Grand Babylon Hotel — Chapter 11 & 12

‘MR SAMPSON LEVI wishes to see you, sir.

’ These words, spoken by a servant to Theodore Racksole, aroused the millionaire from a reverie which had been the reverse of pleasant.

The fact was, and it is necessary to insist on it, that Mr Racksole, owner of the Grand Babylon Hôtel, was by no means in a state of self- satisfaction.

A mystery had attached itself to his hotel, and with all his acumen and knowledge of things in general he was unable to solve that mystery.

He laughed at the fruitless efforts of the police, but he could not honestly say that his own efforts had been less barren.

The public was talking, for, after all, the disappearance of poor Dimmock’s body had got noised abroad in an indirect sort of way, and Theodore Racksole did not like the idea of his impeccable hotel being the subject of sinister rumours.

He wondered, grimly, what the public and the Sunday newspapers would say if they were aware of all the other phenomena, not yet common property: of Miss Spencer’s disappearance, of Jules’ strange visits, and of the non-arrival of Prince Eugen of Posen.

Theodore Racksole had worried his brain without result.

He had conducted an elaborate private investigation without result, and he had spent a certain amount of money without result.

The police said that they had a clue; but Racksole remarked that it was always the business of the police to have a clue, that they seldom had more than a clue, and that a clue without some sequel to it was a pretty stupid business.

The only sure thing in the whole affair was that a cloud rested over his hotel, his beautiful new toy, the finest of its kind.

The cloud was not interfering with business, but, nevertheless, it was a cloud, and he fiercely resented its presence; perhaps it would be more correct to say that he fiercely resented his inability to dissipate it.

‘Mr Sampson Levi wishes to see you, sir,’ the servant repeated, having received no sign that his master had heard him.

‘So I hear,’ said Racksole.

‘Does he want to see me, personally?

’ ‘He asked for you, sir.

’ ‘Perhaps it is Rocco he wants to see, about a menu or something of that kind?

’ ‘I will inquire, sir,’ and the servant made a move to withdraw.

‘Stop,’ Racksole commanded suddenly.

‘Desire Mr Sampson Levi to step this way.

’ The great stockbroker of the ‘Kaffir Circus’ entered with a simple unassuming air.

He was a rather short, florid man, dressed like a typical Hebraic financier, with too much watch-chain and too little waistcoat.

In his fat hand he held a gold-headed cane, and an absolutely new silk hat--for it was Friday, and Mr Levi purchased a new hat every Friday of his life, holiday times only excepted.

He breathed heavily and sniffed through his nose a good deal, as though he had just performed some Herculean physical labour.

He glanced at the American millionaire with an expression in which a slight embarrassment might have been detected, but at the same time his round, red face disclosed a certain frank admiration and good nature.

‘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 sha’n’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 I tell you--if you’ll put your cards on the table, I’ll do ditto with mine.

’ ‘Agreed,’ said Mr Sampson Levi.

‘I’ll begin by explaining my interest in your hotel.

I have been expecting to receive a summons from a certain Prince Eugen of Posen to attend him here, and that summons hasn’t arrived.

It appears that Prince Eugen hasn’t come to London at all.

Now, I could have taken my dying davy that he would have been here yesterday at the latest.

’ ‘Why were you so sure?

’ ‘Question for question,’ said Levi.

‘Let’s clear the ground first, Mr Racksole.

Why did you buy this hotel?

That’s a conundrum that’s been puzzling a lot of our fellows in the City for some days past.

Why did you buy the Grand Babylon?

And what is the next move to be?

’ ‘There is no next move,’ answered Racksole candidly, ‘and I will tell you why I bought the hotel; there need be no secret about it.

I bought it because of a whim.

’ And then Theodore Racksole gave this little Jew, whom he had begun to respect, a faithful account of the transaction with Mr Felix Babylon.

‘I suppose,’ he added, ‘you find a difficulty in appreciating my state of mind when I did the deal.

’ ‘Not a bit,’ said Mr Levi.

‘I once bought an electric launch on the Thames in a very similar way, and it turned out to be one of the most satisfactory purchases I ever made.

Then it’s a simple accident that you own this hotel at the present moment?

