'That's true,' assented Racksole. 'But it'll be all over New York to-morrow 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 her wretched name is, mysteriously disappears. Then there was the stone thrown into your bedroom. Then I caught that rascal Jules conspiring with Dimmock at three o'clock in the morning. Then your precious Prince Aribert arrives without any suite - 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 said Prince. Then young Dimmock goes and dies, and there is to be an inquest; then Prince Eugen and his suite, who were expected here for dinner, fail to turn up at all - '
'Prince Eugen has not come?'
'He has not; and Uncle Aribert is in a deuce of a stew about him, and telegraphing all over Europe. Altogether, things are working up pretty lively.'
'Do you really think, Dad, there was anything between Jules 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 a 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 ball-room.
'Well, who is it?'
'Isn't it Jules?'
'Gemini! By the beard of the prophet, it is!'
'Perhaps Mr Jules is a guest of Mrs Sampson Levi.'
'Guest or no guest, he goes out of this hotel, even if I have to throw him out myself.'
Theodore Racksole disappeared without another word, and Nella followed him.
But when the millionaire arrived on the balcony floor he could see nothing of Jules, neither there nor in the ball-room itself. Saying no word aloud, but quietly whispering wicked expletives, he searched everywhere in vain, and then, at last, by tortuous 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 ball as intently as he himself had been doing a few minutes before. Hearing footsteps, the man turned with a start.
It was Jules.
The two exchanged glances in the half light for a second.
'Good evening, Mr Racksole,' said Jules calmly. 'I must apologize for being here.'
'Force of habit, I suppose,' said Theodore Racksole drily.
'Just so, sir.'
'I fancied I had forbidden you to re-enter this hotel?'
'I thought your order applied only to my professional capacity. I am here to-night as the guest of Mr and Mrs Sampson 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 have already apologized.'
'Then, having apologized, you had better depart; that is my disinterested advice to you.'
'Good night, sir.'
'And, I say, Mr Jules, if Mr and Mrs Sampson 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 Racksole had ascertained that the invitation-list of Mr and Mrs Sampson Levi, though a somewhat lengthy one, contained no reference to any such person as Jules.
