 Chapter 25 and 26 of the Grand Babylon Hotel. Mr. Tom Jackson's notion of making good is escaped from the hotel by means of a steam launch was an excellent one, so far as it went, but Theodore Rexall for his part did not consider that it went quite far enough. Theodore Rexall opined with peculiar glee that he now had a tangible and definite clue for the catching of the Grand Babylon's ex-waiter. He knew nothing of the Port of London, but he happened to know a good deal of the far more complicated, though somewhat smaller, Port of New York, and he felt sure there ought to be no extraordinary difficulty in getting hold of Gilles' steam launch. To those who are not thoroughly familiar with it, the river Thames and its docks, from London Bridge to Gravesend, seems a vast and uncharted wilderness of craft, a wilderness in which it would be perfectly easy to hide even a three-master successfully. To such people the idea of looking for a steam launch on the river would be about equivalent to the idea of looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. But the fact is there are hundreds of men between St. Catherine's Wharf and Blackwell, who literally know the Thames as a suburban householder knows his back garden, who can recognize thousands of ships and put a name to them at a distance of half a mile, who are informed as to every movement of vessels on the great stream, who know all the captains, all the engineers, all the lighter men, all the pilots, all the licensed watermen, and all the unlicensed scoundrels from the tower to Gravesend, and a lot further. By these experts of the Thames the slightest unusual event on the water is noticed and discussed. A wary cannot change hands, but they will guess shrewdly upon the prize paid and the intentions of their new owner with regard to it. They have a habit of watching the river for the mere interest of the sight, and they talk about everything, like housewives gathered of an evening round the cottage door. If the first mate of a castle-liner gets the sack they will be able to tell you what he said to the captain, what the old man said to him, and what both said to the board. And having finished off that affair they will cheerfully turn to discussing whether Bill Stevens sank his barge outside the West Indian number two by accident or on purpose. Theodore Rexell had no satisfactory means of identifying the steam launch which carried away Mr. Tom Jackson. This guy had clouded over soon after midnight, and there was also a slight mist. And he had only been able to make out that it was a low craft about sixty feet long, probably painted black. He had personally kept a watch all through the night on vessels going upstream, and during the next morning he had a man to take his place who warned him whenever a steam launch went towards Westminster. At noon, after his conversation with the Prince Erebert, he went down the river in a hard rowboat as far as the Custom House, and poked about everywhere, in search of any vessel which could by any possibility be the one he was in search of. But he found nothing. He was therefore tolerably sure that the mysterious launch lay somewhere below the Custom House. At the Custom House stairs he landed, and asked for a very high official, an official inferior only to a commissioner, whom he had entertained once in New York, and who had met him in London on business at Lloyd's. In the large but dingy office of this great man a long conversation took place, a conversation in which Rexell had to exercise a certain amount of persuasive power, and which ultimately ended in the high official ringing his bell. Desire Mr. Hazel, Room No. 332, to speak to me, said the official to the boy who answered the summons, and then, turning to Rexell, I need hardly repeat, my dear Mr. Rexell, that this is strictly unofficial. Agreed, of course, said Rexell. Mr. Hazel entered. He was a young man of about thirty, dressed in blue surge, with a pale, keen face, a brown moustache, and a rather handsome brown beard. Mr. Hazel, said the high official, let me introduce you to Mr. Theatre Rexell. You will doubtless be familiar with his name. Mr. Hazel, he went on to Rexell, is one of our outdoor staff, what we call an examining officer. Just now he's doing night duty. He has a boat on the river, and a couple of men, and the right to board and examine any craft whatever. What Mr. Hazel and his crew don't know about the attempts between here and Gravesend isn't knowledge. Glad to meet you, sir, said Rexell simply, and they shook hands. Rexell observed with satisfaction that Mr. Hazel was entirely at his ease. Now, Hazel, the high official continued. Mr. Rexell wants you to help in a little private expedition on the river tonight. I will give you a night's leave. I sent for you partly because I thought you would enjoy the affair, and partly because I think I can rely on you to regard it as entirely unofficial, and not to talk about it. You understand? I dare say you will have no cause to regret having obliged, Mr. Rexell. I think I grasped the situation, said Hazel, with a slight smile. And, by the way, added the high official. Although the business is an official, it might be well if you wore your official overcoat, see? Decidedly, said Hazel. I should have done so in any case. And now, Mr. Hazel, said Rexell, will you do me the pleasure of lunching with me? If you agree, I should like to lunch at the place you usually frequent. So it came to pass that Theodore Rexell and George Hazel, outdoor clerk in the customs, lunched together at Thomas's Chophouse in the city of London upon mutton chops and coffee. The millionaire soon discovered that he'd got hold of a keen-witted man and a person of much insight. Tell me, said Hazel, when they'd reached the cigarette stage. Are the magazine writers anything like correct? What do you mean? asked Rexell, mystified. Well, you're a millionaire, one of the best, I believe. One often sees articles on and interviews with millionaires which describe their private railroad cars, their steam yachts, on the Hudson, their marble stables, and so on, and so on. Do you happen to have those things? I have a private car on the New York Central, and I have a two-thousand-ton schooner yacht, though it isn't on the Hudson. It happens just now to be on East River, and I'm bound to admit that the stables of my uptown place are fitted with marble. Ah, said Hazel, now I can believe that I'm lunching with a millionaire. It is strange how facts like those, unimportant in themselves, appeal to the imagination. You seem to be a real millionaire now. You've given me some personal information. I'll give you some in return. I earn three hundred a year, and perhaps sixty pounds a year extra for overtime. I live by myself, in two rooms in Muscree Court. I have as much money as I need, and I always do exactly what I like outside office. As regards the office, I do as little work as I can on principle. It's a fight between us and the commissioners, who shall get the best. They try to do us down, and we try to do them down. It's pretty even on the whole. All's fair in war, you know, and there ain't no ten commandments in a government office. Rexel laughed. Can you get off this afternoon? he asked. Certainly, said Hazel, I'll get one of my pals to sign on for me, and then I shall be free. Well, said Rexel, I should like you to come down with me to the Grand Babylon, then we can talk over my little affair at length, and may we go on your boat? I want to meet your crew. That will be all right, Hazel remarked. My two men are the idlest, most soulless chaps you ever saw. They eat too much, and they have an enormous appetite for beer. But they know the river, and they know their business, and they will do anything within the fair game if they're paid for it, and aren't asked to hurry. That night, just after dark, Theodore Rexel embarked with his new friend George Hazel in one of the black painted customs wearies, manned by a crew of two men, both the latter, free men of the river, a distinction which carries with it certain privileges unfamiliar to the mere lendsmen. It was a cloudy and oppressive evening, not a star showing to illumine the slow tide, now just past its flood. The vast forms of steamers at anchor, chiefly those of the general steam navigation and the Aberdeen line, heaved themselves high out of the water, straining sluggishly at their mooring-boys. On either side, the naked walls of warehouses rose like grey precipices from the stream, holding forth quaint arms of steam cranes. To the west, the Tower Bridge spanned the river with its formidable arch, and above that its suspended footpath, a hundred and fifty feet from earth. Down towards the east and the pool of London, a forest of funnels and masts was dimly outlined against the sinister sky. Huge barges, each steered by a single man at the end of a pair of giant oars, lumbered and swirled downstream at all angles. Occasionally, a tux Nordic busily passed, flashing its red and green signals and dragging an unwieldy tail