The Grand Babylon Hote

by Arnold Bennett

  Troubles never come singly, and it happened that just then that fool Dimmock, who had been in the swim with us, chose to prove refractory. The slightest hitch would have upset everything, and I was obliged to - to clear him off the scene.

  He wanted to back out - he had a bad attack of conscience, and violent measures were essential. I regret his untimely decease, but he brought it on himself. Well, everything was going serenely when you and your brilliant daughter, apparently determined to meddle, turned up again among us at Ostend. Only twenty-four hours, however, had to elapse before the date which had been mentioned to me by my employers. I kept poor little Eugen for the allotted time, and then you managed to get hold of him. I do not deny that you scored there, though, according to my original instructions, you scored too late.

  The time had passed, and so, so far as I knew, it didn't matter a pin whether Prince Eugen saw Mr Sampson Levi or not. But my employers were still uneasy.

  They were uneasy even after little Eugen had lain ill in Ostend for several weeks.

  It appears that they feared that even at that date an interview between Prince Eugen and Mr Sampson Levi might work harm to them. So they applied to me again. This time they wanted Prince Eugen to be - em - finished off entirely. They offered high terms.'

  'What terms?'

  'I had received fifty thousand pounds for the first job, of which Rocco had half.

  Rocco was also to be made a member of a certain famous European order, if things went right. That was what he coveted far more than the money - the vain fellow! For the second job I was offered a hundred thousand. A tolerably large sum. I regret that I have not been able to earn it.'

  'Do you mean to tell me,' asked Racksole, horror-struck by this calm confession, in spite of his previous knowledge, 'that you were offered a hundred thousand pounds to poison Prince Eugen?'

  'You put it rather crudely,' said Jules in reply. 'I prefer to say that I was offered a hundred thousand pounds if Prince Eugen should die within a reasonable time.'

  'And who were your damnable employers?'

  'That, honestly, I do not know.'

  'You know, I suppose, who paid you the first fifty thousand pounds, and who promised you the hundred thousand.'

  'Well,' said Jules, 'I know vaguely. I know that he came via Vienna from - em -

  Bosnia. My impression was that the affair had some bearing, direct or indirect, on the projected marriage of the King of Bosnia. He is a young monarch, scarcely out of political leading-strings, as it were, and doubtless his Ministers thought that they had better arrange his marriage for him. They tried last year, and failed because the Princess whom they had in mind had cast her sparkling eyes on another Prince. That Prince happened to be Prince Eugen of Posen. The Ministers of the King of Bosnia knew exactly the circumstances of Prince Eugen.

  They knew that he could not marry without liquidating his debts, and they knew that he could only liquidate his debts through this Jew, Sampson Levi.

  Unfortunately for me, they ultimately wanted to make too sure of Prince Eugen.

  They were afraid he might after all arrange his marriage without the aid of Mr Sampson Levi, and so - well, you know the rest. . . . It is a pity that the poor little innocent King of Bosnia can't have the Princess of his Ministers' choice.'

  'Then you think that the King himself had no part in this abominable crime?'

  'I think decidedly not.'

  'I am glad of that,' said Racksole simply. 'And now, the name of your immediate employer.'

  'He was merely an agent. He called himself Sleszak - S-l-e-s-z-a-k. But I imagine that that wasn't his real name. I don't know his real name. An old man, he often used to be found at the Hôtel Ritz, Paris.'

  'Mr Sleszak and I will meet,' said Racksole.

  'Not in this world,' said Jules quickly. 'He is dead. I heard only last night - just before our little tussle.'

  There was a silence.

  'It is well,' said Racksole at length. 'Prince Eugen lives, despite all plots. After all, justice is done.'

  'Mr Racksole is here, but he can see no one, Miss.' The words came from behind the door, and the voice was the commissionaire's. Racksole started up, and went towards the door.

  'Nonsense,' was the curt reply, in feminine tones. 'Move aside instantly.'

  The door opened, and Nella entered. There were tears in her eyes.

  'Oh! Dad,' she exclaimed, 'I've only just heard you were in the hotel. We looked for you everywhere. Come at once, Prince Eugen is dying - ' Then she saw the man sitting on the bed, and stopped.

