'Till?'
'Till the end of June.'
'And it is now the end of July.'
'Well, what is a month? He is only too glad to lend the money. He will get excellent interest. How on earth have you got into your sage old head this notion of a plot against me? The idea is ridiculous. A plot against me? What for?'
'Have you ever thought of Bosnia?' asked Aribert coldly.
'What of Bosnia?'
'I need not tell you that the King of Bosnia is naturally under obligations to Austria, to whom he owes his crown. Austria is anxious for him to make a good influential marriage.'
'Well, let him.'
'He is going to. He is going to marry the Princess Anna.'
'Not while I live. He made overtures there a year ago, and was rebuffed.'
'Yes; but he will make overtures again, and this time he will not be rebuffed. Oh, Eugen! can't you see that this plot against you is being engineered by some persons who know all about your affairs, and whose desire is to prevent your marriage with Princess Anna? Only one man in Europe can have any motive for wishing to prevent your marriage with Princess Anna, and that is the man who means to marry her himself.' Eugen went very pale.
'Then, Aribert, do you mean to oonvey to me that my detention in Ostend was contrived by the agents of the King of Bosnia?'
'I do.'
'With a view to stopping my negotiations with Sampson Levi, and so putting an end to the possibility of my marriage with Anna?'
Aribert nodded.
'You are a good friend to me, Aribert. You mean well. But you are mistaken.
You have been worrying about nothing.'
'Have you forgotten about Reginald Dimmock?'
'I remember you said that he had died.'
'I said nothing of the sort. I said that he had been assassinated. That was part of it, my poor Eugen.'
'Pooh!' said Eugen. 'I don't believe he was assassinated. And as for Sampson Levi, I will bet you a thousand marks that he and I come to terms this morning, and that the million is in my hands before I leave London.' Aribert shook his head.
'You seem to be pretty sure of Mr Levi's character. Have you had much to do with him before?'
'Well,' Eugen hesitated a second, 'a little. What young man in my position hasn't had something to do with Mr Sampson Levi at one time or another?'
'I haven't,' said Aribert.
'You! You are a fossil.' He rang a silver bell. 'Hans! I will receive Mr Sampson Levi.'
Whereupon Aribert discreetly departed, and Prince Eugen sat down in the great velvet chair, and began to look at the papers which Hans had previously placed upon the table.
'Good morning, your Royal Highness,' said Sampson Levi, bowing as he entered.
'I trust your Royal Highness is well.'
'Moderately, thanks,' returned the Prince.
In spite of the fact that he had had as much to do with people of Royal blood as any plain man in Europe, Sampson Levi had never yet learned how to be at ease with these exalted individuals during the first few minutes of an interview.
Afterwards, he resumed command of himself and his faculties, but at the beginning he was invariably flustered, scarlet of face, and inclined to perspiration.
'We will proceed to business at once,' said Prince Eugen. 'Will you take a seat, Mr Levi?'
'I thank your Royal Highness.'
'Now as to that loan which we had already practically arranged - a million, I think it was,' said the Prince airily.
'A million,' Levi acquiesced, toying with his enormous watch chain.
'Everything is now in order. Here are the papers and I should like to finish the matter up at once.'
'Exactly, your Highness, but - '
'But what? You months ago expressed the warmest satisfaction at the security, though I am quite prepared to admit that the security, is of rather an unusual nature. You also agreed to the rate of interest. It is not everyone, Mr Levi, who can lend out a million at 5-1/2 per cent. And in ten years the whole amount will be paid back. I - er - I believe I informed you that the fortune of Princess Anna, who is about to accept my hand, will ultimately amount to something like fifty millions of marks, which is over two million pounds in your English money.' Prince Eugen stopped. He had no fancy for talking in this confidential manner to financiers, but he felt that circumstances demanded it.
'You see, it's like this, your Royal Highness,' began Mr Sampson Levi, in his homely English idiom. 'It's like this. I said I could keep that bit of money available till the end of June, and you were to give me an interview here before that date.