of barges in its wake. Then a margate passenger steamer, its electric lights gleaming from every porthole, swerved round to anchor, with its load of two thousand fatigued excursionists. Over everything, brooded an air of mystery, a spirit and feeling of strangeness, remoteness, and the inexplicable. As the broad, flat little boat bobbed its way under the shadow of enormous helks, beneath stretched horses, and past boys covered with green slime, Rex Hill could scarcely believe that he was in the very heart of London, the most prosaic city in the world. He had a queer idea that almost anything might happen in this seeming waste of waters at this weird hour of ten o'clock. It appeared incredible to him that only a mile or two away people were sitting in theatres applauding farses, and that at Cannon Street Station, a few yards off, other people were calmly taking the train to various highly respectable suburbs whose names he was gradually learning. He had the uplifting sensation of being in another world which comes to us sometimes amid surroundings violently different from our usual surroundings. The most ordinary noises of men calling, of a chain running through a slot, of a distant siren, translated themselves to his ears into terrible and haunting sounds full of pretentious significance. He looked over the side of the boat into the brown water, and asked himself what frightful secrets lay hidden in its death. Then he put his hand into his hip pocket and touched the stock of his cold revolver. That familiar substance comforted him. The oarsmen had instructions to drop slowly down to the pool as the wide reach below the tower is cold. These two men had not been previously informed of the precise object of the expedition, but now that they were safely afloat, Hazel judged it expedient to give them some notion of it. We expect to come across a rather suspicious steam-launch, he said. My friend here is very anxious to get a sight of her, and until you have seen her, nothing definite can be done. What sort of craft is she, sir? asked Stroke All, a fat-faced man who seemed absolutely incapable of any serious exertion. I don't know, Rexel replied, but as near as I can judge she is about sixty feet in length and painted black. I fancy I shall recognise her when I see her. Not much to go by that, exclaimed the other man curtly, but he said no more. He, as well as his mate, had received from theatre Rexel one English sovereign as a kind of preliminary fee, and an English sovereign will do a lot towards silencing the natural sarcastic tendencies and free speech of a Thames waterman. There is one thing I noticed, said Rexel suddenly, and I forgot to tell you of it, Mr. Hazel. Her screw seemed to move with a rather irregular lame sort of beat. Both watermen burst into a laugh. Oh! said the fat roe. I know what you're after, sir. It's Jack Everett's launch, commonly called Squirm. She's got a four-bladed propeller, and one blade is broken off short. Aye, that's it, sure enough. Agreed the man in the bows. And if it's her you want, I see the lying up against Cherry Gardens Pier this very morning. Let us go to Cherry Gardens Pier by all means, as soon as possible, Rexel said, and the boats swung across stream and then began to creep down by the right bank, feeding its way past walls, many of which, even at that hour, were still busy with their cranes, that descended empty into the bellies of ships and came up full. As a two-waterman, generally manoeuvred the boat on the ebbing tide, Hazel explained to the millionaire that the Squirm was one of the most notorious craft on the river. It appeared that when anyone had a nefarious or underhand scheme afoot, which necessitated river work, average launch was always available for a suitable monetary consideration. The Squirm had got itself into a thousand scrapes and out of those scrapes again with safety, if not precisely with honour. The river police kept a watchful eye on it, and the chief marvel about the whole thing was that all Everett, the owner, had never yet been seriously compromised in any illegal escapade, not once had the officer of the law been able to prove anything definite against the proprietor of the Squirm, though several of its quantum hires were at that very moment in various of Her Majesty's prisons throughout the country. Laterally, however, the launch with its damaged propeller, which Everett consistently refused to have repaired, had acquired an evil reputation, even among evildoers, and this fraternity had gradually come to abandon it for a less easily recognisable craft. Your friend, Mr. Tom Jackson, said Hazel to Rexall, committed an error of discretion when he hired the Squirm. A scoundrel of his experience in Calaba ought certainly to have known better than that. You cannot fail to get a clue now. By this time the boat was approaching Cherry Gardens Pier, but unfortunately a thin night fog had swept over the river, and objects could not be discerned with any clearness beyond the distance of thirty yards. As the customs boat scraped down past the pier, all its occupants strained eyes for a glimpse of the mysterious launch, but nothing could be seen of it. The boat continued to float idly downstream, the men resting on their oars. Then they narrowly escaped bumping a large Norwegian sailing vessel at Enkel with their stem pointing downstream. This ship they passed on the port side. Just as they got clear of her bow-sprit, the fat man cried out excitedly, there's a nose, and he put the boat about, and began to pull back against the tide, and surely the missing Squirm was comfortably anchored on the starboard quarter of the Norwegian ship, hidden neatly between the ship and the shore. The men pulled very quietly alongside. Chapter 26 The Night Chase and the Mud Lark I'll board her to start with, said Hazel, whispering to Rexel. I'll make out that I suspect they've got new-tuable goods on board, and that will give me a chance to have a good look at her. Dressed in his official overcoat and peak cap, he stepped, rather gently, as Rexel thought, on to the low deck of the launch. Anyone aboard? Rexel heard him cry out, and a woman's voice answered. I'm a customs-examining officer, and I want to search the launch, Hazel shouted, and then disappeared down into the little saloon of bint-chips, and Rexel heard no more. It seemed to the millionaire that Hazel had been gone hours, but at length he returned. Can't find anything, he said, as he jumped into the boat, and then privately to Rexel. There's a woman on board. Looks as if she might coincide with your description of Miss Spencer. Steams up, but there's no engineer. I asked where the engineer was, and she inquired what business that was of mine, and requested me to go through with my own business and clear off. Seems rather a smart sort. I poked my nose into everything, but I saw no sign of anyone else. Perhaps we'd better pull away and lie near for a bit, just to see if anything queer occurs. You're quite sure he isn't on board? Rexel asked. Quite, said Hazel positively. I know how to search a vessel. See this. And he handed to Rexel a sort of steel skewer, about two feet long, with a wooden handle. That, he said, is one of the customs aids to searching. I suppose it wouldn't do to go on board and carry off the lady, Rexel suggested doubtfully. Well, Hazel began, with equal doubtfulness. As for that, where is he off? It was the man in the bows who interrupted Hazel. Following the direction of the man's finger, both Hazel and Rexel, sore with more or less distinctness, a dinghy slipped away from the forefoot of the Norwegian vessel, and disappeared downstream into the mist. It's you, I'll swear, cried Rexel. After him, man, ten pounds a piece if we overtake him. Lay down to it now, boys, said Hazel, and the heavy customs boat shot out in pursuit. This is going to be a lark, Rexel remarked. Depends on what you call a lark, said Hazel. It's not much of a lark tearing down midstream like this in a fog. You never know when your main being kingdom come with all these barges knocking around. I expect that chap hidden the dinghy when he first caught sight of us, and then slipped his painter in as soon as I'd gone. The boat was moving at a rapid pace with the tide. Steering was a matter of luck and instinct more than anything else. Every now and then Hazel, who held the lines, was obliged to jerk the boat's head sharply round to avoid a barge or an anchored vessel. It seemed to Rexel that vessels were anchored all over the stream. He looked about him anxiously, but for a long time he could see nothing but mist and vague nautical forms. Then suddenly he said, quietly enough, We're on the right road. I can see him ahead. We're gaining on him. In another minute the dinghy was plainly visible, not twenty yards away, and the sculler, sculling frantically now, was unmistakably Jule. Jule in a light-tweet suit and a bowler head. You're right, Hazel said. This is a lark. I believe I'm getting quite excited. It's more exciting than playing the trombone