‘Of course to you, Mr Racksole, such a sum would be poverty. Now if one might guess at your own wealth?’ Felix Babylon was imitating the other’s freedom. ‘I do not know, to five millions or so, what I am worth,’ said Racksole, with sincerity, his tone indicating that he would have been glad to give the information if it were in his power. ‘You have had anxieties, Mr Racksole?’ ‘Still have them. I am now holiday-making in London with my daughter in order to get rid of them for a time.’ ‘Is the purchase of hotels your notion of relaxation, then?’ Racksole shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is a change from railroads,’ he laughed. ‘Ah, my friend, you little know what you have bought.’ ‘Oh! yes I do,’ returned Racksole; ‘I have bought just the first hotel in the world.’ ‘That is true, that is true,’ Babylon admitted, gazing meditatively at the antique Persian carpet. ‘There is nothing, anywhere, like my hotel. But you will regret the purchase, Mr Racksole. It is no business of mine, of course, but I cannot help repeating that you will regret the purchase.’ ‘I never regret.’ ‘Then you will begin very soon--perhaps to-night.’ ‘Why do you say that?’ ‘Because the Grand Babylon is the Grand Babylon. You think because you control a railroad, or an iron-works, or a line of steamers, therefore you can control anything. But no. Not the Grand Babylon. There is something about the Grand Babylon--’ He threw up his hands. ‘Servants rob you, of course.’ ‘Of course. I suppose I lose a hundred pounds a week in that way. But it is not that I mean. It is the guests. The guests are too--too distinguished. The great Ambassadors, the great financiers, the great nobles, all the men that move the world, put up under my roof. London is the centre of everything, and my hotel--your hotel--is the centre of London. Once I had a King and a Dowager Empress staying here at the same time. Imagine that!’ ‘A great honour, Mr Babylon. But wherein lies the difficulty?’ ‘Mr Racksole,’ was the grim reply, ‘what has become of your shrewdness-- that shrewdness which has made your fortune so immense that even you cannot calculate it? Do you not perceive that the roof which habitually shelters all the force, all the authority of the world, must necessarily also shelter nameless and numberless plotters, schemers, evil-doers, and workers of mischief? The thing is as clear as day--and as dark as night. Mr Racksole, I never know by whom I am surrounded. I never know what is going forward. Only sometimes I get hints, glimpses of strange acts and strange secrets. You mentioned my servants. They are almost all good servants, skilled, competent. But what are they besides? For anything I know my fourth sub- chef may be an agent of some European Government. For anything I know my invaluable Miss Spencer may be in the pay of a court dressmaker or a Frankfort banker. Even Rocco may be someone else in addition to Rocco.’