  Later, when Jules was alone again, he remarked to himself, 'I may get that hundred thousand.'

  28. The State Bedroom Once More

  WHEN, immediately after the episode of the bottle of Romanée-Conti in the State dining-room, Prince Aribert and old Hans found that Prince Eugen had sunk in an unconscious heap over his chair, both the former thought, at the first instant, that Eugen must have already tasted the poisoned wine. But a moment's reflection showed that this was not possible. If the Hereditary Prince of Posen was dying or dead, his condition was due to some other agency than the Romanée-Conti.

  Aribert bent over him, and a powerful odour from the man's lips at once disclosed the cause of the disaster: it was the odour of laudanum. Indeed, the smell of that sinister drug seemed now to float heavily over the whole table. Across Aribert's mind there flashed then the true explanation. Prince Eugen, taking advantage of Aribert's attention being momentarily diverted; and yielding to a sudden impulse of despair, had decided to poison himself, and had carried out his intention on the spot.

  The laudanum must have been already in his pocket, and this fact went to prove that the unfortunate Prince had previously contemplated such a proceeding, even after his definite promise. Aribert remembered now with painful vividness his nephew's words: 'I withdraw my promise. Observe that - I withdraw it.' It must have been instantly after the utterance of that formal withdrawal that Eugen attempted to destroy himself.

  'It's laudanum, Hans,' Aribert exclaimed, rather helplessly.

  'Surely his Highness has not taken poison?' said Hans. 'It is impossible!'

  'I fear it is only too possible,' said the other. 'It's laudanum. What are we to do?

  Quick, man!'

  'His Highness must be roused, Prince. He must have an emetic. We had better carry him to the bedroom.'

  They did, and laid him on the great bed; and then Aribert mixed an emetic of mustard and water, and administered it, but without any effect. The sufferer lay motionless, with every muscle relaxed. His skin was ice-cold to the touch, and the eyelids, half-drawn, showed that the pupils were painfully contracted.

  'Go out, and send for a doctor, Hans. Say that Prince Eugen has been suddenly taken ill, but that it isn't serious. The truth must never be known.'

  'He must be roused, sire,' Hans said again, as he hurried from the room.

  Aribert lifted his nephew from the bed, shook him, pinched him, flicked him cruelly, shouted at him, dragged him about, but to no avail. At length he desisted, from mere physical fatigue, and laid the Prince back again on the bed. Every minute that elapsed seemed an hour. Alone with the unconscious organism in the silence of the great stately chamber, under the cold yellow glare of the electric lights, Aribert became a prey to the most despairing thoughts. The tragedy of his nephew's career forced itself upon him, and it occurred to him that an early and shameful death had all along been inevitable for this good-natured, weak-purposed, unhappy child of a historic throne. A little good fortune, and his character, so evenly balanced between right and wrong, might have followed the proper path, and Eugen might have figured at any rate with dignity on the European stage. But now it appeared that all was over, the last stroke played.

  And in this disaster Aribert saw the ruin of his own hopes. For Aribert would have to occupy his nephew's throne, and he felt instinctively that nature had not cut him out for a throne. By a natural impulse he inwardly rebelled against the pros
pect of monarchy. Monarchy meant so much for which he knew himself to be entirely unfitted. It meant a political marriage, which means a forced marriage, a union against inclination. And then what of Nella - Nella!

  Hans returned. 'I have sent for the nearest doctor, and also for a specialist,' he said.

  'Good,' said Aribert. 'I hope they will hurry.' Then he sat down and wrote a card.

  'Take this yourself to Miss Racksole. If she is out of the hotel, ascertain where she is and follow her. Understand, it is of the first importance.'

  Hans bowed, and departed for the second time, and Aribert was alone again.

  He gazed at Eugen, and made another frantic attempt to rouse him from the deadly stupor, but it was useless. He walked away to the window: through the opened casement he could hear the tinkle of passing hansoms on the Embankment below, whistles of door-keepers, and the hoot of steam tugs on the river. The world went on as usual, it appeared. It was an absurd world.