in an orchestra. I'll run him down, eh? And then we can drag the chap in from the water. Rexel nodded, but at that moment a barge with a red sail set stood out of the fog clean across the bows of the customs-boat, which narrowly escaped instant destruction. When they got clear and the usual interchange of calm, nonchalant swearing was over, the dinghy was badly to be discerned in the mist, and the fat man was breathing in such a manner that his sighs might almost have been heard on the banks. Rexel wanted violently to do something, but there was nothing to do, and he could only sit supine by Hazel's side in the stern-sheets. Gradually they began again to overtake the dinghy, whose one-man crew was evidently tiring. As they came up, hand over fist, the dinghy's nose swerved to the side, and the tiny craft passed down a water lane between two anchored mineral barges, which lay black and deserted about fifty yards from the surrey shore. To starboard, said Rexel. No man, Hazel replied. We can't get through there. He's bound to come out below. It's only a faint. I'll keep our nose straight ahead." And they went on, the fat man pounding away, with a face which glistened even in the thick gloom. It was an empty dinghy which emerged from between the two barges, and went drifting and revolving down towards Greenwich. The fat man gasped a word to his comrade, and the customs-boat stopped dead. He's all right, said the man in the bows. If it's him you want, he's on one of the barges, so you've only got to step on and take him off. That's all, said a voice out of the depths of the nearest barge, and it was the voice of Shul, otherwise known as Mr. Tom Jackson. Hear him? said the fat man, smiling. He's a good one, he is. But if I was you, Mr. Hazel, or you, sir, I shouldn't step on to that barge so quick as all that. They backed the boat under the stem of the nearest barge, and gazed upwards. It's all right, said Rexel to Hazel. I've got a revolver. How can I clamber up there? Yes, I dare say you've got a revolver all right, Hazel replied sharply, but you mustn't use it. There mustn't be any noise. We should have the River Police down on us in a twinkling if there was a revolver shot, and it would be the ruin of me. If an inquiry was held, the commissioners wouldn't take any official notice of the fact that my superior officer had put me on to this job, and I should be requested to leave the service. Have no fear on that score, said Rexel. I shall, of course, take all responsibility. It wouldn't matter how much responsibility you took, Hazel retorted. You wouldn't put me back into the service, and my career would be at an end. But there are other careers, said Rexel, who is really anxious to lame his ex-waiter by means of a judiciously aimed bullet. There are other careers. The customs is my career, said Hazel, so let's have no shooting. We'll wait about a bit. He can't escape. You can have my skewer if you like. And he gave Rexel his searching instrument. And you can do what you please, provided you do it neatly and don't make a row over it. For a few moments the four men were passive in the boat, surrounded by swirling mist, with black water beneath them and towering above them, a half-loaded barge with a desperate and resourceful man on board. Suddenly the mist parted and shriveled away in patches, as though before the breath of some monster. The sky was visible, it was a clear sky, and the moon was shining. The transformation was just one of those meteorological quick changes which happened most frequently on a great river. That's a sight better, said the fat man. At the same moment a head appeared over the edge of the barge. It was Jules' face, dark, sinister, and leering. Is it Mr. Rexel in that boat? he inquired calmly. Because if so, let Mr. Rexel step up. Mr. Rexel has caught me, and he can have me for the asking. Here I am. He stood up to his full height on the barge, tall against the night sky, and all the occupants of the boat could see that he held firmly clasped in his right hand a short dagger. Now, Mr. Rexel, you've been after me for a long time, he continued. Here I am. Why don't you step up? If you haven't got the pluck yourself, persuade someone else to step up in your place. The same fair treatment will be accorded to all. And Jules laughed a low penetrating laugh. He was in the midst of his laugh when he lurched suddenly forward. What are you doing off aboard my barge? Off you goes! It was a boy's small, shrill voice that sounded in the night. A ragged boy's small form had appeared silently behind Jules, and two small arms with a vicious shove precipitated him into the water. He fell with a fine gurgling splash. It was once obvious that swimming was not among Jules' accomplishments. He floundered wildly and sank. When he reappeared, he was dragged into the customs boat. Rope was produced, and in a minute or two the man lay ignominiously bound in the bottom of the boat. With the aid of a mud-large, a mere barge-boy who probably had no more right on the barge than Jules himself, Rexel had won his game. For the first time for several weeks, the millionaire experienced the sensation of equanimity and satisfaction. He leaned over the prostrate form of Jules, Hazel's professional skewer in his hand. What are you going to do with him now? asked Hazel. We'll row up to the landing-steps in front of the Grand Babylon. He shall be well-lodged at my hotel, I promise him. Jules spoke no word. Before Rexel parted company with the customs man that night, Jules had been safely transported into the Grand Babylon Hotel, and the two watermen had received their ten pounds apiece. You will sleep here, said the millionaire, to Mr. George Hazel. It is late. With pleasure, said Hazel. The next morning he found a sumptuous breakfast awaiting him, and in his table napkin was a bank of England note for a hundred pounds. But, though he did not hear of them till much later, many things had happened before Hazel consumed that sumptuous breakfast. End of Chapter 25 and 26. Chapter 27 and 28 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 27. The Confession of Mr. Tom Jackson. It happened that the small bedroom occupied by Jules during the years he was head waiter at the Grand Babylon had remained empty since his sudden dismissal by Theodore Rexel. No other head waiter had been formally appointed in his place, and indeed the absence of one man, even the unique Jules, could scarcely have been noticed in the enormous staff of a place like the Grand Babylon. The functions of a head waiter are generally more ornamental, spectacular, and morally impressive than useful, and it was so at a great hotel in the embankment. Rexel accordingly had the excellent idea of transporting his prisoner with as much secrecy as possible to this empty bedroom. There proved to be no difficulty in doing so. Jules showed himself perfectly amenable to a show of superior force. Rexel took upstairs with him an old commissioner who had been attached to the outdoor service of the hotel for many years, a grey-haired man, wary as a terrier, and strong as a mastiff. Entering the bedroom with Jules, whose hands were bound, he told the commissioner to remain outside at all. Jules's bedroom was quite an ordinary apartment, though perhaps slightly superior to the usual accommodation provided for servants in the Caravanzarais of the West End. It was about fourteen by twelve. It was furnished with a bedstead, a small wardrobe, a small wash stand and dressing table, and two chairs. There were two hooks behind the door, a strip of carpet by the bed, and some cheap ornaments on the iron mantelpiece. There was also one electric light. The window was a little square one, high up from the floor, and it looked on the inner quarter-angle. The room was on the top-story, the eighth, and from it you had a view sheared to the ground. Twenty feet below ran a narrow cornice about a foot wide, three feet or so above the window, another, and wider, cornice, jetted out, and above that was the highest-deep roof of the hotel, though you could not see it from the window. As Rexel examined the window and the outlook, he said to himself that Jules could not escape by that exit at any rate. He gave a glance up the chimney, and saw that the flue was far too small to admit a man's body. Then he called in the commissioner, and together they bound Jules firmly to the bedstead, allowing him, however, to lie down. All the while the captive never opened his mouth, merely smiled a smile of disdain. Finally Rexel removed the ornaments, the carpet, the chairs, and the hooks, and wrenched away the switch of the electric light. Then he and the commissioner left the room, and Rexel locked the door on the outside and put the key in his pocket. You will keep watch here, he said to the commissioner, through the night. You can sit on this chair. Don't go to sleep. If you hear the slightest noise in the room, blow your cap whistle. I will arrange to answer the signal. If there is no noise, do nothing whatever. I don't want this