Part 13

‘Aribert,’ the Hereditary Prince continued, when they were alone in the chamber, ‘you think I am mad.’

‘My dear Eugen,’ said Prince Aribert, startled in spite of himself. ‘Don’t be absurd.’

‘I say you think I am mad. You think that that attack of brain fever has left its permanent mark on me. Well, perhaps I am mad. Who can tell? God knows that I have been through enough lately to drive me mad.’

Aribert made no reply. As a matter of strict fact, the thought had crossed his mind that Eugen’s brain had not yet recovered its normal tone and activity. This speech of his nephew’s, however, had the effect of immediately restoring his belief in the latter’s entire sanity. He felt convinced that if only he could regain his nephew’s confidence, the old brotherly confidence which had existed between them since the years when they played together as boys, all might yet be well. But at present there appeared to be no sign that Eugen meant to give his confidence to anyone.

The young Prince had come up out of the valley of the shadow of death, but some of the valley’s shadow had clung to him, and it seemed he was unable to dissipate it.

‘By the way,’ said Eugen suddenly, ‘I must reward these Racksoles, I suppose. I am indeed grateful to them. If I gave the girl a bracelet, and the father a thousand guineas—how would that meet the case?’

‘My dear Eugen!’ exclaimed Aribert aghast. ‘A thousand guineas! Do you know that Theodore Racksole could buy up all Posen from end to end without making himself a pauper. A thousand guineas! You might as well offer him sixpence.’

‘Then what must I offer?’

‘Nothing, except your thanks. Anything else would be an insult. These are no ordinary hotel people.’

‘Can’t I give the little girl a bracelet?’ Prince Eugen gave a sinister laugh.

Aribert looked at him steadily. ‘No,’ he said.

‘Why did you kiss her—that night?’ asked Prince Eugen carelessly.

‘Kiss whom?’ said Aribert, blushing and angry, despite his most determined efforts to keep calm and unconcerned.

‘The Racksole girl.’

‘When do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ said Prince Eugen, ‘that night in Ostend when I was ill. You thought I was in a delirium. Perhaps I was. But somehow I remember that with extraordinary distinctness. I remember raising my head for a fraction of an instant, and just in that fraction of an instant you kissed her. Oh, Uncle Aribert!’

‘Listen, Eugen, for God’s sake. I love Nella Racksole. I shall marry her.’

‘You!’ There was a long pause, and then Eugen laughed. ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘They all talk like that to start with. I have talked like that myself, dear uncle; it sounds nice, and it means nothing.’

‘In this case it means everything, Eugen,’ said Aribert quietly. Some accent of determination in the latter’s tone made Eugen rather more serious.

‘You can’t marry her,’ he said. ‘The Emperor won’t permit a morganatic marriage.’

‘The Emperor has nothing to do with the affair. I shall renounce my rights.

I shall become a plain citizen.’

‘In which case you will have no fortune to speak of.’

‘But my wife will have a fortune. Knowing the sacrifices which I shall have made in order to marry her, she will not hesitate to place that fortune in my hands for our mutual use,’ said Aribert stiffly.

‘You will decidedly be rich,’ mused Eugen, as his ideas dwelt on Theodore Racksole’s reputed wealth. ‘But have you thought of this,’ he asked, and his mild eyes glowed again in a sort of madness. ‘Have you thought that I am unmarried, and might die at any moment, and then the throne will descend to you—to you, Aribert?’

‘The throne will never descend to me, Eugen,’ said Aribert softly, ‘for you will live. You are thoroughly convalescent. You have nothing to fear.’

‘It is the next seven days that I fear,’ said Eugen.

‘The next seven days! Why?’

‘I do not know. But I fear them. If I can survive them—’

‘Mr Sampson Levi, sire,’ Hans announced in a loud tone.

Chapter Twenty MR SAMPSON LEVI BIDS PRINCE EUGEN GOOD MORNING

PRINCE EUGEN started. ‘I will see him,’ he said, with a gesture to Hans as if to indicate that Mr Sampson Levi might enter at once.

‘I beg one moment first,’ said Aribert, laying a hand gently on his nephew’s arm, and giving old Hans a glance which had the effect of precipitating that admirably trained servant through the doorway.

‘What is it?’ asked Prince Eugen crossly. ‘Why this sudden seriousness? Don’t forget that I have an appointment with Mr Sampson Levi, and must not keep him waiting. Someone said that punctuality is the politeness of princes.’

