Americans -- England -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Millionaires -- Fiction
‘Well, just hear what I have to say. There is no time to lose. If he is
coming at all he will be here very soon--and you can help.’ Racksole
explained what he thought Jules’ tactics might be. He proposed that if
the man returned he should not be interfered with, but merely watched
from the other side of the glass door.
‘You want, as it were, to catch Mr Jules alive?’ said Babylon, who
seemed rather taken aback at this novel method of dealing with
criminals. ‘Surely,’ he added, ‘it would be simpler and easier to inform
the police of your suspicion, and to leave everything to them.’
‘My dear fellow,’ said Racksole, ‘we have already gone much too far
without the police to make it advisable for us to call them in at this
somewhat advanced stage of the proceedings. Besides, if you must know
it, I have a particular desire to capture the scoundrel myself. I will
leave you and Nella here, since Nella insists on seeing everything, and
I will arrange things so that once he has entered the cellar Jules will
not get out of it again--at any rate through the grating. You had better
place yourselves on the other side of the glass door, in the big cellar;
you will be in a position to observe from there, I will skip off at
once. All you have to do is to take note of what the fellow does. If he
has any accomplices within the hotel we shall probably be able by that
means to discover who the accomplice is.’
Lighting a match and shading it with his hands, Racksole showed them
both out of the little cellar. ‘Now if you lock this glass door on the
outside he can’t escape this way: the panes of glass are too small, and
the woodwork too stout. So, if he comes into the trap, you two will have
the pleasure of actually seeing him frantically writhe therein, without
any personal danger; but perhaps you’d better not show yourselves.’
In another moment Felix Babylon and Nella were left to themselves in the
darkness of the cellar, listening to the receding footfalls of Theodore
Racksole. But the sound of these footfalls had not died away before
another sound greeted their ears--the grating of the small cellar was
being removed.
‘I hope your father will be in time,’ whispered Felix
‘Hush!’ the girl warned him, and they stooped side by side in tense
silence.
A man cautiously but very neatly wormed his body through the aperture of
the grating. The watchers could only see his form indistinctly in the
darkness.
Then, being fairly within the cellar, he walked without the least
hesitation to the electric switch and turned on the light. It was
unmistakably Jules, and he knew the geography of the cellar very well.
Babylon could with difficulty repress a start as he saw this bold and
unscrupulous ex-waiter moving with such an air of assurance and
determination about the precious cellar. Jules went directly to a small
bin which was numbered 17, and took there from the topmost bottle.
‘The Romanee-Conti--Prince Eugen’s wine!’ Babylon exclaimed under his
breath.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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