 CHAPTER 9 AND 10 OF THE GRAND BABBLE ON HOTEL This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Anna Simon, The Grand Babble on Hotel, by Arnold Bennett. CHAPTER 9 TWO WOMEN AND THE REVOLVER You. You're only doing that to frighten me. Stammit, Miss Spencer, in a low, quavering voice. Am I? Nella replied, as firmly as she could. Though her hand shook violently with excitement, could Miss Spencer but have observed it? Am I? You said just now that I might be a Yankee girl but I was a fool. Well, I am a Yankee girl, as you call it, and in my country, if they don't teach revolver shooting in boarding schools, there are at least a lot of girls who can handle a revolver. I happen to be one of them. I tell you that if you ring that bell, you will suffer. Most of this was simple bluff on Nella's part, and she trembled lest Miss Spencer should perceive that it was simple bluff. Happily for her, Miss Spencer belonged to that order of women who have every sort of courage except physical courage. Miss Spencer could have withstood successfully any moral trial, but persuade her that her skin was in danger and she would succumb. Nella at once divined this useful fact and proceeded accordingly, hiding the strangeness of her own sensations as well as she could. You had better sit down now, said Nella, and I will ask you a few questions. And Miss Spencer obediently sat down, rather white, and trying to screw her lips into a formal smile. Why did you leave the grand babble on that night? Nella began her examination, putting on a stern, barrister-like expression. I had orders to, Miss Rexel. Whose orders? Well, I'm—I'm—the fact is, I'm a married woman, and it was my husband's orders. Who is your husband? Tom Jackson. Julie, you know. Hat waiter at the grand babble on. So Julie's real name is Tom Jackson. Why did he want you to leave without giving notice? I'm sure I don't know Miss Rexel. I swear I don't know. He's my husband, of course. I do what he tells me. As you will someday do what your husband tells you. Please heaven you'll get a better husband than mine. Miss Spencer showed a sign of tears. Nella fingered the revolver and put it at full cock. Well, she repeated, why did he want you to leave? She was tremendously surprised at her own coolness, and somewhat pleased with it, too. I can't tell you! I can't tell you! You've just got to, Nella said, in a terrible, remorseless tone. He wished me to come over here to ostent. Something had gone wrong. Oh, he's a fearful man, is Tom. If I told you he—had something gone wrong in the hotel or over here? Both. Was it about Prince Eugene of Posen? I don't know. That is—yes, I think so. What has your husband to do with Prince Eugene? I believe he has some—some sort of business with him. Some money business. And was Mr. Dimmick in this business? I fancy so, Miss Rexel. I'm telling you all I know that I swear. Did your husband and Mr. Dimmick have a quarrel that night in Room 111? They had some difficulty. And the result of that was that you came to Ostent instantly? Yes, I suppose so. And what were you to do in Ostent? What were your instructions from this husband of yours? Miss Spencer's head dropped on her arms on the table which separated her from Nella, and she appeared to sob violently. Have pity on me, sheer murmur. I can't tell you any more. Why? He'd kill me if he knew. You're wondering from the subject, observed Nella coldly. This is the last time I shall warn you. Let me tell you plainly I've got the best reasons for being desperate, and if anything happens to you I shall say I did it in self-defense. Now, what were you to do in Ostent? I shall die for this anyhow, wind, Miss Spencer, and then, with a sort of fierce despair, I had to keep watch on Prince Eugen. Where? In this house? Miss Spencer nodded, and, looking up, Nella could see the traces of tears in her face. Then Prince Eugen was a prisoner. Someone had captured him at the instigation of Shewell. Yes, if you must have it. Why was it necessary for you especially to come to Ostent? Oh, Tom, trust me. You see, I know Ostent. Before I took that place at the Grand Babylon, I had travelled over Europe, and Tom knew that I knew a thing or two. Why did you take the place at the Grand Babylon? Because Tom told me to. He said I should be useful to him there. Is your husband an anarchist, or something of that kind, Miss Spencer? I don't know. I'll tell you in a minute if I knew, but it's one of those that keep themselves to themselves. Do you know if he has ever committed a murder? Never, said Miss Spencer, with righteous repudiation of the mere idea. But Mr. Dimmock was murdered. He was poisoned. If he had not been poisoned, why was his body stolen? It must have been stolen to prevent inquiry, to hide traces. Tell me about that. I take my dying oath, said Miss Spencer, standing up a little away from the table. I take my dying oath. I didn't know Mr. Dimmock was dead till I saw it in the newspaper. You swear you had no suspicion of it? I swear I hadn't. Nella was inclined to believe the statement. The woman and the girl looked at each other in the tautory, frowsy, lamplit room. Miss Spencer nervously patted her yellow hair into shape as if gradually recovering her composure and equanimity. The whole affair seemed like a dream to Nella, a disturbing, sinister nightmare. She was a little uncertain what to say. She felt that she had not yet got hold of any very definite information. Where is Prince Eugen now, she asked that length. I don't know, Miss. He isn't in this house? No, Miss. Ah, we will see presently. They took him away, Miss Raxall. Who took him away? Some of your husband's friends? Some of his acquaintances? Then there is a gang of you. A gang of us? A gang? I don't know what you mean, Miss Spencer quaved. Oh, but you must know, smiled Nella calmly. You can't possibly be so innocent as all that, Mrs. Tom Jackson. You can't play games with me. You've just got to remember that I'm what you call a Yankee girl. There's one thing that I mean to find out, within the next five minutes, and that is, how your charming husband kidnapped Prince Eugen, and why he kidnapped him. Let us begin with the second question. You have evaded it once. Miss Spencer looked into Nella's face, and then her eyes dropped, and her fingers worked nervously with the tablecloth. How can I tell you, she said, when I don't know. You've got the whip-hand of me, and you're tormenting me for your own pleasure. She wore an expression of persecuted innocence. It mis-said Tom Jackson want to get some money out of Prince Eugen. Money? Not he. Tom's never short of money. But I mean a lot of money. Tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands. Tom never wanted money from anyone, said Miss Spencer doggedly. Then had he some reason for wishing to prevent Prince Eugen from coming to London? Perhaps he had. I don't know. If you kill me, I don't know. Nella stopped to reflect. Then she raised the revolver. It was a mechanical, unintentional sort of action, and certainly she had no intention of using the weapon. But, strange to say, Miss Spencer again cowered before it. Even at that moment, Nella wondered that a woman like Miss Spencer could be so simple as to think the revolver would actually be used. Having absolutely no physical cowardice herself, Nella had the greatest difficulty in imagining that other people could be at the mercy of a bodily fear. Still, she saw her advantage, and used it relentlessly, and with as much theatrical gesture as she could command. She raised the revolver till it was level with Miss Spencer's face, and suddenly a new, queer feeling took hold of her. She knew that she would indeed use that revolver now if the miserable woman before her drove her too far. She felt afraid, afraid of herself. She was in the grasp of a savage, primeval instinct. In her flesh she saw Miss Spencer dead at her feet. The police, a court of justice, the scaffold. It was horrible. Speak, she said hoarsely, and Miss Spencer's face went whiter. Tom did say, the woman whispered rapidly, awesomely, that if Prince Eugene got to London, it would upset his scheme. What scheme? What scheme? Answer me! Heaven help me! I don't know! Miss Spencer sank into a chair. He said Miss Dimmock had turned tail, and he should have to settle him, and then Rocco. Rocco? What about Rocco? Nella could scarcely hear herself, her grip of the revolver tightened. Miss Spencer's eyes opened wider. She gazed at Nella with a glassy stare. Don't ask me! It's death! Her eyes were fixed as if in horror. It is, said Nella, and the sound of her voice seemed to hurt her to issue from the lips of some third person. It's death! repeated Miss Spencer, and gradually her head and shoulders sank back, and hung loosely over the chair. Nella was conscious of a sudden revulsion. The woman had surely fainted. Dropping the revolver, she ran round the table. She was herself again, feminine, sympathetic, the old Nella. She felt immensely relieved that this had happened. But at the same instant Miss Spencer sprang up from the chair like a cat, seized the revolver, and with a wild movement of the arm flung it against the window. It crashed through the glass, exploding as it went, and there was a tense silence. I told you that you were a fool, remarked Miss Spencer slowly. Coming here like a sort of female Jack Shepard, and trying to get the best of me. We are on equal terms now. You frightened me, but I knew I was a cleverer woman than you, and that in the end, if I kept on long enough, I should win. Now it will be my turn. Then founded, and overcome with a miserable sense of the truth of Miss Spencer's words, Nella stood still. The idea of her colossal foolishness swept through her like a flood. She felt almost ashamed, but even at this juncture she had no fear. She faced the woman bravely, her mind leaping about in search of some plan. She could think of nothing but a bribe, an enormous bribe. I admit you've won, she said, but I've not finished yet. Just listen. Miss Spencer folded her arms and glanced at the door, smiling bitterly. You know my father is a millionaire. Perhaps you know that he is one of the richest men in the world. If I give you my word of honour not to reveal anything that you've told me, what will you take to let me go free? What some do you suggest? asked Miss Spencer carelessly. Twenty-thousand pounds, said Nella promptly, shall be gone to regard the affair as a business operation. Miss Spencer's lip curled. A hundred thousand, again Miss Spencer's lip curled. Well, say a million, I can rely on my father, and so may you. You think you're worth a million to him? I do, said Nella, and you think we could trust you to see that it was paid? Of course you could. And we should not suffer afterwards in any way? I would give you my word, and my father's word. Bah! exclaimed Miss Spencer. How do you know I wouldn't let you go free for nothing? You're only a rash, silly girl. I know you wouldn't. I can read your face too well. You're right, Miss Spencer replied slowly. I wouldn't. I wouldn't let you go for all the dollars in America. Nella felt cold down the spine, and sat down again in her chair. A draught of air from the broken window blew on her cheek. Steps sounded in the passage. The door opened, but Nella did not turn round. She could not move her eyes from Miss Spencer's. There was a noise of rushing water in her ears. She lost consciousness, and slipped limply to the ground. CHAPTER X. AT SEA. It seemed to Nella that she was being rocked gently in a vast cradle, swayed to and fro with emotion at once slow and incredibly gentle. This sensation continued for some time, and there was added to it the sound of a quick, quiet, muffled beat. Soft, exhilarating breezes wafted her forward in spite of herself, and yet she remained in a delicious calm. She wondered if her mother was kneeling by her side, whispering some lullaby in her childish ears. Then strange colors swam before her eyes, her eyelids quaved, and at last she awoke. For a few moments her gaze travelled to and fro in a vain search for some clue to her surroundings. She was aware of nothing except a sense of repose and a feeling of relief that some mighty and fatal struggle was over. She cared not whether she had conquered or suffered defeat in the struggle of her soul with some other soul. It was finished, done with, and the consciousness of its conclusion satisfied and contented her. Gradually her brain, recovering from its obsession, began to grasp the phenomena of her surroundings, and she