‘Eugen,’ said Aribert, ‘I wish you to be as serious as I am. Why cannot we have faith in each other? I want to help you. I have helped you. You are my titular Sovereign; but on the other hand I have the honour to be your uncle:

I have the honour to be the same age as you, and to have been your companion from youth up. Give me your confidence. I thought you had given it me years ago, but I have lately discovered that you had your secrets, even then. And now, since your illness, you are still more secretive.’

‘What do you mean, Aribert?’ said Eugen, in a tone which might have been either inimical or friendly. ‘What do you want to say?’

‘Well, in the first place, I want to say that you will not succeed with the estimable Mr Sampson Levi.’

‘Shall I not?’ said Eugen lightly. ‘How do you know what my business is with him?’

‘Suffice it to say that I know. You will never get that million pounds out of him.’

Prince Eugen gasped, and then swallowed his excitement. ‘Who has been talking? What million?’ His eyes wandered uneasily round the room. ‘Ah!’ he said, pretending to laugh. ‘I see how it is. I have been chattering in my delirium. You mustn’t take any notice of that, Aribert. When one has a fever one’s ideas become grotesque and fanciful.’

‘You never talked in your delirium,’ Aribert replied; ‘at least not about yourself. I knew about this projected loan before I saw you in Ostend.’

‘Who told you?’ demanded Eugen fiercely.

‘Then you admit that you are trying to raise a loan?’

‘I admit nothing. Who told you?’

‘Theodore Racksole, the millionaire. These rich men have no secrets from each other. They form a coterie, closer than any coterie of ours. Eugen, and far more powerful. They talk, and in talking they rule the world, these millionaires. They are the real monarchs.’

‘Curse them!’ said Eugen.

‘Yes, perhaps so. But let me return to your case. Imagine my shame, my disgust, when I found that Racksole could tell me more about your affairs than I knew myself. Happily, he is a good fellow; one can trust him; otherwise I should have been tempted to do something desperate when I discovered that all your private history was in his hands. Eugen, let us come to the point; why do you want that million? Is it actually true that you are so deeply in debt? I have no desire to improve the occasion. I merely ask.’

‘And what if I do owe a million?’ said Prince Eugen with assumed valour.

‘Oh, nothing, my dear Eugen, nothing. Only it is rather a large sum to have scattered in ten years, is it not? How did you manage it?’

‘Don’t ask me, Aribert. I’ve been a fool. But I swear to you that the woman whom you call “the lady in the red hat” is the last of my follies. I am about to take a wife, and become a respectable Prince.’

‘Then the engagement with Princess Anna is an accomplished fact?’

‘Practically so. As soon as I have settled with Levi, all will be smooth.

Aribert, I wouldn’t lose Anna for the Imperial throne. She is a good and pure woman, and I love her as a man might love an angel.’

‘And yet you would deceive her as to your debts, Eugen?’

‘Not her, but her absurd parents, and perhaps the Emperor. They have heard rumours, and I must set those rumours at rest by presenting to them a clean sheet.’

‘I am glad you have been frank with me, Eugen,’ said Prince Aribert, ‘but I will be plain with you. You will never marry the Princess Anna.’

‘And why?’ said Eugen, supercilious again.

‘Because her parents will not permit it. Because you will not be able to present a clean sheet to them. Because this Sampson Levi will never lend you a million.’

‘Explain yourself.’

‘I propose to do so. You were kidnapped—it is a horrid word, but we must use it—in Ostend.’

‘True.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘I suppose because that vile old red-hatted woman and her accomplices wanted to get some money out of me. Fortunately, thanks to you, they didn’t.’

‘Not at all,’ said Aribert. ‘They wanted no money from you. They knew well enough that you had no money. They knew you were the naughty schoolboy among European Princes, with no sense of responsibility or of duty towards your kingdom. Shall I tell you why they kidnapped you?’

‘When you have done abusing me, my dear uncle.’

‘They kidnapped you merely to keep you out of England for a few days, merely to compel you to fail in your appointment with Sampson Levi. And it appears to me that they succeeded. Assuming that you don’t obtain the money from Levi, is there another financier in all Europe from whom you can get it—on such strange security as you have to offer?’

‘Possibly there is not,’ said Prince Eugen calmly. ‘But, you see, I shall get it from Sampson Levi. Levi promised it, and I know from other sources that he is a man of his word. He said that the money, subject to certain formalities, would be available till—’

‘Till?’

