The Grand Babylon Hote

by Arnold Bennett

  Just at that moment a man came up from below. He was a man of forty or so, clad in irreproachable blue, with a peaked yachting cap. He raised the cap politely.

  'Good morning,' he said. 'Beautiful sunrise, isn't it?' The clever and calculated insolence of his tone cut her like a lash as she lay bound in the chair. Like all people who have lived easy and joyous lives in those fair regions where gold smoothes every crease and law keeps a tight hand on disorder, she found it hard to realize that there were other regions where gold was useless and law without power. Twenty-four hours ago she would have declared it impossible that such an experience as she had suffered could happen to anyone; she would have talked airily about civilization and the nineteenth century, and progress and the police. But her experience was teaching her that human nature remains always the same, and that beneath the thin crust of security on which we good citizens exist the dark and secret forces of crime continue to move, just as they did in the days when you couldn't go from Cheapside to Chelsea without being set upon by thieves. Her experience was in a fair way to teach her this lesson better than she could have learnt it even in the bureaux of the detective police of Paris, London, and St Petersburg.

  'Good morning,' the man repeated, and she glanced at him with a sullen, angry gaze.

  'You!' she exclaimed, 'You, Mr Thomas Jackson, if that is your name! Loose me from this chair, and I will talk to you.' Her eyes flashed as she spoke, and the contempt in them added mightily to her beauty. Mr Thomas Jackson, otherwise Jules, erstwhile head waiter at the Grand Babylon, considered himself a connoisseur in feminine loveliness, and the vision of Nella Racksole smote him like an exquisite blow.

  'With pleasure,' he replied. 'I had forgotten that to prevent you from falling I had secured you to the chair'; and with a quick movement he unfastened the band.

  Nella stood up, quivering with fiery annoyance and scorn.

  'Now,' she said, fronting him, 'what is the meaning of this?'

  'You fainted,' he replied imperturbably. 'Perhaps you don't remember.'

  The man offered her a deck-chair with a characteristic gesture. Nella was obliged to acknowledge, in spite of herself, that the fellow had distinction, an air of breeding. No one would have guessed that for twenty years he had been an hotel waiter. His long, lithe figure, and easy, careless carriage seemed to be the figure and carriage of an aristocrat, and his voice was quiet, restrained, and authoritative.

  'That has nothing to do with my being carried off in this yacht of yours.'

  'It is not my yacht,' he said, 'but that is a minor detail. As to the more important matter, forgive me that I remind you that only a few hours ago you were threatening a lady in my house with a revolver.'

  'Then it was your house?'

  'Why not? May I not possess a house?' He smiled.

  'I must request you to put the yacht about at once, instantly, and take me back.'

  She tried to speak firmly.

  'Ah!' he said, 'I am afraid that's impossible. I didn't put out to sea with the intention of returning at once, instantly.' In the last words he gave a faint imitation of her tone.

  'When I do get back,' she said, 'when my father gets to know of this affair, it will be an exceedingly bad day for you, Mr Jackson.'

  'But supposing your father doesn't hear of it - '

  'What?'

  'Supposing you never get back?'

  'Do you mean, then, to have my murder on your conscience?'

  'Talking of murder,' he said, 'you came very near to murdering my friend, Miss Spencer. At least, so she tells me.'

  'Is Miss Spencer on board?' Nella asked, seeing perhaps a faint ray of hope in the possible presence of a woman.

  'Miss Spencer is not on board. There is no one on board except you and myself and a small crew - a very discreet crew, I may add.'

  'I will have nothing more to say to you. You must take your own course.'

  Thanks for the permission,' he said. 'I will send you up some breakfast.'

  He went to the saloon stairs and whistled, and a Negro boy appeared with a tray of chocolate. Nella took it, and, without the slightest hesitation, threw it overboard. Mr Jackson walked away a few steps and then returned.

  'You have spirit,' he said, 'and I admire spirit. It is a rare quality.'

  She made no reply. 'Why did you mix yourself up in my affairs at all?' he went on.

  Again she made no reply, but the question set her thinking: why had she mixed herself up in this mysterious business? It was quite at variance with the usual methods of her gay and butterfly existence to meddle at all with serious things.

  Had she acted merely from a desire to see justice done and wickedness punished? Or was it the desire of adventure? Or was it, perhaps, the desire to be of service to His Serene Highness Prince Aribert? 'It is no fault of mine that you are in this fix,' Jules continued. 'I didn't bring you into it. You brought yourself into it. You and your father - you have been moving along at a pace which is rather too rapid.'

  'That remains to be seen,' she put in coldly.

  'It does,' he admitted. 'And I repeat that I can't help admiring you - that is, when you aren't interfering with my private affairs. That is a proceeding which I have never tolerated from anyone - not even from a millionaire, nor even from a beautiful woman.' He bowed. 'I will tell you what I propose to do. I propose to escort you to a place of safety, and to keep you there till my operations are concluded, and the possibility of interference entirely removed. You spoke just now of murder. What a crude notion that was of yours! It is only the amateur who practises murder - '

  'What about Reginald Dimmock?' she interjected quickly.

  He paused gravely.

  'Reginald Dimmock,' he repeated. 'I had imagined his was a case of heart disease. Let me send you up some more chocolate. I'm sure you're hungry.'

  'I will starve before I touch your food,' she said.

  'Gallant creature!' he murmured, and his eyes roved over her face. Her superb, supercilious beauty overcame him. 'Ah!' he said, 'what a wife you would make!'

  He approached nearer to her. 'You and I, Miss Racksole, your beauty and wealth and my brains - we could conquer the world. Few men are worthy of you, but I am one of the few. Listen! You might do worse. Marry me. I am a great man; I shall be greater. I adore you. Marry me, and I will save your life. All shall be well.

  I will begin again. The past shall be as though there had been no past.'

  'This is somewhat sudden - Jules,' she said with biting contempt.

  'Did you expect me to be conventional?' he retorted. 'I love you.'

  'Granted,' she said, for the sake of the argument. 'Then what will occur to your present wife?'

  'My present wife?'

  'Yes, Miss Spencer, as she is called.'

  'She told you I was her husband?'

  'Incidentally she did.'

  'She isn't.'

  'Perhaps she isn't. But, nevertheless, I think I won't marry you.' Nella stood like a statue of scorn before him.

  He went still nearer to her. 'Give me a kiss, then; one kiss - I won't ask for more; one kiss from those lips, and you shall go free. Men have ruined themselves for a kiss. I will.'

  'Coward!' she ejaculated.

  'Coward!' he repeated. 'Coward, am I? Then I'll be a coward, and you shall kiss me whether you will or not.'

  He put a hand on her shoulder. As she shrank back from his lustrous eyes, with an involuntary scream, a figure sprang out of the dinghy a few feet away. With a single blow, neatly directed to Mr Jackson's ear, Mr Jackson was stretched senseless on the deck. Prince Aribert of Posen stood over him with a revolver. It was probably the greatest surprise of Mr Jackson's whole life.

  'Don't be alarmed,' said the Prince to Nella, 'my being here is the simplest thing in the world, and I will explain it as soon as I have finished with this fellow.'

  Nella could think of nothing to say, but she noticed the revolver in the Prince's hand.

  'Why,' she remarked, 'that's my revo
lver.'

  'It is,' he said, 'and I will explain that, too.'

  The man at the wheel gave no heed whatever to the scene.

  11. The Court Pawnbroker

  '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 Hotel, 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 me
n 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.'