saw that she was on a yord, and that the yord was moving. The motion of the cradle was the smooth rolling of the vessel. The bead was the bead of its screw. The strange colors were the cloud-tins thrown by the sun as it rose over a distant and receding shore in the wake of the yord. Her mother's lullaby was the crooned song of the man at the wheel. Nella, all through her life, had had many experiences of yorting. From the waters of the River Hudson to those bluer tides of the Mediterranean Sea, she had yorded in all seasons and all weathers. She loved the water, and now it seemed deliciously right and proper that she should be on the water again. She raised her head to the ground, and then let it sink back. She was fatigued and evaded. She desired only solitude and calm. She had no care, no anxiety, no responsibility. A hundred years might have passed since her meeting with Miss Spencer, and the memory of that meeting appeared to have faded into the remotest background of her mind. It was a small yard, and her practised eye at once told that it belonged to the highest aristocracy of Pleasurecraft. As she reclined in the deck chair—it did not occur to her at that moment to speculate as to the identity of the person who had led her therein— she examined all visible details of the vessel. The deck was as white and smooth as her own hand, and the seams rang along its length like blue veins. All the brass work, from the band round the slender funnel to the concave surface of the binocle, shun like gold. The tapered masts stretched upwards at a rakish angle, and the rigging seemed like spun silk. No sails were set. The yacht was under steam, and doing about seven or eight knots. She judged that it was a boat of a hundred tons or so, probably Clyde-built, and not more than two or three years old. No one was to be seen on deck except a man at the wheel. This man wore a blue jersey, but there was neither name nor initial in the jersey. Nor was there a name on the white life-boys lashed to the main rigging, nor on the polished dinghy which hung on the starboard davids. She called to the man, and called again, in a feeble voice. But the steerer took no notice of her, and continued his quiet song as though nothing else existed in the universe save the yacht, the sea, the sun, and himself. Then her eyes swept the outline of the land from which they were hastening, and she could just distinguish a lighthouse and a great white irregular dome, which she recognized as the Curzal at Ostend, that gorgeous rival of the gaming palazette Monte Carlo. So she was leaving Ostend. The rays of the sun fell on her caressingly, like a restorative. All around, the water was changing from wonderful greys and dark blues to still more wonderful pinks and translucent, unearthly greens. The magic kaleidoscope of dawn was going forward in its accustomed way, regardless of the vicissitudes of mortals. Here and there in the distance she described a sail, the brown sail of some Ostend fishing boat returning home after a night's trolling. Then the beat of paddles caught her ear, and a steamer burned it past, wallowing clumsily among the waves like a tortoise. It was to swallow from London. She could see some of its passengers leaning curiously over the aft rail. A girl in a Macintosh signalled to her, and mechanically she answered the salute with her arm. The officer of the bridge of the swallow hailed the yacht, but the man at the wheel offered no reply. In another minute the swallow was nothing but a blot in the distance. Nella tried to sit straight in the deck chair, but she found herself unable to do so. Throwing off the rug which covered her, she discovered that she'd been tied to the chair by means of a piece of broad webbing. Instantly she was alert, awake, angry. She knew that her perils were not over. She felt that possibly that's casually a begun. Her lazy contentment, her dreamy sense of peace and repose, vanished utterly, and she stilled herself to meet the dangers of a grave and difficult situation. Just at that moment a man came up from below. He was a man of forty or so, clad in irreproachable blue, with a peaked yorting cap. He raced the cap politely. Good morning, he said. Beautiful sunrise, isn't it? The clever and calculated insolence of his tone cut her like a lash as she lay bound in the chair. Like all people who have lived easy and joyous lives in those fair regions where gold smooths every crease, and law keeps a tight hand on this odour, she found it hard to realise that there were other regions where gold was useless and law without power. Twenty-four hours ago she would have declared it impossible that such an experience as she had suffered could happen to anyone. She would have talked airily about civilisation in the nineteenth century, and progress, and the police. But her experience was teaching her that human nature remains always the same, and that beneath the thin crust of security on which we good citizens exist, the dark and secret forces of crime continue to move, just as they did in the days when you couldn't go from Cheepside to Chelsea without being set upon by thieves. Her experience was in a fair way to teach her this lesson better than she could have learned it even in the Bureau of the Detective Police of Paris, London and St. Petersburg. Good morning, the man repeated, and she glanced at him with a sullen, angry gaze. You, she exclaimed, you, Mr. Thomas Jackson, if that is your name, lose me from this chair, and I will talk to you. Her eyes flashed as she spoke, and the contempt in them added mightily to her beauty. Mr. Thomas Jackson, otherwise joule, urged while head-waiter at the Grand Babylon, considered himself connoisseur in feminine loveliness, and the vision of Nella Rexall smote him like an exquisite blow. With pleasure, he replied, I'd forgotten that to prevent you from falling I'd secured you to the chair. And with a quick movement he unfastened the band. Nella stood up, quivering with fury and annoyance and scorn. Now, she said, fronting him, what is the meaning of this? You fainted, he replied, imperturbably. Perhaps you don't remember. The man offered her a deck chair with a characteristic gesture. Nella was obliged to acknowledge, in spite of herself, that the fellow had distinction and air of breeding. No one would have guessed that for twenty years he'd been an hotel-waiter. His long, lithe figure and easy careless carriage seemed to be the figure and carriage of an aristocrat, and his voice was quiet, restrained and authoritative. That has nothing to do with my being carried off in this yord of yours. It is not my yord, he said, but that is a minor detail. As to the more important matter, forgive me that I remind you that only a few hours ago you were threatening a lady in my house with a revolver. Then it was your house. Why not? May I not possess a house? He smiled. I must request you to put the yord about once, instantly, and take me back. Don't try to speak firmly. Ah, he said, I'm afraid that's impossible. I didn't put out to sea with the intention of returning at once, instantly. In the last words he gave a faint imitation of her tone. When I do get back, she said, when my father gets to know of this affair, it will be an exceedingly bad day for you, Mr. Jackson. But supposing your father doesn't hear of it. What? Supposing you never get back. Do you mean then to have my murder on your conscience? Talking of murder, he said, you came very near to murdering my friend, Miss Spencer, at least so she tells me. Is Miss Spencer on board? Nella asked, seeing perhaps her faint ray of hope in the possible presence of a woman. Miss Spencer is not on board. There is no one on board except you and myself and a small crew, a very discreet crew, I may add. I will have nothing more to say to you. You must take your own course. Thanks for the permission, you said. I will send you up some breakfast. He went to the saloon stairs and whistled, and a negro boy appeared with a tray of chocolate. Nella took it, and, without the slightest hesitation, threw it overboard. Miss Jackson walked away a few steps and then returned. You have spirit, he said, and I admire spirit. It is a rare quality. She made no reply. Why did you mix yourself up in my affairs at all? he went on. Again she made no reply, but the question set her thinking, why had she mixed herself up in this mysterious business? It was quite at variance with the usual methods of her gay and butterfly existence to meddle at all with serious things. Had she acted merely from a desire to see justice done and weakness punished? Or was it the desire of adventure? Or was it perhaps the desire to be of service to a serene, heinous Prince Erebert? It is no fault of mine that you are in this fix, Jill continued. I didn't bring you into it. You brought yourself into it. You and your father, you have been moving along at a pace which is rather too rapid. That remains to be seen, she put in coldly. It does, he admitted, and I repeat that I can't help admiring you. That is, when you aren't interfering with my private affairs, that is a proceeding which I have never tolerated from anyone, not even from a millionaire, nor even from a beautiful woman. He bowed. I will tell you what I propose her do. I propose to escort you to a place of safety and to keep you there till my operations are concluded, and the possibility of interference entirely removed. You spoke just now of murder. What a crude notion that was of yours. It is only the amateur who practices murder. What about Reginald Dimmock? She interjected quickly. He paused gravely. Reginald Dimmock, he repeated. I had imagined his was a case of heart disease. Let me send you up some more chocolate. I'm sure you're hungry. I will starve before I touch your food, she said. Gallant creature, he murmured, and his eyes roved over her face. Her superb, supercilious beauty overcame him. Ah, he said. What a wife you would make. He approached nearer to her. You and I, Miss Rexel, your beauty and wealth and my brains, we could conquer the world. Few men are worthy of you, but I am one of the few. Listen, you might do worse. Marry me. I am a great man. I shall be greater. I adore you. Marry me, and I will save your life. All shall be well. I will begin again. The past shall be as though there had been no past. This is somewhat sudden, Jew, she said with biting contempt. Did you expect me to be conventional? he retorted. I love you. Granted, she said, for the sake of the argument. Then what will occur to your present wife? My present wife? Yes, Miss Spencer, as she's called. She told you I was her husband? Incidentally, she did. She isn't. Perhaps she isn't, but nevertheless I think I won't marry you. Nellis took like a statue of scorn before him. He went still nearer to her. Give me a kiss, then. One kiss. I won't ask for more. One kiss from those lips, and you shall go free. Men have ruined themselves for a kiss. I will. Coward, she ejaculated. Coward, you repeated. Coward, am I? Then I'll be a coward, and you shall kiss me whether you will or not. He put a hand on her shoulder. As she shrank back from his lustrous eyes with an involuntary scream, a figure sprang out of the dinghy a few feet away. With a single blow, neatly directed to Mr. Jackson's ear, Mr. Jackson was stretched senseless on the deck. Prince Erebrot of Pozen stood over him with a revolver. It was probably the greatest surprise of Mr. Jackson's whole life. Don't be alarmed, said the prince to Nella. My being here is the simplest thing in the world, and I will explain it as soon as I've finished with this fellow. Nella could think of nothing to say, but she noticed the revolver in the prince's hand. Why, she remarked, that's my revolver. It is, he said, and I will explain that, too. The man at the wheel gave no heat whatever to the scene. End of chapter 9 and 10. Chapter 11 and 12 of The Grand Babylon Hotel This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Anna Simon. The Grand Babylon Hotel by Arnold Bennett. Chapter 11. The Court Pawn Broker Mr. Samson Levi wishes to see you, sir. These words, spoken by a servant to Theodore Rexall, arouse the millionaire from a reverie which happened the reverse of Pleasant. The fact was, and it is necessary to insist on it, that Mr. Rexall, owner of the Grand Babylon Hotel, was by no means in a state of self-satisfaction. A mystery had attached itself to his hotel, and with all his acumen and knowledge of things in general, he was unable to solve that mystery. He laughed at the fruitless