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Updated: June 27, 2025
The corridors hummed with it, and even under-servants were to be seen discussing the thing, just as though it mattered to them. 'Have a cigar, Mr Racksole, said the urbane Mr Babylon, 'and a mouthful of the oldest cognac in all Europe. In a few minutes these two were talking eagerly, rapidly. Felix Babylon was astonished at Racksole's capacity for absorbing the details of hotel management.
His features were slightly drawn, and his eyes closed; that was all. He might have been asleep. 'My poor Dimmock! exclaimed the Prince, his voice broken. 'And I was angry because the lad did not meet me at Charing Cross! 'Are you sure he is dead, Father? Nella said. 'You'd better go away, Nella, was Racksole's only reply; but the girl stood still, and began to sob quietly.
Theodore Racksole looked at the young man for a few seconds in silence. There was a faint knock at the door. 'Come in, said Racksole loudly. Someone pushed open the door, but remained standing on the mat. It was Nella's maid, in a dressing-gown. 'Miss Racksole's compliments, and a thousand excuses, but a book of hers was left on the mantelshelf in this room. She cannot sleep, and wishes to read.
Mr Reginald Dimmock, still in evening dress, and smoking a cigarette, rose hurriedly from a table. 'Hello, my dear Mr Racksole, this is an unexpected ah pleasure. 'Where is my daughter? This is her room. 'Did I catch what you said, Mr Racksole? 'I venture to remark that this is Miss Racksole's room. 'My good sir, answered Dimmock, 'you must be mad to dream of such a thing.
Theodore Racksole hesitated one second, and then issued the order with a fine air of carelessness: 'Filleted steak for two, and a bottle of Bass. It was the bravest act of Theodore Racksole's life, and yet at more than one previous crisis a high courage had not been lacking to him. 'It's not in the menu, sir, said Jules the imperturbable. 'Never mind. Get it. We want it. 'Very good, sir.
He decided that the young fellow was personable enough, 'had no frills on him, and would make an exceptionally good commercial traveller for a first-class firm. Such was Theodore Racksole's preliminary estimate of the man who might one day be the reigning Grand Duke of Posen.
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 m the lift.
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