“Mr. Racksole, I believe—Mr. Theodore Racksole. Proud to meet you, sir.”
Such were the first words of Mr. Sampson Levi. In form they were the greeting of a third-rate chimney-sweep, but, strangely enough, Theodore Racksole liked their tone. He said to himself that here, precisely where no one would have expected to find one, was an honest man.
“Good day,” said Racksole briefly. “To what do I owe the pleasure—”
“I expect your time is limited,” answered Sampson Levi. “Anyhow, mine is, and so I’ll come straight to the point, Mr. Racksole. I’m a plain man. I don’t pretend to be a gentleman or any nonsense of that kind. I’m a stockbroker, that’s what I am, and I don’t care who knows it. The other night I had a ball in this hotel. It cost me a couple of thousand and odd pounds, and, by the way, I wrote out a cheque for your bill this morning. I don’t like balls, but they’re useful to me, and my little wife likes ’em, and so we give ’em. Now, I’ve nothing to say against the hotel management as regards that ball: it was very decently done, very decently, but what I want to know is this—Why did you have a private detective among my guests?”
“A private detective?” exclaimed Racksole, somewhat surprised at this charge.
“Yes,” Mr. Sampson Levi said firmly, fanning himself in his chair, and gazing at Theodore Racksole with the direct earnest expression of a man having a grievance. “Yes; a private detective. It’s a small matter, I know, and I dare say you think you’ve got a right, as proprietor of the show, to do what you like in that line; but I’ve just called to tell you that I object. I’ve called as a matter of principle. I’m not angry; it’s the principle of the thing.”
“My dear Mr. Levi,” said Racksole, “I assure you that, having let the Gold Room to a private individual for a private entertainment, I should never dream of doing what you suggest.”
“Straight?” asked Mr. Sampson Levi, using his own picturesque language.
“Straight,” said Racksole smiling.
“There was a gent present at my ball that I didn’t ask. I’ve got a wonderful memory for faces, and I know. Several fellows asked me afterwards what he was doing there. I was told by someone that he was one of your waiters, but I didn’t believe that. I know nothing of the Grand Babylon; it’s not quite my style of tavern, but I don’t think you’d send one of your own waiters to watch my guests—unless, of course, you sent him as a waiter; and this chap didn’t do any waiting, though he did his share of drinking.”
“Perhaps I can throw some light on this mystery,” said Racksole. “I may tell you that I was already aware that man had attended your ball uninvited.”
“How did you get to know?”
“By pure chance, Mr. Levi, and not by inquiry. That man was a former waiter at this hotel—the head waiter, in fact—Jules. No doubt you have heard of him.”
“Not I,” said Mr. Levi positively.
“Ah!” said Racksole, “I was informed that everyone knew Jules, but it appears not. Well, be that as it may, previously to the night of your ball, I had dismissed Jules. I had ordered him never to enter the Babylon again. But on that evening I encountered him here—not in the Gold Room, but in the hotel itself. I asked him to explain his presence, and he stated he was your guest. That is all I know of the matter, Mr. Levi, and I am extremely sorry that you should have thought me capable of the enormity of placing a private detective among your guests.”
“This is perfectly satisfactory to me,” Mr. Sampson Levi said, after a pause. “I only wanted an explanation, and I’ve got it. I was told by some pals of mine in the City I might rely on Mr. Theodore Racksole going straight to the point, and I’m glad they were right. Now as to that feller Jules, I shall make my own inquiries as to him. Might I ask you why you dismissed him?”
“I don’t know why I dismissed him.”
“You don’t know? Oh! come now! I’m only asking because I thought you might be able to give me a hint why he turned up uninvited at my ball. Sorry if I’m too inquisitive.”
“Not at all, Mr. Levi; but I really don’t know. I only sort of felt that he was a suspicious character. I dismissed him on instinct, as it were. See?”
Without answering this question Mr. Levi asked another. “If this Jules is such a well-known person,” he said, “how could the feller hope to come to my ball without being recognized?”
“Give it up,” said Racksole promptly.
“Well, I’ll be moving on,” was Mr. Sampson Levi’s next remark. “Good day, and thank ye. I suppose you aren’t doing anything in Kaffirs?”
Mr. Racksole smiled a negative.
“I thought not,” said Levi. “Well, I never touch American rails myself, and so I reckon we shan’t come across each other. Good day.”
“Good day,” said Racksole politely, following Mr. Sampson Levi to the door.
With his hand on the handle of the door, Mr. Levi stopped, and, gazing at Theodore Racksole with a shrewd, quizzical expression, remarked:
“Strange things been going on here lately, eh?”
The two men looked very hard at each other for several seconds.
“Yes,” Racksole assented. “Know anything about them?”
“Well—no, not exactly,” said Mr. Levi. “But I had a fancy you and I might be useful to each other; I had a kind of fancy to that effect.”
“Come back and sit down again, Mr. Levi,” Racksole said, attracted by the evident straightforwardness of the man’s tone. “Now, how can we be of service to each other? I flatter myself I’m something of a judge of character, especially financial character, and