efforts of the police, but he could not honestly say that his own efforts had blessed Barron. The public was talking for, after all, the disappearance of poor Dimmock's body had got noise to broad in an indirect sort of way, and Theodore Rexall did not like the idea of his impeccable hotel being the subject of sinister rumours. He wondered grimly what the public and the Sunday newspapers would say if they were aware of all the other phenomena, not yet common property, of Miss Spencer's disappearance, of Shield's strange visits, and of the non-arrival of Prince Eugene of Pozen. Theodore Rexall had worried his brain without result. He had conducted an elaborate private investigation without result, and he had spent a certain amount of money without result. The police said that they had a clue, but Rexall remarked that it was always the business of the police to have a clue, that they seldom had more than a clue, and that a clue without some sequel to it was a pretty stupid business. The only sure thing in the whole affair was that a cloud rested over his hotel, his beautiful new toy, the finest of its kind. The cloud was not interfering with business, but, nevertheless, it was a cloud, and he fiercely resented its presence. Perhaps it would be more correct to say that he fiercely resented his inability to dissipate it. Mr. Samson Levi wishes to see you, sir," the servant repeated, having received no sign that his master had heard him. So I hear, said Rexall, does he want to see me personally? He asked for you, sir. Perhaps it is Rocco he wants to see about a menu or something of that kind. I will inquire, sir," and the servant made a move to withdraw. Stop, Rexall commanded suddenly. Desire Mr. Samson Levi to step this way. The great stockbroker of the Gaffer Circus ended with a simple, unassuming air. He was a rather short, floored man, dressed like a typical hebraic financier, with too much watch chain and too little waistcoat. In his fat hand he held a gold-headed cane and an absolutely new silk hat, for it was Friday, and Mr. Levi purchased a new hat every Friday of his life, holiday times only accepted. He breathed heavily and sniffed through his nose a good deal, as though he had just performed some Herculane physical labour. He glanced at the American millionaire with an expression in which a slight embarrassment might have been detected, but at the same time his round, red face disclosed a certain frank admiration and good nature. Mr. Rexall, I believe, Mr. Theodore Rexall, proud to meet you, sir. Such were the first words of Mr. Samson Levi. In form they were the greeting of a third-rate chimney-sweep, but, strangely enough, Theodore Rexall liked their tone. He said to himself that here, precisely where no one would have expected to find one, was an honest man. Good day, said Rexall briefly. To what do I owe the pleasure? I expect your time is limited, answered Samson Levi. Anyhow, mine is, and so I'll come straight to the point, Mr. Rexall. I'm a plain man. I don't pretend to be a gentleman or any nonsense of that kind. I'm a stockbroker, that's what I am, and I don't care who knows it. The other night I had a ball in this hotel. It cost me a couple of thousand and odd pounds, and, by the way, I wrote out a check for your bill this morning. I don't like balls, but they're useful to me, and my little wife likes them, and so we give them. Now, I've nothing to say against the hotel management as regards that ball. It was very decently done, very decently, but what I want to know is this. Why did you have a private detective among my guests? A private detective? exclaimed Rexall, somewhat surprised at this charge. Yes, Mr. Samson Levi said firmly, fanning himself in his chair, and gazing at Theodore Rexall with a direct earnest expression of a man having a grievance. Yes, a private detective. It's a small matter, I know, and I dare say you think you've got a right as proprietor of the show to do what you like in that line, but I've just called to tell you that I object. I've called as a matter of principle. I'm not angry, it's the principle of the thing. My dear Mr. Levi, said Rexall, I assure you that, having led the Gold Room to a private individual for a private entertainment, I should never dream of doing what you suggest. Straight, asked Mr. Samson Levi, using his own picturesque language. Straight, said Rexall, smiling. There was a gent present at my bowl that I didn't ask. I've got a wonderful memory for faces, and I know. Several fellows asked me afterwards what he was doing there. I was told by someone that he was one of your waiters, but I didn't believe that. I know nothing of the Grand Babylon. It's not quite my style of Tevin, but I don't think you'd sent one of your own waiters to watch my guests. Unless, of course, you sent him as a waiter, and this chap didn't do any waiting, though he did his share of drinking. Perhaps I can throw some light on this mystery, said Rexall. I may tell you that I was already aware that that man had attended your bowl uninvited. How did you get to know? By pure chance, Mr. Levi, and not by inquiry, that man was a former waiter at this hotel. The head waiter, in fact, Jewel. No doubt you have heard of him. Not I, said Mr. Levi, positively. Ah, said Rexall. I was informed that everyone knew Jewel, but it appears not. Well, be that as may, previously to the night of your bowl I had dismissed Jewel. I had ordered him never to enter the Babylon again. But on that evening I encountered him here. Not in the gold room, but in the hotel itself. I asked him to explain his presence, and he stated he was your guest. That is all I know of the matter, Mr. Levi, and I am extremely sorry that you should have thought me capable of the enormity of placing a private detective among your guests. This is perfectly satisfactory to me, Mrs. Samson Levi said, after a pause. I only wanted an explanation, and I've got it. I was told by some pals of mine in the city I might rely on Mr. Theodore Rexall going straight to the point, and I'm glad they were right. Now as to that fellow Jewel's, I shall make my own inquiries as to him. Might I ask you why you dismissed him? I don't know why I dismissed him. You don't know? Oh, come now. I'm only asking, because I thought you might be able to give me a hint why he turned up uninvited at my bowl. Sorry if I'm too inquisitive. Not at all, Mr. Levi, but I really don't know. I only sort of felt that he was a suspicious character. I dismissed him on instinct, as it were. See? Without answering this question, Mr. Levi asked another. If this Jewel is such a well-known person, he said, how could the fellow hope to come to my bowl without being recognised? Give it up, said Rexall promptly. Well, I'll be moving on, was Mr. Samson Levi's next remark. Good day, and thank you. I suppose you aren't doing anything in caffers? Mr. Rexall smiled a negative. I thought not, said Levi. Well, I never touch American rails myself, and so I reckon we shan't come across each other. Good day. Good day, said Rexall politely, following Mr. Samson Levi to the door. With his hand on the handle of the door, Mr. Levi stopped, and, gazing at theater Rexall with a shrewd, quizzical expression remarked, strange things been going on here lately, huh? The two men looked very hard at each other for several seconds. Yes, Rexall assented. Know anything about them? Well, no, not exactly, said Mr. Levi. But I had a fancy you and I might be useful to each other. I had a kind of fancy to that effect. Come back and sit down again, Mr. Levi, Rexall said, attracted by the evidence-straight forwardness of the man's tone. Now, how can we be of service to each other? I flutter myself, I'm something of a judge of character, especially a financial character, and I tell you, if you'll put your cards on the table, I'll do ditto with mine. Agreed, said Mr. Samson Levi. I'll begin by explaining my interest in your hotel. I've been expecting to receive a summons from a certain Prince Eugene of Posen to attend him here, and that summons hasn't arrived. It appears that Prince Eugene hasn't come to London at all. Now, I could have taken my dying derby that he would have been here yesterday at the latest. Why were you so sure? Question for question, said Levi. Let's clear the ground first, Mr. Rexall. Why did you buy this hotel? That's a conundrum that's been puzzling a lot of our fellows in the city for some days past. Why did you buy the grand Babylon? And what's the next move to be? There is no next move, answered Rexall candidly, and I will tell you why I bought the hotel. There need be no secret about it. I bought it because of a whim. And then Theodore Rexall gave this little Jew whom he had begun to respect a faithful account of the transaction with Mr. Felix Babylon. I suppose, he added, you find a difficulty in appreciating my state of mind when I did the deal. Not a bit, said Mr. Levi. I once bought an electric lounge on the Thames in a very similar way, and it turned out to be one of the most satisfactory purchases I ever made. Then it's a simple accident that you own this hotel at the present moment. A simple accident, all because of a beef steak and a bottle of bars. Hmm, grunted Mr. Samson Levi, stroking his dribbled chin. To return to Prince Eugene, Rexall resumed, I was expecting his highness here. The State Departments had been prepared for him. He was due in the very afternoon that young Dimmock died, but he never came, and I have not heard why he has failed to arrive, nor have I seen his name in the papers. What his business was in London, I don't know. I will tell you, said Mr. Samson Levi, he was coming to arrange a loan. A state loan? No, a private loan. Whom from? From me, Samson Levi. You look surprised. If you'd lived in London a little longer, you'd know that I was just the person the prince would come to. Perhaps you aren't aware that down Throckmorton Streetway I'm called the Court Pawn Broker, because I arranged loans for the minor second-class princes of Europe. I'm a stockbroker, but my real business is financing some of the little courts of Europe. Now I may tell you that the Hereditary Prince of Poison particularly wanted a million, and he wanted it by a certain date. And he knew that if the affair wasn't fixed up by a certain time here, he wouldn't be able to get it by that certain date. That's why I'm surprised he isn't in London. What did he need a million for? The debts, answered Samson Levi laconically. His own? Certainly. But he isn't thirty years of age. What of that? He isn't the only European prince who has run up a million of debts in a dozen years. To a prince the thing is as easy as eating a sandwich. And why has he taken this sudden resolution to liquidate them? Because the emperor and the lady's parents won't let him marry till he has done so. And quite right, too. He's got to show a clean sheet where the princess Anna of Eckstein-Schrotzburg will never be princes of Poison. Even now the emperor has no idea how much Prince Eugene's debts amount to, if he had. But would not the emperor know of this proposed loan? Not necessarily at once. It could be so managed. Twig? Mrs. Samson Levi laughed. I've carried these little affairs through before. After marriage it might be allowed to leak out. And you know the princess Anna's fortune is pretty big. Now Mr. Rexel, he added, abruptly changing his tone. Where do you suppose Prince Eugene has disappeared to? If he doesn't turn up today he can't have that million. Today is the last day. Tomorrow the money will be appropriated elsewhere. Of course I'm not alone in this business and my friends have something to say. You ask me where I think Prince Eugene has disappeared to? I do. Then you think it's a disappearance. Samson Levi nodded. Putting two and two together he said, I do. The Dimmock business is very peculiar. Very peculiar indeed. Dimmock was a left-handed relation of the Pozen family. Twig? Scarcely anyone knows that. He was made secretary and companion to Prince Erebert just to keep him in the domestic circle. His mother was an Irish woman whose misfortune was that she was too beautiful. Twig? Mrs. Samson Levi always used this extraordinary word when he was in a communicative mood. My belief is that Dimmock's death has something to do with the disappearance of Prince Eugene. The only thing that passes me is this. Why should anyone want to make Prince Eugene disappear? The poor little prince hasn't an enemy in the world. If he's been copped, as they say, why has he been copped? It won't