“If you will kindly hear reason, Mr. Racksole,” 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 Racksole in a difficulty with the hotel servants. Miss Racksole 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 servants said that there was no other room available with a dressing-room and bathroom attached, and your daughter made a point of these matters. I at 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 Racksole is at this moment, I trust, asleep in No. 124.”
Theodore Racksole looked at the young man for a few seconds in silence.
There was a faint knock at the door.
“Come in,” said Racksole loudly.
Someone pushed open the door, but remained standing on the mat. It was Nella’s maid, in a dressing-gown.
“Miss Racksole’s compliments, and a thousand excuses, but a book of hers was left on the mantelshelf in this room. She cannot sleep, and wishes to read.”
“Mr. Dimmock, I tender my apologies—my formal apologies,” said Racksole, when the girl had gone away with the book. “Good night.”
“Pray don’t mention it,” said Dimmock suavely—and bowed him out.
IV
Entrance of the Prince
Nevertheless, sundry small things weighed on Racksole’s mind. First there was Jules’ wink. Then there was the ribbon on the door-handle and Jules’ visit to No. 111, and the broken window—broken from the outside. Racksole did not forget that the time was 3 a.m. He slept but little that night, but he was glad that he had bought the Grand Babylon Hotel. It was an acquisition which seemed to promise fun and diversion.
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 purpose, 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 a wrench 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 Racksole. “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 boxes gone. You will want someone to take her place, and that someone will not be very easy to get.”
“H’m!” Racksole 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 Jules,” he said to the page.
While waiting for Jules, Racksole considered the question of Miss Spencer’s disappearance.
“Good morning, Jules,” was his cheerful greeting, when the imperturbable waiter arrived.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Take a chair.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“We have met before this morning, Jules.”
“Yes, sir, at 3 a.m.”
“Rather strange about Miss Spencer’s departure, is it not?” suggested Racksole.
“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, Jules?”
“As the head waiter, sir, it is my business to keep a general eye on things.”
“You speak very good English for a foreigner, Jules.”
“For a foreigner, sir! I am an Englishman, a Hertfordshire man born and bred. Perhaps my name has misled you, sir. I am only called Jules because the head waiter of any really high-class hotel must have either a French or an Italian name.”
“I see,” said Racksole. “I think you must be rather a clever person, Jules.”
“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.”
Racksole looked at the man steadily, and his glance was steadily returned.
“You aren’t satisfied with me,