Not having heard from your Highness, and not knowing your Highness's address, though my German agents made every inquiry, I concluded, that you had made other arrangements, money being so cheap this last few months.'
'I was unfortunately detained at Ostend,' said Prince Eugen, with as much haughtiness as he could assume, 'by - by important business. I have made no other arangements, and I shall have need of the million. If you will be so good as to pay it to my London bankers - '
'I'm very sorry,' said Mr Sampson Levi, with a tremendous and dazzling air of politeness, which surprised even himself, 'but my syndicate has now lent the money elsewhere. It's in South America - I don't mind telling your Highness that we've lent it to the Chilean Government.'
'Hang the Chilean Government, Mr Levi,' exclaimed the Prince, and he went white. 'I must have that million. It was an arrangement.'
'It was an arrangement, I admit,' said Mr Sampson Levi, 'but your Highness broke the arrangement.'
There was a long silence.
'Do you mean to say,' began the Prince with tense calmness, 'that you are not in a position to let me have that million?'
'I could let your Highness have a million in a couple of years' time.'
The Prince made a gesture of annoyance. 'Mr Levi,' he said, 'if you do not place the money in my hands to-morrow you will ruin one of the oldest of reigning families, and, incidentally, you will alter the map of Europe. You are not keeping faith, and I had relied on you.'
'Pardon me, your Highness,' said little Levi, rising in resentment, 'it is not I who have not kept faith. I beg to repeat that the money is no longer at my disposal, and to bid your Highness good morning.'
And Mr Sampson Levi left the audience chamber with an awkward, aggrieved bow. It was a scene characteristic of the end of the nineteenth century - an overfed, commonplace, pursy little man who had been born in a Brixton semi-detached villa, and whose highest idea of pleasure was a Sunday up the river in an expensive electric launch, confronting and utterly routing, in a hotel belonging to an American millionaire, the representative of a race of men who had fingered every page of European history for centuries, and who still, in their native castles, were surrounded with every outward circumstance of pomp and power.
'Aribert,' said Prince Eugen, a little later, 'you were right. It is all over. I have only one refuge - '
'You don't mean - ' Aribert stopped, dumbfounded.
'Yes, I do,' he said quickly. 'I can manage it so that it will look like an accident.'
21. The Return Of Félix Babylon
ON the evening of Prince Eugen's fateful interview with Mr Sampson Levi, Theodore Racksole was wandering somewhat aimlessly and uneasily about the entrance hail and adjacent corridors of the Grand Babylon. He had returned from Ostend only a day or two previously, and had endeavoured with all his might to forget the affair which had carried him there - to regard it, in fact, as done with.
But he found himself unable to do so. In vain he remarked, under his breath, that there were some things which were best left alone: if his experience as a manipulator of markets, a contriver of gigantic schemes in New York, had taught him anything at all, it should surely have taught him that. Yet he could not feel reconciled to such a position. The mere presence of the princes in his hotel roused the fighting instincts of this man, who had never in his whole career been beaten. He had, as it were, taken up arms on t
heir side, and if the princes of Posen would not continue their own battle, nevertheless he, Theodore Racksole, wanted to continue it for them. To a certain extent, of course, the battle had been won, for Prince Eugen had been rescued from an extremely difficult and dangerous position, and the enemy - consisting of Jules, Rocco, Miss Spencer, and perhaps others - had been put to flight. But that, he conceived, was not enough; it was very far from being enough. That the criminals, for criminals they decidedly were, should still be at large, he regarded as an absurd anomaly. And there was another point: he had said nothing to the police of all that had occurred. He disdained the police, but he could scarcely fail to perceive that if the police should by accident gain a clue to the real state of the case he might be placed rather awkwardly, for the simple reason that in the eyes of the law it amounted to a misdemeanour to conceal as much as he had concealed. He asked himself, for the thousandth time, why he had adopted a policy of concealment from the police, why he had become in any way interested in the Posen matter, and why, at this present moment, he should be so anxious to prosecute it further? To the first two questions he replied, rather lamely, that he had been influenced by Nella, and also by a natural spirit of adventure; to the third he replied that he had always been in the habit of carrying things through, and was now actuated by a mere childish, obstinate desire to carry this one through. Moreover, he was spendidly conscious of his perfect ability to carry it through. One additional impulse he had, though he did not admit it to himself, being by nature adverse to big words, and that was an abstract love of justice, the Anglo-Saxon's deep-found instinct for helping the right side to conquer, even when grave risks must thereby be run, with no corresponding advantage.