’ ‘A simple accident--all because of a beefsteak and a bottle of Bass.

’ ‘Um!

’ grunted Mr Sampson Levi, stroking his triple chin.

‘To return to Prince Eugen,’ Racksole resumed.

‘I was expecting His Highness here.

The State apartments had been prepared for him.

He was due on the very afternoon that young Dimmock died.

But he never came, and I have not heard why he has failed to arrive; nor have I seen his name in the papers.

What his business was in London, I don’t know.

’ ‘I will tell you,’ said Mr Sampson Levi, ‘he was coming to arrange a loan.

’ ‘A State loan?

’ ‘No--a private loan.

’ ‘Whom from?

’ ‘From me, Sampson Levi.

You look surprised.

If you’d lived in London a little longer, you’d know that I was just the person the Prince would come to.

Perhaps you aren’t aware that down Throgmorton Street way I’m called “The Court Pawnbroker”, because I arrange loans for the minor, second-class Princes of Europe.

I’m a stockbroker, but my real business is financing some of the little Courts of Europe.

Now, I may tell you that the Hereditary Prince of Posen particularly wanted a million, and he wanted it by a certain date, and he knew that if the affair wasn’t fixed up by a certain time here he wouldn’t be able to get it by that certain date.

That’s why I’m surprised he isn’t in London.

’ ‘What did he need a million for?

’ ‘Debts,’ answered Sampson Levi laconically.

‘His own?

’ ‘Certainly.

’ ‘But he isn’t thirty years of age?

’ ‘What of that?

He isn’t the only European Prince who has run up a million of debts in a dozen years.

To a Prince the thing is as easy as eating a sandwich.

’ ‘And why has he taken this sudden resolution to liquidate them?

’ ‘Because the Emperor and the lady’s parents won’t let him marry till he has done so!

And quite right, too!

He’s got to show a clean sheet, or the Princess Anna of Eckstein-Schwartzburg will never be Princess of Posen.

Even now the Emperor has no idea how much Prince Eugen’s debts amount to.

If he had--!

’ ‘But would not the Emperor know of this proposed loan?

’ ‘Not necessarily at once.

It could be so managed.

Twig?

’ Mr Sampson Levi laughed.

‘I’ve carried these little affairs through before.

After marriage it might be allowed to leak out.

And you know the Princess Anna’s fortune is pretty big!

Now, Mr Racksole,’ he added, abruptly changing his tone, ‘where do you suppose Prince Eugen has disappeared to?

Because if he doesn’t turn up to-day he can’t have that million.

To- day is the last day.

To-morrow the money will be appropriated, elsewhere.

Of course, I’m not alone in this business, and my friends have something to say.

’ ‘You ask me where I think Prince Eugen has disappeared to?

’ ‘I do.

’ ‘Then you think it’s a disappearance?

’ Sampson Levi nodded.

‘Putting two and two together,’ he said, ‘I do.

The Dimmock business is very peculiar--very peculiar, indeed.

Dimmock was a left-handed relation of the Posen family.

Twig?

Scarcely anyone knows that.

He was made secretary and companion to Prince Aribert, just to keep him in the domestic circle.

His mother was an Irishwoman, whose misfortune was that she was too beautiful.

Twig?

’ (Mr Sampson Levi always used this extraordinary word when he was in a communicative mood.

) ‘My belief is that Dimmock’s death has something to do with the disappearance of Prince Eugen.

The only thing that passes me is this: Why should anyone want to make Prince Eugen disappear?

The poor little Prince hasn’t an enemy in the world.

If he’s been “copped”, as they say, why has he been “copped”?

It won’t do anyone any good.

’ ‘Won’t it?

’ repeated Racksole, with a sudden flash.

‘What do you mean?

’ asked Mr Levi.

‘I mean this: Suppose some other European pauper Prince was anxious to marry Princess Anna and her fortune, wouldn’t that Prince have an interest in stopping this loan of yours to Prince Eugen?

Wouldn’t he have an interest in causing Prince Eugen to disappear--at any rate, for a time?

’ Sampson Levi thought hard for a few moments.

‘Mr Theodore Racksole,’ he said at length, ‘I do believe you have hit on something.