do anyone any good. Won't it? repeated Rexel with a sudden flash. What do you mean? asked Mr. Levi. I mean this. Suppose some other European pauper prince was anxious to marry Princess Anna and her fortune. Wouldn't that prince have an interest in stopping this loan of yours to Prince Eugene? Wouldn't he have an interest in causing Prince Eugene to disappear at any rate for a time? Samson Levi thought hard for a few moments. Mr. Theodore Rexel, he said at length. I do believe you've hit on something. Chapter 12. On the afternoon of the same day, the interview just described had occurred in the morning, Rexel was visited by another idea, and he said to himself that he ought to have thought of it before. The conversation with Mr. Samson Levi had continued for a considerable time, and the two men had exchanged various notions and agreed to meet again, but the theory that Reginald Dimmock had probably been a traitor to his family, a traitor whose repentance had caused his death, had not been thoroughly discussed. The talk attended rather to continental politics, with a view to discovering what princely family might have an interest in the temporary disappearance of Prince Eugene. Now, as Rexel considered in detail the particular affair of Reginald Dimmock deceased, he was struck by one point especially, to wit, why had Dimmock and Jules maneuvered to turn Nella Rexel out of room number 111 on that first night? That they had so maneuvered, that the broken window-pane was not a mere accident, Rexel felt perfectly sure. He had felt perfectly sure all along, but the significance of the fact had not struck him. It was plain to him now that there must be something of extraordinary and peculiar importance about room number 111. After lunch he wandered quietly upstairs, and looked at room number 111. That is to say, he looked at the outside of it. It happened to be occupied, but the guest was leaving that evening. The thought crossed his mind that there could be no object in gazing blankly at the outside of a room. Yet he gazed. Then he wandered quickly down again to the next floor, and in passing along the quarter of that floor he stopped, and with an involuntary gesture, stamped his foot. Great scot! he said. I've got hold of something. Number 111 is exactly over the State Apartments. He went to the Bureau, and issued instructions that number 111 was not to be re-led to anyone until further orders. At the Bureau they gave him Nella's note, which ran thus. Dearest Papa, I'm going away for a day or two on the trail of a clue. If I'm not back in three days, begin to inquire for me at Austin. Till then, leave me alone, your sagacious daughter, Nell. These few words, in Nella's large, scrolling hand, filled one side of the paper. At the bottom was a PTO. He turned over, and read the sentence, and aligned, P. S. Keep an eye on Rocco. I wonder what the little creature is up to, he murmured, as he tore the letter into small fragments, and threw them into the waste-paper basket. Then, without any delay, he took the lift down to the basement, with the object of making a preliminary inspection of Rocco in his lair. He could scarcely bring himself to believe that this suave and stately gentleman, this enthusiast of gastronomy, was concerned in the machinations of Jules and other rascals unknown. Nevertheless, from habit, he obeyed his daughter, giving her credit for a certain amount of perspicuity and cleverness. The kitchens of the Grand Babylon Hotel are one of the wonders of Europe. Only three years before the events now under narration, Felix Babylon had had them newly installed, with every device and patent that the ingenuity of two continents could supply. They covered nearly an acre of superficial space. They were walled and floored from end to end with tiles and marble, which enabled them to be washed down every morning like the deck of a man of war. Visitors were sometimes taken to see the potato-pairing machine, the patent-plate derail, the Babylon spit, a contrivance of Felix Babylon's own, the silver grill, the system of connected stockpots, and other amazing phenomena of the department. Sometimes, if they were fortunate, they might also see the artist who sculptured ice into forms of men and beasts for table ornaments, or the first napkin-folder in London, or the man who daily invented fresh designs for pastry and blanche. Twelve chefs pursued their labours in those kitchens, helped by ninety assistant chefs, and a further army of unconcerned menials. Overall these was rocko, supreme and unapproachable. Half-way along the suite of kitchens, rocko had an apartment of his own, where any thought out those magnificent combinations, those marvellous feats of succulence and originality, which had given him his fame. Visitors never caught a glimpse of rocko in the kitchens, though sometimes on a special night he would stroll nonchalantly through the dining-room, like the great man he was, to receive the compliments of the hotel habitues, people of insight who recognized his uniqueness. Theatre Rexels' sudden and unusual appearance in the kitchen caused a little stir. He nodded to some of the chefs, but said nothing to any one, merely wondering about amid the maze of copper utensils and white-capped workers. At length he saw rocko, surrounded by several admiring chefs. Rocko was bending over a freshly-roasted partridge, which lay on a blue dish. He plunged a long fork into the back of the bird and raised it in the air with his left hand. In his right he held a long, glittering carving-knife. He was giving one of his world-famous exhibitions of carving. In full, swift, unerring, delicate, perfect strokes, he clearly severed the limbs of the partridge. It was a wonderful achievement. How wondrous, none but the really skillful carver can properly appreciate. The chefs emitted a hum of applause, and rocko, long, lean and graceful, retired to his own apartment. Rexel followed him. Rocko sat in a chair, one hand over his eyes. He had not noticed Theatre Rexels. What are you doing, Mr. Rocko? The millionaire asked, smiling. Ah! exclaimed Rocko, starting up with an apology. Pardon! I was inventing a new mayonnaise, which I shall need for a certain menu next week. Do you invent these things without materials, then? questioned Rexel. Certainly, I do them in my mind. I think them. Why should I want materials? I know all flavours. Think and think and think. And it is done. I write down. I give the recipe to my best chef. There you are. I need not even taste. I know how it will taste. It is like composing music. The great composers do not compose at the piano. I see, said Rexel. It is because I work like that that you pay me three thousand a year. Rocko added gravely. Heard about Jill? said Rexel abruptly. Jill? Yes, he's been arrested in Austin. The millionaire continued, lying cleverly at a venture. They say that he and several others are implicated in a murder case, the murder of Reginald Dimmock. Truly, drawled Rocko, scarcely hiding a yawn. His indifference was so superb, so gorgeous, that Rexel instantly defined that it was assumed for the occasion. It seems that, after all, the police are good for something, but this is the first time I ever knew them to be worth their salt. There is to be a thorough and systematic search of the hotel tomorrow. Rexel went on. I've mentioned it to you to warn you that so far as you are concerned, the search is, of course, merely a matter of form. You will not object to the detectives looking through your rooms. Certainly not. And Rocko shrugged his shoulders. I shall ask you to say nothing about this to anyone, said Rexel. The news of Jill's arrest is quite private to myself. The papers know nothing of it. You comprehend? Rocko smiled in his grand manner, and Rocko's master thereupon went away. Rexel was very well satisfied with the little conversation. It was perhaps dangerous to tell a series of mere lies to a clever fellow like Rocko, and Rexel wondered how he should ultimately explain them to this great master-chef if his and Nella's suspicions should be unfounded and nothing came of them. Nevertheless, Rocko's manner, a stranger loose of something in the man's eyes, nearly convinced Rexel that he was somehow implicated in Jill's schemes, and probably in the death of Reginald Dimmock and the disappearance of Prince Eugen of Posen. That night, or rather about half past one the next morning, when the last noises of the hotel's life had died down, Rexel made his way to room 111 on the second floor. He locked the door on the inside and proceeded to examine the place, square foot by square foot. Every now and then some creak or other sound started him and he listened intently for a few seconds. The bedroom was furnished in the ordinary splendid style of bedrooms at the Grand Babylon Hotel, and in that respect called for no remark. What most interested Rexel was the flooring. He pulled up the thick oriental carpet and peered along every plank, but could discover nothing unusual. Then he went to the dressing room and finally to the bathroom, both of which opened out of the main room. But in neither of these smaller chambers was he any more successful than in the bedroom itself. Finally he came to the bath, which was enclosed in a panelled casing of polished wood, after the manner of baths. Some baths have a cupboard beneath the taps, with a door at the side, but this one appeared to have none. He tapped the panels, but not a single one of them gave forth that curious hollow sound, which usually betokens a secret place. Idly he turned the cold tap of the bath and the water began to rush in. He turned off the cold tap and turned on the waste tap, and as he did so his knee, which was pressing against the panelling, slipped forward. The panelling had given way and he saw that one large panel was hinged from the inside and caught with a hasp also on the inside. The large space within the casing of the end of the bath was thus revealed. Before doing anything else, Raxel tried to repeat the trick with the waste tap, but he failed. It would not work again, nor could he in any way perceive that there was any connection between the rod of the waste tap and the hasp of the panel. Raxel could not see into the cavity within the casing, and the electric light was fixed and could not be moved about like a candle. He fell in his pockets and fortunately discovered a box of matches. Aided by these he looked into the cavity and saw nothing. Except a rather large hole at the far end, some three feet from the casing. With some difficulty he squeezed himself through the open panel and took a half kneeling, half sitting posture within. There he struck a match, and it was the most unfortunate thing that in striking the box being half open he set fire to all the matches and was half smothered in the atrocious stink of phosphorus which resulted. One match burned clear on the floor of the cavity and rubbing his eyes Raxel picked it up and looked down the hole which had previously described. It was a hole apparently bottomless and about 18 inches square. The curious part about the hole was that a rope ladder hung down it. When he saw that rope ladder Raxel smiled the smile of a happy man. The match went out. Should he make a long journey, perhaps to some distant corner of the hotel for a fresh box of matches, or should he attempt to descend that rope ladder in the dark? He decided on the leather course and he was the more strongly moved there too as he could now distinguish a faint, a very faint tinge of light at the bottom of the hole. With infinite care he compressed himself into the well-like hole and descended the leather. At length he arrived on firm ground, perspiring but quite safe and quite excited. He saw now that the tinge of light came through a small hole in the wood. He put his eye to the wood and found that he had a fine view of the state bathroom and threw the door of the state bathroom into the state bedroom. At the massive marble-topped wash stand in the state bedroom a man was visible, bending over some object which lay there on. The man was Rocco. End of chapter 11 and 12. Chapter 13 and 14 of the Grand Babylon Hotel. This is a LibriVox recording. The recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Anna Simon. The Grand Babylon Hotel by Arnold Bennett. Chapter 13 in the State Bedroom. It was of course plain to Rack Soul that the peculiar passageway which he had at great personal inconvenience discovered between the bathroom of number 111 and the state bathroom on the floor below must