He was turning these things over in his mind as he walked about the vast hotel on that evening of the last day in July. The Society papers had been stating for a week past that London was empty, but, in spite of the Society papers, London persisted in seeming to be just as full as ever. The Grand Babylon was certainly not as crowded as it had been a month earlier, but it was doing a very passable business. At the close of the season the gay butterflies of the social community have a habit of hovering for a day or two in the big hotels before they flutter away to castle and country-house, meadow and moor, lake and stream. The great basket-chairs in the portico were well filled by old and middle-aged gentlemen engaged in enjoying the varied delights of liqueurs, cigars, and the full moon which floated so serenely above the Thames. Here and there a pretty woman on the arm of a cavalier in immaculate attire swept her train as she turned to and fro in the promenade of the terrace. Waiters and uniformed commissionaires and gold-braided doorkeepers moved noiselessly about; at short intervals the chief of the doorkeepers blew his shrill whistle and hansoms drove up with tinkling bell to take away a pair of butterflies to some place of amusement or boredom; occasionally a private carriage drawn by expensive and self-conscious horses put the hansoms to shame by its mere outward glory. It was a hot night, a night for the summer woods, and save for the vehicles there was no rapid movement of any kind. It seemed as though the world - the world, that is to say, of the Grand Babylon - was fully engaged in the solemn processes of digestion and small-talk. Even the long row of the Embankment gas-lamps, stretching right and left, scarcely trembled in the still, warm, caressing air. The stars overhead looked down with many blinkings upon the enormous pile of the Grand Babylon, and the moon regarded it with bland and changeless face; what they thought of it and its inhabitants cannot, unfortunately, be recorded. What Theodore Racksole thought of the moon can be recorded: he thought it was a nuisance. It somehow fascinated his gaze with its silly stare, and so interfered with his complex meditations. He glanced round at the well-dressed and satisfied people - his guests, his customers. They appeared to ignore him absolutely.
Probably only a very small percentage of them had the least idea that this tall spare man, with the iron-grey hair and the thin, firm, resolute face, who wore his American-cut evening clothes with such careless ease, was the sole proprietor of the Grand Babylon, and possibly the richest man in Europe. As has already been stated, Racksole was not a celebrity in England.
The guests of the Grand Babylon saw merely a restless male person, whose restlessness was rather a disturber of their quietude, but with whom, to judge by his countenance, it would be inadvisable to remonstrate. Therefore Theodore Racksole continued his perambulations unchallenged, and kept saying to himself, 'I must do something.' But what? He could think of no course to pursue.
At last he walked straight through the hotel and out at the other entrance, and so up the little unassuming side street into the roaring torrent of the narrow and crowded Strand. He jumped on a Putney bus, and paid his fair to Putney, fivepence, and then, finding that the humble occupants of the vehicle stared at the spectacle of a man in evening dress but without a dustcoat, he jumped off again, oblivious of the fact that the conductor jerked a thumb towards him and winked at the passengers as who should say, 'There goes a lunatic.' He went into a tobacconist's shop and asked for a cigar. The shopman mildly inquired what price.
'What are the best you've got?' asked Theodore Racksole.
'Five shillings each, sir,' said the man promptly.
'Give me a penny one,' was Theodore Racksole's laconic request, and he walked out of the shop smoking the penny cigar. It was a new sensation for him.
He was inhaling the aromatic odours of Eugène Rimmel's establishment for the sale of scents when a gentleman, walking slowly in the opposite direction, accosted him with a quiet, 'Good evening, Mr Racksole.' The millionaire did not at first recognize his interlocutor, who wore a travelling overcoat, and was carrying a handbag. Then a slight, pleased smile passed over his features, and he held out his hand.
