refused to give me more information.”
He inhaled and then released a long breath. Glancing up at the hulking man who stood a good four inches taller and broader, Simon said, “Indeed.”
“Shall I take her home?”
“No, this will not take long at all. But stand guard and do not let anyone inside.”
“Of course.”
By the time Simon reached his office, he was incensed. Once again, Albert Kingsley had ruined something. He hurled the door open so hard it thumped against the wall.
Albert Kingsley turned with a glare and then a look of relief, which he quickly masked. He’d been staring down at the gaming room, which had only a small number of early gamblers ruining their lives. The slight man had a perpetual frown on his face and was now almost completely bald and gray.
“What is so bloody urgent that you couldn’t wait to see me?”
Albert looked him over. “Did you just now wake? On the wrong side of a whore, I suppose.”
“I have been up since nine and have already conducted two business meetings.” And should have collected rent on the buildings he owned but was distracted by an innocent fair-haired lady. “Now, why are you here, Albert?”
Albert returned to staring down at the gaming room. “How is business these days?”
The idea of murdering the man popped back into his brain. “It is quite well. But I rather doubt that you decided to pay an urgent social call on me to find out how my business is doing.”
“I heard there was an incident with a carriage near Seven Dials,” Albert said, still looking away from him. “I know you tend to drive through the area this time of the month. I thought it might have been your carriage.”
The man seemed to hesitate in asking the question on his mind. Odd. Odder still that Albert knew when he collected rents. “Yes, I heard about that.”
“It was your carriage, wasn’t it?” Albert’s face went pallid.
Simon debated telling him the truth. Normally, Albert would have been gloating and stating that it was a dreadful shame that the rock had missed. “Yes, someone hurled a rock at my carriage. Now since the incident happened only an hour ago, how exactly did you hear about it so quickly?”
He hesitated before saying, “I saw it happen. I was returning from the bakery. Was your passenger injured?”
“No.”
“Thank God,” he whispered as some color returned to his face.
Simon folded his arms over his chest. “What exactly do you know about this, Albert?”
Albert looked away. “Have you been infested with cheats lately?”
“Yes.”
Albert nodded. Raking his fingers through his gray hair, a layer of flour dust floated to the floor. “It is as I feared.” He turned and faced Simon. “Any chance you might offer me some of that fine whisky?”
“Am I going to need it?”
“I believe so.”
Simon moved to the table by the gaming room and poured two crystal glasses with the amber liquid. He handed one to Albert before taking a seat behind his desk. “Do you know who is involved in this and why?”
Albert walked to a chair and sat down. After a long sip of whisky, he said, “There a man in Seven Dials named Richard Park. The story is that Park won a substantial amount at a hell named All Angels Fall. He made short work of infiltrating the hell with cheaters and drunks to buy the owner out. Within six months, he was the new owner of the hell and got it at a price far lower than its worth before the trouble started.”
Simon took a sip of his whisky. “What does this have to do with me?”
“That was two years ago. Park now owns three hells in Covent Gardens and Seven Dials. The man’s ambitious and ruthless, as you were when you bought this place.
“There must be a hundred of hells in London. Why mine?”
Albert had the decency to stare into his whisky. “I might have tried to cheat the man. When he caught me, I chatted with him about you and your hell and how you crawled out of the dregs of Soho and gained wealth from Hell. I think he got it in his head to move up to St. James.”
Simon took another sip of his whisky to keep from lashing out at the man. “And Hell seemed a likely choice to him.” And Hardy’s place too. No doubt Albert told Park about Simon’s start at Hardy’s hell. The Royal Pigeon was far closer to St. James than Seven Dials.
A light rap