The Grand Babylon Hotel, Arnold Bennett [ereader ebook .txt] 📗
- Author: Arnold Bennett
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“I never tasted such excellent chocolate,” claimed the Prince.
The statement was wildly untrue, for the Hôtel Wellington is not celebrated for its chocolate. Nevertheless Nella replied enthusiastically, “Nor I.”
Then there was a silence, and Nella, feeling possibly that she had been too ecstatic, remarked in a very matter-of-fact tone: “I must telegraph to Papa instantly.”
Thus it was that Theodore Racksole received the telegram which drew him away from Detective Marshall.
XVI The Woman with the Red Hat“There is one thing, Prince, that we have just got to settle straight off,” said Theodore Racksole.
They were all three seated—Racksole, his daughter, and Prince Aribert—round a dinner table in a private room at the Hôtel Wellington. Racksole had duly arrived by the afternoon boat, and had been met on the quay by the other two. They had dined early, and Racksole had heard the full story of the adventures by sea and land of Nella and the Prince. As to his own adventure of the previous night he said very little, merely explaining, with as little detail as possible, that Dimmock’s body had come to light.
“What is that?” asked the Prince, in answer to Racksole’s remark.
“We have got to settle whether we shall tell the police at once all that has occurred, or whether we shall proceed on our own responsibility. There can be no doubt as to which course we ought to pursue. Every consideration of prudence points to the advisability of taking the police into our confidence, and leaving the matter entirely in their hands.”
“Oh, Papa!” Nella burst out in her pouting, impulsive way. “You surely can’t think of such a thing. Why, the fun has only just begun.”
“Do you call last night fun?” questioned Racksole, gazing at her solemnly.
“Yes, I do,” she said promptly. “Now.”
“Well, I don’t,” was the millionaire’s laconic response; but perhaps he was thinking of his own situation in the lift.
“Do you not think we might investigate a little further,” said the Prince judiciously, as he cracked a walnut, “just a little further—and then, if we fail to accomplish anything, there would still be ample opportunity to consult the police?”
“How do you suggest we should begin?” asked Racksole.
“Well, there is the house which Miss Racksole so intrepidly entered last evening”—he gave her the homage of an admiring glance; “you and I, Mr. Racksole, might examine that abode in detail.”
“Tonight?”
“Certainly. We might do something.”
“We might do too much.”
“For example?”
“We might shoot someone, or get ourselves mistaken for burglars. If we outstepped the law, it would be no excuse for us that we had been acting in a good cause.”
“True,” said the Prince. “Nevertheless—” He stopped.
“Nevertheless you have a distaste for bringing the police into the business. You want the hunt all to yourself. You are on fire with the ardour of the chase. Is not that it? Accept the advice of an older man, Prince, and sleep on this affair. I have little fancy for nocturnal escapades two nights together. As for you, Nella, off with you to bed. The Prince and I will have a yarn over such fluids as can be obtained in this hole.”
“Papa,” she said, “you are perfectly horrid tonight.”
“Perhaps I am,” he said. “Decidedly I am very cross with you for coming over here all alone. It was monstrous. If I didn’t happen to be the most foolish of parents—There! Good night. It’s nine o’clock. The Prince, I am sure, will excuse you.”
If Nella had not really been very tired Prince Aribert might have been the witness of a good-natured but stubborn conflict between the millionaire and his spirited offspring. As it was, Nella departed with surprising docility, and the two men were left alone.
“Now,” said Racksole suddenly, changing his tone, “I fancy that after all I’m your man for a little amateur investigation tonight. And, if I must speak the exact truth, I think that to sleep on this affair would be about the very worst thing we could do. But I was anxious to keep Nella out of harm’s way at any rate till tomorrow. She is a very difficult creature to manage, Prince, and I may warn you,” he laughed grimly, “that if we do succeed in doing anything tonight we shall catch it from her ladyship in the morning. Are you ready to take that risk?”
“I am,” the Prince smiled. “But Miss Racksole is a young lady of quite remarkable nerve.”
“She is,” said Racksole drily. “I wish sometimes she had less.”
“I have the highest admiration for Miss Racksole,” said the Prince, and he looked Miss Racksole’s father full in the face.
“You honour us, Prince,” Racksole observed. “Let us come to business. Am I right in assuming that you have a reason for keeping the police out of this business, if it can possibly be done?”
“Yes,” said the Prince, and his brow clouded. “I am very much afraid that my poor nephew has involved himself in some scrape that he would 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
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