have been specially designed by some person or persons for the purpose of keeping a nefarious watch upon the occupants of the state suite of apartments. It was a means of communication at once simple and ingenious. At that moment he could not be sure of the precise method employed for it but he surmised that the casing of the water pipes had been used as a well while space for the pipes themselves had been found in the thickness of the ample brick walls of the Grand Babylon. The eye-hole through which he now had a view of the bedroom was a very minute one and probably would scarcely be noticed from the exterior. One thing observed concerning it, namely that it had been made for a man somewhat taller than himself. He was obliged to stand on tiptoe in order to get his eye in the correct position. He remembered that both Jewel and Rocco were distinctly above the average height. Also that they were both thin men and could have descended the well with comparative ease. Theatre Rack Soul, though not stout, was a well-set man with large bones. These things flashed through his mind as he gazed, spellbound at the mysterious movements of Rocco. The door between the bathroom and the bedroom was wide open and his own situation was such that his view embraced a considerable portion of the bedroom including the whole of the immense and gorgeously upholstered bed-stead but not including the whole of the marble wash-stand. He could see only half of the wash-stand and at intervals Rocco passed out of sight as his life-hands moved over the object which lay on the marble. At first Theatre Rack Soul could not decide what this object was but after a time as his eyes grew accustomed to the position and the light he made it out. It was a body of a man. Or rather, to be more exact, Rack Soul could discern the legs of a man on that half of the table which was visible to him. Involuntarily he shuddered as the conviction forced itself upon him that Rocco had some unconscious human being helpless on that cold marble surface. The legs never moved. Therefore the helpless creature was either asleep or under the influence of an anesthetic or, horrible thought, dead. Rack Soul wanted to call out to stop by some means or other a dreadful midnight activity which was proceeding before his astonished eyes but fortunately he restrained himself. On the wash-stand he could see certain strangely shaped utensils and instruments which Rocco used from time to time. The work seemed to Rack Soul to continue for interminable hours and then at last Rocco seized, gave his sign of satisfaction, whistled several bars from Cavalieria rusticana and came into the bathroom where he took off his coat and very quietly washed his hands. As he stood calmly and leisurely wiping those long fingers of his he was less than four feet from Rack Soul and the cooped-up millionaire trembled holding his breath lest Rocco should detect his presence behind the woodwork. But nothing happened and Rocco returned unsuspectingly to the bedroom. Rack Soul saw him place some sort of white flannel garment over the prone form on the table and then lifted bodily onto the great bed where it lay awfully still. The hidden watcher was sure now that it was a corpse upon which Rocco had been exercising his mysterious and sinister functions. But whose corpse and what functions? Could this be a West End hotel? Rack Soul's own hotel in the very heart of London, the best police city in the world. It seemed incredible, impossible. Yet so it was. Once more he remembered what Felix Babylon had said to him and realised the truth of the saying anew. The proprietor of a vast and complicated establishment like the Grand Babylon could never know a tithe of the extraordinary and queer occurrences which happen daily under his very nose. The atmosphere of such a caravanzai must necessarily be an atmosphere of mystery and problems apparently inexplicable. Nevertheless, Rack Soul thought that fate was carrying things with rather a high hand when she permitted his chef to spend the night hours over a man's corpse in a state bedroom, this sacred apartment which was supposed to be occupied only by individuals of royal blood. Rack Soul would not have objected to a certain amount of mystery, but he decidedly thought that there was a little too much mystery here for his taste. He thought that even Felix Babylon would have been surprised at this. The electric chandelier in the centre of the ceiling was not lightest, only the two lights on either side of the wash-tent were switched on and these did not sufficiently illuminate the features of the man on the bed to enable Rack Soul to see them clearly. In vain the millionaire strained his eyes. He could only make out that the corpse was probably that of a young man. Just as he was wondering what would be the best cause of action to pursue, he saw a roco with a square shaped black box in his hand. Then the chef switched off the two electric lights and the state bedroom was in darkness. In that swift darkness, Rack Soul hurled roco spring on to the bed. Another half-dozen moment of suspense and there was a blinding flash of white which endured for several seconds and showed roco standing like an evil spirit over the corpse, the black box in one hand and a burning piece of aluminium wire in the other. The aluminium wire burnt out and darkness followed blacker than before. Rack Soul had photographed the corpse by flashlight. But the dazzling flair which had disclosed the features of the dead man to the insensible lens of the camera had disclosed them also to theatre Rack Soul. The dead man was retinal Dimek. Stung into action by this discovery, Rack Soul tried to find the exit from his place of concealment. He felt sure that there existed some way out into the state bathroom, but he sought for it fruitlessly, groping with both hands and feet. Then he decided that he must ascend the rope-letter, make haste to the first-floor corridor and intercept Rocco when he left the state apartments. It was a painful and difficult business to ascend that thin and yielding letter in such a confined space. But Rack Soul was managing it very nicely and had nearly reached the top when, by some untoward freak of chance, the letter broke above his weight and he slipped ignominiously down to the bottom of the wooden tube. Smothering an excusable curse, Rack Soul crouched, baffled. Then he saw that the force of his fall had somehow opened a trap-door at his feet. He squeezed through, pushed open another tiny door, and in another second stood in the state bathroom. He was dishevelled, perspiring, rather bewildered, but he was there. In the next second he had resumed absolute command of all his faculties. Strange to say, he had moved so quietly that Rocco had apparently not hurt him. He stepped noiselessly to the door between the bathroom and the bedroom and stood there in silence. Rocco had switched on again, the lights over the wash-dand and was busy with his utensils. Rack Soul deliberately cuffed. Chapter 14 Rocco answers some questions. Rocco turned round with the swiftness of a startled tiger and gave Theodore Rack Soul one long piercing glance. Damn! said Rocco, with its pure and Anglo-Saxon accent in intonation as Rack Soul himself could have accomplished. The most extraordinary thing about the situation was that at this juncture Theodore Rack Soul did not know what to say. He was so dumbfounded by the affair and especially by Rocco's absolute and sublime calm that both speech and thought failed him. I give in, said Rocco. From the moment you entered this cursed hotel I was afraid of you. I told you I was afraid of you. I knew there would be trouble with the man of your kidney and I was right, confounded. I tell you I give in. I know when I'm beaten. I've got no revolver and no weapons of any kind. I surrender. Do what you like. And with that Rocco sat down on the chair. It was magnificently done. Only a truly great man could have done it. Rocco actually kept his dignity. For answer Rack Soul walked slowly into the vast apartment, seized the chair and dragging it up to Rocco's chair sat down opposite to him. They faced each other, their knees almost touching, both in even dress. On Rocco's right hand was the bed with the corpse of Reginald Dimmock. On Rack Soul's right hand and a little behind him was the marble wash stand still littered with Rocco's implements. The electric light shone on Rocco's left cheek, leaving the other side of his face in shadow. Rack Soul tapped him on the knee twice. So you're another Englishman masquerading as a foreigner in my hotel. Rack Soul remarked by way of commencing the interrogation. I'm not, answered Rocco quietly. I'm a citizen of the United States. That juice you are, Rack Soul exclaimed. Yes, I was born at West Orange, New Jersey, New York State. I call myself an Italian because it was in Italy that I first made a name as a chef at Rome. It's better for a great chef like me to be a foreigner. Imagine a great chef named Eliu P. Rocco. You can't imagine it. Rack Soul reached my nationality for the same reason that my friend and colleague, Jules, otherwise Mr. Jackson, changed his. So, Jules is your friend and colleague, is he? He was, but from this moment he is no longer. I began to disapprove of his methods no less than a week ago, and my disapproval will now take active form. Will it? said Rack Soul. I calculated just won't, Mr. Eliu P. Rocco, citizen of the United States. Before you're very much older, you'll be in the kind hands of the police and your activities in no matter what direction will come to an abrupt conclusion. It is possible, said Rocco. In the meantime, I'll ask you one or two questions for my own private satisfaction. You've acknowledged that the game is up and you may as well answer them with as much candor as you feel yourself capable of. See? I see, replied Rocco calmly. But I guess I can't answer all questions. I'll do what I can. Well, said Rack Soul, clearing his throat. What's the scheme all about? Tell me in a word. Not in a thousand words. It isn't my secret, you know. Why was poor little Dimmock poisoned? The millionaire's voice softened as he looked for an instant at the corpse of the unfortunate young man. I don't know, said Rocco. I don't mind informing you that I objected to that part of the business. I wasn't made aware of it till after it was done. And then, I tell you, it got my dander up considerable. He meant to say you don't know why Dimmock was done to death? I meant to say I couldn't see the sense of it. Of course he, um, died because he sort of cried off the scheme, having previously taken a share of it. I don't mind saying that much because you'll probably guess it for yourself. But I solemnly state that I have a conscientious objection to murder. Then it was murder. It was a kind of murder, Rocco admitted. Who did it? Unfair question, said Rocco. Who else is in this precious scheme beside Jewel and yourself? Don't know, on my honour. Well then, tell me this. What have you been doing to Dimmock's body? How long were you in that bathroom? Rocco parried with sublime impudence. Don't question me, Mr. Rocco. I don't know. Don't question me, Mr. Rocco, said theater rexhole. I feel very much inclined to break your back across my knee. Therefore I advise you not to irritate me. What have you been doing to Dimmock's body? I've been embalming it. Embalming it? Certainly. Richardson's system of arterial fluid injection has improved by myself. You weren't aware that I included the art of embalming among my accomplishments. It is so. But why, asked rexhole, more mystified than ever, why should you trouble to embalm the poor chap's corpse? Can't you see? Doesn't it strike you? That corpse has to be taken care of. It contains, or rather, it did contain, very serious evidence against some person or persons unknown to the police. It may be necessary to move it about from place to place. A corpse can't be hidden for long. One couldn't throw it in a thumps, for it would have been found inside twelve hours. One couldn't bury it. It wasn't safe. The only thing was to keep it handy and movable, ready for emergencies. I needn't inform you that, without embalming, you can't keep a corpse handy and movable for more than four or five days. It's the kind of thing that won't keep. And so it was suggested that I should embalm it. And I did. Mind you, I still objected to the murder, but you're back on a colleague, you understand? You do understand that, don't you? Well, here you are. And here it is. And that's