 Chapter one and two 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 Badd. A Fantasia on modern themes. Chapter one. The Millionaire and the Waiter. Yes, sir. Shill, the celebrated headwaiter of the Grand Babylon, was bending formally towards the alert middle-aged man who had just entered the smoking-room and dropped into a basket-chair in the corner by the conservatory. It was 7.45 on a particularly sultry June night, and dinner was about to be served at the Grand Babylon. Men of all sizes, ages, and nationalities, but everyone alike arrayed in faultless evening-dress, were dotted about the large, dim apartment. A faint odor of flowers came from the conservatory, and the tinkle of a fountain. The waiters, commanded by Shill, moved softly across the thick oriental rugs, balancing their trays with the dexterity of jugglers, and receiving and executing orders with that air of profound importance of which only really first-class waiters have the secret. The atmosphere was an atmosphere of serenity and repose, characteristic of the Grand Babylon. It seemed impossible that anything could occur to mar the peaceful aristocratic monotony of existence in that perfectly managed establishment, yet on that night was to happen the mightiest upheaval that the Grand Babylon had ever known. Yes, sir, repeated Shill, and this time there was a shade of august disapproval in his voice. It was not usual for him to have to address a customer twice. Oh! said the alert middle-aged man, looking up at length. Beautifully ignorant of the identity of the great Shill, he allowed his grey eyes to twinkle as he caught sight of the expression on the waiters' face. Bring me an angel-kiss. Pardon, sir? Bring me an angel-kiss, and be good enough to lose no time. If it's an American drink, I fear we don't keep it, sir. The voice of Shill fell icely distinct, and several men glanced round uneasily, as if to deprecate the slightest disturbance of their calm. The appearance of the person to whom Shill was speaking, however, reassured them somewhat, for he had all the look of that expert that travelled Englishman, who can differentiate between one hotel and another by instinct, and who knows at once where he may make a fuss with propriety, and where it is advisable to behave exactly as at the club. The grand babelon was a hotel in whose smoking-room one behaved as though one was at one's club. I didn't suppose you did keep it, but you can mix it, I guess, even in this hotel. This isn't an American hotel, sir. The calculated insolence of the words was cleverly masked beneath an accent of humble submission. The alert middle-aged man set up straight and gazed pleasantly at Shill, who was pulling his famous red-side whiskers. Get a liqueur, glass, he said, half curtly and half with good ear-mic tolerance. Pour into it equal quantities of maraschino, cream and crown the ment. Don't stir it, don't shake it, bring it to me. And I say, tell the bartender— Bartender, sir? Tell the bartender to make a note of the recipe, as I shall probably want an angel kiss every evening before dinner, so long as this weather lasts. I will send the drink to you, sir," said Shill distantly. That was his parting shot, by which he indicated that he was not as other weight as are, and that any person who treated him with disrespect did so at his own peril. A few minutes later, while the alert middle-aged man was tasting the angel-kiss, Shill sat in conclave with Miss Spencer, who had charged with the Bureau of the Grand Babylon. This Bureau was a fairly large chamber, with two sliding-glass partitions which overlooked the entrance hall on the smoking-room. Only a small portion of the clerical work of the great hotel was performed there. The place served chiefly as the lair of Miss Spencer, who was as well-known and as important as Shill himself. Most modern hotels have a male clerk to superintend the Bureau, but the Grand Babylon went its own way. Miss Spencer had been Bureau clerk almost since the Grand Babylon had first raised its massive chimneys to heaven, and she remained in her place, despite the vagaries of other hotels. Always admirably dressed in plain black silk, with a small diamond brooch, immaculate wristbands, and frizzled yellow hair, she looked now just as she had looked an indefinite number of years ago. Her age, none knew it, save herself and perhaps one other, and none cared. The gracious and alluring contours of her figure were irreproachable, and in the evenings she was a useful ornament of which any hotel might be innocently proud. Her knowledge of Bradshaw, of steamship services, and the programs of theatres and music halls was unrivaled, yet she never travelled, she never went to a theatre or a music hall. She seemed to spend the whole of her life in that official lair of hers, imparting information to guests, telephoning to the various departments, or engaged in intimate conversations with her special friends on the staff, as at present. Whose number one hundred and seven, Jules asked this black rope lady. Miss Spencer examined her ledges. Mr. Theatre Rexle, New York. I thought he must be a New Yorker, said Jules, after a brief, significant pause, but he talks as good English as you or me, says he wants an angel kiss, a maraschino and cream, if you please, every night. I'll see he doesn't stop here too long. Miss Spencer smiled grimly in response. The notion of referring to Theatre Rexle as a New Yorker appealed to her sense of humour, a sense in which she was not entirely deficient. She knew, of course, and she knew that Jules knew that this Theatre Rexle must be the unique and only Theatre Rexle, the third richest man in the United States, and therefore probably in the world. Nevertheless, she arranged herself at once on the side of Jules. Just as there was only one Rexle, so there was only one Jules, and Miss Spencer instinctively shared the ledger's indignation at the spectacle of any person whatsoever, millionaire or emperor, presuming to demand an angel kiss, that that unrespectable concoction of maraschino and cream within the precincts of the Grand Babylon. In the world of hotels it was currently stated that, next to the proprietor, there were three guards at the Grand Babylon. Jules, the head waiter, Miss Spencer, and, most powerful of all, Rocco, the renowned chef who earned two thousand a year and had a chalet on the Lake of Lucerne. All the great hotels in Northumberland Avenue and on the Thames Embankment had tried to get Rocco away from the Grand Babylon, but without success. Rocco was well aware that even he could rise no higher than the Met Hotel of the Grand Babylon, which, though it never advertised itself and didn't belong to a limited company, stood an easy first among the hotels of Europe. First in expansiveness, first in exclusiveness, first in that mysterious quality known as style. Situated on the embankment, the Grand Babylon, despite its noble proportions, was somewhat dwarfed by several colossal neighbours. It had but three hundred and fifty rooms, whereas there are two hotels within a quarter of a mile with six hundred and four hundred rooms respectively. On the other hand, the Grand Babylon was the only hotel in London with a genuine, separate entrance for royal visitors constantly in use. The Grand Babylon counted that day wasted on which it did not entertain at the lowest a German prince or the Maharaja of some Indian state. When Felix Babylon, after whom, and not with any reference to London's nickname, the hotel was christened, when Felix Babylon founded the hotel in 1869, he had set himself to cater for royalty, and that was the secret of his triumphant eminence. The son of a rich Swiss hotel proprietor and financier, he had contrived to establish a connection with the officials of several European courts, and he had not spared money in that respect. Sundry Kings and other few princesses called him Felix, and spoke familiarly of the hotel as Felix's, and Felix had found that this was very good for trade. The Grand Babylon was managed accordingly. The note of its policy was discretion, always discretion, and quietude, simplicity, remoteness. The place was like a palace incognito. There was no gold sign over the roof, not even an explanatory word at the entrance. You walked down a small side street off the Strand, you saw a plain brown building in front of you with two mahogany swing doors and an official behind each. The doors opened noiselessly, you entered, you were in Felix's. If you meant to be a guest, you or your courier gave your car to Miss Spencer. Upon no consideration did you ask for the tariff. It was not good form to mention prices at the Grand Babylon. The prices were enormous, but you never mentioned them. At the conclusion of your stay a bill was presented, brief and void of dry details, and you paid it without a word. You met with a stately civility, that was all. No one had originally asked you to come. No one expressed the hope that you would come again. The Grand Babylon was far above such maneuvers. It defied competition by ignoring it, and consequently was nearly always full during the season. If there was one thing more than another that annoyed the Grand Babylon, put its back up so to speak, it was to be compared with, or to be mistaken for, an American hotel. The Grand Babylon was resolutely opposed to American methods of eating, drinking and lodging, but especially American methods of drinking. The resentment of Jewel on being requested to supply Miss Athea Rexel with an angel kiss will therefore be appreciated. Anybody with Miss Athea Rexel asked Jewel, continuing his conversation with Miss Spencer, he put a scornful stress on every syllable of the guest's name. Miss Rexel, she is in number 111. Jewel paused, and strokes left whisker as it lay on his gleaming white collar. She's where, he queried, with a peculiar emphasis. Number 111. I couldn't help it. There was no other room with a bathroom and dressing room on that floor. Miss Spencer's voice had an appealing tone of excuse. Why didn't you tell Mr. Athea Rexel and Miss Rexel that we were unable to accommodate them? Because Baps was within hearing. Only three people in the wide world ever dreamt of applying to Mr. Felix Babylon the playful but mean abbreviation Baps. Those three were Jewel, Miss Spencer and Rocco. Jewel had invented it. No one but he would have had either the wit or the audacity to do so. You'd better see that Miss Rexel changes a room to-night, Jewel said after another pause. Leave it to me, I'll fix it. Au revoir! It's three minutes to eight. I shall take charge of the dining room myself tonight. And Jewel departed, rubbing his fine white hands slowly and meditatively. It was a trick of his to rub his hands with a strange roundabout motion, and the action denoted that some unusual excitement was in the air. At eight o'clock precisely dinner was served in the immense Salmanger that chased yet splendid apartment of white and gold. At the mall table near one of the windows a young lady sat alone. Her frocks sat Paris, but her face unmistakably sat New York. It was a self-possessed and bewitching face, the face of a woman thoroughly accustomed to doing exactly what she liked, when she liked, how she liked. The face of a woman who had taught hundreds of guilty young men the true art of fetching and carrying, and who, by twenty years or so of parental spoiling, had come to regard herself as the feminine equivalent of the Tsar of all the Russia's. Such women are only made in America, and they only come to their full bloom in Europe, which they imagined to be a continent created by Providence for their diversion. The young lady by the window glanced disapprovingly at the menu-card. Then she looked round the dining-room, and, while admiring the diners, decided that the room itself was rather small and plain. Then she gazed through the open window, and told herself that, though the Thames by Twilight was passable enough, it was by no means level with the Hudson, on whose shores her father had a hundred-thousand-dollar country cottage. Then she returned to the menu, and with a piercing of lovely lips said that there appeared to be nothing to eat. Sorry to keep you waiting, Nella. It was Mr. Rexhole, the intrepid millionaire who had dared to order an angel-kiss in the smoke-room of the Grand Babylon. Nella, her proper name was Helen, smiled at her parent cautiously, reserving to herself the right to scold if she should feel so inclined. You always are late, Father, she said. Only on her day, he added, what's there to eat? Nothing. Then let's have it. I'm hungry. I'm never so hungry as when I'm being seriously idle. Consomé Britannia, she began to read out through the menu. So mondicose, sous-guinoise, aspique-dommard. Oh, heavens, who wants these horrid messes on a night like this? But, Nella, this is the best cooking in Europe, he protested. Say, Father, she said, with seeming irrelevance, had you forgotten