The Grand Babylon Hôtel

hadn’t reckoned to have to deal with that class of person.’ ‘Apparently I frightened you this afternoon?’ ‘Not in the least.’ ‘You were not afraid of a search?’ ‘I knew that no search was intended. I knew that you were trying to frighten me. You must really credit me with a little sagacity and insight, Mr Racksole. Immediately you began to talk to me in the kitchen this afternoon I felt you were on the track. But I was not frightened. I merely decided that there was no time to be lost--that I must act quickly. I did act quickly, but, it seems, not quickly enough. I grant that your rapidity exceeded mine. Let us go downstairs, I beg.’ Rocco rose and moved towards the door. With an instinctive action Racksole rushed forward and seized him by the shoulder. ‘No tricks!’ said Racksole. ‘You’re in my custody and don’t forget it.’ Rocco turned on his employer a look of gentle, dignified scorn. ‘Have I not informed you,’ he said, ‘that I have the intention of going quietly?’ Racksole felt almost ashamed for the moment. It flashed across him that a man can be great, even in crime. ‘What an ineffable fool you were,’ said Racksole, stopping him at the threshold, ‘with your talents, your unique talents, to get yourself mixed up in an affair of this kind. You are ruined. And, by Jove! you were a great man in your own line.’ ‘Mr Racksole,’ said Rocco very quickly, ‘that is the truest word you have spoken this night. I was a great man in my own line. And I am an ineffable fool. Alas!’ He brought his long arms to his sides with a thud. ‘Why did you do it?’ ‘I was fascinated--fascinated by Jules. He, too, is a great man. We had great opportunities, here in the Grand Babylon. It was a great game. It was worth the candle. The prizes were enormous. You would admit these things if you knew the facts. Perhaps some day you will know them, for you are a fairly clever person at getting to the root of a matter. Yes, I was blinded, hypnotized.’ ‘And now you are ruined.’ ‘Not ruined, not ruined. Afterwards, in a few years, I shall come up again. A man of genius like me is never ruined till he is dead. Genius is always forgiven. I shall be forgiven. Suppose I am sent to prison. When I emerge I shall be no gaol-bird. I shall be Rocco--the great Rocco. And half the hotels in Europe will invite me to join them.’ ‘Let me tell you, as man to man, that you have achieved your own degradation. There is no excuse.’ ‘I know it,’ said Rocco. ‘Let us go.’ Racksole was distinctly and notably impressed by this man--by this master spirit to whom he was to have paid a salary at the rate of three thousand pounds a year. He even felt sorry for him. And so, side by side, the captor and the captured, they passed into the vast deserted corridor of the hotel. Rocco stopped at the grating of the first lift. ‘It will be locked,’ said Racksole. ‘We must use the stairs to-night.’ ‘But I have a key. I always carry one,’ said Rocco, and he pulled one out of his pocket, and, unfastening the iron screen, pushed it open. Racksole smiled at his readiness and aplomb. ‘After you,’ said Rocco, bowing in his finest manner, and Racksole stepped into the lift. With the swiftness of lighting Rocco pushed forward the iron screen, which locked itself automatically. Theodore Racksole was hopelessly a prisoner within the lift, while Rocco stood free in the corridor. ‘Good-bye, Mr Racksole,’ he remarked suavely, bowing again, lower than before. ‘Good-bye: I hate to take a mean advantage of you in this fashion, but really you must allow that you have been very simple. You are a clever man, as I have already said, up to a certain point. It is past that point that my own cleverness comes in. Again, good-bye. After all, I shall have no rest to-night, but perhaps even that will be better that sleeping in a police cell. If you make a great noise you may wake someone and ultimately get released from this lift. But I advise you to compose yourself, and wait till morning. It will be more dignified. For the third time, good-bye.’ And with that Rocco, without hastening, walked down the corridor and so out of sight. Racksole said never a word. He was too disgusted with himself to speak. He clenched his fists, and put his teeth together, and held his breath. In the silence he could hear the dwindling sound of Rocco’s footsteps on the thick carpet. It was the greatest blow of Racksole’s life. The next morning the high-born guests of the Grand Babylon were aroused by a rumour that by some accident the millionaire proprietor of the hotel had remained all night locked up in the lift. It was also stated that Rocco had quarrelled with his new master and incontinently left the place. A duchess said that Rocco’s departure would mean the ruin of the hotel, whereupon her husband advised her not to talk nonsense. As for Racksole, he sent a message for the detective in charge of the Dimmock affair, and bravely told him the happenings of the previous night. The narration was a decided ordeal to a man of Racksole’s temperament. ‘A strange story!’ commented Detective Marshall, and he could not avoid a smile. ‘The climax was unfortunate, but you have certainly got some valuable facts.’ Racksole said nothing. ‘I myself have a clue,’ added the detective. ‘When your message arrived I was just coming up to see you. I want you to accompany me to a certain spot not far from here. Will you come, now, at once?’ ‘With pleasure,’ said Racksole. At that moment a page entered with a telegram. Racksole opened it read: ‘Please come instantly. Nella. Hôtel Wellington, Ostend.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I can’t come,’ he said to the detective. I’m going to Ostend.’ ‘To Ostend?’ ‘Yes, now.’ ‘But really, Mr Racksole,’ protested the detective. ‘My business is urgent.’ ‘So’s mine,’ said Racksole. In ten minutes he was on his way to Victoria Station. Chapter Fifteen END OF THE YACHT ADVENTURE WE must now return to Nella Racksole and Prince Aribert of Posen on board the yacht without a name. The Prince’s first business was to make Jules, otherwise Mr Tom Jackson, perfectly secure by means of several pieces of rope. Although Mr Jackson had been stunned into a complete unconsciousness, and there was a contused wound under his ear, no one could say how soon he might not come to himself and get very violent. So the Prince, having tied his arms and legs, made him fast to a stanchion. ‘I hope he won’t die,’ said Nella. ‘He looks very white.’ ‘The Mr Jacksons of this world,’ said Prince Aribert sententiously, ‘never die till they are hung. By the way, I wonder how it is that no one has interfered with us. Perhaps they are discreetly afraid of my revolver--of your revolver, I mean.’ Both he and Nella glanced up at the imperturbable steersman, who kept the yacht’s head straight out to sea. By this time they were about a couple of miles from the Belgian shore. Addressing him in French, the Prince ordered the sailor to put the yacht about, and make again for Ostend Harbour, but the fellow took no notice whatever of the summons. The Prince raised the revolver, with the idea of frightening the steersman, and then the man began to talk rapidly in a mixture of French and Flemish. He said that he had received Jules’ strict orders not to interfere in any way, no matter what might happen on the deck of the yacht. He was the captain of the yacht, and he had to make for a certain English port, the name of which he could not divulge: he was to keep the vessel at full steam ahead under any and all circumstances. He seemed to be a very big, a very strong, and a very determined man, and the Prince was at a loss what course of action to pursue. He asked several more questions, but the only effect of them was to render the man taciturn and ill-humoured. In vain Prince Aribert explained that Miss Nella Racksole, daughter of millionaire Racksole, had been abducted by Mr Tom Jackson; in vain he flourished the revolver threateningly; the surly but courageous captain said merely that that had nothing to do with him; he had instructions, and he should carry them out. He sarcastically begged to remind his interlocutor that he was the captain of the yacht. ‘It won’t do to shoot him, I suppose,’ said the Prince to Nella. ‘I might bore a hole into his leg, or something of that kind.’ ‘It’s rather risky, and rather hard on the poor captain, with his extraordinary sense of duty,’ said Nella. ‘And, besides, the whole crew might turn on us. No, we must think of something else.’ ‘I wonder where the crew is,’ said the Prince. Just then Mr Jackson, prone and bound on the deck, showed signs of recovering from his swoon. His eyes opened, and he gazed vacantly around. At length he caught sight of the Prince, who approached him with the revolver well in view. ‘It’s you, is it?’ he murmured faintly. ‘What are you doing on board? Who’s tied me up like this?’ ‘See here!’ replied the Prince, ‘I don’t want to have any arguments, but this yacht must return to Ostend at once, where you will be given up to the authorities.’ ‘Really!’ snarled Mr Tom Jackson. ‘Shall I!’ Then he called out in French to the man at the wheel, ‘Hi André! let these two be put off in the dinghy.’ It was a peculiar situation. Certain of nothing but the possession of Nella’s revolver, the Prince scarcely knew whether to carry the argument further, and with stronger measures, or to accept the situation with as much dignity as the circumstances would permit. ‘Let us take the dinghy,’ said Nella; ‘we can row ashore in an hour.’ He felt that she was right. To leave the yacht in such a manner seemed somewhat ignominious, and it certainly involved the escape of that profound villain, Mr Thomas Jackson. But what else could be done? The Prince and Nella constituted one party on the vessel; they knew their own strength, but they did not know the strength of their opponents. They held the hostile ringleader bound and captive, but this man had proved himself capable of giving orders, and even to gag him would not help them if the captain of the yacht persisted in his obstinate course. Moreover, there was a distinct objection to promiscuous shooting. The Prince felt that there was no knowing how promiscuous shooting might end. ‘We will take the dinghy,’ said the Prince quickly, to the captain. A bell rang below, and a sailor and the Negro boy appeared on deck. The pulsations of the screw grew less rapid. The yacht stopped. The dinghy was lowered. As the Prince and Nella prepared to descend into the little cock-boat Mr Tom Jackson addressed Nella, all bound as he lay. ‘Good-bye,’ he said, ‘I shall see you again, never fear.’. In another moment they were in the dinghy, and the dinghy was adrift. The yacht’s screw churned the water, and the beautiful vessel slipped away from them. As it receded a figure appeared at the stem. It was Mr Thomas Jackson. He had been released by his minions. He held a white handkerchief to his ear, and offered a calm, enigmatic smile to the two forlorn but victorious occupants of the dinghy. Jules had been defeated for once in his life; or perhaps it would be more just to say that he had been out- manoeuvred. Men like Jules are incapable of being defeated. It was characteristic of his luck that now, in the very hour when he had been caught red-handed in a serious crime against society, he should be effecting a leisurely escape--an escape which left no clue behind. The sea was utterly calm and blue in the morning sun. The dinghy rocked itself lazily in the swell of the yacht’s departure. As the mist cleared away the outline of the shore became more distinct, and it appeared as