THE COURT PAWNBROKER
'MR SAMPSON LEVI wishes to see you, sir.'
These words, spoken by a servant to Theodore Racksole, aroused the millionaire from a reverie which had been the reverse of pleasant. The fact was, and it is necessary to insist on it, that Mr Racksole, owner of the Grand Babylon Hotel, was by no means in a state of self-satisfaction. A mystery had attached itself to his hotel, and with all his acumen and knowledge of things in general he was unable to solve that mystery. He laughed at the fruitless efforts of the police, but he could not honestly say that his own efforts had been less barren. The public was talking, for, after all, the disappearance of poor Dimmock's body had got noised abroad in an indirect sort of way, and Theodore Racksole did not like the idea of his impeccable hotel being the subject of sinister rumours.
He wondered, grimly, what the public and the Sunday newspapers would say if they were aware of all the other phenomena, not yet common property: of Miss Spencer's disappearance, of Jules'strange visits, and of the non-arrival of Prince Eugen of Posen.
Theodore Racksole had worried his brain without result. He had conducted an elaborate private investigation without result, and he had spent a certain amount of money without result. The police said that they had a clue; but Racksole remarked that it was always the business of the police to have a clue, that they seldom had more than a clue, and that a clue without some sequel to it was a pretty stupid business. The only sure thing in the whole affair was that a cloud rested over his hotel, his beautiful new toy, the finest of its kind. The cloud was not interfering with business, but, nevertheless, it was a cloud, and he fiercely resented its presence;perhaps it would be more correct to say that he fiercely resented his inability to dissipate it.
'Mr Sampson Levi wishes to see you, sir,' the servant repeated, having received no sign that his master had heard him.
'So I hear,' said Racksole. 'Does he want to see me, personally?'
'He asked for you, sir.'
'Perhaps it is Rocco he wants to see, about a menu or something of that kind?'
'I will inquire, sir,' and the servant made a move to withdraw.
'Stop,' Racksole commanded suddenly. 'Desire Mr Sampson Levi to step this way.'
The great stockbroker of the 'Kaffir Circus' entered with a ****** unassuming air. He was a rather short, florid man, dressed like a typical Hebraic financier, with too much watch-chain and too little waistcoat. In his fat hand he held a gold-headed cane, and an absolutely new silk hat - for it was Friday, and Mr Levi purchased a new hat every Friday of his life, holiday times only excepted. He breathed heavily and sniffed through his nose a good deal, as though he had just performed some Herculean physical labour. He glanced at the American millionaire with an expression in which a slight embarrassment might have been detected, but at the same time his round, red face disclosed a certain frank admiration and good nature.
'Mr Racksole, I believe - Mr Theodore Racksole. Proud to meet you, sir.'
Such were the first words of Mr Sampson Levi. In form they were the greeting of a third-rate chimney-sweep, but, strangely enough, Theodore Racksole liked their tone. He said to himself that here, precisely where no one would have expected to find one, was an honest man.
'Good day,' said Racksole briefly. 'To what do I owe the pleasure - '
'I expect your time is limited,' answered Sampson Levi. 'Anyhow, mine is, and so I'll come straight to the point, Mr Racksole. I'm a plain man. I don't pretend to be a gentleman or any nonsense of that kind. I'm a stockbroker, that's what I am, and I don't care who knows it. The other night I had a ball in this hotel. It cost me a couple of thousand and odd pounds, and, by the way, I wrote out a cheque for your bill this morning. I don't like balls, but they're useful to me, and my little wife likes 'em, and so we give 'em.
Now, I've nothing to say against the hotel management as regards that ball: it was very decently done, very decently, but what I want to know is this - Why did you have a private detective among my guests?'
'A private detective?' exclaimed Racksole, somewhat surprised at this charge.
'Yes,' Mr Sampson Levi said firmly, fanning himself in his chair, and gazing at Theodore Racksole with the direct earnest expression of a man having a grievance. 'Yes; a private detective.
It's a small matter, I know, and I dare say you think you've got a right, as proprietor of the show, to do what you like in that line;but I've just called to tell you that I object. I've called as a matter of principle. I'm not angry; it's the principle of the thing.'
'My dear Mr Levi,' said Racksole, 'I assure you that, having let the Gold Room to a private individual for a private entertainment, Ishould never dream of doing what you suggest.'
'Straight?' asked Mr Sampson Levi, using his own picturesque language.
'Straight,' said Racksole smiling.
'There was a gent present at my ball that I didn't ask. I've got a wonderful memory for faces, and I know. Several fellows asked me afterwards what he was doing there. I was told by someone that he was one of your waiters, but I didn't believe that. I know nothing of the Grand Babylon; it's not quite my style of tavern, but I don't think you'd send one of your own waiters to watch my guests - unless, of course, you sent him as a waiter; and this chap didn't do any waiting, though he did his share of drinking.'
'Perhaps I can throw some light on this mystery,' said Racksole. 'Imay tell you that I was already aware that man had attended your ball uninvited.'
'How did you get to know?'
'By pure chance, Mr Levi, and not by inquiry. That man was a former waiter at this hotel - the head waiter, in fact - Jules. No doubt you have heard of him.'
'Not I,' said Mr Levi positively.