it's my birthday to-morrow? Have I ever forgotten your birthday, oh, most costly daughter? On the whole you've been a most satisfactory dad, she answered sweetly, and to reward you I'll be content this year with the cheapest birthday treat you ever gave me. Only I'll have it tonight. Well, he said, with the long-suffering patience, the readiness for any surprise of a parent whom Nella had thoroughly trained. What is it? It's this. Let's have a filleted steak and a bottle of bars for dinner tonight. It'll be simply exquisite. I shall love it. But, my dear Nella, he exclaimed, steak and beer at Felix's, it's impossible. Moreover, young women still under twenty-three cannot be permitted to drink bars. I said steak and bars, and as for being twenty-three, I shall be going in twenty-four to-morrow. Miss Rexel said her small white teeth. Those are gentle cuffs. Jules said over them. It must have been out of a pure spirit of adventure that he had selected this table for his own services. Usually, Jules did not personally wait at dinner. He merely hovered, observant, like a captain on the bridge during the mate's watch. Regular frequenters of the hotel felt themselves honoured when Jules attached himself to their tables. Theatre Rexel hesitated one second, and then issued the order with a fine air of carelessness. Filleted steak for two and a bottle of bars. It was the bravest act of Theatre Rexel's life, and yet, at more than one previous crisis, a high courage had not been lacking to him. It's not in the menu, sir, said Jules, the imperturbable. Never mind. Get it. We want it. Very good, sir. Jules walked to the service-door, and, merely affecting to look behind, came immediately back again. Mr. Rocco's compliment, sir, and he regrets to be unable to serve steak and bars tonight, sir. Mr. Rocco questioned Rexel lightly. Mr. Rocco repeated Jules with firmness. And who is Mr. Rocco? Mr. Rocco is our chef, sir. Jules had the expression of a man who was asked to explain who Shakespeare was. Two men looked at each other. It seemed incredible that Theatre Rexel, the ineffable Rexel, who owned a thousand miles of railway, several towns, and sixty votes in Congress, should be defied by a waiter, or even by a whole hotel. Yet so it was. When Europe's defeat back is against the wall, not a regiment of millionaires can turn its flank. Jules had the calm expression of a strong man sure of victory. He said, You beat me once, but not this time, my New York friend. As for Nella, knowing her father, she foresaw interesting events, and waited confidently for the steak. She did not feel hungry, and she could afford to wait. Excuse me a moment, Nella, said Theatre Rexel quietly. I shall be back in about two seconds. And he strode out of the salamange. No one in the room recognized the millionaire, for he was unknown to London. This being his first visit to Europe for over twenty years. Had anyone done so, and caught the expression on his face, that man might have trembled for an explosion which should have blown the entire Grand Babylon into the Thames. Jules retired strategically to a corner. He had fired. It was the antagonist's turn. A long and varied experience had taught Jules that a guest who embarks on the subjugation of a waiter is almost always lost. The waiter has so many advantages in such a contest. Nevertheless, there are men with a confirmed habit of getting their own way, even as guests in an exclusive hotel, and Theatre Rexel had long since fallen into that useful practice, except when his only daughter Helen, motherless but high-spirited girl, chose to think that his way crossed hers, in which case Theatre capitulated and fell back. But when Theatre and his daughter happened to be going one and the same road, and that was pretty often, then Heaven alone might help any obstacle that was so ill-advised as to stand in their path. Jules, great and observant man though he was, had not noticed the terrible projecting chins of both father and daughter, otherwise it is possible he would have reconsidered the question of the steak and bars. Theatre Rexel went direct to the entrance hall of the hotel and entered Miss Pencer's sanctum. I want to see Mr. Babylon, he said, without the delay of an instant. Miss Pencer leisurely raised her flexing head. I am afraid, she began the usual formula, it was part of her daily duty to discourage guests who desired to see Mr. Babylon. No, no, said Rexel quickly. I don't want any I'm-fraiths. This is business. If you had been the ordinary hotel-clog, I should have slipped you a couple of sovereigns into your hand, and the thing would have been done. As you are not, as you are obviously above bribes, I merely say to you, I must see Mr. Babylon at once, on an affair of the utmost urgency. My name is Rexel, Theatre Rexel. Of New York? questioned the voice at the door, with a slight foreign accent. The millionaire turned sharply and saw a rather short, French-looking man with a bald head, a grey beard, a long and perfectly built frock coat, eyeglasses attached to a minute silver chain, and blue eyes that seemed to have the transparent innocence of a maids. There is only one, said Theatre Rexel succinctly. You wish to see me? the newcomer suggested. You are Mr. Felix Babylon? The man bowed. At this moment I wish to see you more than anyone else in the world, said Rexel. I am consumed and burned up with a desire to see you, Mr. Babylon. I only want a few minutes quiet chat. I fancy I can settle my business in that time. With a gesture, Mr. Babylon invited the millionaire down a side-quarter, at the end of which was Mr. Babylon's private room, a miracle of Louis Kahn's furniture and tapestry. Like most unmarried men with large incomes, Mr. Babylon had tastes of a highly expensive sword. The land lord and his guests sat down opposite each other. Theatre Rexel had met with the usual millionaire's luck in this adventure, for Mr. Babylon made a practice of not allowing himself to be interviewed by his guests, however distinguished, however wealthy, however pertinacious. If he had not the chance to enter Miss Spencer's office at that precise moment, and if he had not been impressed in a somewhat peculiar way by the physiognomy of the millionaire, not all Mr. Rexel's American energy and ingenuity would have availed for a confabulation with the owner of the Grand Babylon Hotel that night. Theatre Rexel, however, was ignorant that a mere accident had served him. He took all the credit to himself. I read in the New York papers some months ago, a theatre started, without even a clearing of the throat, that this hotel of yours, Mr. Babylon, was to be sold to a limited company, but it appears that the sale was not carried out. It was not, answered Mr. Babylon frankly, and the reason was that the middleman between the proposed company and myself wished to make a large secret profit, and I declined to be a party to such a profit. They were firm, I was firm, and so the affair came to nothing. The agreed price was satisfactory. Quite. May I ask what the price was? Are you a buyer, Mr. Rexel? Are you a seller, Mr. Babylon? I am, said Babylon, on terms. The price was £400,000, including the leasehold and goodwill, but I sell only on the condition that the buyer does not transfer the property to a limited company at a higher figure. I will put one question to you, Mr. Babylon, said the millionaire. What have your profits averaged during the last four years? £34,000 per annum. I buy, said theatre Rexel, smiling contentedly, and we will, if you please, exchange contract letters on the spot. You come quickly to a resolution, Mr. Rexel, but perhaps you have been considering this question for a long time. On the contrary, Rexel looked at his watch. I've been considering it for six minutes. Felix Babylon bowed as one thoroughly accustomed to eccentricity of wealth. The beauty of being well known, Rexel continued, is that you needn't trouble about preliminary explanations. You, Mr. Babylon, probably know all about me. I know a good deal about you. We can take each other for granted, without reference. Really, it is as simple to buy a hotel or a railroad as it is to buy a watch, provided one is equal to the transaction. Precisely, agreed Mr. Babylon, smiling. Shall we draw up the little informal contract? There are details to be thought of, but it occurs to me that you cannot have dined yet, and might prefer to deal with minor questions after dinner. I have not dined, said the millionaire, with emphasis, that connection will you do me a favour, will you send for Mr. Rocco? You wish to see him, naturally. I do, said the millionaire, and edit about my dinner. Rocco is a great man, murmured Mr. Babylon, as he touched the bell, ignoring the last words. My compliments to Mr. Rocco, he said to the page who answered his summons, and if it is quite convenient, I should be glad to see him here for a moment. What do you give, Rocco? Rexel inquired. Two thousand a year, and a treatment of an ambassador. I shall give him the treatment of an ambassador, and three thousand. You will be wise, said Felix Babylon. At that moment Rocco came into the room, very softly, a man of forty, thin, with long, thin hands, and an inordinately long, brown, silky moustache. Rocco, said Felix Babylon, let me introduce Mr. Theodore Rexel of New York. Shant, said Rocco, bowing. The—the—what you call it—millionaire. Exactly, Rexel put in, and continued quickly. Mr. Rocco, I wish to acquaint you before any other person, with the fact that I have purchased the grand Babylon Hotel. If you think well to afford me the privilege of retaining your services, I shall be happy to offer you a remuneration of three thousand a year. Three, you said? Three. Shant. And now, Mr. Rocco, will you oblige me very much by ordering a plain beef steak and a bottle of bars to be served by Jules? I particularly desire Jules, at table number seventeen in the dining room in ten minutes from now, and will you do me the honour of lunching with me tomorrow? Mr. Rocco gasped, bowed, messaged something in French, and departed. Five minutes later the buyer and seller of the grand Babylon Hotel had each signed a curved document scribbled out on the hotel note paper. Felix Babylon asked no questions, and it was this heroic absence of curiosity, of surprise, on his part, that more than anything else impressed Theodore Rexel. How many hotel proprietors in the world Rexel asked himself would have let that beef steak and bars go by without a word of comment? From what date do you wish the purchase to take effect? asked Babylon. Oh! said Rexel lightly. It doesn't matter. Shall we save from tonight? As you will. I have long wished to retire, and now that the moment has come, and so dramatically, I am ready. I shall return to Switzerland. One cannot spend much money there, but it is my native land. I shall be the richest man in Switzerland. He smiled with a kind of sad amusement. I suppose you're fairly well off, said Rexel, in that easy, familiar style of his, as though the idea had just occurred to him. Besides what I shall receive from you, I have half a million invested. Then you will be nearly a millionaire. Felix Babylon nodded. I congratulate you, my dear sir, said Rexel, in the tone of a judge addressing a newly admitted barrister. Nine hundred thousand pounds expressed in francs will sound very nice in Switzerland. Of course to you, Mr. Rexel, such a sum would be poverty. Now, if one might guess at your own wealth. Felix Babylon was imitating the other's freedom. I do not know, to five millions or so, what I am worth, said Rexel, with sincerity, his tone indicating that he would have been glad to give the information if it were in his power. You have had anxieties, Mr. Rexel? Still have them. I am now holiday-making in London with my daughter in order to get rid of them for a time. Is the purchase of hotels your notion of relaxation, then? Rexel shrugged his shoulders. It is a change from railroads, he laughed. Ah, my friend, you little know what you have bought. Oh, yes I do, returned Rexel. I have bought just the first hotel in the world. That is true, that is true, Babylon admitted, gazing meditatively at the antique Persian carpet. There is nothing anywhere like my hotel. But you will regret the purchase, Mr. Rexel. It is no business of mine, of course, but I cannot help repeating that you will regret the purchase. I never regret. Then you will begin very soon, perhaps tonight. Why do you say that? Because the Grand Babylon is the Grand Babylon. You think because you control a railroad, or an ironworks, or a line of steamers, therefore you can control anything. But no, not the Grand Babylon. There is something about the Grand Babylon. He threw up his hands. Servants rob you, of course. Of course, I suppose I lose a hundred pounds a week in that way. But it is not that I mean. It is the guests. The guests are too... too distinguished. The great ambassadors, the great