The Grand Babylon Hôtel
wish not to be divulged.’
‘Then you do not believe that he is the victim of foul play?’
‘I do not.’
‘And the reason, if I may ask it?’
‘Mr Racksole, we speak in confidence--is it not so? Some years ago my
foolish nephew had an affair--an affair with a feminine star of the
Berlin stage. For anything I know, the lady may have been the very
pattern of her sex, but where a reigning Prince is concerned scandal
cannot be avoided in such a matter. I had thought that the affair was
quite at an end, since my nephew’s betrothal to Princess Anna of
Eckstein-Schwartzburg is shortly to be announced. But yesterday I saw
the lady to whom I have referred driving on the Digue. The coincidence
of her presence here with my nephew’s disappearance is too extraordinary
to be disregarded.’
‘But how does this theory square with the murder of Reginald Dimmock?’
‘It does not square with it. My idea is that the murder of poor Dimmock
and the disappearance of my nephew are entirely unconnected--unless,
indeed, this Berlin actress is playing into the hands of the murderers.
I had not thought of that.’
‘Then what do you propose to do to-night?’
‘I propose to enter the house which Miss Racksole entered last night and
to find out something definite.’
‘I concur,’ said Racksole. ‘I shall heartily enjoy it. But let me tell
you, Prince, and pardon me for speaking bluntly, your surmise is
incorrect. I would wager a hundred thousand dollars that Prince Eugen
has been kidnapped.’
‘What grounds have you for being so sure?’
‘Ah! said Racksole, ‘that is a long story. Let me begin by asking you
this.
Are you aware that your nephew, Prince Eugen, owes a million of money?’
‘A million of money!’ cried Prince Aribert astonished. ‘It is
impossible!’
‘Nevertheless, he does,’ said Racksole calmly. Then he told him all he
had learnt from Mr Sampson Levi.
‘What have you to say to that?’ Racksole ended. Prince Aribert made no
reply.
‘What have you to say to that?’ Racksole insisted.
‘Merely that Eugen is ruined, even if he is alive.’
‘Not at all,’ Racksole returned with cheerfulness. ‘Not at all. We shall
see about that. The special thing that I want to know just now from you
is this:
Has any previous application ever been made for the hand of the Princess
Anna?’
‘Yes. Last year. The King of Bosnia sued for it, but his proposal was
declined.’
‘Why?’
‘Because my nephew was considered to be a more suitable match for her.’
‘Not because the personal character of his Majesty of Bosnia is scarcely
of the brightest?’
‘No. Unfortunately it is usually impossible to consider questions of
personal character when a royal match is concerned.’
‘Then, if for any reason the marriage of Princess Anna with your nephew
was frustrated, the King of Bosnia would have a fair chance in that
quarter?’
‘He would. The political aspect of things would be perfectly
satisfactory.’
‘Thanks!’ said Racksole. ‘I will wager another hundred thousand dollars
that someone in Bosnia--I don’t accuse the King himself--is at the
bottom of this business. The methods of Balkan politicians have always
been half-Oriental. Let us go.’
‘Where?’
‘To this precious house of Nella’s adventure.’
‘But surely it is too early?’
‘So it is,’ said Racksole, ‘and we shall want a few things, too. For
instance, a dark lantern. I think I will go out and forage for a
lantern.’
‘And a revolver?’ suggested Prince Aribert.
‘Does it mean revolvers?’ The millionaire laughed. ‘It may come to
that.’ ‘Here you are, then, my friend,’ said Racksole, and he pulled one
out of his hip pocket. ‘And yours?’
‘I,’ said the Prince, ‘I have your daughter’s.’
‘The deuce you have!’ murmured Racksole to himself.
It was then half past nine. They decided that it would be impolitic to
begin their operations till after midnight. There were three hours to
spare.
‘Let us go and see the gambling,’ Racksole suggested. ‘We might
encounter the Berlin lady.’
The suggestion, in the first instance, was not made seriously, but it
appeared to both men that they might do worse than spend the intervening
time in the gorgeous saloon of the Kursaal, where, in the season, as
much money is won and lost as at Monte Carlo. It was striking ten
o’clock as they entered the rooms. There was a large company present--a
company which included some of the most notorious persons in Europe. In
that multifarious assemblage all were equal. The electric light shone
coldly and impartially on the just and on the unjust, on the fool and
the knave, on the European and the Asiatic. As usual, women monopolized
the best places at the tables.
The scene was familiar enough to Prince Aribert, who had witnessed it
frequently at Monaco, but Theodore Racksole had never before entered any
European gaming palace; he had only the haziest idea of the rules of
play, and he was at once interested. For some time they watched the play
at the table which happened to be nearest to them. Racksole never moved
his lips.
With his eyes glued on the table, and ears open for every remark, of the
players and the croupier, he took his first lesson in roulette. He saw a
mere youth win fifteen thousand francs, which were stolen in the most
barefaced manner by a rouged girl scarcely older than the youth; he saw
two old gamesters stake their coins, and lose, and walk quietly out of
the place; he saw the bank win fifty thousand francs at a single turn.
‘This is rather good fun,’ he said at length, ‘but the stakes are too
small to make it really exciting. I’ll try my luck, just for the
experience. I’m bound to win.’
‘Why?’ asked the Prince.
‘Because I always do, in games of chance,’ Racksole answered with gay
confidence. ‘It is my fate. Then to-night, you must remember, I shall be
a beginner, and you know the tyro’s luck.’