talked about, you understand? I shall trust you. You can trust me. But the servants will see me here when they get up tomorrow, to the commissioner, with a faint smile, and they will be pretty certain to ask what I am doing of a pier. What shall I say to them? You've been a soldier, haven't you? asked Rexel. I've seen three campaigns, sir, was the reply, and, with the gesture of pardonable pride, the grey-haired fellow pointed to the medals on his breast. Well, supposing you were on sentry duty, and some meddlesome person in camp asked you what you were doing. What should you say? I should term to clear off, or take the consequences, and pretty quick, too. Do that to-morrow morning, then, if necessary, said Rexel, and departed. It was then about one o'clock a.m. The millionaire retired to bed, not his own bed, but a bed on the seventh-story. He did not, however, sleep very long. Shortly after dawn he was wide awake and thinking busily about Jules. He was indeed very curious to know Jules' story, and he determined if the thing could be done at all by persuasion or otherwise to extract it from him. With a man of theatre Rexel's temperament there is no time like the present, and at six o'clock, as the bright morning sun brought gaiety into the window, he dressed and went upstairs again to the eighth-story. The commissioner sat stolid but alert on his chair, and at the sight of his master rose and saluted. Anything happened? Rexel asked. Nothing, sir. Servants say anything? Only a dozen or so of them are up yet, sir. One of them asked what I was playing at, and so I told her I was looking after a bull-bitch and a blitter of pups that she was very particular about, sir. Good, said Rexel, as he unlocked the door and entered the room. All was exactly as he had left it, except that Jules, who had been lying on his back, had somehow turned over and was now lying on his face. He gazed silently, scowling at the millionaire. Rexel greeted him and ostentatiously took a revolver from his hip-pocket and laid it on the dressing-table. Then he seated himself on the dressing-table by the side of the revolver, his legs dangling an inch or two above the floor. I want to have a talk to you, Jackson, he began. You can talk to me as much as you like, said Jules. I shan't interfere. You may bet on that. I should like you to answer some questions. That's different, said Jules. I'm not going to answer any questions while I'm tied up like this. You may bet on that, too. It will pay you to be reasonable, said Rexel. I'm not going to answer any questions while I'm tied up. I'll unfasten your legs if you like, Rexel suggested politely. Then you can sit up. It's no use you pretending you've been uncomfortable, because I know you haven't. I calculate you've been treated very handsomely, my son. There you are. And they loosened the lower extremities of his prisoner from their bonds. Now I repeat, you may as well be reasonable. You may as well admit that you've been fairly beaten in the game, and act accordingly. I was determined to beat you by myself, without the police, and I've done it. You've done yourself, retorted Jules. You've gone against the law. If you'd had any sense, you wouldn't have meddled. You'd have left everything to the police. They'd have meddled about for a year or two, and then none nothing. Who's going to tell the police now? Are you? Are you going to give me up to him, and say, here, I've caught him for you? If you do, they'll ask you to explain several things, and then you'll look foolish. One crime doesn't excuse another, and you'll find that out. With an earring inside, Jules had perceived exactly the difficulty of Rexel's position, and it was certainly a difficulty which Rexel did not attempt to minimise to himself. He knew well that it would have to be faced. He did not, however, allow Jules to guess his thoughts. Meanwhile, he said calmly to the other, You're here, and my prisoner. You've committed a variegated assortment of crimes, and among them is murder. You are due to be hung. You know that. There is no reason why I should call in the police at all. It will be perfectly easy for me to finish you off as you deserve myself. I shall only be carrying out justice, and robbing the hangman of his fee. Precisely as I brought you into the hotel, I can take you out again. A few days ago, you borrowed or stole a steam-yard at Austin. What you've done with it, I don't know, nor do I care. But I strongly suspect that my daughter had a narrow escape of being murdered on your steam-yard. Now I have a steam-yard of my own. Suppose I use it as you used yours. Suppose I smuggle you on to it, steam out to sea, and then ask you to step off it into the ocean one night. Such things have been done. Such things will be done again. If I act it so, I should at least have the satisfaction of knowing that I'd relieved society from the incubus of a scoundrel. But you won't, Jules-Mermet. No, said Rexel steadily. I won't, if you behave yourself this morning. But I swear to you that if you don't, I will never rest till you're dead, police or no police. You don't know theatre Rexel. I believe you mean it, Jules exclaimed, with an air of surprised interest, as though he'd discovered something of importance. I believe I do, Rexel resumed. Now listen. At the best, you'll be given up to the police. At the worst, I shall deal with you myself. With the police, you may have a chance. You may get off with 20 years' penal servitude, because, though it is absolutely certain that you murdered Reginald Dimmock, it would be a little difficult to prove the case against you. But with me, you would have no chance whatever. I have a few questions to put to you, and it will depend on how you answer them, whether I give you up to the police, or take the law into my own hands. And let me tell you that the latter calls will be much simpler for me. And I would take it, too. Did I not feel that you were a very clever and exceptional man? Did I not have a sort of sneaking admiration for your detestable skill and ingenuity? You think, then, that I am clever, such, Jules? You're right. I am. I should have been much too clever for you if luck had not been against me. You owe your victory not to skill, but to luck. That is what the vanquished always say. Waterloo was a bit of pure luck for the English, no doubt, but it was Waterloo all the same. Jules yawned elaborately. What do you want to know, he inquired, with politeness. First and foremost, I want to know the names of your accomplices inside this hotel. I have no more, said Jules. Rocco was the last. Don't begin by lying to me. If you had no accomplice, how did you contrive that one particular bottle of Ramonay Conti should be served to his Highness Prince Eugen? Then you discovered that in time, did you, said Jules? I was afraid so. Let me explain that that needed no accomplice. The bottle was topmost in the bin, and naturally it would be taken. Moreover, I left it sticking out a little further than the rest. You did not arrange, then, that Hubbard should be taken ill the night before last? I had no idea, said Jules, that the excellent Hubbard was not enjoying his accustomed health. Tell me, said Rexall, who or what is the origin of your vendetta against a life of Prince Eugen? I had no vendetta against a life of Prince Eugen, such you, at least, not to begin with. I merely undertook for a consideration to see that Prince Eugen did not have an interview with a certain Mr. Samson Levi in London before a certain date. That was all. It seemed simple enough. I had been engaged in far more complicated transactions before. I was convinced that I could manage it with the help of Rocco and Miss Spencer. Is that woman your wife? She would like to be, he sneered. Please don't interrupt. I had completed my arrangements when you so inconsiderately bought the hotel. I don't mind admitting now that from the very moment when you came across me that night in the corridor I was secretly afraid of you, though I scarcely admitted the fact even to myself then. I thought it safer to shift the scene of our operations to Ostend. I had meant to deal with Prince Eugen in this hotel, but I decided then to intercept him on the continent, and I dispatched Miss Spencer with some instructions. Troubles never come singly, and it happened that just then that fool Dimmock, who had been in the swim with us, chose to prove refractory. The slightest hitch would have upset everything, and I was obliged to clear him off the scene. He wanted to back out. He had a bad attack of conscience, and violent measures were essential. I regret his untimely disease, but he brought it on himself. Well, everything was going serenely when you and your brilliant daughter, apparently determined to meddle, turned up again among us at Ostend. Only twenty-four hours, however, had to elapse before the date which had been mentioned to me by my employers. I kept poor little Eugen for the allotted time, and then you managed to get hold of him. I do not deny that you scored there, though, according