The odd bit that he embellished did not make much difference. "There was blood everywhere! It was so sick, you can't believe it. And two of the automatons were crushed under the rafter also. I could see that one of them held Martin by the arm, as if they had planned to kill him!" A hush went through the pub. Bromsky was not pleased. All this talk of dead people brought angst on the table instead of drinks. "Always thought there was something strange about the fellow," a man with a grubby voice and ditto face said, "remember how this fine bloke picked 'm up yesterday? Can't be good." Several people nodded, to the annoyance of Matty and Bass. "He ain't never been bad, that Martin," Matty objected. "He was a hard worker and a good soul, and now he's dead, God rest his soul. The metal men killed him, honest to God." After a while, the people at the table dispersed, falling apart in small groups, discussing Martin Phelps and his sudden demise, and other things of mutual interest. Matty and Bass went for an ale and drank that to the memory of their friend.