financiers, the great nobles, all the men that move the world put up under my roof. London is the centre of everything. And my hotel, your hotel, is the centre of London. Once I had a king and a Dowager Empress staying here at the same time. Imagine that. A great honour, Mr. Babylon. But wherein lies the difficulty? Mr. Axel, with the grim reply, what has become of your shrewdness, that shrewdness which have made your fortune so immense that even you cannot calculate it? Do you not perceive that the roof which habitually shelters all the force, all the authority of the world must necessarily also shelter nameless and numberless plotters, schemas, evildoers and workers of mischief? The thing is as clear as day and as dark as night. Mr. Axel, I never know by whom I am surrounded. I never know what is going forward. Only sometimes I get hints, glimpses of strange acts and strange secrets. You mentioned my servants. They're almost all good servants. Skilled, competent. But what are they besides? For anything I know, my fourth sub-chef may be an agent of some European government. For anything I know, my invaluable Miss Spencer may be in the pay of a court dressmaker or a Frankfurt banker. Even Rocco may be someone else in addition to Rocco. That makes it all the more interesting, remarked Theodore Rexel. What a long time you've been, father, said Nella when he returned to table number seventeen in the Salmanje. Only twenty minutes might of. But you said two seconds. There is a difference. Well, you see, I had to wait for the steak to cook. Did you have much trouble in getting my birthday treat? No trouble. But it didn't come quite as cheap as you said. What do you mean, father? Only that I've bought the entire hotel. But don't split. Father, you always were a delicious parent. Shall you give me the hotel for a birthday present? No, I shall run it as an amusement. By the way, who's that cheerful? He noticed that a third cover had been laid at the table. That is for a friend of mine who came in about five minutes ago. Of course I told him he must share a steak. He'll be here in a moment. May I respectfully inquire his name? Dimmock, Christian name Reginald. Profession, English companion to Prince Arabert of Posen. I met him when I was in St. Petersburg with Cousin Hetty last fall. Oh, here he is! Mr. Dimmock, this is my dear father. He has succeeded with the steak. A theatre rexhole found himself confronted by a very young man with deep black eyes and a fresh, boyish expression. They began to talk. She'll approach with the steak. Rexhole tried to catch the waiter's eye, but could not. The dinner proceeded. Oh, father, cried Nella! What a lot of mustard you've taken! Have I, he said. And then he happened to glance into a mirror on his left hand between two windows. He saw the reflection of Shull, who stood behind his chair, and he saw Shull give a slow, significant, ominous wink to Mr. Dimmock, Christian name Reginald. He examined his mustard in silence. He thought that perhaps he had helped himself rather plentiously to mustard. End of chapter one and two. Chapter three and four 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 three. At three a.m. Mr. Reginald Dimmock proved himself, despite his extreme youth, to be a man of the world and of experiences, and a practised talker. Conversation between him and Nella Rexel seemed never to flag. They chatted about St. Petersburg and the eyes on the Neva and the tenor at the opera who had been exiled to Siberia and the quality of Russian tea and the sweetness of Russian champagne and various other aspects of Muscovite existence. Russia exhausted, Nella lightly outlined her own doings since she had met the young man in the tsar's capital, and this recital brought the topic round to London, where it stayed till the final piece of stake was eased. Thea Rexel noticed that Mr. Dimmock gave very meager information about his own movements, either past or future. He regarded the youth as a typical hang around of courts and wondered how he had obtained his post of companion to Prince Erebert of Pozen and who Prince Erebert of Pozen might be. The millionaire thought he had once heard of Pozen, but he wasn't sure. He rather fancied it was one of those small, non-descript German states of which five-sixths of the subjects are Pella's officials and the rest charcoal-burners or ink-keepers. Until the meal was nearly over, Rexel said little. Perhaps his thoughts were too busy with Sheel's wink to Mr. Dimmock, but when Isis had been followed by Coffey, he decided that it might be as well, in the interests of the hotel, to discover something about his gorgeous friend. He never for an instant questioned her right to possess her own friends. He'd always left her in the most amazing liberty, relying on her inherited good sense to keep her out of mischief. But, quite apart from the wink, he was struck by Nella's attitude towards Mr. Dimmock, an attitude in which an amiable scorn was blended with an evident desire to propitiate and please. Nella tells me, Mr. Dimmock, that you hold a confidential position with Prince Erebert of Pozen, said Rexel. You will pardon an American's ignorance, but is Prince Erebert a reigning prince? What, I believe, you call in Europe a prince-recknant? His Highness is not a reigning prince, nor ever likely to be, answered Dimmock. The grand-ducal throne of Pozen is occupied by His Highness's nephew, the Grand Duke Eugen. Nephew? cried Nella with astonishment. Why not, dear lady? But Prince Erebert is surely very young. The prince, by one of those vagaries of chance which occur sometimes in the history of families, is precisely the same age as the Grand Duke. The late Grand Duke's father was twice married, hence this youthfulness on the part of an uncle. How delicious to be the uncle of someone as old as yourself! But I suppose it is no fun for Prince Erebert. I suppose he has to be frightfully respectful and obedient all that to his nephew. The Grand Duke and my serene master are like brothers. At present, of course, Prince Erebert is nominally heir to the throne, but, as no doubt you are aware, the Grand Duke will shortly marry a near relative of the Emperor's, and should there be a family. Mr. Dimmock stopped and shrugged his straight shoulders. The Grand Duke, he went on, without finishing the last sentence, would much prefer Prince Erebert to be his successor. He really doesn't want to marry. Between ourselves, strictly between ourselves, he regards marriage as rather a bore. But, of course, being a German Grand Duke, he is bound to marry. He owes it to his country, to Posen. How large is Posen? asked Rexel bluntly. Father! Nella interposed, laughing. He shouldn't ask such inconvenient questions. You ought to have guessed that it isn't etiquette to inquire about the size of a German dictum. I'm sure, said Dimmock, with a polite smile, that the Grand Duke is as much amused as anyone at the size of his territory. I forget the exact acreage, but I remember that once Prince Erebert and myself walked across it and back again in a single day. Then the Grand Duke cannot travel very far within his own dominions. You may say that the sun does set on his empire. It does, said Dimmock. Unless the weather is cloudy, Nella put in. Is the Grand Duke content always to stay at home? On the contrary, he's a great traveller, much more so than Prince Erebert. I may tell you what no one knows at present outside this hotel that his Royal Highness the Grand Duke, with a small suite, will be here tomorrow. In London, asked Nella. Yes? In this hotel? Yes. Oh, how lovely! That is why your humble servant is here tonight, a sort of advanced guard. But I understood, Rexel said, that you were, erm, attached to Prince Erebert, the uncle. I am. Prince Erebert will also be here. The Grand Duke and the Prince have business about important investments connected with the Grand Duke's marriage settlement. In the highest quarters, you understand. For so discreet a person, thought Rexel, you are fairly communicative. Then he said aloud, shall we go out on the terrace? As they crossed the dining-room, she'll stop Mr. Dimmock and hand him a letter. Just come, sir, by messenger, said she'll. Nella dropped behind for a second with her father. Leave me alone with this boy a little. There is a dear parent, she whispered in his ear. I'm a mere cipher, an obedient nobody, Rexel replied, pinching her arms surreptitiously. Treat me as such, use me as you like. I will go and look after my hotel. And soon afterwards he disappeared. Nella and Mr. Dimmock sat together on the terrace, sipping iced drinks. They made a handsome couple, bowered amid plants which blossomed at the command of a Chelsea Hillshill florist. People who passed by remarked privately that from the look of things there was the beginning of a romance in that conversation. Perhaps there was, but a more intimate acquaintance with the character of Nella Rexel would have been necessary in order to predict what precise form that romance would take. Jules himself served the liquids, and at ten o'clock he brought another note. And treating a thousand pardons, Reginald Dimmock, after he had glanced at the note, excused himself on the plea of urgent business for his serene master, uncle of the Grand Duke of Posen. He asked if he might fetch Mr. Rexel, or escort Miss Rexel to her father. But Miss Rexel said gaily that she felt no need of an escort and should go to bed. She added that her father and herself always endeavored to be independent of each other. Just then theatre Rexel had found his way once more into Mr. Babylon's private room. Before arriving there, however, he had discovered that in some mysterious manner the news of the change of proprietorship had worked his way down to the lowest strata of the hotel's cosmos. The corridors hummed with it, and even underservants were to be seen discussing the thing, just as though it mattered to them. Have a cigar, Mr. Rexel, said the urbane Mr. Babylon, and the mouth-toll of the oldest cognac in all Europe. In a few minutes these two were talking eagerly, rapidly. Felix Babylon was astonished at Rexel's capacity for absorbing the details of hotel management, and as for Rexel he soon realized that Felix Babylon must be a prince of hotel managers. It had never occurred to Rexel before that to manage a hotel, even a large hotel, could be a specially interesting affair, or that it could make any excessive demands upon the brains of the manager, but he came to see that he had underrated the possibilities of a hotel. The business of the grand Babylon was enormous. It took Rexel, with always genius for organization, exactly half an hour to master the details of the hotel laundry work, and the laundry work was but one branch of activity and not a very large one at that. The machinery of checking supplies and of establishing a mean ratio between the raw stuff received in the kitchen and the number of meals served in the salamange and the private rooms was very complicated and delicate. When Rexel had grasped it, he had once suggested some improvements, and this led to a long theoretical discussion, and the discussion led to the aggressions, and then Felix Babylon in a moment of absent-mindedness yawned. Rexel looked at the gilt clock on the high mantelpiece. "'Great, Scott,' he said, "'it's three o'clock. Best of Babylon, accept my apologies for having kept you up to such an absurd hour.' "'I have not spent so pleasant an evening for many years. You have let me write my hobby to my heart's content. It is I who should apologize.' Rexel rose. "'I should like to ask you one question,' said Babylon. "'Have you ever had anything to do with hotels before?' "'Never,' said Rexel. "'Then you have missed your vocation. You could have been the greatest of all hotel managers. You would have been greater than me, and I am unequaled, though I keep only one hotel, and some men have half a dozen. "'Mr. Rexel, why have you never run a hotel?' "'Heaven knows,' he laughed, "'but you flatter me, Mr. Babylon.' "'I? Flatter?' "'You do not know me. I flatter no one, except perhaps now and then an exceptionally distinguished guest, in which case I give suitable instructions as to the bill.' "'Speaking of distinguished guests, I am told that a couple of German princes are coming here to-morrow.' "'That is so.' "'Does one do anything? Does one receive them formally, stand bowing in the entrance hall, or anything of that sort?' "'Not necessarily. Not unless one wishes. The modern hotel proprietor is not like an innkeeper of the Middle Ages, and even princes do not expect to see him unless something should happen to go wrong. "'As a matter of fact, though the Grand Duke of Posen and Prince Erebert have both honored me by staying here before, I have never even set eyes on them. "'You'll find all arrangements have been made.' "'They talked a little longer, and then Rexel said good night. "'Let me see you to your room. "'The