The Grand Babylon Hotel, Arnold Bennett [ereader ebook .txt] 📗

so far as to reproach herself for them. Such is the strange commanding power of death.

“Oblige me by taking the poor fellow to my apartments,” said the Prince, with a gesture to the attendants. “Surely it is time the doctor came.”

Racksole felt suddenly at that moment he was nothing but a mere hotel proprietor with an awkward affair on his hands. For a fraction of a second he wished he had never bought the Grand Babylon.

A quarter of an hour later Prince Aribert, Theodore Racksole, a doctor, and an inspector of police were in the Prince’s reception-room. They had just come from an antechamber, in which lay the mortal remains of Reginald Dimmock.

“Well?” said Racksole, glancing at the doctor.

The doctor was a big, boyish-looking man, with keen, quizzical eyes.

“It is not heart disease,” said the doctor.

“Not heart disease?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?” asked the Prince.

“I may be able to answer that question after the postmortem,” said the doctor. “I certainly can’t answer it now. The symptoms are unusual to a degree.”

The inspector of police began to write in a notebook.

VI In the Gold Room

At the Grand Babylon a great ball was given that night in the Gold Room, a huge saloon attached to the hotel, though scarcely part of it, and certainly less exclusive than the hotel itself. Theodore Racksole knew nothing of the affair, except that it was an entertainment offered by a Mr. and Mrs. Sampson Levi to their friends. Who Mr. and Mrs. Sampson Levi were he did not know, nor could anyone tell him anything about them except that Mr. Sampson Levi was a prominent member of that part of the Stock Exchange familiarly called the Kaffir Circus, and that his wife was a stout lady with an aquiline nose and many diamonds, and that they were very rich and very hospitable. Theodore Racksole did not want a ball in his hotel that evening, and just before dinner he had almost a mind to issue a decree that the Gold Room was to be closed and the ball forbidden, and Mr. and Mrs. Sampson Levi might name the amount of damages suffered by them. His reasons for such a course were threefold⁠—first, he felt depressed and uneasy; second, he didn’t like the name of Sampson Levi; and, third, he had a desire to show these so-called plutocrats that their wealth was nothing to him, that they could not do what they chose with Theodore Racksole, and that for two pins Theodore Racksole would buy them up, and the whole Kaffir Circus to boot. But something warned him that though such a high-handed proceeding might be tolerated in America, that land of freedom, it would never be tolerated in England. He felt instinctively that in England there are things you can’t do, and that this particular thing was one of them. So the ball went forward, and neither Mr. nor Mrs. Sampson Levi had ever the least suspicion what a narrow escape they had had of looking very foolish in the eyes of the thousand or so guests invited by them to the Gold Room of the Grand Babylon that evening.

The Gold Room of the Grand Babylon was built for a ballroom. A balcony, supported by arches faced with gilt and lapis-lazuli, ran around it, and from this vantage men and maidens and chaperons who could not or would not dance might survey the scene. Everyone knew this, and most people took advantage of it. What everyone did not know⁠—what no one knew⁠—was that higher up than the balcony there was a little barred window in the end wall from which the hotel authorities might keep a watchful eye, not only on the dancers, but on the occupants of the balcony itself.

It may seem incredible to the uninitiated that the guests at any social gathering held in so gorgeous and renowned an apartment as the Gold Room of the Grand Babylon should need the observation of a watchful eye. Yet so it was. Strange matters and unexpected faces had been descried from the little window, and more than one European detective had kept vigil there with the most eminently satisfactory results.

At eleven o’clock Theodore Racksole, afflicted by vexation of spirit, found himself gazing idly through the little barred window. Nella was with him.

Together they had been wandering about the corridors of the hotel, still strange to them both, and it was quite by accident that they had lighted upon the small room which had a surreptitious view of Mr. and Mrs. Sampson Levi’s ball. Except for the light of the chandelier of the ballroom the little cubicle was in darkness. Nella was looking through the window; her father stood behind.

“I wonder which is Mrs. Sampson Levi?” Nella said, “and whether she matches her name. Wouldn’t you love to have a name like that, Father⁠—something that people could take hold of⁠—instead of Racksole?”

The sound of violins and a confused murmur of voices rose gently up to them.

“Umph!” said Theodore. “Curse those evening papers!” he added, inconsequently but with sincerity.

“Father, you’re very horrid tonight. What have the evening papers been doing?”

“Well, my young madame, they’ve got me in for one, and you for another; and they’re manufacturing mysteries like fun. It’s young Dimmock’s death that has started ’em.”

“Well, Father, you surely didn’t expect to keep yourself out of the papers. Besides, as regards newspapers, you ought to be glad you aren’t in New York. Just fancy what the dear old Herald would have made out of a little transaction like yours of last night.”

“That’s true,” assented Racksole. “But it’ll be all over New York tomorrow morning, all the same. The worst of it is that Babylon has gone off to Switzerland.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know. Sudden fancy, I guess, for his native heath.”

“What difference does it make to you?”

“None. Only I feel sort of lonesome. I feel I want someone to lean up against in running this hotel.”

“Father, if you have that feeling you must be getting ill.”

“Yes,” he sighed, “I admit it’s unusual with me. But perhaps