In ten minutes the croupier of that table was obliged to suspend
operations pending the arrival of a further supply of coin.
‘What did I tell you?’ said Racksole, leading the way to another table
further up the room. A hundred curious glances went after him. One old
woman, whose gay attire suggested a false youthfulness, begged him in
French to stake a five-franc piece for her. She offered him the coin. He
took it, and gave her a hundred-franc note in exchange. She clutched the
crisp rustling paper, and with hysterical haste scuttled back to her own
table.
At the second table there was a considerable air of excitement. In the
forefront of the players was a woman in a low-cut evening dress of black
silk and a large red picture hat. Her age appeared to be about twenty-
eight; she had dark eyes, full lips, and a distinctly Jewish nose. She
was handsome, but her beauty was of that forbidding, sinister order
which is often called Junoesque. This woman was the centre of
attraction. People said to each other that she had won a hundred and
sixty thousand francs that day at the table.
‘You were right,’ Prince Aribert whispered to Theodore Racksole; ‘that
is the Berlin lady.’
‘The deuce she is! Has she seen you? Will she know you?’
‘She would probably know me, but she hasn’t looked up yet.’
‘Keep behind her, then. I propose to find her a little occupation.’ By
dint of a carefully-exercised diplomacy, Racksole manoeuvred himself
into a seat opposite to the lady in the red hat. The fame of his success
at the other table had followed him, and people regarded him as a
serious and formidable player. In the first turn the lady put a thousand
francs on double zero; Racksole put a hundred on number nineteen and a
thousand on the odd numbers.
Nineteen won. Racksole received four thousand four hundred francs. Nine
times in succession Racksole backed number nineteen and the odd numbers;
nine times the lady backed double zero. Nine times Racksole won and the
lady lost. The other players, perceiving that the affair had resolved
itself into a duel, stood back for the most part and watched those two.
Prince Aribert never stirred from his position behind the great red hat.
The game continued. Racksole lost trifles from time to time, but ninety-
nine hundredths of the luck was with him. As an English spectator at the
table remarked, ‘he couldn’t do wrong.’ When midnight struck the lady in
the red hat was reduced to a thousand francs. Then she fell into a
winning vein for half an hour, but at one o’clock her resources were
exhausted. Of the hundred and sixty thousand francs which she was
reputed to have had early in the evening, Racksole held about ninety
thousand, and the bank had the rest.
It was a calamity for the Juno of the red hat. She jumped up, stamped
her foot, and hurried from the room. At a discreet distance Racksole and
the Prince pursued her.
‘It might be well to ascertain her movements,’ said Racksole.
Outside, in the glare of the great arc lights, and within sound of the
surf which beats always at the very foot of the Kursaal, the Juno of the
red hat summoned a fiacre and drove rapidly away. Racksole and the
Prince took an open carriage and started in pursuit. They had not,
however, travelled more than half a mile when Prince Aribert stopped the
carriage, and, bidding Racksole get out, paid the driver and dismissed
him.
‘I feel sure I know where she is going,’ he explained, ‘and it will be
better for us to follow on foot.’
‘You mean she is making for the scene of last night’s affair?’ said
Racksole.
‘Exactly. We shall--what you call, kill two birds with one stone.’
Prince Aribert’s guess was correct. The lady’s carriage stopped in front
of the house where Nella Racksole and Miss Spencer had had their
interview on the previous evening, and the lady vanished into the
building just as the two men appeared at the end of the street. Instead
of proceeding along that street, the Prince led Racksole to the lane
which gave on to the backs of the houses, and he counted the houses as
they went up the lane. In a few minutes they had burglariously climbed
over a wall, and crept, with infinite caution, up a long, narrow piece
of ground--half garden, half paved yard, till they crouched under a
window--a window which was shielded by curtains, but which had been left
open a little.
‘Listen,’ said the Prince in his lightest whisper, ‘they are talking.’
‘Who?’
‘The Berlin lady and Miss Spencer. I’m sure it’s Miss Spencer’s voice.’
Racksole boldly pushed the french window a little wider open, and put
his ear to the aperture, through which came a beam of yellow light.
‘Take my place,’ he whispered to the Prince, ‘they’re talking German.
You’ll understand better.’
Silently they exchanged places under the window, and the Prince listened
intently.
‘Then you refuse?’ Miss Spencer’s visitor was saying.
There was no answer from Miss Spencer.
‘Not even a thousand francs? I tell you I’ve lost the whole twenty-five
thousand.’
Again no answer.
‘Then I’ll tell the whole story,’ the lady went on, in an angry rush of
words. ‘I did what I promised to do. I enticed him here, and you’ve got
him safe in your vile cellar, poor little man, and you won’t give me a
paltry thousand francs.’
‘You have already had your price.’ The words were Miss Spencer’s. They
fell cold and calm on the night air.
‘I want another thousand.’
‘I haven’t it.’
‘Then we’ll see.’
Prince Aribert heard a rustle of flying skirts; then another movement--a
door banged, and the beam of light through the aperture of the window
suddenly disappeared. He pushed the window wide open. The room was in
darkness, and apparently empty.
‘Now for that lantern of yours,’ he said eagerly to Theodore Racksole,
after he had translated to him the conversation of the two women,
Racksole produced the dark lantern from the capacious pocket of his dust
coat, and lighted it. The ray flashed about the ground.