lifts will be closed, and the place will be deserted. "'As for myself, I sleep here.' "'And Mr. Babylon pointed to an inner door.' "'No thanks,' said Rexel. "'Let me explore my own hotel unaccompanied. "'I believe I can discover my room.' When he got fairly into the passages, Rexel was not so sure that he could discover his own room. The number was one hundred and seven, but he had forgotten whether it was on the first or second floor. Traveling in a lift, one is unconscious of flaws. He passed several lift-doorways, but he could see no glint of a staircase. In all self-respecting hotels, staircases have gone out of fashion, and though hotel architects still continue, for old's sake's sake, to build staircases, they are tucked away in remote corners, where their presence is not likely to offend the eye of a spoiled and cosmopolitan public. The hotel seemed vast and canny, deserted. An electric light glowed here and there at long intervals. On the thick carpets, Rexel's thinly shot feet made no sound, and he wandered at ease to and fro, rather amused, rather struck by the peculiar senses of night and mystery, which had suddenly come over him. He fancied he could hear a thousand snores peacefully descending from the upper realms. At length he found a staircase, a very dark and narrow one, and presently he was on the first floor. He soon discovered that the numbers of the rooms on this floor did not get beyond seventy. He encountered another staircase and ascended to the second floor. By the decoration of the walls he recognized this floor as his proper home, and as he strolled through the long corridor he whistled a low meditative whistle of satisfaction. He thought he heard a step in the transverse corridor, and instinctively he obliterated himself in a recess which held a service cabinet and a chair. He did hear a step. Peeping cautiously out he perceived, while he had not perceived previously, that a piece of white ribbon had been tied around the handle of the door of one of the bedrooms. Then a man came round the corner of the transverse corridor, and Rexel drew back. It was Jewel, Jewel with his hands in his pockets and a slouch head over his eyes, but in other respects a tired as usual. Rexel at that instant remembered with a special vividness what Felix Bebelon had said to him at their first interview. He wished he had brought his revolver. He didn't know why he should feel the desirability of a revolver in a London hotel of the most unimpeachable, fair fame, but he did feel the desirability of such an instrument of attack and defence. He privately decided that if Jewel went past his recess he would take him by the throat, and in that attitude put a few plain questions to his highly dubious waiter. But Jewel had stopped. The millionaire made another cautious observation. Jewel with infinite gentleness was turning the handle of the door to which the white ribbon was attached. The door slowly yielded, and Jewel disappeared within the room. After a brief interval the night-prowling Jewel reappeared, closed the door as softly as he'd opened it, removed the ribbon, returned upon his steps, and vanished down the transverse corridor. This is quaint, said Rexel, quaint to a degree. It occurred to him to look at the number of the room, and he stole towards it. Well, I'm damned, he murmured wonderingly. The number was one hundred and eleven, his daughter's room. He tried to open it, but the door was locked. Rushing to his own room, number one hundred and seven, he seized one of a pair of revolvers, the kind that are made for millionaires, and followed after Jewel down the transverse corridor. At the end of this corridor was a window. The window was open, and Jewel was innocently gazing out of the window. Ten silent strides, and theater Rexel was upon him. One word, my friend, the millionaire began, carelessly waving the revolver in the air. Jewel was indubitably startled, but by an admirable exercise of self-control he recovered possession of his faculties in a second. Sir? said Jewel. I just want to be informed that Jews you were doing in number one hundred and eleven a moment ago. I had been requested to go there, was the calm response. You're a liar, and not a very clever one. That's my daughter's room. Now, out with it, before I decide whether to shoot you or throw you into the street. Excuse me, sir. Number one hundred and eleven is occupied by a gentleman. I advise you that it is a serious error of judgment to contradict me, my friend. Don't do it again. We will go to the room together, and you shall prove that the occupant is a gentleman, and not my daughter. Impossible, sir, said Jewel. Scarcely that, said Rexel, and he took Jewel by the sleeve. The millionaire knew for a certainty that Nella occupied number one hundred and eleven, for he had examined the room with her, and himself seen that her trunks and her maid and herself had arrived there in safety. Now, open the door, but Rexel, when they reached number one hundred and eleven. I must knock. That is just what you mustn't do. Open it. No doubt you have your powers key. Confronted by the revolver, Jewel readily obeyed, yet with a deprecatory's gesture, as though he would not be responsible for this outrage against the decorum of hotel life, Rexel entered. The room was brilliantly lighted. A visitor who insists on seeing you, sir, said Jewel, and fled. Mr. Reginald Dimmock, still in evened dress, and smoking a cigarette, rose hurriedly from a table. Hello, my dear Mr. Rexel. This is an unexpected pleasure. Where's my daughter? This is her room. Did I catch what you said, Mr. Rexel? I avenged to remark that this is Miss Rexel's room. My good sir, answered Dimmock, you must be mad to dream of such a thing. Only my respect for your daughter prevents me from expelling you forcibly for such an extraordinary suggestion. A small spot halfway down the bridge of the millionaire's nose turned suddenly white. With your permission, he said in a low, calm voice, I will examine the dressing room and the bathroom. Just listen to me a moment, Dimmock urged, in a milder tone. I'll listen to you afterwards, my young friend, said Rexel, and he proceeded to search the bathroom and the dressing room without any result, whatever. Lest my attitude might be open to misconstruction, Mr. Dimmock, I may as well tell you that I have the most perfect confidence in my daughter, who is as well able to take care of herself as any woman I ever met. But since you entered it, there have been one or two rather mysterious occurrences in this hotel. That is all. When I draught of air on the shoulder, Rexel turned to the window. For instance, he added, I perceive that this window is broken, badly broken, and from the outside. Now how could that have occurred? If you will kindly hear reason, Mr. Rexel, said Dimmock in his best diplomatic manner, I will endeavour to explain things to you. I regarded your first question to me when you entered my room as being offensively put, but I now see that you had some justification. He smiled politely. I was passing along this corridor about eleven o'clock when I found Miss Rexel in a difficulty with her hotel servants. Miss Rexel was retiring to rest in this room when a large stone, which must have been thrown from the embankment, broke the window, as you see. Apart from the discomfort of the broken window, she did not care to remain in the room. She argued that where one stone had come, another might follow. She therefore insisted on her room being changed. The servant said that there was no other room available with the dressing room and bathroom attached, and your daughter made a point of these matters. I had once offered to exchange apartments with her. She did me the honour to accept my offer. Our respective belongings were moved, and that is all. Miss Rexel is at this moment, I trust, asleep in number one hundred and twenty-four. Thief of Rexel looked at the young man for a few seconds in silence. There was a faint knock at the door. Come in, said Rexel loudly. Someone pushed open the door. But a remain standing on the mat. It was Nellis made in a dressing-gown. Miss Rexel's compliments and a thousand excuses, but a book of hers was left on the mental shelf in this room. She cannot sleep and wishes to read. Mr. Dimmock, I attend to my apologies. My formal apologies, said Rexel, when the girl had gone away with the book. Good night. Pray don't mention it, said Dimmock swavly, and bowed him out. Chapter Four Entrance of the Prince Nevertheless, sundry small things weighed on Rexel's mind. First there was Jill's wink, then there was the ribbon on the door-handle and Jill's visit to number one hundred and eleven, and the broken window, broken from the outside. Rexel did not forget that the time was three a.m. He slept but little that night, but he was glad that he had bought the grand babel on hotel. The next morning he came across Mr. Babylon early. I have emptied my private room of all personal papers, said Babylon, and it is now at your disposal. I propose, if agreeable to yourself, to stay on in the hotel as a guest for the present. We have much to settle with regard to the completion of the purchase, and also there are things which you might want to ask me. Also, to tell the truth, I am not anxious to leave the old place with too much suddenness. It will be orange to me. I shall be delighted if you will stay, said the millionaire, but it must be as my guest, not as the guest of the hotel. You are very kind. As for wishing to consult you, no doubt I shall have need to do so, but I must say that the show seems to run itself. Ah! said Babylon thoughtfully. I have heard of hotels that run themselves. If they do, you may be sure that they obey the laws of gravity and run downwards. You will have your hands full. For example, have you yet heard about Miss Spencer? No, said Rachel. What of her? She has mysteriously vanished during the night, and nobody appears to be able to throw any light on the affair. Her room is empty. Her box is gone. You'll want someone to take her place, and that someone will not be very easy to get. Hmm! Rexall said after a pause. Hers is not the only post that falls vacant today. A little later, the millionaire installed himself in the late owner's private room and rang the bell. I want Jewel, he said to the page. While waiting for Jewel, Rexall considered the question of Miss Spencer's disappearance. Good morning, Jewel! was his cheerful greeting when the imperturbable waiter arrived. Good morning, sir. Take a chair. Thank you, sir. We have met before this morning, Jewel. Yes, sir, at 3 a.m. Rather strange about Miss Spencer's departure, is it not? suggested Rexall. It is remarkable, sir. You are aware, of course, that Mr. Babylon has transferred all his interests in this hotel to me. I have been informed to that effect, sir. I suppose you know everything that goes on in the hotel, Jewel. As the head waiter, sir, it is my business to keep a general eye on things. You speak very good English for a foreigner, Jewel. For a foreigner, sir, I am an Englishman, a hardship man born and bred. Perhaps my name has misled you, sir. I am only called Jewel because the head waiter of any really high-class hotel must have either a French or an Italian name. I see, said Rexall. I think you must be rather a clever person, Jewel. That is not for me to say, sir. How long has the hotel enjoyed the advantage of your services? A little over twenty years. That is a long time to be in one place. Don't you think it's time you got out of the rut? You are still young and might make a reputation for yourself in another and wider sphere. Rexall, looked at the man steadily and his glance was steadily returned. You aren't satisfied with me, sir? To be frank, Jewel, I think... I think you... um... wink too much. And I think that it is regrettable when a head waiter falls into the habit of taking white ribbons from the handles of bedroom doors at three in the morning. Jewel started slightly. I see how it is, sir. You wish me to go. And one pretext, if I may use the term, is as good as another. Very well. I can't say that I'm surprised. It sometimes happens that there is incompatibility of temper between a hotel proprietor and his head waiter. And then, unless one of them goes, the hotel is likely to suffer. I will go, Mr. Rexall. In fact, I had already thought of giving notice. The billionaire smiled appreciatively. What wages do you require in lieu of notice? It is my intention that you leave the hotel within an hour. I require no wages in lieu of notice, sir. I would scorn to accept anything. And I will leave the hotel in fifteen minutes. Good day, then. You have my good wishes and my admiration, so long as you keep out of my hotel. Rexall got up. Good day, sir. And thank you. By the way, gil, it will be useless for you to apply to any other first-rate European hotel for a post, because I shall take measures which will ensure the rejection