Page 42 of The Highland Heist
“This is Caleb Rook,” Hargrove said, nodding toward the boy. “He was working Dixon’s table that night.”
Frederick turned toward the young man, who stood, wringing his hands a little as he shifted his attention from Hargrove to Frederick.
The boy didn’t look more than fifteen.
“Lord Astley has some questions for you, boy.” Hargrove nodded. “About the fight between Tony Dixon and … um … what was the stranger’s name again?”
“Mr. Clark, sir.”
Mr. Clark? So, Lillias had heard correctly. Frederick attempted to keep his expression neutral. Could the entire case be as simple as a disgruntled gambler seeking revenge? But why set up the entire charade with a fake officer?
“Yes, some foreigner, as I recall.” Hargrove gave a dismissive frown.
Frederick studied the lad, whose hands twisted nervously as his gaze darted between the two men.
“You’ve nothing to fear, Mr. Rook,” Frederick assured him. “I’m simply looking for information.”
Rook nodded, though his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously.
“Sit down, boy.” Hargrove barked, waving toward a nearby chair.
Rook obeyed immediately, his gaze darting back to Frederick, who eased back into the chair in hopes of helping the lad feel more comfortable.
“Was Mr. Dixon gambling heavily? Drinking?”
“He always gambled heavy.” The young man laughed. “But no, sir. He wasn’t one for drink.”
“Left here more often depressed and sober than drunk,” Hargrove added.
That information softened Frederick’s opinion of the man slightly. One vice was plenty. “What led to the altercation with Mr. Clark?”
“Well, Mr. Dixon was at the baccarat table most of the night,” Rook said, his fingers worrying the edge of his coat. “Lost a fair bit, I’d wager. Then Mr. Clark accused him of cheating.”
Frederick leaned forward slightly. “And was Mr. Dixon prone to cheat, from your knowledge?”
“No, sir. That’s probably why he lost so much,” Rook replied with a grim sort of sincerity.
“That and bad luck,” Hargrove chimed in, his tone bordering on philosophical.
Frederick nearly grunted at the sharp sting of that addition. Could Tony have been so desperate to gain favor in Lillias’ eyes that he returned, over and over again, to gamble a losing game?
“What happened next?”
“They had words first, sharp ones, and then it turned physical. Mr. Dixon threw the first punch, but the other man was quicker. Mr. Dixon got the brunt of the hits before they were separated.”
So Mr. Clark knew how to fight. An important detail, should Frederick find himself in a similar confrontation.
“Did this Mr. Clark say anything? Threaten Mr. Dixon?”
“I—I heard him say something about owing what’s due. And then”—Caleb glanced at Hargrove, who gave a slight nod, apparently the arbiter of all things confidential—”I heard Mr. Clark say to Mr. Dixon …” Caleb straightened, evidently imagining himself as the Scotsman. “He said, ‘You shouldn’t have said that, lad. Things would have been different for you, if you didnae know that.’“
Didnaeandlad? Those weren’t typical American words.
“What did Mr. Dixon know?”
Rook shrugged, deflating like a punctured balloon. “I didn’t hear that part, sir. But that’s when Mr. Hargrove arrived and broke up the two men. Told Mr. Dixon to stay away.”
“And Mr. Clark?” Frederick turned to Hargrove.