’ Chapter Twelve ROCCO AND ROOM NO. 111 ON the afternoon of the same day--the interview just described had occurred in the morning--Racksole was visited by another idea, and he said to himself that he ought to have thought of it before.

The conversation with Mr Sampson Levi had continued for a considerable time, and the two men had exchanged various notions, and agreed to meet again, but the theory that Reginald Dimmock had probably been a traitor to his family--a traitor whose repentance had caused his death--had not been thoroughly discussed; the talk had tended rather to Continental politics, with a view to discovering what princely family might have an interest in the temporary disappearance of Prince Eugen.

Now, as Racksole considered in detail the particular affair of Reginald Dimmock, deceased, he was struck by one point especially, to wit: Why had Dimmock and Jules manoeuvred to turn Nella Racksole out of Room No. 111 on that first night?

That they had so manoeuvred, that the broken window-pane was not a mere accident, Racksole felt perfectly sure.

He had felt perfectly sure all along; but the significance of the facts had not struck him.

It was plain to him now that there must be something of extraordinary and peculiar importance about Room No. 111. After lunch he wandered quietly upstairs and looked at Room No. 111; that is to say, he looked at the outside of it; it happened to be occupied, but the guest was leaving that evening.

The thought crossed his mind that there could be no object in gazing blankly at the outside of a room; yet he gazed;

then he wandered quickly down again to the next floor, and in passing along the corridor of that floor he stopped, and with an involuntary gesture stamped his foot.

‘Great Scott!

’ he said, ‘I’ve got hold of something--No. 111 is exactly over the State apartments.

’ He went to the bureau, and issued instructions that No. 111 was not to be re-let to anyone until further orders.

At the bureau they gave him Nella’s note, which ran thus: Dearest Papa,--I am going away for a day or two on the trail of a clue.

If I’m not back in three days, begin to inquire for me at Ostend.

Till then leave me alone.

--Your sagacious daughter, NELL.

These few words, in Nella’s large scrawling hand, filled one side of the paper.

At the bottom was a P. T.

O.

He turned over, and read the sentence, underlined, ‘P. S.

--Keep an eye on Rocco.

’ ‘I wonder what the little creature is up to?

’ he murmured, as he tore the letter into small fragments, and threw them into the waste-paper basket.

Then, without any delay, he took the lift down to the basement, with the object of making a preliminary inspection of Rocco in his lair.

He could scarcely bring himself to believe that this suave and stately gentleman, this enthusiast of gastronomy, was concerned in the machinations of Jules and other rascals unknown.

Nevertheless, from habit, he obeyed his daughter, giving her credit for a certain amount of perspicuity and cleverness.

The kitchens of the Grand Babylon Hôtel are one of the wonders of Europe.

Only three years before the events now under narration Felix Babylon had had them newly installed with every device and patent that the ingenuity of two continents could supply.

They covered nearly an acre of superficial space.

They were walled and floored from end to end with tiles and marble, which enabled them to be washed down every morning like the deck of a man-of-war.

Visitors were sometimes taken to see the potato-paring machine, the patent plate-dryer, the Babylon-spit (a contrivance of Felix Babylon’s own), the silver-grill, the system of connected stock-pots, and other amazing phenomena of the department.

Sometimes, if they were fortunate, they might also see the artist who sculptured ice into forms of men and beasts for table ornaments, or the first napkin-folder in London, or the man who daily invented fresh designs for pastry and blancmanges.

Twelve chefs pursued their labours in those kitchens, helped by ninety assistant chefs, and a further army of unconsidered menials.

Over all these was Rocco, supreme and unapproachable.

Half-way along the suite of kitchens, Rocco had an apartment of his own, wherein he thought out those magnificent combinations, those marvellous feats of succulence and originality, which had given him his fame.

Visitors never caught a glimpse of Rocco in the kitchens, though sometimes, on a special night, he would stroll nonchalantly through the dining-room, like the great man he was, to receive the compliments of the hotel habitués--people of insight who recognized his uniqueness.

Theodore Racksole’s sudden and unusual appearance in the kitchen caused a little stir.

He nodded to some of the chefs, but said nothing to anyone, merely wandering about amid the maze of copper utensils, and white-capped workers.

