincerest condolences.”
“They won’t bring him back,” Percival snapped. “Qamar trusted us and walk
