‘Impossible, my dear fellow!’ said Babylon, amused at such a confession, to him--a great connoisseur and lover of fine wines--almost incredible. ‘But really you must see them to-morrow. If I may, I will accompany you.’ ‘Why not to-night?’ Racksole suggested, calmly. ‘To-night! It is very late: Hubbard will have gone to bed.’ ‘And may I ask who is Hubbard? I remember the name but dimly.’ ‘Hubbard is the wine-clerk of the Grand Babylon,’ said Felix, with a certain emphasis. ‘A sedate man of forty. He has the keys of the cellars. He knows every bottle of every bin, its date, its qualities, its value. And he’s a teetotaler. Hubbard is a curiosity. No wine can leave the cellars without his knowledge, and no person can enter the cellars without his knowledge. At least, that is how it was in my time,’ Babylon added. ‘We will wake him,’ said Racksole. ‘But it is one o’clock in the morning,’ Babylon protested. ‘Never mind--that is, if you consent to accompany me. A cellar is the same by night as by day. Therefore, why not now?’ Babylon shrugged his shoulders. ‘As you wish,’ he agreed, with his indestructible politeness. ‘And now to find this Mr Hubbard, with his key of the cupboard,’ said Racksole, as they walked out of the room together. Although the hour was so late, the hotel was not, of course, closed for the night. A few guests still remained about in the public rooms, and a few fatigued waiters were still in attendance. One of these latter was despatched in search of the singular Mr Hubbard, and it fortunately turned out that this gentleman had not actually retired, though he was on the point of doing so. He brought the keys to Mr Racksole in person, and after he had had a little chat with his former master, the proprietor and the ex- proprietor of the Grand Babylon Hôtel proceeded on their way to the cellars. These cellars extend over, or rather under, quite half the superficial areas of the whole hotel--the longitudinal half which lies next to the Strand. Owing to the fact that the ground slopes sharply from the Strand to the river, the Grand Babylon is, so to speak, deeper near the Strand than it is near the Thames. Towards the Thames there is, below the entrance level, a basement and a sub-basement. Towards the Strand there is basement, sub-basement, and the huge wine cellars beneath all. After descending the four flights of the service stairs, and traversing a long passage running parallel with the kitchen, the two found themselves opposite a door, which, on being unlocked, gave access to another flight of stairs. At the foot of this was the main entrance to the cellars. Outside the entrance was the wine-lift, for the ascension of delicious fluids to the upper floors, and, opposite, Mr Hubbard’s little office. There was electric light everywhere.