'Well, Mr Babylon,' he greeted the other, 'of all persons in the wide world you are the man I would most have wished to meet.'
'You flatter me,' said the little Anglicized Swiss.
'No, I don't,' answered Racksole; 'it isn't my custom, any more than it's yours. I wanted to have a real good long yarn with you, and lo! here you are! Where have you sprung from?'
'From Lausanne,' said Felix Babylon. 'I had finished my duties there, I had nothing else to do, and I felt homesick. I felt the nostalgia of London, and so I came over, just as you see,' and he raised the handbag for Racksole's notice.
'One toothbrush, one razor, two slippers, ehl' He laughed. 'I was wondering as I walked along where I should stay - me, Felix Babylon, homeless in London.'
'I should advise you to stay at the Grand Babylon,' Racksole laughed back.
'It is a good hotel, and I know the proprietor personally.'
'Rather expensive, is it not?' said Babylon.
'To you, sir,' answered Racksole, 'the inclusive terms will be exactly half a crown a week. Do you accept?'
'I accept,' said Babylon, and added, 'You are very good, Mr Racksole.'
They strolled together back to the hotel, saying nothing in particular, but feeling very content with each other's company.
'Many customers?' asked Felix Babylon.
'Very tolerable,' said Racksole, assuming as much of the air of the professional hotel proprietor as he could. 'I think I may say in the storekeeper's phrase, that if there is any business about I am doing it.
To-night the people are all on the terrace in the portico - it's so confoundedly hot -
and the consumption of ice is simply enormous - nearly as large as it would be in New York.'
'In that case,' said Babylon politely, 'let me offer you another cigar.'
'But I have not finished this one.'
'That is just why I wish to offer you another one. A cigar such as yours, my good friend, ought never to be smoked within the precincts of the Grand Babylon, not even by the proprietor of the Grand Babylon, and especially when all the guests are assembled in the portico. The fumes of it would ruin any hotel.'
Theodore Racksole laughingly lighted the Rothschild Havana which Babylon gave him, and
they entered the hotel arm in arm. But no sooner had they mounted the steps than little Felix became the object of numberless greetings. It appeared that he had been highly popular among his quondam guests. At last they reached the managerial room, where Babylon was regaled on a chicken, and Racksole assisted him in the consumption of a bottle of Heidsieck Monopole, Carte d'Or.
'This chicken is almost perfectly grilled,' said Babylon at length. 'It is a credit to the house. But why, my dear Racksole, why in the name of Heaven did you quarrel with Rocco?'
'Then you have heard?'
'Heard! My dear friend, it was in every newspaper on the Continent. Some journals prophesied that the Grand Babylon would have to close its doors within half a year now that Rocco had deserted it. But of course I knew better. I knew that you must have a good reason for allowing Rocco to depart, and that you must have made arrangements in advance for a substitute.'
'As a matter of fact, I had not made arrangements in advance,' said Theodore Racksole, a little ruefully; 'but happily we have found in our second sous-chef an artist inferior only to Rocco himself. That, however, was mere good fortune.'
'Surely,' said Babylon, 'it was indiscreet to trust to mere good fortune in such a serious matter?'
'I didn't trust to mere good fortune. I didn't trust to anything except Rocco, and he deceived me.'
'But why did you quarrel with him?'
'I didn't quarrel with him. I found him embalming a corpse in the State bedroom one night - '
'You what?' Babylon almost screamed.
'I found him embalming a corpse in the State bedroom,' repeated Racksole in his quietest tones.
The two men gazed at each other, and then Racksole replenished Babylon's glass.
'Tell me,' said Babylon, settling himself deep in an easy chair and lighting a cigar.
And Racksole thereupon recounted to him the whole of the Posen episode, with every circumstantial detail so far as he knew it. It was a long and complicated recital, and occupied about an hour. During that time little Felix never spoke a word, scarcely moved a muscle; only his small eyes gazed through the bluish haze of smoke. The clock on the mantelpiece tinkled midnight.
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