to my original instructions, you scored too late. The time had passed, and so, so far as I knew, it did not matter a pin whether Prince Eugen saw Mr. Samson Levi or not. But my employers were still uneasy. They were uneasy even after little Eugen had lain ill in Ostend for several weeks. It appears that they feared that even at that date an interview between Prince Eugen and Mr. Samson Levi might work harm to them. So they applied to me again. This time they wanted Prince Eugen to be, um, finished off entirely. They offered high terms. What terms? I had received fifty thousand pounds for the first job, of which Rocco had half. Rocco was also to be made a member of a certain famous European order, if things went right. That was what he coveted far more than the money, the vain fellow. For the second job I was offered a hundred thousand, a tolerably large sum. I regret that I have not been able to earn it. Do you mean to tell me, asked Rexall, horror struck by this calm confession in spite of his previous knowledge, that you were offered a hundred thousand pounds to poison Prince Eugen? You put it rather crudely, said Eugen, reply. I prefer to say that I was offered a hundred thousand pounds if Prince Eugen should die within a reasonable time. And who were your damnable employers? That, honestly, I do not know. You know, I suppose, who paid you the first fifty thousand pounds, and who promised you the hundred thousand? Well, said you, I know vaguely. I know that he came via Vienna from, uh, Bosnia. My impression was that the affair had some bearing, direct or indirect, on the projected marriage of the King of Bosnia. He is a young monarch, scarcely out of political leading strings as it were, and doubtless his ministers thought that they had better arrange his marriage for him. They tried last year, and failed because the princes, whom they had in mind, had cast her sparkling eyes on another Prince. That Prince happened to be Prince Eugen of Pozen. The ministers of the King of Bosnia knew exactly the circumstances of Prince Eugen. They knew that he could not marry without liquidating his debts, and they knew that he could only liquidate his debts through this Jew, Samson Levi. Unfortunately for me they ultimately wanted to make too sure of Prince Eugen. They were afraid he might, after all, arrange his marriage without the aid of Mr. Samson Levi. And so, well, you know the rest. It is a pity that the poor little innocent King of Bosnia can't have the princes of his ministers' choice. Then you think that the King himself had no part in this abominable crime? I think decidedly not. I'm glad of that, said Rexall simply. And now the name of your immediate employer. He was merely an agent. He called himself Slechak, S-L-E-S-Z-A-K. But I imagine that that wasn't his real name. I don't know his real name. An old man, he often used to be found at the Hotel Ritz, Paris. Mr. Slechak and I will meet, said Rexall. Not in this world, said sheal quickly. He is dead. I heard only last night, just before our little tussle. There was a silence. It is well, said Rexall at length. Prince Eugen lives, despite all plots. After all, justice is done. Mr. Rexall is here, but he can't see no one, miss. The words came from behind the door, and the voice was the commissioners. Rexall started up, and went towards the door. Nonsense, was the curt reply, in feminine tones. Move aside instantly. The door opened, and Nella entered. There were tears in her eyes. Oh, Dad, she exclaimed. I've only just heard you were in the Hotel. We looked for you everywhere. Come at once. Prince Eugen is dying. Then she saw the man sitting on the bed, and stopped. Later, when Jules was alone again, he remarked to himself, I may get that hundred thousand. Chapter twenty-eight. The State bedroom once more. When, immediately after the episode of the Bottle of Romanic Conti in the State dining-room, Prince Euret and old Hans found that Prince Eugen had sunk in an unconscious heap over his chair, both the former thought at the first instant that Eugen must have already tasted the poisoned wine. But a moment's reflection showed that this was not possible. If the hereditary Prince of Posen was dying or dead, his condition was due to some other agency than the Romanic Conti. Euret bent over him, and a powerful odor from the man's lips at once disclosed the cause of the disaster. It was the odor of Lodinum. Indeed, the smell of that sinister drug seemed now to float heavily over the whole table. Across Euret's mind there flashed then the true explanation. Prince Eugen, taking advantage of Euret's attention being momentarily diverted, and yielding to a sudden impulse of despair, had decided to poison himself, and had carried out his intention on the spot. The Lodinum must have been already in his pocket, and this fact went to prove that the unfortunate Prince had previously contemplated such a proceeding even after his definite promise. Euret remembered now with painful vividness his nephew's words. I withdraw my promise. Observe that. I withdraw it. It must have been instantly after the utterance of that formal withdrawal that Eugen attempted to destroy himself. It's Lodinum, Hans, Euret exclaimed, rather helplessly. Surely his highness has not taken poison, said Hans. It is impossible. I fear it is only too possible, said the other. It's Lodinum. What are we to do? Quick man! His highness must be roused, Prince. He must have an emetic. We had better carry him to the bedroom. They did, and laid him on the great bed. And then Euret mixed an emetic of mustard and water, and administered it, but without any effect. The sufferer lay motionless, with every muscle relaxed. His skin was ice-cold to the touch, and the eyelids half-drawn showed that the pupils were painfully contracted. Go out and send for a doctor, Hans. Say that Prince Eugen has been suddenly taken ill, but that it isn't serious. The truth must never be known. He must be roused, Tsar, Hans said again, as he hurried from the room. Euret lifted his nephew from the bed, shook him, pinched him, flicked him cruelly, shouted at him, dragged him about, but to no avail. At length he desisted, from mere physical fatigue, and laid the prince back again on the bed. Every minute that elapsed seemed an hour. Alone with the unconscious organism in the silence of the great stately chamber, under the cold yellow glare of the electric lights, Euret became afraid to the most despairing thoughts. The tragedy of his nephew's career forced itself upon him, and it occurred to him that an early and shameful death had all along been inevitable for this good-natured, weak-purposed, unhappy child of a historic throne. A little good fortune, and his character, so evenly balanced between right and wrong, might have followed the proper path, and Eugen might have figured at any rate with dignity on the European stage. But now it appeared that all was over, the last stroke played. And in this disaster, Erebert saw the ruin of his own hopes. For Erebert would have to occupy his nephew's throne, and he felt instinctively that nature had not cut him out for a throne. By a natural impulse he inwardly rebelled against the prospect of monarchy. Monarchy meant so much for which he knew himself to be entirely unfitted. It meant a political marriage, which means a forced marriage, a union against inclination. And then what of Nella? Nella. Hans returned. I've sent for the nearest doctor, and also for a specialist, he said. Good, said Erebert, I hope they will hurry. Then he sat down and wrote a card. Take this yourself to Miss Rexhol. If she's out of the hotel, a certain where she is, and follow her. Understand, it is of the first importance. Hans bowed, and departed for the second time, and Erebert was alone again. He gazed at Eugen, and made another frantic attempt to rouse him from the deadly stupor, but it was useless. He walked away to the window. Through the open casement he could hear the tinkle of passing hensoms on the embankment below, whistles of doorkeepers, and the hoot of steam tugs on the river. The world went on as usual, it appeared. It was an absurd world. He desired nothing better than to abandon his princely title, and live as a plain man, the husband of the finest woman on earth. But now? Pah! How selfish he was to be thinking of himself when Eugen lay dying. Yet! Nella! The door opened, and a man entered, who was obviously the doctor. A few curd questions, and he had grasped the essentials of the case. Oblige me by ringing the bell, Prince. I shall want some hot water, an unable-bodied man, and a nurse. Who wants a nurse? said a voice, and Nella came quietly in. I am a nurse, she added to the doctor, and at your orders. The next two hours were a struggle between life and death. The first doctor, a specialist who followed him, Nella, Prince Erebert, and old Hans, formed, as it were, a league to save the dying man. None else in the hotel knew the real seriousness of the case. When a prince falls ill, and especially by his own act, the precise truth is not