all. Rocco leaned back in his chair, as though he'd said everything that ought to be said. He closed his eyes to indicate that, so far as he was concerned, the conversation was also closed. Theatre Rexel stood up. I hope, said Rocco, suddenly opening his eyes, I hope you're calling the police without any delay. It's getting late, and I don't like going without my night's rest. Where do you suppose you'll get a night's rest? Rexel asked. In the cells, of course. Haven't I told you I know when I'm beaten? I'm not so blind as not to be able to see that there's at any rate a prima facie case against me. I expect I shall get off with a year or two his imprisonment as accessory after the fact. I think that's what they call it. Anyhow, I shall be in a position to prove that I'm not implicated in the murder of this unfortunate nincompoop. He pointed with a strange, scornful gesture of his elbow to the bed. And now, shall we go? Everyone is asleep, but there will be a policeman within call of the watchman in the portico. I'm at your service. Let us go down together, Mr. Rexel, and give you my word to go quietly. Stay a moment, said Theatre Rexel curtly. There's no hurry. It won't do you any harm to forgo another hour's sleep, especially as you will have no work to do tomorrow. I have one or two more questions to put to you. Well, Rocco murmured, with an air of tired resignation, as if to say, what must be must be? Where has Dimick's corpse been during the last three or four days, since he died? Oh, answered Rocco, apparently surprised at the simplicity of the question. It's been in my room, and one night it was on the roof. Once it went out of the hotel as luggage, but it came back the next day in the case of De Marar's sugar. I forgot where else it has been, but it's been kept perfectly safe and treated with every consideration. And who contrived all these maneuvers? asked Rexel as calmly as he could. I did. That is to say, I invented them, and I saw that they were carried out. You see, the suspicions of your police obliged me to be particularly spry. And who carried them out? Ah, that would be telling tales. But I don't mind assuring you that my accomplices were innocent accomplices. It is absurdly easy for a man like me to impose on underlings. Absurdly easy. What did you intend to do with the corpse ultimately? Rexel pursued his inquiry with immovable countenance. Who knows, said Rocco, twisting his beautiful moustache. That would have depended on several things. On your police, for instance. But probably in the end we should have restored this mortal clay. Again, he jerked off to the man's soaring relatives. Do you know who the relatives are? Certainly, don't you? If you don't, I need only hint that Dimmock had a prince for his father. It seems to me, said Rexel, with cold sarcasm, that you behaved rather clumsily in choosing this bedroom as the scene of your operations. Not at all, said Rocco. There was no other apartment so suitable in the whole hotel. Who would have thought that anything was going on here? It was the very place for me. I guessed, said Rexel, succinctly. Yes, you guessed, Mr. Rexel, but I had not counted on you. You are the only smart man in the business. You are an American citizen and I hadn't reckoned to have to deal with that class of person. Apparently I frightened you this afternoon. Not in the least. You were not afraid of a search. I knew that no search was intended. I knew that no search was intended. I knew that you were trying to frighten me. You must really credit me with a little sagacity and insight, Mr. Rexel. Immediately you began to talk to me in the kitchen this afternoon. I felt that you were on the track. But I was not frightened. I merely decided that there was no time to be lost, that I must act quickly. I did act quickly, but it seems not quickly enough. I grant that your rapidity exceeded mine. Let us go downstairs, I beg. Rocco rose and moved towards the door. With an instinctive action Rexel rushed forward and seized him by the shoulder. No tricks, said Rexel. You're in my custody and don't forget it. Rocco turned on his employer, a look of gentle, dignified scorn. Have I not informed you, he said, that I have the intention of going quietly? Rexel felt almost ashamed for the moment. It flashed across him that a man can be great, even in crime. What an ineffable fool you were, said Rexel, stopping him at the threshold. With your talents, your unique talents, to get yourself mixed up in an affair of this kind. You are ruined, and by Jove you are a great man in your own line. Mr. Rexel, said Rocco very quickly, that is the truest word you have spoken this night. I was a great man in my own line, and I am an ineffable fool, alas. He brought his long arms to his sides with a thud. Why did you do it? I was fascinated, fascinated by Jove. He too is a great man. We had great opportunities here in the Grand Babylon. It was a great game. It was worth the candle. The prizes were enormous. You would admit these things if you knew the facts. Perhaps some day you will know them, for you are a fairly clever person at getting to the root of a matter. Yes, I was blinded, hypnotised. And now you are ruined. Not ruined, not ruined. Afterwards, in a few years I shall come up again. A man of genius like me is never ruined till he is dead. Genius is always forgiven. I shall be forgiven. Suppose I am sent to prison. When I emerge I shall be no goldbird. I shall be Rocco, the great Rocco, and half the hotels in Europe will invite me to join them. Let me tell you, as man to man you have achieved your own degradation. There is no excuse. I know it, said Rocco. Let us go. Racksel was distinctly and notably impressed by this man, by this master spirit to whom he was to have paid a salary at the rate of three thousand pounds a year. He even felt sorry for him. And so, side by side, the captor and the captured, they pass into the vast, deserted corridor of the hotel. Rocco stopped at the grating of the first lift. It will be locked, said Racksel. We must use the stairs tonight. But I have a key. I always carry one, said Rocco, and he pulled one out of his pocket, and, unfastening the iron screen, pushed it open. Racksel smiled at his readiness in a plum. After you, said Rocco, bowing in his finest manner, and Racksel stepped into the lift. With the swiftness of lightning, Rocco pushed forward the iron screen, which locked itself automatically. Theatre Racksel was hopelessly a prisoner within the lift, while Rocco stood free in the corridor. Goodbye, Mr. Racksel, he remarked swathly, bowing again, lower than before. Goodbye. I hate to take a mean advantage of you in this fashion, but really you must allow that you've been very simple. You are a clever man, as I've already said, up to a certain point. It is past that point that my own cleverness comes in. Again, goodbye. After all, I shall have no rest tonight, but perhaps even that will be better than sleeping in a police cell. If you make a great noise, you may wake someone and ultimately get released from this lift. But I advise you to compose yourself and wait till morning. It will be more dignified. For the third time, goodbye. And with that, Rocco, without hastening, walked down the corridor and so out of sight. Racksel said never a word. He was too disgusted with himself to speak. He clenched his fists and put his teeth together and held his breath. In the silence he could hear the dwindling sound of Rocco's footsteps on the thick carpet. It was the greatest blow of Racksel's life. The next morning the high-born guests of the Grand Babylon were aroused by a rumour that by some accident the millionaire proprietor of the hotel had remained all night locked up in the lift. It was also stated that Rocco had quarreled with his new master and incontinently left the place. A duchess said that Rocco's departure would mean the ruin of the hotel, whereupon our husband advised her not to talk nonsense. As for Racksel, he sent a message for the detective in charge of the Dimmick Affair and bravely told him the happenings of the previous night. The narration was a decided ordeal to a man of Racksel's temperament. A strange story commented Detective Marshall and he could not avoid a smile. The climax was unfortunate, but you've certainly got some valuable facts. Racksel said nothing. I myself have a clue, added the detective. When your message arrived I was just coming up to see you. I want you to accompany me to a certain spot not far from here. Will you come? Now? At once? With pleasure, said Racksel. At that moment a page ended with a telegram. Racksel opened it and read, Please come instantly, Nella, Hotel Wellington, Ostend. He looked at his watch. I can't come, he said to the detective. I'm going to Ostend. To Ostend? Yes, now. But really Mr. Racksel protested the detective. My business is urgent. So's mine, said Racksel. In ten minutes he was on his way to Victoria Station. End of Chapter 13 and 14 Chapter 15 and 16 of the Grand Babylon Hotel This is the LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Anna Simon The Grand Babylon Hotel by Arnold Bennett Chapter 15 End of the Yord Adventure We must now return to Nella Racksel and Prince Ereber of Posen without a name. The Prince's first business was to make Jule otherwise Mr. Tom Jackson perfectly secure by means of several pieces of rope. Although Mr. Jackson had been stunned into complete unconsciousness and there was a contused wound under his ear no one could say how soon he might not come to himself and get very violent. So the Prince, having tied his arms and legs made him fast to his tension. I hope he won't die, said Nella. He looks very white. The Mr. Jackson's of this world, Prince Ereber sententiously, never die till they're hung. By the way, I wonder how it is that no one has interfered with us. Perhaps they are just quickly afraid of my revolver. Of your revolver, I mean. Both he and Nella glanced up at the improbable steersman who kept the Yord's head straight out to sea. By this time they were about a couple of miles from the Belgian shore. Addressing him in French the Prince ordered the sailor to put the Yord about and make again for Ostend Harbour but the fellow took no notice whatever of the summons. The Prince raised the revolver with the idea of frightening the steersman and then the man began to talk rapidly in a mixture of French and Flemish. He said that he received Gilles' strict orders not to interfere in any way no matter what might happen on the deck of the Yord. He was the captain of the Yord and he had to make for a certain English port the name of which he could not dare velge. He was to keep the vessel at full steam ahead under any and all circumstances. He seemed to be a very big a very strong and a very determined man and the Prince was at a loss what cause of action to pursue. He asked several more questions but the only effect of them was to render the man taciturn and ill-humoured. In vain Prince Erebride explained that Miss Nella Rexel, daughter of millionaire Rexel had been abducted by Mr. Tom Jackson. In vain he flourished the revolver threateningly. The surly but courageous captain said merely that that had nothing to do with him. He had instructions and he should carry them out. He sarcastically begged to remind his interlocutor that he was the captain of the Yord. It won't do to shoot him, I suppose, said the Prince Nella. I might bore a hole into his leg or something of that kind. It's rather risky and rather hard on the poor captain with his extraordinary sense of duty, said Nella. And besides, the whole crew might turn on us. No, we must think of something else. I wonder where the crew is, said the Prince. Just then Mr. Jackson, prone and bound on the deck, showed signs of recovering from his swoon. His eyes opened and he gazed vacantly around. At length he caught sight of the Prince who approached him with a revolver well in view. It's you, is it? He a moment faintly. What are you doing on board? Who's typed me up like this? See here, replied the Prince. I don't want to have any arguments, often at once, where you will be given up to the authorities. Really? snarled Mr. Tom Jackson. Shall I? Then he called out in French to the man at the wheel. Hi, André! Let these two be put off in the dinghy. It was a peculiar situation, certain of nothing but a possession of Nella's revolver the Prince scarcely knew whether to carry the argument further and with stronger measures or to accept the situation with as much dignity as the circumstances