of any such application. Without discussing the question whether or not there aren't at least half a dozen hotels in London alone that would jump for joy at the chance of getting me, answered gil. I may tell you, sir, that I shall retire from my profession. Really? You will turn your brains to a different channel? No, sir. I shall take rooms in Elbomars Street or German Street, and just be content to be a man about town. I've saved some twenty thousand pounds and be a trifle, but sufficient for my needs, and I shall now proceed to enjoy it. Pardon me for troubling you with my personal affairs. And good day again. That afternoon Rexall went with Felix Bebelon first to a firm of solicitors in the city, and then to a stockbroker in order to carry out the practical details of the purges of the hotel. I mean to settle in England, said Rexall, as they were coming back. It is the only country and he stopped. The only country? The only country where you can invest money and spend money with a feeling of security. In the United States there is nothing worth spending money on, nothing to buy. In France or Italy there is no real security. But surely you are a true American, questioned Bebelon. I am a true American, said Rexall, but my father who began by being a betmaker at an Oxford college and ultimately made ten million dollars out of iron in Pittsburgh my father took the wise precaution of having me educated in England. I had my three years at Oxford like any son of the upper middle class. It did me good. It has been worth more to me than many successful speculations. It taught me that the English language is better than the American language. That there is something I haven't yet found out exactly what in English life that Americans will never get. Why? He added. In the United States we still bribe our judges in our newspapers and we talk of the 18th century as though it was the beginning of the world. Yes. I shall transfer my securities to London. I shall build a house in Park Lane and I shall buy some immemorial country seat with a history as long as the nearest railroad and I shall calmly and gradually settle down. Do you know, I'm rather a good native man for a millionaire and of a social disposition and yet I haven't six real friends in the whole of New York City. Think of that. And I, Sir Babylon, have no friends except the friends of my boyhood in Lausanne. I have spent thirty years in England and gained nothing but the perfect knowledge of the English language and as much gold as would fill a rather rich box. These two plutocrats breathed a simultaneous sigh. Talking of gold coin, said Rexel, how much money should you think Gilles has contrived to amass while he has been with you? Oh, Babylon smiled. I should not like to guess. He has had unique opportunities. Unique opportunities. Should you consider twenty thousand an extraordinary sum under the circumstances? Not at all. Has he been confiding in you? Somewhat. I've dismissed him. You've dismissed him? Why not? There's no reason why not. But I felt inclined to dismiss him for the past ten years and never found courage to do it. It was a perfectly simple proceeding, I assure you. Before I had done with him, I rather like the fellow. Miss Spencer and Jules both gone in one day, mused Felix Babylon. Had no one to take their places, said Rexel, and yet the hotel continues its way. But when Rexel reached the grand Babylon, he found that Miss Spencer's chair in the bureau was occupied by a stately and imperious girl dressed becomingly in black. Heavens! Nella! he cried going to the bureau. What are you doing here? I'm taking Miss Spencer's place. I want to help you with your hotel, Dad. I fancy I shall make an excellent hotel clerk. I've arranged with Miss Selena Smith, one of the typists in the office to book me up to all the tips and tricks and I shall do very well. But look here, Helen Rexel. We shall have the whole of London talking about this thing. The greatest of all American heiresses, a hotel clerk? And I came here for quiet and rest. I suppose it was for the sake of quiet and rest that you bought the hotel, Papa. You wouldn't sit on the steak, you retorted. Get out of this on the instant. Here I am, here to stay, said Nella, and deliberately laughed at her parent. Just then the face of a fair-haired man of about thirty years appeared at the bureau window. He was very well dressed, very aristocratic in his pose, and he seemed rather angry. He looked fixedly at Nella and started back. Ah! he exclaimed. You! Yes, Your Highness, it is indeed I. Father, this is his serene Highness Prince Erebert of Posen, one of our most esteemed customers. You know my name, Foylein, the newcomer murmured in German? Certainly, Prince Nella replied sweetly. You were plain Count Steimbach last spring in Paris, doubtless travelling incognito. Silence! he entreated, with a wave of the hand, and his forehead went as white as paper. End of Chapter 3 and 4 Chapter 5 and 6 of The Grand Babylon Hotel This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information of the volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Anna Simon. The Grand Babylon Hotel by Arnold Bennett Chapter 5 What occurred to Reginald Dimmock In another moment they were all three looking quite nicely, and with at any rate an appearance of being natural. Prince Erebert became suave, even differential to Nella, and more friendly towards Nella's father than their respective positions demanded. The letter amused himself by studying this sprig of royalty, the first with whom he had ever come into contact. He decided that the young fellow was personable enough, had no frills on him, and would make an exceptionally good commercial traveller for a first-class firm. Such was Theodore Rexell's preliminary estimate of the man who might one day be the reigning Grand Duke of Posen. It occurred to Nella, and she smiled at the idea, that the bureau of the hotel was scarcely the correct place in which to receive this august young man. There he stood, with his head half-way through the bureau window, negligently leaning against the woodwork, just as though he were a stockbroker or the manager of a New York burlesque company. Is your highness travelling quite alone? she asked. By a series of accidents I am, he said. My inquiry was to have met me at Sharon Cross, but he failed to do so. I cannot imagine why. Mr. Dimmock questioned Rexell. Yes, Dimmock, I do not remember that he ever missed an appointment before. You know him? He has been here? He dined with us last night, said Rexell, on Nella's invitation, he added maliciously. But today we've seen nothing of him. I know, however, that he has engaged the State Apartments and also his suite adjoining the State Apartments. Number 55. That is so, isn't it, Nella? Yes, Papa, she said, having first the merely examined the ledger. Your highness would doubtless like to be conducted to your room. Apartments, I mean. Then Nella laughed deliberately at the prince and said, I don't know who's the proper person to conduct you and that's a fact. The truth is that Papa and I are rather raw yet in the hotel line. You see, we only bought the place last night. You have bought the hotel? exclaimed the prince. That's so, said Rexell. And Felix Babylon has gone? He is going, if he is not already gone. Ah, I see, said the prince. This is one of your American strokes. You have bought to sell again. Is that not it? You are on your holidays, but you cannot resist making a few decisions by way of relaxation. I have heard of such things. We shall not sell again, prince, until we are tired of our bargain. Sometimes we tire very quickly, and sometimes we don't. It depends. Er, what? Rexell broke off suddenly to attend to a servant in livery who had quietly entered the bureau and was making urgent mysterious signs to him. If you please, sir. The man, by frantic gestures, implored Mr. Theodore Rexell to come out. And let me detain you, Mr. Rexell, said the prince, and therefore the proprietor of the grand Babylon departed after the servant with a queer, curt little bow to Prince Erebert. May and I come inside, said the prince, to Nella, immediately the millionaire had gone. Impossible, prince! Nella laughed. The rule against visitors entering this bureau is frightfully strict. How do you know the rule is so strict if you only came into possession last night? I know, because I made the rule myself this morning, Your Highness. But seriously, Miss Rexell, I want to talk to you. Do you want to talk to me as Prince Erebert, or as the friend, the acquaintance whom I knew in Paris last year? As the friend, dear lady, if I may use the term. And you are sure that you would not like first to be conducted to your apartments? Not yet. I will wait till Dimmock comes. He cannot fail to be here soon. Then we will have tea served in Father's private room. The proprietor's private room, you know? Good, he said. Nella talked through a telephone and rang several bells, and behaved generally in a manner calculated to prove to princes and to whomever it might concern that she was a young woman of business instincts and training. And then she stepped down from her chair of office, emerged from the bureau, and, proceeded by two menials, led Prince Erebert to the Louis Cairns chamber in which her father and Felix Babylon had a long confabulation on the previous evening. What do you want to talk to me about? She asked her companion, as she poured out for him a second cup of tea. The Prince looked at her for a moment as he took the profit cup. And, being a young man of sane, healthy instincts, he could think of nothing for the moment except her loveliness. Nella was indeed beautiful that afternoon. The beauty of even the most beautiful woman, ebbs and flows from hour to hour. Nella's, this afternoon, was at the flood. Evacious, alert, imperious, and yet ineffably sweet, she seemed to radiate the very joy and exuberance of life. I have forgotten, he said. You have forgotten? That is surely very wrong of you. You gave me to understand that it was something terribly important. But, of course, I knew it couldn't be because no man and especially no Prince ever discussed anything really important with a woman. Recollect, Miss Rexel, Prince, you are Count Steinbock, is that it? He started. For you only, he said, unconsciously lowering his voice. Miss Rexel, I particularly wish that no one here should know that I was in Paris last spring. An affair of state, she smiled. An affair of state, he replied soberly. Even Dimmock doesn't know. It was strange that we should be fellow guests in the way hotel. Strange but delightful. I shall never forget that rainy afternoon that we spent together in the Museum of Tocadeo. Let us talk about that. About the rain or the museum? I shall never forget that afternoon, he repeated, ignoring the lightness of her question. Nor I, she murmured, corresponding to his mood. You too enjoyed it, he said eagerly. The sculptures were magnificent, she replied hastily glancing at the ceiling. Ah, so they were. Tell me, Miss Rexel, how did you discover my identity? I must not say, she answered, that is my secret. Do not seek to penetrate it. Who knows what horrors you might discover if you probe too far? She laughed, but she laughed alone. The prints remained pensive as it were brooding. I never hope to see you again, he said. Why not? One never sees again those whom one wishes to see. As for me, I was perfectly convinced that we should meet again. Why? Because I always get what I want. Then, you wanted to see me again? Certainly, you interested me extremely. I've never met another man who could talk so well about sculpture as the Count's stainbock. Do you really always get what you want, Miss Rexel? Of course. That is, because your father is so rich, I suppose. Oh, no it isn't, she said. It's simply because I always do get what I want. He's got nothing to do with father at all. But, Mr. Rexel is extremely wealthy. Wealthy isn't the word Count. There is no word. It's positively awful the amount of dollars poor Papa makes. And the worst of it is, he can't help it. That when a man had made ten millions, no power on earth could stop those ten millions from growing into twenty. And so it continues. I spent what I can, but I can't come near coping with it. And of course Papa is no use whatever at spending. And you have no mother? Who told you I had no mother? She asked quietly. I, um, inquired about you, he said, with equal candor and humility. In spite of the fact that you never hoped to see me again? Yes, in spite of that. How funny, she said, and lapsed into a meditative science. Yours must be a wonderful existence, said the Prince. I envy you. You envy me? What, my father's wealth? No, he said, your freedom and your responsibilities. I have no responsibilities, she remarked. Pardon me, he said. You have, and the time is coming when you will feel them. I'm only a girl, she murmured with sudden