‘Till the end of June.’

‘And it is now the end of July.’

‘Well, what is a month? He is only too glad to lend the money. He will get excellent interest. How on earth have you got into your sage old head this notion of a plot against me? The idea is ridiculous. A plot against me? What for?’

‘Have you ever thought of Bosnia?’ asked Aribert coldly.

‘What of Bosnia?’

‘I need not tell you that the King of Bosnia is naturally under obligations to Austria, to whom he owes his crown. Austria is anxious for him to make a good influential marriage.’

‘Well, let him.’

‘He is going to. He is going to marry the Princess Anna.’

‘Not while I live. He made overtures there a year ago, and was rebuffed.’

‘Yes; but he will make overtures again, and this time he will not be rebuffed. Oh, Eugen! can’t you see that this plot against you is being engineered by some persons who know all about your affairs, and whose desire is to prevent your marriage with Princess Anna? Only one man in Europe can have any motive for wishing to prevent your marriage with Princess Anna, and that is the man who means to marry her himself.’ Eugen went very pale.

‘Then, Aribert, do you mean to convey to me that my detention in Ostend was contrived by the agents of the King of Bosnia?’

‘I do.’

‘With a view to stopping my negotiations with Sampson Levi, and so putting an end to the possibility of my marriage with Anna?’

Aribert nodded.

‘You are a good friend to me, Aribert. You mean well. But you are mistaken.

You have been worrying about nothing.’

‘Have you forgotten about Reginald Dimmock?’

‘I remember you said that he had died.’

‘I said nothing of the sort. I said that he had been assassinated. That was part of it, my poor Eugen.’

‘Pooh!’ said Eugen. ‘I don’t believe he was assassinated. And as for Sampson Levi, I will bet you a thousand marks that he and I come to terms this morning, and that the million is in my hands before I leave London.’ Aribert shook his head.

‘You seem to be pretty sure of Mr Levi’s character. Have you had much to do with him before?’

‘Well,’ Eugen hesitated a second, ‘a little. What young man in my position hasn’t had something to do with Mr Sampson Levi at one time or another?’

‘I haven’t,’ said Aribert.

‘You! You are a fossil.’ He rang a silver bell. ‘Hans! I will receive Mr Sampson Levi.’

Whereupon Aribert discreetly departed, and Prince Eugen sat down in the great velvet chair, and began to look at the papers which Hans had previously placed upon the table.

‘Good morning, your Royal Highness,’ said Sampson Levi, bowing as he entered. ‘I trust your Royal Highness is well.’

‘Moderately, thanks,’ returned the Prince.

In spite of the fact that he had had as much to do with people of Royal blood as any plain man in Europe, Sampson Levi had never yet learned how to be at ease with these exalted individuals during the first few minutes of an interview. Afterwards, he resumed command of himself and his faculties, but at the beginning he was invariably flustered, scarlet of face, and inclined to perspiration.

‘We will proceed to business at once,’ said Prince Eugen. ‘Will you take a seat, Mr Levi?’

‘I thank your Royal Highness.’

‘Now as to that loan which we had already practically arranged—a million, I think it was,’ said the Prince airily.

‘A million,’ Levi acquiesced, toying with his enormous watch chain.

‘Everything is now in order. Here are the papers and I should like to finish the matter up at once.’

‘Exactly, your Highness, but—’

‘But what? You months ago expressed the warmest satisfaction at the security, though I am quite prepared to admit that the security, is of rather an unusual nature. You also agreed to the rate of interest. It is not everyone, Mr Levi, who can lend out a million at 5-1/2 per cent. And in ten years the whole amount will be paid back. I—er—I believe I informed you that the fortune of Princess Anna, who is about to accept my hand, will ultimately amount to something like fifty millions of marks, which is over two million pounds in your English money.’ Prince Eugen stopped. He had no fancy for talking in this confidential manner to financiers, but he felt that circumstances demanded it.

‘You see, it’s like this, your Royal Highness,’ began Mr Sampson Levi, in his homely English idiom. ‘It’s like this. I said I could keep that bit of money available till the end of June, and you were to give me an interview here before that date. Not having heard from your Highness, and not knowing your Highness’s address, though my German agents made every inquiry, I concluded, that you had made other arrangements, money being so cheap this last few months.’

