‘That makes it all the more interesting,’ remarked Theodore Racksole. ‘What a long time you have been, Father,’ said Nella, when he returned to table No. 17 in the salle à manger. ‘Only twenty minutes, my dove.’ ‘But you said two seconds. There is a difference.’ ‘Well, you see, I had to wait for the steak to cook.’ ‘Did you have much trouble in getting my birthday treat?’ ‘No trouble. But it didn’t come quite as cheap as you said.’ ‘What do you mean, Father?’ ‘Only that I’ve bought the entire hotel. But don’t split.’ ‘Father, you always were a delicious parent. Shall you give me the hotel for a birthday present?’ ‘No. I shall run it--as an amusement. By the way, who is that chair for?’ He noticed that a third cover had been laid at the table. ‘That is for a friend of mine who came in about five minutes ago. Of course I told him he must share our steak. He’ll be here in a moment.’ ‘May I respectfully inquire his name?’ ‘Dimmock--Christian name Reginald; profession, English companion to Prince Aribert of Posen. I met him when I was in St Petersburg with cousin Hetty last fall. Oh; here he is. Mr Dimmock, this is my dear father. He has succeeded with the steak.’ Theodore Racksole found himself confronted by a very young man, with deep black eyes, and a fresh, boyish expression. They began to talk. Jules approached with the steak. Racksole tried to catch the waiter’s eye, but could not. The dinner proceeded. ‘Oh, Father!’ cried Nella, ‘what a lot of mustard you have taken!’ ‘Have I?’ he said, and then he happened to glance into a mirror on his left hand between two windows. He saw the reflection of Jules, who stood behind his chair, and he saw Jules give a slow, significant, ominous wink to Mr Dimmock--Christian name, Reginald. He examined his mustard in silence. He thought that perhaps he had helped himself rather plenteously to mustard. Chapter Three AT THREE A.M.