simplicity. As for you Count, surely you have sufficient responsibilities of your own. I, he said sadly, I have no responsibilities. I am a nobody, a serene highness who has to pretend to be very important, always taking immense care never to do anything that a serene highness ought not to do. Wah! But if your nephew, Prince Eugen, were to die, would you not come to the throne, and would you not then have these responsibilities which he so much desire? Eugen die, said Prince Erbert, in a curious tone. Impossible. He is the perfection of health. In three months he will be married. No, I shall never be anything but a serene highness, the most despicable of God's creatures. But what about the state secret which you mentioned? Is not that a responsibility? Ah, he said, that is over, that belongs to the past. It was an accident in my dull career. I shall never be Count Stainbock again. Who knows, she said. By the way, it's not Prince Eugen coming here today. Mr. Dimmock told us so. See, answered the Prince, standing up and bending over her. I'm going to confide in you. I don't know why, but I am. Don't portray state secrets, she warned him, smiling into his face. But just then the door of the room was unceremoniously opened. Go right in, said a voice sharply. It was theater Rexels. Two men entered, bearing a prone form on a stretcher, and Rexels followed them. Nella, spring up. Rexels stared to see his daughter. I didn't know you were in here, Nell. Here, to the two men. Out again. Why? exclaimed Nella, gazing fearfully at the form on the stretcher. It's Mr. Dimmock. It is, her father acquiesced. He's dead, he added, laconically. I'd have broken it to you more gently had I known. You're pardoned, Prince. There was a pause. Dimmock dead. Prince Erobert whispered under his breath, and he kneeled down by the side of the stretcher. What does this mean? The poor fellow was just walking across the quarter-angle towards the portico when he fell down. A commissioner who saw him says he was walking very quickly. At first I thought it was sunstroke, but it couldn't have been, though the weather certainly is rather warm. It must be heart disease. But anyhow, he's dead. We did what we could. I've sent for a doctor and for the police. I suppose there have to be an inquest. Theater Rexels stopped, and in an awkward solemn silence they all gazed at the dead youth. The creatures were slightly drawn, and his eyes closed. That was all. He might have been asleep. My poor Dimmock! exclaimed the Prince, his voice broken. And I was angry because the lad did not meet me at Sharon Cross. Are you sure he's dead, Father? Nella said. You'd better go away, Nella, was Rexels' only reply, but the girls stood still and began to sob quietly. On the previous night, she had deliberately made fun of Reginald Dimmock. She had deliberately set herself to get information from him on a topic in which he happened to be specially interested, and she'd got it, laughing the while at his youthful crudities, his vanity, his transparent cunning, his absurd heirs. She had not liked him. She had even distrusted him, and decided that he was not nice. But now, as he lay on the stretcher, these things were forgotten. She went so far as to reproach herself for the power of death. Oblige me by taking the poor fellow to my apartments," said the Prince, with a gesture to the attendants. Surely it is time the doctor came. Rexels felt suddenly, at that moment, he was nothing but a mere hotel proprietor with an awkward affair on his hands. For a fraction of a second he wished he had never bought the grand Babylon. A quarter of an hour later, Prince Erebrot, Theodore Rexels, a doctor, and an inspector of police were in the Prince's reception room. They had just come from an anti-chamber in which lay the mortal remains of retinal Dimmock. Well, said Rexels, glancing at the doctor, the doctor was a big, boyish-looking man with keen, quizzical eyes. It's not heart disease, said the doctor. Not heart disease? No. Then what is it? asked the Prince. I may be able to answer that question after the post-mortem, said the doctor. I certainly can't answer it now. The symptoms are unusual to degree. The inspector of police began to write in a notebook. Chapter 6 In the Gold Room At the grand Babylon, a great bull was given that night in the Gold Room, a huge saloon attached to the hotel, though scarcely part of it, and certainly less exclusive than the hotel itself. Theodore Rexels knew nothing of the affair, except that it was an entertainment offered by a Mr. and Mrs. Samson Levi to their friends. Who Mr. and Mrs. Samson Levi were, he did not know, nor could anyone tell him anything about them, except that Mr. Samson Levi was a prominent member of that part of the stock exchange familiarly called the Kepher Circus, and that his wife was a stout lady with an equiline nose and many diamonds, and that they were very rich and very hospitable. Theodore Rexels did not want a bull in his hotel that evening, and just before dinner he had almost a mind to issue a decree that the Gold Room was to be closed and the bull forbidden, and Mr. and Mrs. Samson Levi might name the amount of damages suffered by them. His reasons for such a cause were threefold. First, he felt depressed and uneasy. Second, he didn't like the name of Samson Levi. And third, he had a desire to show these so-called plutocrats that their wealth was nothing to him, that they could not do what they chose with Theodore Rexels, and the Rexel would buy them up and the whole Kepher Circus to boot. But something warned him that though such a high-handed proceeding might be tolerated in America, that land of freedom, it would never be tolerated in England. He felt instinctively that in England there are things you can't do, and that this particular thing was one of them. So the bull went forward, and neither Mr. nor Mrs. Samson Levi had ever the least suspicion what a narrow escape they had had and they were very foolish in the eyes of the thousand or so guests invited by them to the Gold Room of the Grand Babylon that evening. The Gold Room of the Grand Babylon was built for a ballroom. A balcony, supported by arches faced with gilt and labors lazily, ran around it, and from this vantage men and maidens and chaperones who could not or would not dance might survey the scene. Everyone knew this, and most people took advantage of it. Was that higher up than the balcony there was a little barred window in the end wall from which the hotel authorities might keep a watchful eye, not only on the dancers, but on the occupants of the balcony itself. It may seem incredible to the uninitiated that the guests at any social gathering held in so gorgeous and renowned an apartment as the Gold Room of the Grand Babylon should need the observation of a watchful eye. Yet so it was. Strange matters and unexpected faces in the little window, and more than one European detective had kept vigil there with their most eminently satisfactory results. At eleven o'clock Theodore Rexl, afflicted by vexation of spirit, found himself gazing idly through the little barred window. Nella was with him. Together they'd been wondering about the quarters of the hotel, still strange to them both, and it was quite by accident that they had lighted upon the small room which had a surreptitious view of Mr. and Mrs. Samson Levi's ball. Except for the light of the chandelier of the ballroom, the little cubicle was in darkness. Nella was looking through the window. Her father stood behind. I wonder which is Mrs. Samson Levi, Nella said, and whether she matches her name. Wouldn't you love to have a name like that, father? Something the people could take hold of instead of Rexl? The sound of violence and a confused murmur of voices rose gently up to them. Hmph, said Theodore. Curse those evening papers, he added. Inconsequently, but with sincerity. Father, you're very horrid tonight. What have the evening papers been doing? Well, my young madam, they've got me in for one, and you for another, and they're manufacturing mysteries like fun. It's young Dimmock's death that has started them. Well, father, you surely didn't expect to keep yourself out of the papers. Besides, as regards newspapers, you ought to be glad you aren't in New York. Just fancy what the dear old Harold would have made out of a little transaction like yours of last night. That's true, assented Rexl. But it'll be all over New York tomorrow morning, all the same. The worst of it is that Babylon has gone off to Switzerland. Why? Don't know. Sudden fancy, I guess, for his native heath. What difference does it make to you? None. Only I feel sort of lonesome. I feel I want someone to lean up against in running this hotel. Father, if you have that feeling, you must be getting ill. Yes, he sighed. I admit it's unusual with me, but perhaps you haven't grasped the fact, Nella, that we're in the middle of a rather queer business. You mean about poor Mr. Dimmock? Partly Dimmock, and partly other things. First of all, that Miss Spencer, or whatever a wretched name is, mysteriously disappears. There was a stone thrown into your bedroom. Then I caught that rascal Jewel conspiring with Dimmock at three o'clock in the morning. Then your precious Prince Erebrot arrives without any sweet, which I believe is a most peculiar and wicked thing for a prince to do. And moreover, I find my daughter on very intimate terms with the sad prince. Then young Dimmock goes and dies, and there is to be an inquest. Then Prince Eusion and his sweet, who were expected here for dinner, fail to turn up at all. Prince Eusion has not come? He is not, and Uncle Erebrot is in a juice of his tea about him and telegraphing all over Europe. Altogether, things are working up pretty lively. Do you really think that there was anything between Jewel and poor Mr. Dimmock? Think? I know! I tell you, I saw that scamp give Dimmock a wink last night at dinner that might have meant, well... So you caught that wink, did you, Dad? Why, did you? Of course, Dad. I was going to tell you about it. The millionaire grunted. Look here, Father. Nella whispered suddenly and pointed to the balcony immediately below them. Who's that? She indicated the man with a bald patch on the back of his head who was propping himself up against the railing of the balcony and gazing immovable into the ballroom. Well, who is it? Isn't it Jewel? Gemini, by the beard of the prophet, it is! Perhaps Mr. Jewel is a guest of Mr. Samson Levi. Guest or no guest, he goes out of this hotel even if I have to throw him out myself. Theodore Rexell disappeared without another word and Nella followed him. But when the millionaire arrived on the balcony floor he could see nothing of Jewel, neither there nor in the ballroom itself. Saying no word allowed but quietly whispering wicked expletives he searched everywhere in vain and then, at last, by torches' stairways and corridors returned to his original post of observation that he might survey the place anew from the vantage ground. To his surprise he found a man in the dark little room watching the scene of the balls intently as he himself had been doing a few minutes before. Hearing footsteps the man turned with a start. It was Jewel. The two exchanged glances in the half-light for a second. Good evening, Mr. Rexell, said Jewel's calmly. I must apologize for being here. Force of habit, I suppose, said Theodore Rexell, dryly. Just so, sir. I fancy I'd forbidden you to re-enter this hotel. I thought your order applied only to my professional capacity. I'm here tonight as the guest of Mr. and Mrs. Samson Levi. In your new role of man about town, eh? Exactly. But I don't allow men about town up here, my friend. For being up here, I've already apologized. Then, having apologized, you'd better depart. That is my disinterested advice to you. Good night, sir. And I say, Mr. Jewel, if Mr. and Mrs. Samson Levi or any other Hebrews or Christians should again invite you to my hotel you will oblige me by declining the invitation. You'll find that will be the safest course for you. Good night, sir. Before midnight struck, Theodore Rexell had asserted that the invitation list of Mr. and Mrs. Samson Levi, though a somewhat lengthy one, contained no reference to any such person as Jewel. He set up very late. To be precise, he set up all night. He was a man who, by dint of training, could comfortably dispense with sleep when he felt so inclined, or when circumstances made such a cause advisable. He walked to and fro in his room and cogitated as few people beside Theodore Rexell could cogitate. At 6 a.m. he took a stroll around the business part of his premises and watched the supplies come in from Covent Garden, from Smithfield, from Billingsgate, and from other strange places. He found the proceedings of the kitchen department quite interesting and made mental notes of things that he would have altered, of men whose wages he would increase and men