  He desired nothing better than to abandon his princely title, and live as a plain man, the husband of the finest woman on earth. . . . But now! . . .

  Pah! How selfish he was, to be thinking of himself when Eugen lay dying. Yet -

  Nella!

  The door opened, and a man entered, who was obviously the doctor. A few curt questions, and he had grasped the essentials of the case. 'Oblige me by ringing the bell, Prince. I shall want some hot water, and an able-bodied man and a nurse.'

  'Who wants a nurse?' said a voice, and Nella came quietly in. 'I am a nurse,' she added to the doctor, 'and at your orders.'

  The next two hours were a struggle between life and death. The first doctor, a specialist who followed him, Nella, Prince Aribert, and old Hans formed, as it were, a league to save the dying man. None else in the hotel knew the real seriousness of the case. When a Prince falls ill, and especially by his own act, the precise truth is not issued broadcast to the universe.

  According to official intelligence, a Prince is never seriously ill until he is dead.

  Such is statecraft.

  The worst feature of Prince Eugen's case was that emetics proved futile.

  Neither of the doctors could explain their failure, but it was only too apparent. The league was reduced to helplessness. At last the great specialist from Manchester Square gave it out that there was no chance for Prince Eugen unless the natural vigour of his constitution should prove capable of throwing off the poison unaided by scientific assistance, as a drunkard can sleep off his potion. Everything had been tried, even to artificial respiration and the injection of hot coffee. Having emitted this pronouncement, the great specialist from Manchester Square left. It was one o'clock in the morning. By one of those strange and futile coincidences which sometimes startle us by their subtle significance, the specialist met Theodore Racksole and his captive as they were entering the hotel. Neither had the least suspicion of the other's business.

  In the State bedroom the small group of watchers surrounded the bed. The slow minutes filed away in dreary procession. Another hour passed. Then the figure on the bed, hitherto so motionless, twitched and moved; the lips parted.

  'There is hope,' said the doctor, and administered a stimulant which was handed to him by Nella.

  In a quarter of an hour the patient had regained consciousness. For the ten thousandth time in the history of medicine a sound constitution had accomplished a miracle impossible to the accumulated medical skill of centuries.

  In due course the doctor left, saying that Prince Eugen was 'on the high road to recovery,' and promising to come again within a few hours. Morning had dawned.

  Nella drew the great curtains, and let in a flood of sunlight.

  Old Hans, overcome by fatigue, dozed in a chair in a far corner of the room.

  The reaction had been too much for him. Nella and Prince Aribert looked at each other. They had not exchanged a word about themselves, yet each knew what the other had been thinking. They clasped hands with a perfect understanding.

  Their brief love-making had been of the silent kind, and it was silent now. No word was uttered. A shadow had passed from over them, but only their eyes expressed relief and joy.

  'Aribert!' The faint call came from the bed. Aribert went to the bedside, while Nella remained near the window.

  'What is it, Eugen?' he said. 'You are better now.'

  'You think so?' murmured the other. 'I want you to forgive me for all this, Aribert. I must have caused you an intolerable trouble. I did it so clumsily; that is what annoys me. Laudanum was a feeble expedient; but I could think of nothing else, and I daren't ask anyone for advice. I was obliged to go out and buy the stuff for myself. It was all very awkward.

  But, thank goodness, it has not been ineffectual.'

  'What do you mean, Eugen? You are better. In a day or so you will be perfectly recovered.'

  'I am dying,' said Eugen quietly. 'Do not be deceived. I die because I wish to die.

  It is bound to be so. I know by the feel of my heart. In a few hours it will be over.

  The throne of Posen will be yours, Aribert. You will fill it more worthily than I have done. Don't let them know over there that I poisoned myself. Swear Hans to secrecy; swear the doctors to secrecy; and breathe no word yourself. I have been a fool, but I do not wish it to be known that I was also a coward. Perhaps it is not cowardice; perhaps it is courage, after all - courage to cut the knot. I could not have survived the disgrace of any revelations, Aribert, and revelations would have been sure to come. I have made a fool of myself, but I am ready to pay for it. We of Posen - we always pay - everything except our debts. Ah! those debts!

