Page 54 of The Games Lovers Play
Devlin and Child joined them, and Devlin put a hand to Therese’s back. “Let’s go to the carriage.”
With Child and Martin following, he ushered her across the lane and around to the other side of the carriage, where the carriage’s body shielded them from anyone watching from the hell’s front rooms.
Therese halted and put her back to the carriage. Devlin halted beside her, and Child and Martin ranged in front of them.
“What the devil was that all about?” Child asked.
“Indeed.” Devlin looked at Martin. “None of that should have happened. Certainly not over a mere one hundred pounds. Your coat is worth more than that, and that’s something Biggs and his men would definitely have known.”
Therese frowned. “Would they?”
Devlin glanced at her; now she was standing beside him, he could almost smile. “You don’t get hired to be the manager of a hell in this neighborhood, one that specifically caters to the aristocracy, without learning to judge men—and women—by the cut of their clothes and the clarity of their speech. To Biggs and his men, all three of you should have been instantly recognizable as who you are.” He looked again at Martin. “That was never the issue.”
Frowning, Martin nodded. “I did wonder. I was seventeen when I left England. I’d never visited such a place—not in England—before, so I wasn’t sure what was normal, not enough to be certain of my ground.”
“But…why?” Child waved across the street. “Why go to the bother of staging all that? What did Biggs get out of it?”
“That,” Devlin agreed, “is the critical question.” He looked at Therese. “You made a point of telling me that Biggs was the manager and not the owner. Why?”
She promptly replied, “Because earlier on, when I asked for the names of the owners, I got the distinct impression that the last thing Biggs wanted was for any hint of him holding Martin to get back to the owners.” She paused, then said, “He tried to make it sound as if he was acting to protect the owners’ interests, but it seemed to me that he was up to something on his own.”
“I agree,” Child said. “I read that exchange in the same way.”
“I did, too,” Martin put in.
Devlin thought for a moment, then looked at Martin. “Tell me exactly what happened after you walked into the hell yesterday evening. Who took you there? I assume someone did.”
Martin slid his hands into his pockets. “My cousins, Henry and Jason Cynster, and some of their friends. As you know, I ran into Henry and Jason last week, and we met again for dinner yesterday, then the company rolled on to”—Martin tipped his head across the lane—“Gentleman Jim’s.” He paused, then plainly thinking back, went on, “After being shown around the tables, I settled in playing poker, then Henry and the others had to go on to some ball, and I decided to stay on.” Martin shrugged. “I was winning, too. Until the last hand.”
His face hardened, and he met Devlin’s eyes. “I’ve been playing poker for the past eight years, but on that last hand, I’m as sure as I can be that the dealer dealt from the bottom of the pack.”
“He cheated?” Therese was horrified. “And you didn’t say anything?”
Martin glanced resignedly at her. “I only just caught it and couldn’t be absolutely sure, so there was no point trying to make anything of it. It was late by then, and there was no one else at the table—well, no one who could or would back me up, anyway. Besides, even with the loss, I was only a ton down, and I assumed they would accept an IOU.” He glanced at Devlin. “I’d been warned not to carry too much cash in my pockets, so I didn’t have that much on me.”
Devlin nodded understandingly. “Not carrying much cash is wise. And if your cousins took you to the place, presumably no one else could have known you would spend the latter part of the evening there. Therefore…” His gaze sharpened, and he refocused on Martin. “When you were in the rooms, did you see anyone—anyone at all—whom you recognized? Other than your cousins and their friends.”
Therese watched her brother frown in thought, then he started to shake his head and stopped.
His eyes narrowed. “No acquaintances, but there were three Germans I’d met at the exhibition. We exchanged nods, so I know they saw and recognized me. And I also know they’re trying to buy up a Dutch invention I’ve been invited to invest in.”
Devlin smiled like a predator sighting prey. “And if you buy in, the Germans won’t be able to acquire the invention?”
Martin nodded. “I believe that’s the case.”
“Are you due to do something today regarding that investment?” Devlin asked.
Martin wasn’t slow; he met Devlin’s gaze. “I’m due to sign the deal later today. You think the Germans paid Biggs to keep me at the hell until after the meeting?”
Devlin’s smile was all edges. “I’d wager a considerable sum on that. If you miss the meeting, simply fail to turn up, what will happen?”
Martin shifted. “The Dutch inventor is…not quite desperate, but he needs the deal completed. If I don’t sign on, he will almost certainly have to turn to the Germans, which he doesn’t want to do.”
Therese caught Child’s eye. “That was why Biggs was so nervous. Did you notice?” She glanced at Martin. “As soon as Child and I appeared, he started to react—”
“As if a plan of his was unraveling before his eyes.” Child met Martin’s gaze. “Devlin’s right. The Germans will have paid Biggs handsomely to fabricate some situation that would allow him to keep you secreted away until after this meeting of yours.”
Brows arching, Devlin mused, “Biggs must have been in two minds over delivering your note.”