would permit. Let us take the dinghy, said Nella. We can row his shore in an hour. He felt that she was right. To leave the yord in such a manner seemed somewhat ignominious and it suddenly involved the escape of that profound villain Mr. Thomas Jackson. But what else could be done? The Prince and Nella constituted one party on the vessel. They knew their own strength but they did not know the strength of their opponents. They helped the hostile ringleader bound and captive but this man had proved himself capable of giving orders and even to gag him would not help them if the captain of the yord persisted in his obstinate course. Moreover, there was a distinct objection to promiscuous shooting. The Prince felt that there was no knowing how promiscuous shooting might end. We will take the dinghy, said the Prince quickly to the captain. A bell rang below and a sailor and the negro boy appeared on deck. The pulsations of the screw grew less rapid. The yord stopped. The dinghy was lowered. As the Prince and Nella prepared to descend into the little cock boat, Mr. Tom Jackson addressed Nella all bound as he lay. Good-bye, he said. I shall see you again, never fear. In another moment they were in the dinghy and the dinghy was adrift. The yord's screw churned the water and the beautiful vessels slipped away from them. As it receded a figure appeared at the stern. It was Mr. Thomas Jackson. He had been released by his minions. He held a white handkerchief to his ear and offered a calm, enigmatic smile to the two forlorn but victorious occupants of the dinghy. Jules had been defeated for once in his life or perhaps it would be more just to say that he had been outmaneuvered. Men like Jules are incapable of being defeated. It was characteristic of his look that now in the very hour when he had been caught red-handed in a serious crime against society he should be effecting a leisurely escape an escape which left no clue behind. The sea was utterly calm and blue in the morning sun. The dinghy rocked itself lazily in the swell of the yord's departure. As the mist cleared away the outline of the shore became more distinct and it appeared as if Austin was distance scarcely a cable's length. The white dome of the Great Crosal glittered in the pale turquoise sky and the smoke of steamers in the harbour could be plainly distinguished. On the offing was a crowd of brown-sailed fishing loggers returning with the night's catch. The many ewed bathing vans could be countered on the distant beach. Everything seemed perfectly normal. It was difficult for either Nella or her companion to realise that anything extraordinary had happened within the last hour. Yet there was the yord, not a mile off to prove to them that something very extraordinary had in fact happened. The yord was no vision nor was that sinister watching figure at its turn a vision either. I suppose Jules was too surprised and too feeble to inquire how I came to be on board as yord, said the Prince, taking the oars. Oh, how did you? asked Nella, her face lighting up. Really, I'd almost forgotten that part of the affair. I must begin at the beginning and it will take some time, answered the Prince. Had we not better postpone the recital till we get ashore? I will row and you shall talk, said Nella. I want to know now. He smiled happily at her but gently declined to yield up the oars. Is it not sufficient that I'm here? he said. It is sufficient, yes, she replied. But I want to know. With a long, easy stroke he was putting the dinghy shore-wits, she said in the stern-sheets. There is no rudder, he remarked. So you must direct me. Keep the boat's head on the lighthouse. The tide seems to be running in strongly. That will help us. The people on shore will think that we've only been for a little early morning excursion. Will you kindly tell me how it came about that you were able to save my life, Prince? she said. Save your life, Miss Rexel. I didn't save your life. I merely knocked a man down. You saved my life, she repeated. That villain would have stopped at nothing. I saw it in his eye. Then you were a brave woman for you showed no fear of death. His admiring gaze rested full on her. For a moment the oars seized to move. She gave a gesture of impatience. It happened that I saw you last night in your carriage, he said. The fact is, I had not had the audacity to go to Berlin with my story. I stopped in Ostend to see whether I could do a little detective work on my own account. It was a piece of good luck that I saw you. I followed the carriage as quickly as I could and I just caught a glimpse of you as you entered that awful house. I knew that you had something to do with that house. I guessed what you were doing. I was afraid for you. Fortunately, I'd surveyed the house pretty thoroughly. There was an entrance to it at the back from a narrow lane. I made my way there. I got into the yard at the back and I stood under the window of the room where you had the interview with Miss Spencer. I heard everything that was said. It was a courageous enterprise in your part to follow Miss Spencer from the Grand Babylon to Ostend. Well, I dared not force an entrance lest I might precipitate matters too suddenly and involve both of us in a difficulty. I merely kept watch. Ah, Miss Rexel, you were magnificent with Miss Spencer. As I say, I could hear every word for the window was slightly open. I felt that you needed no assistance from me. And then she cheated you with a trick and the revolver came flying through the window. I picked it up. I thought it would probably be useful. There was a silence. I did not guess at first that you had fainted. I thought that you had escaped. When I found out the truth it was too late for me to intervene. There were two men, both desperate, besides Miss Spencer. Who was the other man? asked Nella. I do not know. It was dark. They drove away with you to the harbour. Again I followed. I saw them carry you on board. Before the yard weighed anchor I managed to climb unobserved into the dinghy. I lay down full length in it and no one suspected that I was there. I think you know the rest. Was the yard already for sea? The yard was already for sea. The captain fellow was on the bridge and steam was up. Then they expected me. How could that be? They expected someone. I do not think they expected you. Did the second man go on board? He helped to carry you along the gangway but he came back again to the carriage. He was the driver. And no one else saw the business? The key was deserted. You see the last steamer had arrived for the night. There was a brief silence and then Nella ejaculated under her breath. Truly it is a wonderful world. And it was a wonderful world for them. Those ghastly perhaps in the sense which Nella Rexel had intended. They had just emerged from a highly disconcerting experience. Among other minor inconveniences they had had no breakfast. They were out in the sea in a tiny boat. Neither of them knew what the day might bring forth. The man at least had the most serious anxieties for the safety of his royal nephew. And yet neither of them wished that that voyage of the little boat on the summer tide should come to an end. Each perhaps unconsciously had a vague desire that it might last forever. He lazily pulling, she directing his course at intervals by a movement of a distractingly pretty head. How was this condition of affairs to be explained? Well they were both young. Both had superb health and all the ardour of youth and they were together. The boat was very small indeed. Her face was scarcely a yard from his. She in his eyes surrounded by the glamour of beauty and vast wealth. He in her eyes surrounded by the glamour of masculine interpidity and the brilliance of a throne. But all voyages come to an end either at the shore or at the bottom of the sea past within the stone jetties of the harbour. The prince rode to the nearest steps tied at the boat and they landed. It was six o'clock in the morning and a day of gorgeous sunlight had opened. Few people were about at that early hour. And now what next? said the prince. I must take you to a hotel. I'm in your hands, she acquiesced with a smile which sent the blood racing through his veins. He perceived now that she was tired and overcome suffering from a sudden and natural reaction. At the hotel Wellington the prince told the sleepy doorkeeper that they had come by the early train from Bruges and wanted breakfast at once. It was absurdly early but a common English sovereign will work wonders in any Belgian hotel. And in a very brief time Nella and the prince were breakfasting on the veranda of the hotel upon chocolate that had been specially and hastily brewed for them. I never tasted such excellent chocolate claimed the prince. Nella was wildly untrue for the hotel Wellington is not celebrated for its chocolate. Nevertheless Nella replied enthusiastically Nor I. Then there was a silence and Nella, feeling possibly that she had been too ecstatic remarked in a very matter effect tone I must telegraph to papa instantly. Thus it was that Theodore Rexell received the telegram which drew him away from detective Marshall. Chapter 16 The Woman with the Red Hat There is one thing, Prince, that we've just got to settle straight off said Theodore Rexell. There were all three seated. Rexell, his daughter and Prince Erobert rounded dinner table in a private room at the hotel Wellington. Rexell had newly arrived by the afternoon boat and had been met on the key by the other two. They had dined early and Rexell had heard the full story of the adventures by sea and land of Nella and the prince. As to his own adventure of the previous night he said very little, merely explaining with as little detail as possible that Dimmick's body had come to light. What is that? asked the prince in answer to Rexell's remark. We've got to settle whether we should tell the police at once all that has occurred or whether we shall proceed on our own responsibility. There can be no doubt as to which cause we ought to pursue. Every consideration of prudence points to the advisability of taking the police into our confidence and leaving the matter entirely in their hands. Oh, papa! Nella burst out in her pouting impulsive way. You surely can't think of such a thing. Why, the fun has only just begun. Do you call last night fun? questioned Rexell, gazing at her solemnly. Yes, I do, she said promptly. Now? Well, I don't, was the millionaire's laconic response but perhaps he was thinking of his own situation in the lift. Do you not think we might investigate a little further? said the prince judiciously as he cracked a walnut? Just a little further and then if we fail to accomplish anything there would still be ample opportunity to consult the police. How do you suggest we should begin? asked Rexell. Well, there is the house which Miss Rexell so intrepidly entered last evening. He gave her the homage of an admiring glance. You and I, Mr. Rexell, might examine that abode in detail. Tonight? Certainly, we might do something. We might do too much. For example? We might shoot someone or get ourselves mistaken for burglars. If we outstep the law it would be no excuse for us that we've been acting in a good cause. True, said the prince, nevertheless he stopped. Nevertheless you have a distaste for bringing the police into the business. You want the hunt all to yourself. You are on fire with the ardour of the chase. It's not that it. Accept the advice of an older man, Prince and sleep on this affair. I have little fancy for a nocturnal escapades two nights together. As for you, Nell, off with you to bed. The prince and I will have a yarn over such fluids as can be obtained in this whole. Papa, she said, you're perfectly horrid tonight. Perhaps I am, he said. Decidedly I am very cross with you for coming over here all alone. It was monstrous. If I didn't happen to be the most foolish of parents, there, good night. It's nine o'clock. The prince, I'm sure, will excuse you. If Nella had not really been very tired, Prince Erebert might have been the witness of a good natured but stubborn conflict between the millionaire and his spirit at offspring. As it was, Nella departed with surprising docility and the two men were left alone. Now, said Rexel suddenly, changing his tone, I fancy that after all I am your man for a little amateur investigation tonight, and if I must speak the exact truth, I think that the sleep on this affair would be about the very worst thing we could do. But I was anxious to keep Nella out of