Chapter Twelve #2
“How are you feeling?” Felix asked in a whisper. He stood by the chair she slipped into. It was of buttery leather and one of two that faced the desk. The décor throughout the room was very luxurious and spoke of expensive tastes while the faint scent of pipe smoke lingered in the air.
“Sore. Thirsty. Determined.” She stopped clasping her hands in her lap, for that probably wasn’t something a man would do.
Remembering that she’d stuffed the small notebook and pencil nub in the pocket of her borrowed waistcoat, Caroline quickly tugged them out in preparation for the interview.
“Honestly, I just want the case to be over.”
“I completely agree.” He nodded. “This shouldn’t go too long. We’ll have you back home in a twinkling.”
Then the door opened, and a heavy-set man of average height came in.
Dressed in dark evening clothes, he bounced his beady-eyed gaze between them as he went around the desk and then seated himself in the chair.
The springs protested beneath his weight.
His thinning black hair seemed dirty and greasy in the candlelight.
“I am Mr. Emmett. What can I do for you?”
Felix cleared his throat. “I am Major Kourier, and this is my associate. We are consultants for Bow Street as we investigate the murder of Lord Withington.” He paused, perhaps for affect, but Caroline didn’t want to risk looking at him.
“During the course of the investigation, we have discovered he was often a client at your gaming hell and had a penchant for losing copious sums of money. Is this correct?”
“God, Withington was a chore.” Mr. Emmett opened a leatherbound ledger that rested on the top of his desk.
“Foul temper, insulted every man at the tables, drank like a fish and grew violent when he was in his cups.” He found the page he apparently wanted, for he turned the ledger around and tapped one of the lines with crabbed handwriting.
“This was how much he owed my establishment the night before he died.”
“Shit!” Felix’s exclamation echoed in the small space when he leaned toward the desk to check the register. “Fifty thousand pounds? How did that happen?”
Mr. Emmett took the ledger back and closed it with a snap.
“Withington was reckless when he was at the tables. Especially when he wasn’t winning.
He always thought he could make up the losses with each subsequent hand.
” He shrugged. “Of course, it never happened, so when he went deeper, he drank more heavily. Much of it was for attention and the theatrics of making a scene.”
With a look at Caroline, the major asked, “Was he solvent enough to square up with you at the end of the night?” He tightened a gloved hand around the silver head of his cane. “In fact, I thought you required proof of funds before any sort of game play for the night from your members.”
“We do, and as far as we knew, Withington was good for it. He’d just undergone scrutiny from our banker two weeks ago.
” The bigger man shook his head and his jowls swayed.
“As for the peer’s solvency, I wouldn’t know.
I didn’t have a chance to question him, for he escaped from the hell during the late dinner hour when the staff was in flux. ”
“Ah, when at the tables, did he promise to pay his debt in a timely manner?”
Mr. Emmett snorted. “That is what they all say, but whether they do is another story entirely.”
“What happens when a man doesn’t pay his debt to the hell?”
Caroline scribbled furiously in the notebook as the conversation unfolded.
“Then we will discreetly send a representative to call on the man the next day and make arrangements for payment.”
Did that mean the gaming hell would provide pressure in the way of physical encouragement when those debts weren’t paid? What an interesting side of society life that no one talked about in genteel circles.
Felix frowned. “Did he owe money to any of the other members that night?
“When didn’t he?” Mr. Emmett sat back in his chair, and the springs protested again. “There was one man to whom Withington owed nearly ten thousand pounds, and in fact, those two ended up in a fight that night before Withington disappeared.”
“Oh?” He glanced at her. She shrugged. “What did they fight about? The coin, I’d imagine?”
“Of course. Withington was deep in the red with this man too. No matter how many hands passed, he couldn’t pull himself out.
He’d win a couple, gain more confidence, wager recklessly, and then lose a few hands, which only exacerbated the situation.
” Mr. Emmett shook his head. “Obviously, his opponent wasn’t pleased. ”
“I don’t imagine that he was,” Caroline said. She kept her voice low, and since it was still hoarse from the attack earlier, there was a good chance she wouldn’t be identified as a woman. “What happened after that?”
“Well, the man wanted to collect his winnings. When one has accumulated stakes that high, he’s not going to leave the table without a voucher or a promise.” The man behind the desk shrugged while Caroline exchanged a quick glance with Felix. “He demanded that Withington make good on the wagers.”
“And?” Felix wanted to know.
“Withington declined. Said the other man had cheated. Said the hell had rigged the games somehow. In his cups, he was quite belligerent and made a scene. He had words with his opponent. Two of my security guards were summoned to the table as a crowd formed.” Mr. Emmett blew out a breath.
“The scene escalated into fisticuffs right there on the floor.”
One of Felix’s eyebrows rose. “I take it that Withington still didn’t make good?”
“He did not. As I said, he fled the hell ahead of my security men. Ran halfway down the block before his carriage caught up to him.” Mr. Emmett tapped a fat finger on the ledger book.
“I’ll tell you this, if there is anything in Withington ’s coffers, I’ll take my cut.
In fact, I have an appointment with his solicitor tomorrow. ”
That didn’t bode well. Also, Lady Withington didn’t let on that there were financial issues with her husband’s accounts. She’d only admitted to his abuse. Had she not known or was she lying? Being duped about the state of one’s bank accounts was good motivation for murder.
“Am I glad the man is dead? To be honest, it’s one less deadbeat to enter my hell. Was I so cross with him as to kill him or have him killed? Hardly. He’s not the first man who hasn’t paid up, but there are other avenues to settle accounts.”
The silence that followed the statement was heavy. How often did a man like Mr. Emmett need to collect on bad debts?
“One last question Mr. Emmett,” Felix said as he moved away from the desk and behind the chair where Caroline sat.
“Of course.”
“What is the name of Withington’s opponent? I’d like to talk to him if I can. Perhaps he’s a hothead who wanted immediate retribution.”
“He’s a relatively new member of the gaming establishment—Mr. Andrew Ives, heir to Viscount Beckham. If he was gambling with his father’s coin, of course the man would wish for the money to be tendered immediately.”
Despite herself, a gasp issued from Caroline’s throat. Her brother was a gambler, and he frequented this very hell? Did Papa know? She crushed the notebook and pencil nub in her fist.
With a soft cough, Felix said, “Well, thank you for the information, Mr. Emmett. I’m sorry your hell sustained such a loss from Lord Withington, and sorrier still there was apparent contretemps surrounding that night.”
“These things happen, Major.” Slowly, Mr. Emmett gained his feet.
Caroline scrambled into a standing position. She shoved her notebook and pencil into the pocket of her waistcoat.
“If I have any follow-up questions, do you mind if I come back?” Felix asked as he headed toward the office door.
“By all means. And if the murderer proves to be one of my members, please let me know as well. What we do here might not be strictly legal, but I don’t wish to host a murderer in my midst.”
“Of course, Mr. Emmett. I shall inform you of my findings.” With a nod, he glanced quickly at Caroline then waited for her to precede him out of the office. “Did you also wish to know what I find out after talking to Mr. Ives?”
“That’s not necessary. He has a bit of skill with the cards. For the time being, he is in good standing. That is all I wish to know at this time.”
“Very well. Thank you for your time, Mr. Emmett.”
With a pounding heart and questions going through her mind like ponies on a loop, Caroline kept herself composed until they were seen out of the hell by the majordomo.
Is my brother a murderer?