The landlord and his guest sat down opposite each other. Theodore Racksole had met with the usual millionaire’s luck in this adventure, for Mr Babylon made a practice of not allowing himself to be interviewed by his guests, however distinguished, however wealthy, however pertinacious. If he had not chanced to enter Miss Spencer’s office at that precise moment, and if he had not been impressed in a somewhat peculiar way by the physiognomy of the millionaire, not all Mr Racksole’s American energy and ingenuity would have availed for a confabulation with the owner of the Grand Babylon Hôtel that night. Theodore Racksole, however, was ignorant that a mere accident had served him. He took all the credit to himself. ‘I read in the New York papers some months ago,’ Theodore started, without even a clearing of the throat, ‘that this hotel of yours, Mr Babylon, was to be sold to a limited company, but it appears that the sale was not carried out.’ ‘It was not,’ answered Mr Babylon frankly, ‘and the reason was that the middle-men between the proposed company and myself wished to make a large secret profit, and I declined to be a party to such a profit. They were firm; I was firm; and so the affair came to nothing.’ ‘The agreed price was satisfactory?’ ‘Quite.’ ‘May I ask what the price was?’ ‘Are you a buyer, Mr Racksole?’ ‘Are you a seller, Mr Babylon?’ ‘I am,’ said Babylon, ‘on terms. The price was four hundred thousand pounds, including the leasehold and goodwill. But I sell only on the condition that the buyer does not transfer the property to a limited company at a higher figure.’ ‘I will put one question to you, Mr Babylon,’ said the millionaire. ‘What have your profits averaged during the last four years?’ ‘Thirty-four thousand pounds per annum.’ ‘I buy,’ said Theodore Racksole, smiling contentedly; ‘and we will, if you please, exchange contract-letters on the spot.’ ‘You come quickly to a resolution, Mr Racksole. But perhaps you have been considering this question for a long time?’ ‘On the contrary,’ Racksole looked at his watch, ‘I have been considering it for six minutes.’ Felix Babylon bowed, as one thoroughly accustomed to eccentricity of wealth. ‘The beauty of being well-known,’ Racksole continued, ‘is that you needn’t trouble about preliminary explanations. You, Mr Babylon, probably know all about me. I know a good deal about you. We can take each other for granted without reference. Really, it is as simple to buy an hotel or a railroad as it is to buy a watch, provided one is equal to the transaction.’ ‘Precisely,’ agreed Mr Babylon smiling. ‘Shall we draw up the little informal contract? There are details to be thought of. But it occurs to me that you cannot have dined yet, and might prefer to deal with minor questions after dinner.’ ‘I have not dined,’ said the millionaire, with emphasis, ‘and in that connexion will you do me a favour? Will you send for Mr Rocco?’ ‘You wish to see him, naturally.’