At length he saw Rocco, surrounded by several admiring chefs.

Rocco was bending over a freshly-roasted partridge which lay on a blue dish.

He plunged a long fork into the back of the bird, and raised it in the air with his left hand.

In his right he held a long glittering carving-knife.

He was giving one of his world-famous exhibitions of carving.

In four swift, unerring, delicate, perfect strokes he cleanly severed the limbs of the partridge.

It was a wonderful achievement--how wondrous none but the really skilful carver can properly appreciate.

The chefs emitted a hum of applause, and Rocco, long, lean, and graceful, retired to his own apartment.

Racksole followed him.

Rocco sat in a chair, one hand over his eyes; he had not noticed Theodore Racksole.

‘What are you doing, M. Rocco?

’ the millionaire asked smiling.

‘Ah!

’ exclaimed Rocco, starting up with an apology.

‘Pardon!

I was inventing a new mayonnaise, which I shall need for a certain menu next week.

’ ‘Do you invent these things without materials, then?

’ questioned Racksole.

‘Certainly.

I do dem in my mind.

I tink dem.

Why should I want materials?

I know all flavours.

I tink, and tink, and tink, and it is done.

I write down.

I give the recipe to my best chef--dere you are.

I need not even taste, I know how it will taste.

It is like composing music.

De great composers do not compose at de piano.

’ ‘I see,’ said Racksole.

‘It is because I work like dat dat you pay me three thousand a year,’ Rocco added gravely.

‘Heard about Jules?

’ said Racksole abruptly.

‘Jules?

’ ‘Yes.

He’s been arrested in Ostend,’ the millionaire continued, lying cleverly at a venture.

‘They say that he and several others are implicated in a murder case--the murder of Reginald Dimmock.

’ ‘Truly?

’ drawled Rocco, scarcely hiding a yawn.

His indifference was so superb, so gorgeous, that Racksole instantly divined that it was assumed for the occasion.

‘It seems that, after all, the police are good for something.

But this is the first time I ever knew them to be worth their salt.

There is to be a thorough and systematic search of the hotel to-morrow,’ Racksole went on.

‘I have mentioned it to you to warn you that so far as you are concerned the search is of course merely a matter of form.

You will not object to the detectives looking through your rooms?

’ ‘Certainly not,’ and Rocco shrugged his shoulders.

‘I shall ask you to say nothing about this to anyone,’ said Racksole.

‘The news of Jules’ arrest is quite private to myself.

The papers know nothing of it.

You comprehend?

’ Rocco smiled in his grand manner, and Rocco’s master thereupon went away.

Racksole was very well satisfied with the little conversation.

It was perhaps dangerous to tell a series of mere lies to a clever fellow like Rocco, and Racksole wondered how he should ultimately explain them to this great master-chef if his and Nella’s suspicions should be unfounded, and nothing came of them.

Nevertheless, Rocco’s manner, a strange elusive something in the man’s eyes, had nearly convinced Racksole that he was somehow implicated in Jules’ schemes--and probably in the death of Reginald Dimmock and the disappearance of Prince Eugen of Posen.

That night, or rather about half-past one the next morning, when the last noises of the hotel’s life had died down, Racksole made his way to Room 111 on the second floor.

He locked the door on the inside, and proceeded to examine the place, square foot by square foot.

Every now and then some creak or other sound startled him, and he listened intently for a few seconds.

The bedroom was furnished in the ordinary splendid style of bedrooms at the Grand Babylon Hôtel, and in that respect called for no remark.

What most interested Racksole was the flooring.

He pulled up the thick Oriental carpet, and peered along every plank, but could discover nothing unusual.

Then he went to the dressing-room, and finally to the bathroom, both of which opened out of the main room.

But in neither of these smaller chambers was he any more successful than in the bedroom itself.

Finally he came to the bath, which was enclosed in a panelled casing of polished wood, after the manner of baths.

Some baths have a cupboard beneath the taps, with a door at the side, but this one appeared to have none.

He tapped the panels, but not a single one of them gave forth that ‘curious hollow sound’ which usually betokens a secret place.

Idly he turned the cold-tap of the bath, and the water began to rush in.