harm's way at any rate till tomorrow. She is a very difficult creature to manage, Prince, and I may warn you, he laughed grimly, that if we do succeed in doing anything tonight, we shall catch it from her ladyship in the morning. Are you ready to take that risk? I am, the prince smiled. But Miss Rexel is a young lady of quite remarkable nerve. She is, said Rexel dryly. I wish sometimes she'd less. I have the highest admiration for Miss Rexel, said the prince, and he looked Miss Rexel's father full in the face. You honour us, Prince, Rexel observed. Let us come to business. Am I right in assuming that you have a reason for keeping the police out of this business, if it can possibly be done? Yes, said the prince, and his brow clouded. I am very much afraid that my poor nephew has involved himself in some scrape that he would wish not to be diverged. Then you do not believe that he is the victim of foul play. I do not. And the reason, if I may ask it? Mr. Rexel, we speak in confidence. Is it not so? Some years ago, my foolish nephew had an affair, an affair with a feminine star of the Berlin stage. For anything I know the lady may have been the very pattern of her sex, but where a reigning prince is concerned scandal cannot be avoided in such a matter. I had thought that the affair was quite at an end, since my nephew's betrothal to Princess Anna of Eckstein-Schatzburg is shortly to be the day I saw the lady to whom I have referred driving on the dig. The coincidence of her presence here with my nephew's disappearance is too extraordinary to be disregarded. But how does this theory square with the murder of Reginald Dimmock? It does not square with it. My idea is that the murder of poor Dimmock and the disappearance of my nephew are entirely unconnected. Unless, indeed, this Berlin actress is playing into the hands of the murderers. I have not thought of that. Then what do you propose to do tonight? I propose to enter the house which Miss Rexall entered last night and to find out something definite. I concur, said Rexall. I shall heartily enjoy it. But let me tell you, Prince, and pardon me for speaking bluntly, your surmise is incorrect. I would wager a hundred thousand pounds that Prince Eugen has been kidnapped. What grounds have you for being so sure? Ah, said Rexall. That's a long story. Let me begin by asking you this. Are you aware that your nephew, Prince Eugen, owes a million of money? A million of money? cried Prince Eurebret astonished. It is impossible. Nevertheless, he does, said Rexall calmly. Then he told him all he had learned from Mr. Sampson Levi. What have you to say to that? Rexall ended. Prince Eurebret made no reply. What have you to say to that? Rexall insisted. Merely that Eugen is ruined, even if he is alive. Not at all, Rexall returned with cheerfulness. Not at all. We shall see about that. The special thing that I want to know just now from you is this. Has any previous application ever been made for the hand of the Princess Anna? Yes, last year. The King of Bosnia sued for it. But his proposal was declined. Why? Because my nephew was considered to be a more suitable match for her. Not because the personal character of His Majesty of Bosnia is scarcely of the brightest. No. Unfortunately, it is usually impossible to consider questions of personal character when a royal match is concerned. Then, if for any reason the marriage of Princess Anna with your nephew was frustrated, the King of Bosnia would have a chance in that quarter. He would. The political aspect of things would be perfectly satisfactory. Thanks, said Rexall. I will wager another hundred thousand dollars that someone in Bosnia – I don't accuse the King himself – is at the bottom of this business. The methods of Balkan politicians have always been half oriental. Let us go. Where? To this precious house of none's adventure. But surely it is too early. So it is, said Rexall. And we shall want a few things too. For instance, a dark lantern. I think I will go out and forge for a lantern. And a revolver, suggested Prince Erebrot. Does it mean revolvers? The millionaire laughed. It may come to that. Here you are, then, my friend, said Rexall, and he pulled one out of his hip pocket. And yours? I, said the Prince, I have your daughters. That use you have, murmured Rexall to himself. It was then half past nine. They decided that it would be impolitic to begin their operation till after midnight. There were three hours to spare. Let us go and see the gambling, Rexall suggested. We might encounter the Berlin Lady. The suggestion, in the first instance, was not made seriously. But it appeared to both men that they might do worse than spend the intervening time in the gorgeous saloon where, in the season, as much money is won and lost as at Monte Carlo. It was striking ten o'clock as they entered the rooms. There was a large company present, a company which included some of the most notorious persons in Europe. In that multifarious assemblage, all were equal. The electric light shone coldly and impartially on the just and on the unjust, on the fool and the nave, on the European and the Asiatic. As usual, women monopolized places at the tables. The scene was familiar enough to Prince Erebert, who had witnessed it frequently at Monaco. But theatre Rexall had never before entered any European gaming palace. He had only the haziest idea of the rules of play, and he was at once interested. For some time they watched the play at the table which happened to be nearest to them. Rexall never moved his lips. With his eyes glued on the table and ears open for every remark of the players in the croupier, he saw his first lesson in roulette. He saw a mere youth win 15,000 francs, which was stolen in the most bare-faced manner by a rouged girl scarcely older than the youth. He saw two old game-sters stake their coins and lose and walk quietly out of the place. He saw the bank win 50,000 francs at a single turn. This is rather good fun, he said at length, but the stakes are too small to make it really exciting. I'll try my luck, just for the experience. I'm down to win. Why? asked the prince. Because I always do in games of chance, Rexall answered with gay confidence. It is my fate. Then, tonight, you must remember, I shall be your beginner, and you know the tyros' luck. In ten minutes the croupier of that table was obliged to suspend operations pending the arrival of a further supply of coin. What did I tell you? said Rexall, leading the way to another table, further up the room. A hundred curious glances went after him. One old woman, whose gay attire suggested a false youthfulness, begged him in French to stake a five franc piece for her. She offered him the coin. He took it and gave her a hundred franc note in exchange. She clutched the crisp rustling paper and with hysterical haste scuttled back to her own table. At the second table there was a considerable air of excitement. In the forefront of the players was a woman in a low-cut evening dress of black silk and a large red picture head. Her age appeared to be about twenty-eight. She had dark eyes, full lips, and a distinctly Jewish nose. She was handsome, but her beauty was of that forbidding, sinister order which is often called ginuesque. This woman was the centre of attraction. People said to each other that she'd won a hundred and sixty thousand francs that day at the table. You're right, Prince Erebert whispered to Theodore Rexall. That is the Berlin lady. That juice she is. Has she seen you? Will she know you? She would probably know me but she hasn't looked up yet. Keep behind her, then. I propose to find her a little occupation. By dint of a carefully exercised diplomacy Rexall manoeuvred himself into a seat opposite to the lady in the red head. The fame of his success at the other table had followed him and people regarded him as a serious and formidable player. In the first turn the lady put a thousand francs on double zero. A hundred on number nineteen and a thousand on the odd numbers. Nineteen one. Rexall received four thousand four hundred francs. Nine times in succession Rexall backed number nineteen in the odd numbers. Nine times the lady backed double zero. Nine times Rexall won and the lady lost. The other players, perceiving that the affair had resulted itself into a duel, stood back for the most part and watched those two. Rexall stirred from his position behind the great red head. The game continued. Rexall lost trifles from time to time but the nineteen-nine hundredth of the luck was with him. As an English spectator at the table remarked he couldn't do wrong. When midnight struck the lady in the red head was reduced to a thousand francs. Then she fell into a winning vein for half an hour. But at one o'clock her resources were exhausted. After a hundred and sixty thousand francs which he was reputed to have had early in the evening Rexall held about ninety thousand and the bank had the rest. It was a calamity for the junior of the red head. She jumped up, stamped her foot and hurried from the room. At a discreet distance Rexall and the prince pursued her. It might be well to ascertain her movements said Rexall. Outside, in the glare of the great arcolites and within sound of the surf which beats always at the very foot of the coursel the junior of the red head summoned a figure and drove rapidly away. Rexall and the prince took an open carriage and started in pursuit. They had not, however, travelled more than half a mile when Prince Ayrebert stopped the carriage and, bidding Rexall get out, paid the driver and dismissed him. I feel sure I know where she's going, he explained, and it would be better for us to follow on foot. You mean she's making for the scene of the last night's affair, said Rexall? Exactly. We shall, what you call, kill two birds with one stone. Prince Ayrebert's guess was correct. The lady's carriage stopped in front of the house where Nella Rexall and Miss Spencer had had their interview on the previous evening and the lady vanished into the building just as the two men appeared at the end of the street. Instead of proceeding along that street the prince led Rexall to the lane which gave on to the backs of the houses and he counted the houses as they went up the lane. In a few minutes that burglariously climbed over a wall and crept with infinite caution up a long narrow piece of ground half garden, half paved yard till they crouched under a window a window which was shielded by curtains but which had been left open a little. Listen, said the prince in his lightest whisper. They're talking. Who? The Berlin lady and Miss Spencer. I'm sure it's Miss Spencer's voice. Rexall boldly pushed the French window a little wider open and put his ear to the aperture through which came a beam of yellow light. Take my place. He whispered to the prince. They're talking German. You'll understand better. Silently they exchanged places under the window and the prince listened intently. Then he refused Miss Spencer's visitor was saying there was no answer from Miss Spencer. Not even a thousand francs? I tell you I've lost the whole twenty five thousand. Again no answer. Then I'll tell the whole story the lady went on in an angry rush of words. I did what I promised to do I enticed him here and you've got him safe in your vile cellar, poor little man and you won't give me a paltry thousand francs? You've already had your price. The words were Miss Spencer's they fell cold and calm on the night air. I want another thousand. I haven't it. Then we'll see. Prince Erebert heard a rustle of flying skirts then another movement a door banked and the beam of light through the aperture of the window suddenly disappeared. He pushed the window wide open the room was in darkness and apparently empty. Now that lantern of yours he sat eagerly to see a Rexel after he had translated to him the conversation of the two women. Rexel produced a dark lantern from the capacious pocket of his dustcoat and lighted it the ray flashed about the ground. What is it? exclaimed Prince Erebert with a swift cry pointing to the ground. The lantern threw its light on a perpendicular grating at their feet through which could be discerned a cellar. They both knelt down and peered into the subterranean chamber. On a broken chair a young man sat listlessly with closed eyes his head leaning heavily forward on his chest. In the feeble light of the lantern he had a livid and ghastly appearance of a corpse. Who can it be? said Rexel. It is Eugene was the prince's low answer. End of chapter 16