‘Agreed,’ said Mr Sampson Levi. ‘I’ll begin by explaining my interest in your hotel. I have been expecting to receive a summons from a certain Prince Eugen of Posen to attend him here, and that summons hasn’t arrived. It appears that Prince Eugen hasn’t come to London at all. Now, I could have taken my dying davy that he would have been here yesterday at the latest.’ ‘Why were you so sure?’ ‘Question for question,’ said Levi. ‘Let’s clear the ground first, Mr Racksole. Why did you buy this hotel? That’s a conundrum that’s been puzzling a lot of our fellows in the City for some days past. Why did you buy the Grand Babylon? And what is the next move to be?’ ‘There is no next move,’ answered Racksole candidly, ‘and I will tell you why I bought the hotel; there need be no secret about it. I bought it because of a whim.’ And then Theodore Racksole gave this little Jew, whom he had begun to respect, a faithful account of the transaction with Mr Felix Babylon. ‘I suppose,’ he added, ‘you find a difficulty in appreciating my state of mind when I did the deal.’ ‘Not a bit,’ said Mr Levi. ‘I once bought an electric launch on the Thames in a very similar way, and it turned out to be one of the most satisfactory purchases I ever made. Then it’s a simple accident that you own this hotel at the present moment?’ ‘A simple accident--all because of a beefsteak and a bottle of Bass.’ ‘Um!’ grunted Mr Sampson Levi, stroking his triple chin. ‘To return to Prince Eugen,’ Racksole resumed. ‘I was expecting His Highness here. The State apartments had been prepared for him. He was due on the very afternoon that young Dimmock died. But he never came, and I have not heard why he has failed to arrive; nor have I seen his name in the papers. What his business was in London, I don’t know.’ ‘I will tell you,’ said Mr Sampson Levi, ‘he was coming to arrange a loan.’ ‘A State loan?’ ‘No--a private loan.’ ‘Whom from?’ ‘From me, Sampson Levi. You look surprised. If you’d lived in London a little longer, you’d know that I was just the person the Prince would come to. Perhaps you aren’t aware that down Throgmorton Street way I’m called “The Court Pawnbroker”, because I arrange loans for the minor, second-class Princes of Europe. I’m a stockbroker, but my real business is financing some of the little Courts of Europe. Now, I may tell you that the Hereditary Prince of Posen particularly wanted a million, and he wanted it by a certain date, and he knew that if the affair wasn’t fixed up by a certain time here he wouldn’t be able to get it by that certain date. That’s why I’m surprised he isn’t in London.’ ‘What did he need a million for?’ ‘Debts,’ answered Sampson Levi laconically. ‘His own?’ ‘Certainly.’ ‘But he isn’t thirty years of age?’ ‘What of that? He isn’t the only European Prince who has run up a million of debts in a dozen years. To a Prince the thing is as easy as eating a sandwich.’ ‘And why has he taken this sudden resolution to liquidate them?’