issued broadcast to the universe. According to official intelligence, a prince is never seriously ill until he is dead, such is statecraft. The worst feature of Prince Eugen's case was that a medics proved futile. Neither of the doctors could explain their failure, but it was only two apparent. The league was reduced to helplessness. At last the great specialist from Manchester Square gave it out that there was no chance for Prince Eugen, unless the natural vigor of his constitution should prove capable of throwing off the poison unaided by scientific assistance, as a drunkard can sleep off his potion. Everything had been tried, even to artificial respiration and the injection of hot coffee. Having omitted this pronouncement, the great specialist from Manchester Square left. It was one o'clock in the morning. By one of those strange and futile coincidences, which sometimes startle us by their subtle significance, the specialist met Theodore Rexell and his captive as they were entering the hotel. Neither had the least suspicion of the other's business. In the state bedroom the small group of watchers surrounded the bed. The slow minutes filed away in dreary procession. Another hour passed. Then the figure on the bed hitherto so motionless, twitched and moved. The lips parted. There is hope, said the doctor, and administered a stimulant which was handed to him by Nella. In a quarter of an hour the patient had regained consciousness. For the ten-thousandth time in the history of medicine a sound constitution had accomplished a miracle impossible to the accumulated medical skill of centuries. In due course the doctor left, saying that Prince Eugen was on the high road to recovery and promising to come again within a few hours. Morning had dawned. Nella drew the great curtains and let in a flood of sunlight. Old hunts overcome by fatigue, dozed in a chair in a far corner of the room. The reaction had been too much for him. Nella and Prince Ebert looked at each other. They had not exchanged a word about themselves, yet each knew what the other had been thinking. They clasped hands with a perfect understanding. Their brief love-making had been of the silent kind, and it was silent now. No word was uttered. A shadow had passed from over them, but only their eyes expressed relief and joy. Ebert! The faint call came from the bed. Ebert went to the bedside, while Nella remained near the window. What is it, Eugen? he said. You are better now. You think so? murmured the other. I want you to forgive me for all this, Ebert. I must have caused you an intolerable trouble. I did it so clumsily. That is what annoys me. Lordenham was a feeble expedient, but I could think of nothing else, and I dare not ask anyone for advice. I was obliged to go out and buy the stuff for myself. It was all very awkward. But, thank goodness, it has not been ineffectual. What do you mean, Eugen? You are better. In a day or so you will be perfectly recovered. I am dying, said Eugen quietly. Do not be deceived. I die because I wish to die. It is bound to be so. I know by the feel of my heart. In a few hours it will be over. The throne of Posen will be yours, Ebert. You will fill it more worthily than I have done. Don't let them know over there that I poisoned myself. Swear hands to secrecy, swear the doctors to secrecy, and breathe no word yourself. I have been a fool, but I do not wish it to be known that I was also a coward. Perhaps it is not cowardice. Perhaps it is courage, after all. Courage to cut the knot. I could not have survived the disgrace of any revelations, Ebert, and revelations would have been sure to come. I have made a fool of myself, but I am ready to pay for it. We of Posen, we always pay. Everything except our debts. Ah, those debts! Had it not been for those, I could have faced her who was to have been my wife, to have shared my throne. I could have hidden my past and begun again. With her help I really could have begun again. But fate has been against me, always, always. By the way, what was that plot against me, Ebert? I forget. His eyes closed. There was a sudden noise. Old Hans had slipped from his chair to the floor. He picked himself up, dazed, and crept shame-facedly out of the room. Ebert took his nephew's hand. Nonsense, Eugen. You're dreaming. You will be all right soon. Pull yourself together. All because of a million, the sick man moaned. One miserable million English pounds. The national debt of Posen is fifty millions, and I, the prince of Posen, couldn't borrow one. If I could have got it, I might have helped my head up again. Goodbye, Ebert. Who is that girl? Ebert looked up. Nello, standing silent at the foot of the bed, her eyes moist. She came round to the bedside and put her hand on the patient's heart. Scarcely could she feel its pulsation, and to Ebert her eyes expressed a sudden despair. At that moment Hans re-entered the room and beckoned to her. I've heard that Hale Rexell has returned to the hotel, he whispered, and that he's captured that manjul, who they say is such a villain. Several times during the night, Nello inquired for her father, but could gain no knowledge of his whereabouts. Now, at half past six in the morning, a rumour had mysteriously spread among the servants of the hotel about the happenings of the night before. How it had originated no one could have determined, but it had originated. Where is my father? Nello asked of Hans. He shrugged his shoulders and pointed up with some words. Somewhere at the top, they say. Nello almost ran out of the room. Her interruption of the interview between Jule and Theodore Rexell has already been described. As she came downstairs with her father, she said again, Prince Eugene is dying, but I think you can save him. I exclaimed Theodore. Yes, she repeated positively. I will tell you what I want you to do, and you must do it. End of Chapter 27 and 28. Chapter 29 and 30 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 29. Theodore is called to the rescue. As Nello passed downstairs from the top story with her father, the lifts had not yet began to work, she drew him into her own room and closed the door. What's this all about? he asked, somewhat mystified, and even alarmed by the extreme seriousness of her face. Dad, the girl began. You are very rich, aren't you? Very, very rich? She smiled anxiously, timidly. He did not remember to have seen that expression on her face before. He wanted to make a facetious reply, but checked himself. Yes, he said, I am. You ought to know that by this time. How soon could you realize a million pounds? A million? What? he cried. Even he was staggered by her calm reference to this gigantic sum. What on earth are you driving at? A million pounds, I said. That is to say, five million dollars. How soon could you realize as much as that? Oh, he answered. In about a month, if I went about it, nearly enough. I could unload as much as that in a month without scaring Wall Street in other places, but it would want some arrangement. Useless, she exclaimed. Couldn't you do it quicker if you really had to? If I really had to, I could fix it in a week, but it would make things lively, and I should lose on the job. Couldn't you? she persisted. Couldn't you go down this morning and raise a million, somehow, if it was a matter of life and death? He hesitated. Look here, Nella, he said. What is it you've got up your sleeve? Just answer my question, Dad, and try not to think that I'm a stark staring lunatic. I rather expect I could get a million this morning, even in London, but it would cost pretty dear. It might cost me fifty thousand pounds, and there would be the dickens of an upset in New York, a sort of grand universal slum by my holdings. Why should New York know anything about it? Why should New York know anything about it? he repeated. My girl, when anyone borrows a million sovereigns, the whole world knows about it. Do you reckon that I can go up to the Governors of the Bank of England and say, Look here, Lent Theatre wrecks all a million for a few weeks, and he'll give you an IOU and a covering note on stocks? But you could get it, she asked again. If there is a million in London, I guess I could handle it, he replied. Well, Dad, and she put her arms around his neck. You've just got to go out and fix it. See, it's for me. I've never asked you for anything really big before, but I do now, and I want it so badly. He stared at her. I award you the prize, he said at length. You deserve it, for colossal and immense coolness. Now you can tell me the true inward meaning of all this rigmarole. What is it? I want it for Prince Eugene, she began, at first hesitatingly, with pauses. He's ruined, unless he can get a million to pay off his death. He's dreadfully in love with the Princess, and he can't marry her because of this. Her parents wouldn't allow it. He must have got it from Samson Levi, but he arrived too late, owing to Jewel. I know all about that, perhaps more than you do, but I don't see how it affects you or me. The point is this, Dad. Nella