Page 57 of Murder at the Debutante Ballby

“What will happen if he doesn’t?”

“I don’t know.” I’d been so worried about my uncle and aunt finding out, I hadn’t asked.

“Do you know the name of the gambler?”

“No. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he shot back. “If I knew the name, I might know his reputation. Some are violent, others work in more civilized ways, but are no less nasty to debtors who can’t pay.”

I arched my brows. “How do you know the reputations of individual gamblers?”

“There are surprisingly few professional ones who operate at the level at which Floyd would be playing. I got to know them over the years working at the hotel. Guests confided in me. I had to help some by pointing them to private lenders, or ensuring they were safe within the hotel. It was not the most pleasant part of my job.”

“Did Mr. Hobart know?” I couldn’t imagine the manager dealing with the sort of characters who used violence to ensure debts were repaid. He was so proper and sweet.

“My uncle was probably aware of what went on, but the guests learned to approach me, not him. There must have been something about me that made the guests think I’d understand their plight and be comfortable dealing with dubious characters.” He said it half-jokingly, but he was right. There was an air of capability and confidence about him that signaled that he could help. I always felt safer with Harry. I felt safe confiding in him too. He wouldn’t betray a confidence.

“I’m afraid the fellow could be violent.” There had been an occasion when Floyd had been roughly deposited outside the hotel by an unmarked carriage. That was when his problems began, a few weeks ago.

“Then your cousin needs to pay him back. Appealing to the gambler’s gentlemanly nature won’t work. I don’t want to scare you, Cleo, but it’s possible the fellow has threatened to harm one of Floyd’s family members if he doesn’t pay.”

I gave a small nod. I’d already thought of that possibility. “If he can’t raise the money he owes by the end of the week, I’m going to approach my aunt on his behalf. He’s too proud to do it himself. I’m sure she’ll have some money she can loan him by the deadline.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

I hadn’t considered that. Nor had Jonathon. “Perhaps Floyd has friends…” I turned away to hide the sudden burn in my eyes as tears welled. I pressed my lips together.

Harry crouched before me. I hadn’t even heard him rise and round the desk. He clasped my hand, resting on my lap, and gently squeezed. “I’ll think of something.”

“This isn’t your problem, Harry.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I only told you to share the burden of it with someone. I wouldn’t have mentioned it if you were going to take on the responsibility of fixing it. You can’t fix it. Only money can.” I heard my voice rise and was powerless to stop it. I hated that I’d thrown in the part about money, too, but itwasthe only way to fix Floyd’s problem. And neither Harry nor I had the sort of money needed to pay back the debt.

We truly were powerless.

But Harry was a gentleman for trying to make me feel better, and I shouldn’t snap at him. I folded my hand over his and offered him a weak smile. “Thank you anyway.”

He slipped his hand out from between mine and stood. “We should pass on the information to my father about Reggie Smith being with Chapman on the night the Quornes’ painting was stolen.”

The change of topic was so sudden I needed a moment to refocus.

“Will it matter? Does your father have any sway in the case now? His superiors might ignore the information and continue with their persecution of Reggie. They want to close this investigation as soon as possible. And what if they decide to arrest Mr. Chapman for indecency? I could never live with myself.”

Harry swore under his breath. He knew I was right.

I was about to suggest we do something drastic to nudge our investigation forward, but never got the opportunity. There was an urgent knock on the door.

Harry answered it. “Lady Treloar. This is unexpected.” He stepped aside to allow the art gallery owner inside.

She swept past him, smiling in greeting, then spotted me. “Oh! How fortunate that you’re here, too, Miss Fox.” She sat in the chair Harry indicated and swept a hand over her skirt to smooth the wrinkles out of it. She wore a black and cream dress today with a tightly cinched waist and a flimsy chiffon layer over a daringly low-cut bodice. Her hair was elaborately styled with a wave set forward, covering one side of her forehead. She wore a little color on her cheeks and lips, and her lashes were darker than I remembered. They framed large gray eyes that she fluttered in Harry’s direction.

He gave no indication that he noticed. “How may we help you, madam?”

“I thought I’d better tell you about a visitor to my gallery yesterday. He tried to sell me a painting. When I saw it, I immediately thought of notifying you, Mr. Armitage. It might be relevant to your investigation.”

“Why is that?”

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