whose wages he would reduce. At 7 a.m. he happened to be standing near the luggage lift and witnessed the descent of vast quantities of luggage and its disappearance into a Carter-Patterson van. Whose luggage is that? He inquired peremptorily. The luggage-clog, with an aggrieved expression, explained to him that it was the luggage of nobody in particular that belonged to various guests and was bound for various destinations, that it was, in fact, expressed luggage dispatched in advance and that a similar quantity of it left the hotel every morning about that hour. Theatre Racksell walked away and breakfast set upon one cup of tea and half a slice of toast. At 10 o'clock he was informed that the Inspector of Police desired to see him. The Inspector had come, he said, to superintend the removal of the body of Reginald Dimmock to the mortuary adjoining the place of inquest and a suitable vehicle waited at the back entrance of the hotel. The Inspector had also brought subpoenas for himself and Prince Herbert of Pozen and the commissioners to attend the inquest. I thought Mr. Dimmock's remains were removed last night, said Racksell, warily. No, sir. The fact is, the van was engaged on another job. The Inspector gave the least hint of a professional smile and Racksell, disgusted, told him curtly to go and perform his duties. In a few minutes a message came from the Inspector requesting Mr. Racksell to be good enough to come to him on the first floor. Racksell went. In the anti-room where the body of Reginald Dimmock had originally been placed were the Inspector and Prince Herbert and two policemen. Well, said Racksell after he and the Prince had exchanged bows. Then he saw a coffin laid across two chairs. I see a coffin has been obtained, he remarked. Quite right. He approached it. It's empty, he observed unthinkingly. Just so, said the Inspector. The body of the deceased has disappeared. And his serene Highness Prince Herbert informs me that though he has occupied a room immediately opposite on the other side of the corridor he can throw no light on the affair. Indeed I cannot, said the Prince, and though he spoke with sufficient calmness and dignity you could see that he was deeply pained, even distressed. Well, I'm Mehmet Racksell and stopped. End of chapter 5 and 6 Chapter 7 and 8 of The Grand Babylon Hotel This is a LibberVox recording. All LibberVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibberVox.org recording by Anna Simon The Grand Babylon Hotel by Arnold Bennett Chapter 7 Nella and the Prince It appeared impossible to theater Racksell that so Cumbra's an article as a corpse could be removed out of his hotel with no trace, no hint, no clue as to the time or the manner of the performance of the deed. After the first feeling of surprise Racksell grew coldly and severely angry. He had a mind to dismiss the entire staff of the hotel. He personally examined the night watchmen, the chamber-mates, and all other persons who by chance might or ought to know something of the affair. But without avail, the corpse of Reginald Dimmock had vanished utterly, disappeared like a flashless spirit. Of course there were the police, but theater Racksell held the police in sorry esteem. He acquainted them with the facts, answered their queries with a patient weariness, and expected nothing whatever from that quarter. He also had several interviews with Prince Erebor of Posen, but though the Prince was suavity itself and beyond doubt genuinely concerned about the fate of his dead attendant, yet it seemed to Racksell that he was keeping something back, that he hesitated to say all he knew. Racksell, with characteristic insight decided that the death of Reginald Dimmock was only a minor event, which had occurred as it were on the fringe of some far more profound mystery. And therefore he decided to wait with his eyes very wide open until something else happened that would throw light on the business. At the moment he took only one measure. He arranged that the theft of Dimmock's body should not appear in the newspapers. It is astonishing how well a secret can be kept when the possessors of the secret are handled with a proper mixture of firmness and persuasion. Racksell managed this very neatly. It was a complicated job, and his success in it rather pleased him. At the same time he was conscious of being temporarily worsted by an unknown group of schemas in which he felt convinced that Gilles was an important item. He could scarcely look Nella in the eyes. The girl had evidently expected him to unmask this conspiracy at once with a single stroke of the millionaire's magic wand. She was thoroughly accustomed in the land of her birth to seeing him achieve impossible feats. Over there he was a boss man trembled before his name when he wished a thing to happen. Well, it happened. If he desired to know a thing he just knew it. But here in London theatre Racksell was not quite the same theatre Racksell. He dominated New York but London for the most part seemed not to take much interest in him. And there were certainly various persons in London who were capable of snapping their fingers at him. At theatre Racksell neither he nor his daughter could get used to that fact. As for Nella she concerned herself for a little with the ordinary business of the Bureau and watched the incomings and outgoings of Prince Erebert with a kindly interest. She perceived what her father had failed to perceive that his highness had assumed an attitude of reserve merely to hide the secret distraction and dismay which consumed him. She saw that the poor fellow had no settled plan in his head and that he was troubled by something which so far he had confided to nobody. It came to her knowledge that each morning he walked to and fro on the Victoria embankment alone and apparently with no object. On the third morning she decided that driving exercise on the embankment would be good for her health and thereupon ordered the carriage and issued forth a raid in a miraculous, putty-coloured gown near Blackfriars Bridge she met the Prince and the carriage was drawn up by the pavement. Good morning, Prince! she greeted him. Are you mistaking this for Hyde Park? He bowed and smiled. I usually walk here in the mornings, he said. You surprised me! she returned. I thought I was the only person in London who preferred the embankment with this view of the river to the dustiness of Hyde Park. I can't imagine how it is that London will never take exercise anywhere except in that ridiculous park. Now, if they had Central Park. I think the embankment is the finest spot in all London, he said. She leaned a little out of the lando bringing her face nearer to his. I do believe we are kindred spirits, you and I, she murmured, and then, Au revoir, Prince! One moment, Miss Rexel. His quick tone set a note of entreaty. I'm in a hurry, she fibbed. I'm not merely taking exercise this morning. You have no idea how busy we are. Ah, then I will not trouble you. But I leave the grand babble on to-night. Do you? she said. Then will your Highness do me the honour of lunching with me to-day in Father's room? Father will be out. He is having a day in the city with some stock-broken persons. I shall be charmed, said the Prince, and his face showed that he meant it. Nella drove off. If the lunch was a success, that result was due partly to Rocco and partly to Nella. The Prince said little beyond what the ordinary rules of the conversational game demanded. His hostess talked much and talked well, but she failed to rouse her guest. When they had had coffee, he took a rather formal leave of her. Good-bye, Prince, she said. But I thought, that is, I didn't. Good-bye. You thought I wished to discuss something with you. I did, but I have decided that I have no right to burden your mind with my affairs. But suppose, suppose I wish to be burdened. That is your good nature. Sit down, she said abruptly, and tell me everything. Mind everything. I adore secrets. Almost before he knew it he was talking to her, rapidly, eagerly. Why should I wear you with my confidences, he said? I don't know, I cannot tell. But I feel that I must. I feel that you will understand me better than anyone else in the world. And yet, why should you understand me? Again, I don't know. Miss Rexel, I will disclose to you the whole trouble in a word. Prince Eugen, the hereditary grand Duke of Pozen, has disappeared. Four days ago I was to have met him at Ostend. He had affairs in London. He wished me to come with him. I sent Dimac on in front and waited for Eugen. He did not arrive. I telegraphed back to Cologne, his last stopping place, and I learned that he had left there in accordance with his programme. I learned also that he had passed through Brussels. It must have been between Brussels and the railway station at Ostend Quay that he disappeared. He was travelling with a single equary, and the equary too has vanished. One person of the importance of my nephew contrives to get lost. One must proceed cautiously. One cannot advertise for him in the London Times. Such a disappearance must be kept secret. The people at Pozen and at Berlin believe that Eugen is in London, here at this hotel. Or rather, they did so believe. But this morning I received a cypher telegram from His Majesty the Emperor, a very peculiar telegram, asking when Eugen might be expected and requesting that he should go first to Berlin. That telegram was addressed to myself. Now, if the Emperor thought that Eugen was here, why should he have caused the telegram to be addressed to me? I have hesitated for three days, but I can't hesitate no longer. I must myself go to the Emperor and acquaint him with the facts. I suppose you've just got to keep straight with him. Nella was on the point of saying, but she checked herself and substituted. What's your chief, is he not? First among equals, you call him. His Majesty is our overlord, said Eurebert quietly. Why do you not take immediate steps to inquire as to the whereabouts of your royal nephew? She asked simply. The affairs seemed to her just then so plain and straightforward. Because one of two things may have happened. Either Eugen may have been in plain language abducted, or he may have had his own reasons and keeping in the background out of reach of telegraph and post and railways. What sort of reasons? Do not ask me. In the history of every family there are passages. He stopped. And what was Prince Eugen's object in coming to London? Eurebert hesitated. Money, he said at length. As a family we are very poor. Poorer than anyone in Berlin suspects. Prince Eurebert, Prince Eurebert, Nella said. Shall I tell you what I think? She leaned back in her chair and looked at him out of half closed eyes. His pale, thin, distinguished face held her gaze as if by some fascination. There could be no mistaking this man for anything else but a prince. If you will, he said. Prince Eugen is the victim of a plot. You think so? I am perfectly convinced of it. But why? The object of a plot against him. That is a point of which you should know more than me. She remarked dryly. Ah, perhaps, perhaps, he said. But, dear Miss Rexel, why are you so sure? There are several reasons and they are connected with Mr. Dimmick. Did you ever suspect, Your Highness, that that poor young man was not entirely loyal to you? He was absolutely loyal, said the Prince, with all the earnestness of conviction. A thousand pardons, but he was not. Miss Rexel, if any other than yourself made that assertion, I would I would consign them to the deepest dungeon imposing, she laughed, lightly. Listen, and she told him of the incidents which had occurred in the night proceeding as a rife on the hotel. Do you mean, Miss Rexel, that there was an understanding between poor Dimmick and his fellow Jules? There was an understanding. Impossible. Your Highness, the man who wishes to probe a mystery to its root never uses the word impossible. But I will say this for young Miss Dimmick. I think he repented, and I think that it was because he repented that he, um, died so suddenly and that his body was spirited away. Why has no one told me these things before? Arobert exclaimed. Princes seldom hear the truth, she said. She astonished at her coolness, her firmness of assertion, her air of complete acquaintance with the world. Miss Rexel, he said, if you will permit me to say it, I have never in my life met a woman like you. May I rely on your sympathy, your support? My support, Prince. But how? I do not know, he replied, but you could help me if you would. A woman, when she has brain, always has more brain than a man. Ah! she said ruefully, I have no brains, but I do believe I could help you. What prompted her to make that assertion she could not have explained even to herself? But she made it, and she had a suspicion, oppressions, that it would be justified, though by what means, through what good fortune, was still a mystery to her. Go to Berlin, she