continued. He's tried to commit suicide. He's so hipped. He has real suicide. He took Lord on him last night. It didn't kill him straight off. He's got over the first shock, but he's in a very weak state, and he means to die. And I truly believe he will die. Now, if you could let him have that million, Dad, you would save his life. Nella's item of news was a considerable and disconcerting surprise to Rexel, but he hid his feelings fairly well. I haven't the least desire to save his life now. I don't over much respect your Prince Eugen. I've done what I could for him, but only for the sake of seeing fair play, and because I object to conspiracies and secret murders. It's a different thing if he wants to kill himself. What I say is, let him. Who is responsible for his being in debt to the tune of a million pounds? He's only got himself and his bad habits to thank for that. I suppose if he does happen to peg out, the Throne of Posen will go to Prince Ayrebert, and a good thing too. Ayrebert is worth twenty of his nephew. That's just it, Dad, she said, eagerly following up her chance. I want you to save Prince Eugen, just because Ayrebert, Prince Ayrebert, doesn't wish to occupy the throne. He'd much prefer not to have it. Much prefer not to have it? Don't talk nonsense. If he's honest with himself, he'll admit that he'll be dolly glad to have it. Thrones are in his blood, so to speak. You are wrong, Father, and the reason is this. If Prince Ayrebert ascended the Throne of Posen, he would be compelled to marry a princess. Well, a prince ought to marry a princess. But he doesn't want to. He wants to give up all his royal rights and live as a subject. He wants to marry a woman who isn't a princess. Is she rich? Her father is, said the girl. Oh, Dad, can't you guess? He loves me. Her head fell on Theodore's shoulder, and she began to cry. The millionaire whistled a very high note. Nell, he said at length, and you? Do you sort of cling to him? Dad, she answered, you are stupid. Do you imagine I should worry myself like this if I didn't? She smiled through her tears. She knew from her father's tone that she had accomplished a victory. It's a mighty queer arrangement, Theodore remarked. But of course, if you think it'll be of any use, you'd better go down and tell your Prince Eugene that that million can be fixed up if he really needs it. I expect there'll be decent security, or Samson Levi wouldn't have mixed himself up in it. Thanks, Dad. Don't come with me. I may manage better alone. She gave a formal little curtsy, and disappeared. Braxell, who had the talent, so necessary to millionaires, of attending to several methods at once, the large with the small, went off to give orders about the breakfast and the remuneration of his assistant of the evening before, Mr. George Hazel. He then sent an invitation to Mr. Felix Babylon's room, asking that gentleman to take breakfast with him. After he'd related to Babylon the history of Sheel's capture, and had a long discussion with him upon several points of hotel management, and especially as to the guarding of wine cellars, Braxell put on his head, sell it forth into the strand, held a handsome, and was driven to the city. The order and nature of his operations there were too complex and technical to be described here. When Nella returned to the state bedroom, both the doctor and the great specialist were again in attendance. The two physicians moved away from the bedside as she entered, and began to talk quietly together in the embrasure of the window. A curious case, said the specialist. Yes, of course, as you say, it's a neurotic temperament that's at the bottom of the trouble. When you've got that and a vigorous constitution working one against the other, the results are apt to be distinctly curious. Do you consider there is any hope, said Charles? If I'd seen him when he recovered consciousness, I should have said there was hope. Frankly, when I left last night, or rather this morning, I didn't expect to see the Prince alive again, let alone conscious and able to talk. According to all the rules of the game, he ought to get over the shock to the system with perfect ease and certainty. But I don't think he will. I don't think he wants to. And, moreover, I think he is still under the influence of suicidal mania. If he had a razor, he would cut his throat. You must keep his strength up. Inject, if necessary. I will come in this afternoon. I am due now at St. James's Palace. And the specialist hurried away, with an elaborate bow and a few hasty words of polite reassurances to Prince Erebrot. When he had gone, Prince Erebrot took the other doctor aside. Forget everything, doctor, he said, except that I am one man and you are another, and tell me the truth. Shall you be able to save his highness? Tell me the truth. There is no truth, was the doctor's reply. The future is not in our hands, Prince. But you are hopeful, yes or no? The doctor looked at Prince Erebrot. No, he said shortly. I am not. I am never hopeful and the patient is not on my side. You mean? I mean that his royal highness has no desire to live. You must have observed that. Only too well, said Erebrot. And you are aware of the cause? Erebrot nodded unaffirmative. But cannot remove it? No, said Erebrot. He felt a touch on his sleeve. It was Nella's finger. With a gesture, she beckoned him towards the anti-room. If you choose, she said, when they were alone. Prince Eugen can be saved. I have arranged it. You have arranged it? He bent over her, almost with an air of alarm. Go and tell him that the million pounds which is so necessary to his happiness will be forthcoming. Tell him that it will be forthcoming today, if that will be any satisfaction to him. But what do you mean by this, Nella? I mean what I say, Erebrot. And she saw his hand and took it in hers. Just what I say. If a million pounds will save Prince Eugen's life, it is at his disposal. But how, how have you managed it? By what miracle? My father, she replied softly, will do anything that I ask him. Do not let us waste time. Go and tell Eugen it is arranged. That all will be well. Go. But we cannot accept this, this enormous, this incredible favor. It is impossible. Erebrot, she said quickly, remember you are not imposing holding a court reception. You are in England and you are talking to an American girl who has always been in the habit of having her own way. The prince threw up his hands and went back into the bedroom. The doctor was at a table, writing out a prescription. Erebrot approached the bedside, his heart beating furiously. Eugen greeted him with a faint, fatigued smile. Eugen, he whispered, listened carefully to me. I have news. With the assistance of friends, I have arranged to borrow that million for you. It is quite settled, and you may rely on it. But he must get better. Do you hear me? Eugen almost set up in bed. Tell me I'm not delirious, he exclaimed. Of course you aren't, Erebrot replied. But you mustn't sit up, you must take care of yourself. Who will lend the money? Eugen asked in a feeble, happy whisper. Never mind, you shall hear later. Devote yourself now to getting better. The change in the patient's face was extraordinary. His mind seemed to have put on an entirely different aspect. The doctor was startled to hear him murmur a request for food. As for Erebrot, he sat down, overcome by the turmoil of his own thoughts. Till that moment he felt that he had never appreciated the value and the marvellous power of mere money, of the lucre which philosophers pretend to despise and men sell their souls for. His heart almost burst in its admiration for that extraordinary nelle who by mere personal force had raised two men out of the deepest slough of despair to the blissful heights of hope and happiness. These anglosexons, he said to himself, what a race! By the afternoon Eugen was noticeably and distinctly better. The physicians, puzzled for the third time by the progress of the case, announced now that all danger was passed. The tone of the announcement seemed to Erebrot to imply that the fortunate issue was due wholly to unrivaled medical skill, but perhaps Erebrot was mistaken. Anyhow he was in a most charitable mood and prepared to forgive anything. Nella, he said a little later, when they were by themselves again in the anti-chamber. What am I to say to you? How can I thank you? How can I thank your father? You'd better not thank my father, she said. That will affect to regard the thing as a purely business transaction, as of course it is. As for me, you can—you can—well? Kiss me, she said. There! Are you sure you've formally proposed to me, Montparnes? Ah, Nelle, he exclaimed, putting his arms round her again. Be mine. That is all I want. You'll find, she said, that you'll want that consent too. Will he make difficulties? He could not, Nelle, not with you. Better ask him, she said sweetly. A moment later Rexel himself entered the room. Going on all right, he inquired, pointing to the bedroom. Excellently the lovers answered together, and they both blushed. Ah! said