  Had it not been for those I could have faced her who was to have been my wife, to have shared my throne. I could have hidden my past, and begun again. With her help I really could have begun again. But Fate has been against me - always!

  always! By the way, what was that plot against me, Aribert? I forget, I forget.'

  His eyes closed. There was a sudden noise. Old Hans had slipped from his chair to the floor. He picked himself up, dazed, and crept shamefacedly out of the room.

  Aribert took his nephew's hand.

  'Nonsense, Eugen! You are dreaming. You will be all right soon. Pull yourself together.'

  'All because of a million,' the sick man moaned. 'One miserable million English pounds. The national debt of Posen is fifty millions, and I, the Prince of Posen, couldn't borrow one. If I could have got it, I might have held my head up again.

  Good-bye, Aribert... . Who is that girl?'

  Aribert looked up. Nella was standing silent at the foot of the bed, her eyes moist.

  She came round to the bedside, and put her hand on the patient's heart. Scarcely could she feel its pulsation, and to Aribert her eyes expressed a sudden despair.

  At that moment Hans re-entered the room and beckoned to her.

  'I have heard that Herr Racksole has returned to the hotel,' he whispered, 'and that he has captured that man Jules, who they say is such a villain.'

  Several times during the night Nella inquired for her father, but could gain no knowledge of his whereabouts. Now, at half-past six in the morning, a rumour had mysteriously spread among the servants of the hotel about the happenings of the night before. How it had originated no one could have determined, but it had originated.

  'Where is my father?' Nella asked of Hans.

  He shrugged his shoulders, and pointed upwards. 'Somewhere at the top, they say.'

  Nella almost ran out of the room. Her interruption of the interview between Jules and Theodore Racksole has already been described. As she came downstairs with her father she said again, 'Prince Eugen is dying - but I think you can save him.'

  'I?' exclaimed Theodore.

  'Yes,' she repeated positively. 'I will tell you what I want you to do, and you must do it.'

  29. Theodore Is Called To The Rescue

  AS Nella passed downstairs from the top storey with her father - the lifts had not yet begun to work - she drew him
into her own room, and closed the door.

  'What's this all about?' he asked, somewhat mystified, and even alarmed by the extreme seriousness of her face.

  'Dad,' the girl began. 'you are very rich, aren't you? very, very rich?' She smiled anxiously, timidly. He did not remember to have seen that expression on her face before. He wanted to make a facetious reply, but checked himself.

  'Yes,' he said, 'I am. You ought to know that by this time.'

  'How soon could you realize a million pounds?'

  'A million - what?' he cried. Even he was staggered by her calm reference to this gigantic sum. 'What on earth are you driving at?'

  'A million pounds, I said. That is to say, five million dollars. How soon could you realize as much as that?'

  'Oh!' he answered, 'in about a month, if I went about it neatly enough. I could unload as much as that in a month without scaring Wall Street and other places.

  But it would want some arrangement.'

  'Useless!' she exclaimed. 'Couldn't you do it quicker, if you really had to?'

  'If I really had to, I could fix it in a week, but it would make things lively, and I should lose on the job.'

  'Couldn't you,' she persisted, 'couldn't you go down this morning and raise a million, somehow, if it was a matter of life and death?'

  He hesitated. 'Look here, Nella,' he said, 'what is it you've got up your sleeve?'

  'Just answer my question, Dad, and try not to think that I'm a stark, staring lunatic.'

  'I rather expect I could get a million this morning, even in London. But it would cost pretty dear. It might cost me fifty thousand pounds, and there would be the dickens of an upset in New York - a sort of grand universal slump in my holdings.'

  'Why should New York know anything about it?'

  'Why should New York know anything about it!' he repeated. 'My girl, when anyone borrows a million sovereigns the whole world knows about it. Do you reckon that I can go up to the Governors of the Bank of England and say, "Look here, lend Theodore Racksole a million for a few weeks, and he'll give you an IOU and a covering note on stocks"?'