said. I see that you must do that. You have no alternative. As for the rest, we shall see. You will occur. I shall be here, my father will be here. You must count us as your friends. He kissed her hand when he left, and afterwards, when she was alone, she kissed the spot his lips had touched again and again. Now, thinking them at her out in the calmness of solitude, all seemed strange, unreal, uncertain to her. Her conspiracies actually possible nowadays? Did queer things actually happen in Europe? She actually happened in London hotels? She dined with her father that night. I hear Prince Erebert has left, said theatre Rexel. Yes, she sent it. She said not a word about their interview. Chapter 8. Arrival and departure of the Baroness On the following morning, just before lunch, a lady, accompanied by a maid and a considerable quantity of luggage came to the Grand Babel on hotel. She was a plump little old lady with white hair and an old fashion bonnet, and she had a quaint, simple smile of surprise at everything in general. Nevertheless, she gave the impression of belonging to some aristocracy, though not the English aristocracy. Her tone to her maid, whom she addressed in broken English, the girl being apparently English, was distinctly insolent with the calm, unconscious insolence peculiar to a certain type of continental nobility. The name on the lady's card ran thus. Baroness Zerlinsky. She desired rooms on the third floor. It happened that Nella was in the bureau. On the third floor, madam, questioned Nella in her best clerkly manner. I did say on the third floor, said the plump little old lady. We have accommodation on the second floor. I wish to be high up out of the dust and in the light, explained the Baroness. We have no suites on the third floor, madam. Never mind, no mater. Have you not two rooms that communicate? Nella consulted her books rather awkwardly. Numbers one hundred and twenty-two and one hundred and twenty-three communicate. Or is it one hundred and twenty-one and one hundred and twenty-two? The little old lady remarked quickly and then bit her lip. I beg your pardon. I should have said one hundred and twenty-one and twenty-two. At the moment, Nella regarded the Baroness's correction of her figures as a curious chance. But afterwards, when the Baroness had ascended in the lift, the things struck her as somewhat strange. Perhaps the Baroness Salinsky had stayed at the hotel before. For the sake of convenience an index of visitors to the hotel was kept, and the index extended back for thirty years. Nella examined it, but it did not contain the name of Salinsky. Then it was that Nella began to imagine what had swiftly crossed her mind when first the Baroness presented herself at the Bureau, that the features of the Baroness were remotely familiar to her. She thought not that she had seen the old lady's face before, but that she had seen somewhere, sometime, a face of a similar cast. It occurred to Nella to look at the Almanac de Gota, that record of all the mazes of continental blue blood. But the Almanac de Gota made no reference to any barony of Salinsky. Nella inquired where the Baroness meant to take lunch, and was informed that a table had been reserved for her in the dining room, and she had once decided to lunch in the dining room herself. Seated in a corner, half hidden by a pillar, she could survey all the guests and watch each group as it entered or left. Presently the Baroness appeared, dressed in black, with a tiny lace shawl, despite the June warmth, very stately, very quaint, and gently smiling. Nella observed her intently. The lady ate heartily, working without haste and without delay through the elaborate menu of the luncheon. Nella noticed that she had beautiful white teeth. Then a remarkable thing happened. A cream puff was served to the Baroness by way of sweets, and Nella was astonished to see the little lady remove the top, and with a spoon quietly take something from the interior which looked like a piece of folded paper. No one who had not been watching with the eye of a lynx would have noticed anything extraordinary in the action. Indeed, the chances were 999 to one that it would pass unheeded. But, unfortunately for the Baroness, it was the thousandth chance that happened. Nella jumped up and, walking over to the Baroness, said to her, I'm afraid that that tart is not quite nice, your ladyship. Thanks, it is delightful, said the Baroness, coldly. Her smile had vanished. Who are you? I thought you were the Bureau-Clarke. My father is the owner of this hotel. I thought there was something in the tart which ought not to have been there. Nella looked the Baroness full in the face. The piece of folded paper to which a little cream had attached itself lay under the edge of a plate. No thanks. The Baroness smiled her simple smile. Nella departed. She had noticed one trifling thing besides the paper, namely that the Baroness could pronounce the English the sound if she chose. That afternoon in her own room Nella sat waiting at the window for a long time and then she suddenly sprang up, her eyes brightening. I know, she exclaimed, clapping her hands. It's Miss Spencer disguised. Why didn't I think of that before? Her thoughts ran instantly to Prince Erebert. Perhaps I can help him, she said to herself, and gave a little sigh. She went down to the office and inquired whether the Baroness had given any instructions about dinner. She felt she wanted to get hold of Rocco and put him in the wreck. She knew now that Rocco, the unequaled, was also concerned in this mysterious affair. The Baroness Zerlinsky has left about a quarter of an hour ago, said the attendant. But she only arrived this morning. The Baroness's maid said that her mistress had received the telegram and must leave at once. The Baroness paid the bill and went away in a full-weather. Where to? The trunks were labelled for Ostend. Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps it was the mere spirit of adventure. But that evening, Nella was to be seen of all men on the steamer for Ostend which leaves Dover at eleven p.m. She told no one of her intentions, not even her father, who was not in the hotel when she left. She had scribbled a brief note to him to expect her back in a day or two, and had posted this at Dover. The steamer was the Marie Henriette, a large and luxurious boat, whose staterooms on deck vie with the glories of the Cunard liners. One of these staterooms, the best, was evidently occupied, for every curtain of its windows was carefully drawn. Nella did not hope that the Baroness was on board. It was quite possible for the Baroness to have called the eight o'clock steamer, and it was also possible for the Baroness not to have gone to Ostend at all, but to some other place in an entirely different direction. Nevertheless Nella had a faint hope that the lady who called herself Zerlinsky might be in that curtain stateroom and throughout this smooth, moonlit voyage she never once relaxed her observation of its doors and its windows. The Marie Henriette arrived in Ostend Harbour punctually at 2 a.m. in the morning. That was her usual, her thro' genius, just tickling crowd on the key. Nella kept her post near the door of the stateroom, and at length she was rewarded by seeing it open. Four middle-aged Englishmen issued from it. From a glimpse of the interior, Nella saw that they had spent the voyage in cart-playing. It would not be too much to say that she was distinctly annoyed. She pretended to be annoyed with circumstances, but really she was annoyed with Nella Rexel. At 2 in the morning, without luggage, without any companionship, and without a plan of campaign, she found herself in a strange, foreign port, a port of evil repute, possessing some of the worst managed hotels in Europe. She strolled on the key for a few minutes, and then she saw a smoke of another steamer in the offing. She inquired from an official what that steamer might be, and was told that it was the eight o'clock from Dover, which had broken down, put into Kalefer some slight necessary repairs, and was arriving at its destination nearly four hours late. Her mercurial spirits rose again. A minute ago she was regarding herself as no better than a nanny engaged in a wild goose chase. Now she felt that after all she had been very sagacious and cunning. She was morally sure that she would find the Zalinsky woman on this second steamer, and she took all the credit to herself in advance, such as human nature. The steamer seemed interminably slow in coming into harbour. Nella walked on her dig for a few minutes to watch it the better. The town was silent and almost deserted. It had a false and sinister aspect. She remembered tales which she had heard of this glittering result which in the season holds more scoundrels than any place in Europe, save only Monte Carlo. She remembered that the gilded adventurers of every nation and their sun forgarded there either for business or pleasure, and that some of the most wonderful crimes of the latter half of the century had been schemed and matured in that haunt of cosmopolitan iniquity. When the second steamer arrived Nella stood at the end of the gangway close to the ticket collector. The first person to step on shore was not the Baroness Zalinsky, but Miss Spencer herself. Nella turned aside instantly, hiding her face and Miss Spencer carrying a small bag hurried with assured footsteps to the custom house. It seemed as if she knew the port of Austin fairly well. The moon shone like day, and Nella had full opportunity to observe her quarry. She could see now quite plainly that the Baroness Zalinsky had been only Miss Spencer in disguise. There was the same gate, the same movement of the head and of the hips. The white hair was easily to be counted and the wrinkles by a paintbrush and some grease paints. Miss Spencer, whose hair was now its older custom yellow, got through the custom house without difficulty, and Nella saw her call a closed carriage and say something to the driver. The vehicle drove off. Nella jumped into the next carriage, an open one that came up. Follow that carriage, she said succinctly to the driver in French. Bien madame. The driver whipped up his horse and the animal shot forward with a terrific clatter over the cobbles. It appeared that this driver was quite accustomed to following other carriages. Now I'm fairly in for it, said Nella to herself. She laughed unsteadily, but her heart was beating with an extraordinary thump. For some time the pursued vehicle kept well in front. It crossed the town nearly from end to end and plunged into a maze of small streets far on the south side of the coursel. Then gradually Nella's equipage began to overtake it. The first carriage stopped with a jerk before a tall dark house and Miss Spencer emerged. Nella called to her driver to stop, but he, determined to be in at the death, was engaged in whipping his horse and he completely ignored her commands. He drew up triumphantly at a tall dark house, just at the moment when Miss Spencer disappeared into it. The other carriage drove away. Nella, uncertain what to do, stepped down from her carriage and at the same moment a man reopened the door of the house which had closed on Miss Spencer. I want to see Miss Spencer, said Nella impulsively. She couldn't think of anything else to say. Miss Spencer? Yes, she's just arrived. It's okay, I suppose, said the man. I guess so, said Nella, and she walked past him into the house. She was astonished at her own audacity. Miss Spencer was just going into her room all alone. Nella followed her into the apartment which was shabbily furnished in the Belgian lodging-house style. Well, Miss Spencer, she greeted the former Baroness Zerlinsky. I guess you didn't expect to see me. You left our hotel very suddenly this afternoon and you left it very suddenly a few days ago and so I've just called to make a few inquiries. To do the Lady Justice Miss Spencer bore the surprising ordeal very well. She betrayed no emotion. The soul's sign of perturbation was in her hurried breathing. You have ceased to be the Baroness Zerlinsky, Nella continued. May I sit down? Certainly, sit down, said Miss Spencer, copying the girl's tone. You are a fairly smart young woman that I will say, what do you want? Weren't my books all straight? Your books were all straight. I haven't come about your books. Miss Spencer's eyes gleamed and she stood up and moved swiftly to the mantelpiece. You may be a Yankee, but you're a fool, she said. She took hold of the bell-rope. Don't ring that bell if you value your life, said Nella. If what? Miss Spencer remarked. If you are a young woman that I will say, what do you want? Miss Spencer's eyes gleamed and she stood up and moved swiftly to the mantelpiece. Miss Spencer remarked. If you value your life, said Nella calmly, and with the words she pulled from her pocket a very neat and dainty little revolver. End of chapter 7 and 8.