Rexel. Then, if that's so, and you can spare a minute, I have something to show you, Prince. Chapter 30 Conclusion I've a great deal to tell you, Prince. Rexel began, as soon as they were out of the room, and also, as I said, something to show you. Will you come to my room? We will talk there first. The whole hotel is humming with excitement. With pleasure, said Erebert. Glad his Highness Prince Eugen is recovering, Rexel said, urged by considerations of politeness. Ah! As to that, Erebert began. If you don't mind, we'll discuss that later, Prince. Rexel interrupted him. They were in the proprietor's private room. I want to tell you all about last night, Rexel resumed, about my capture of Jewel and my examination of him this morning, and he launched into a full account of the whole thing, down to the least details. You see, he concluded, that our suspicions as to Bosnia were tolerably correct. But as regards Bosnia, the more I think about it, the sureer I feel that nothing can be done to bring their criminal politicians to justice. And as to Jewel, what do you propose to do? Come this way, said Rexel, and let Erebert to another room. A sofa in this room was covered with a linen cloth. Rexel lifted the cloth. He could never deny himself a dramatic moment, and his clothes the body of a dead man. It was Jewel, dead, but without a scratch or mark on him. I have sent for the police, not a street constable, but an official from Scotland Yard, said Rexel. How did this happen? Erebert asked, amazed and startled. I understood you to say, that he was safely immured in the bedroom. So he was, Rexel replied. I went up there this afternoon, chiefly to take him some food. The commissioner was unguarded at the door. He had heard no noise, nothing unusual. Yet, when I entered the room, Jewel was gone. He had by some means or other loosened his fastenings. He had then managed to take the door off the wardrobe. He had moved the bed in front of the window, and by pushing the wardrobe door three parts out of the window, and lodging the inside end of it under the rail at the head of the bed, he had provided himself with a sort of insecure platform outside the window. All this he did without making the least sound. He must then have got through the window and slipped on a little platform. With his fingers he would just be able to reach the outer edge of the wide corners under the roof of the hotel. By main strength of arms, he had swung himself onto this corner, and so got on to the roof proper. He would then have to run off the whole roof. At the side of the building facing Salesbury Lane, there is an iron fire escape, which runs right down from the ridge of the roof into a little sunkyard level with the cellars. Jewel's might have thought that his escape was accomplished, but it unfortunately happened that one rung in the iron escape ladder had rusted rotten through being badly painted. It gave way, and Jewel, not expecting anything of the kind, felt at the ground. That was the end of all his cleverness and ingenuity. As Raxall seized speaking, he replaced the linen cloth with a gesture from which reverence was not wholly absent. When the grave had closed over the dark and tempestuous career of Tom Jackson, once the pride of the Grand Babylon, there was little trouble for the people whose adventures we have described. Miss Spencer, that yellow-haired, faithful slave and attendant of a brilliant scoundrel, was never heard of again. Possibly to this day she survives a mystery to her fellow creatures in the pension of some cheap foreign boarding-house. As for Rocco, he certainly was heard of again. Several years after the event sat down, it came to the knowledge of Felix Babylon that the unrivaled Rocco had reached Buenos Aires, and by his culinary skill was there making the fortune of a new and splendid hotel. Babylon transmitted the information to theatre Raxall, and Raxall might, had he chosen, have put the forces of the law in motion against him. But Raxall, seeing that everything pointed to the fact that Rocco was now pursuing his vocation honestly, decided to leave him alone. The one difficulty which Raxall experienced after the demise of Shill, and it was a difficulty which he had of course anticipated, was connected with the police. The police, very properly, wanted to know things. They desired to be informed what Raxall had been doing in the Dimmock Affair between his first visit to Ostend and his sending for them to take charge of Shill's dead body. And Raxall was by no means inclined to tell them everything. Beyond question he had transgressed the laws of England, and possibly also the laws of Belgium, and the moral excellence of his motives in doing so was, of course, in the eyes of legal justice, no excuse for such conduct. The inquest upon Shill aroused some bother, and about ninety and nine separate and distinct rumours. In the end however, a compromise was arrived at. Raxall's first aim was to pacify the inspector whose clue, which by the way was a false one, he had so curtly declined to follow up. That done the rest needed only tact and patience. He proved to the satisfaction of the authorities that he had acted in a perfectly honest spirit, though with a high hand, and that substantial justice had been done. Also he subtly indicated that if it came to the point he should defy them to do their worst. Lastly he was able, through the medium of the United States Ambassador, to bring certain soothing influences to bear upon the situation. One afternoon, a fortnight after the recovery of the hereditary Prince of Posen, Erebert, who was still staying at the Grand Babylon, expressed a wish to hold converse with a millionaire. Pence Eugen, accompanied by Hans and some court officials whom he had sent full, had departed with a men's ecla, armed with a comfortable million to arrange formally for his betrothal. Touching the million, Eugen had given satisfactory personal security, and the money was to be paid off in fifteen years. You wish to talk to me, Prince, said Rexel to Erebert, when they were seated together in the former's room. I wish to tell you, replied Erebert, that it is my intention to renounce all my rights and titles as a royal prince of Posen, and to be known in future as Count Hearts, a rank to which I am entitled through my mother. Also that I have a private income of ten thousand pounds a year, and a chateau and a townhouse in Posen. I tell you this because I am here to ask the hand of your daughter in marriage. I love her, and I am vain enough to believe that she loves me. I have already asked her to be my wife, and she has consented. We await your approval. You honor us, Prince, said Rexel with a slight smile, and in more ways than one. May I ask your reason for renouncing your princely titles? Simply because the idea of a more genetic marriage would be as repugnant to me as it would be to yourself and to Nella. That is good. The prince laughed. I suppose it has occurred to you that ten thousand pounds per annum for a man in your position is a somewhat small income. Nella is frightfully extravagant. I have known her to spend sixty thousand dollars in a single year, and have nothing to show for it at the end. Why, she would ruin you in twelve months. Nella must reform her ways, Erebrit said. If she is content to do so, Rexel went on. Well and good. I consent. In her name and my own, I thank you, said Erebrit gravely. And, the millionaire continued, so that she may not have to reform too fiercely, I shall settle on her absolutely with reversion to your children, if you have any, a lump sum of fifty million dollars, that is to say, ten million pounds, in sound, selected railway stock. I reckon that is about half my fortune. Nella and I have always shared equally. Erebrit made no reply. The two men shook hands in silence, and then it happened that Nella entered the room. That night, after dinner, Rexel and his friend Felix Babylon were walking together on the terrace of the Grand Babylon Hotel. Felix had begun the conversation. I suppose, Rexel, he had said, you aren't getting tired of the Grand Babylon? Why do you ask? Because I am getting tired of doing without it. A thousand times since I sold it to you, I have wished I could undo the bargain. I can't bear idleness. Will you sell? I might, said Rexel. I might be induced to sell. What will you take, my friend? asked Felix. What I gave was the quick answer. Ah, Felix exclaimed. I sell you my hotel with Jewel, with Rocco, with Miss Spencer. You go and lose all those three inestimable servants, and then offer me the hotel without them at the same price? It is monstrous. The little man laughed heartily at his own wit. Nevertheless, he added, we will not quarrel about the price. I accept your terms. And so was brought to a close the complex chain of events which had begun when Theodore Rexel ordered a steak and a bottle of bars at the Tabledoad of the Grand Babylon Hotel. End of chapter 29 and 30 End of The Grand Babylon Hotel by Arnold Bennett Recorded by Arnold Simon August 2008