‘I was unfortunately detained at Ostend,’ said Prince Eugen, with as much haughtiness as he could assume, ‘by—by important business. I have made no other arrangements, and I shall have need of the million. If you will be so good as to pay it to my London bankers—’

‘I’m very sorry,’ said Mr Sampson Levi, with a tremendous and dazzling air of politeness, which surprised even himself, ‘but my syndicate has now lent the money elsewhere. It’s in South America—I don’t mind telling your Highness that we’ve lent it to the Chilean Government.’

‘Hang the Chilean Government, Mr Levi,’ exclaimed the Prince, and he went white. ‘I must have that million. It was an arrangement.’

‘It was an arrangement, I admit,’ said Mr Sampson Levi, ‘but your Highness broke the arrangement.’

There was a long silence.

‘Do you mean to say,’ began the Prince with tense calmness, ‘that you are not in a position to let me have that million?’

‘I could let your Highness have a million in a couple of years’ time.’

The Prince made a gesture of annoyance. ‘Mr Levi,’ he said, ‘if you do not place the money in my hands to-morrow you will ruin one of the oldest of reigning families, and, incidentally, you will alter the map of Europe. You are not keeping faith, and I had relied on you.’

‘Pardon me, your Highness,’ said little Levi, rising in resentment, ‘it is not I who have not kept faith. I beg to repeat that the money is no longer at my disposal, and to bid your Highness good morning.’

And Mr Sampson Levi left the audience chamber with an awkward, aggrieved bow. It was a scene characteristic of the end of the nineteenth century- -an overfed, commonplace, pursy little man who had been born in a Brixton semi-detached villa, and whose highest idea of pleasure was a Sunday up the river in an expensive electric launch, confronting and utterly routing, in a hotel belonging to an American millionaire, the representative of a race of men who had fingered every page of European history for centuries, and who still, in their native castles, were surrounded with every outward circumstance of pomp and power.

‘Aribert,’ said Prince Eugen, a little later, ‘you were right. It is all over. I have only one refuge—’

‘You don’t mean—’ Aribert stopped, dumbfounded.

‘Yes, I do,’ he said quickly. ‘I can manage it so that it will look like an accident.’

Chapter Twenty-One THE RETURN OF FÉLIX BABYLON

ON the evening of Prince Eugen’s fateful interview with Mr Sampson Levi, Theodore Racksole was wandering somewhat aimlessly and uneasily about the entrance hall and adjacent corridors of the Grand Babylon. He had returned from Ostend only a day or two previously, and had endeavoured with all his might to forget the affair which had carried him there—to regard it, in fact, as done with. But he found himself unable to do so. In vain he remarked, under his breath, that there were some things which were best left alone: if his experience as a manipulator of markets, a contriver of gigantic schemes in New York, had taught him anything at all, it should surely have taught him that. Yet he could not feel reconciled to such a position. The mere presence of the princes in his hotel roused the fighting instincts of this man, who had never in his whole career been beaten. He had, as it were, taken up arms on their side, and if the princes of Posen would not continue their own battle, nevertheless he, Theodore Racksole, wanted to continue it for them. To a certain extent, of course, the battle had been won, for Prince Eugen had been rescued from an extremely difficult and dangerous position, and the enemy—consisting of Jules, Rocco, Miss Spencer, and perhaps others—had been put to flight. But that, he conceived, was not enough; it was very far from being enough. That the criminals, for criminals they decidedly were, should still be at large, he regarded as an absurd anomaly. And there was another point: he had said nothing to the police of all that had occurred. He disdained the police, but he could scarcely fail to perceive that if the police should by accident gain a clue to the real state of the case he might be placed rather awkwardly, for the simple reason that in the eyes of the law it amounted to a misdemeanour to conceal as much as he had concealed. He asked himself, for the thousandth time, why he had adopted a policy of concealment from the police, why he had become in any way interested in the Posen matter, and why, at this present moment, he should be so anxious to prosecute it further? To the first two questions he replied, rather lamely, that he had been influenced by Nella, and also by a natural spirit of adventure; to the third he replied that he had always been in the habit of carrying things through, and was now actuated by a mere childish, obstinate desire to carry this one through. Moreover, he was splendidly conscious of his perfect ability to carry it through. One additional impulse he had, though he did not admit it to himself, being by nature adverse to big words, and that was an abstract love of justice, the Anglo-Saxon’s deep-found instinct for helping the right side to conquer, even when grave risks must thereby be run, with no corresponding advantage.

He was turning these things over in his mind as he walked about the vast hotel on that evening of the last day in July. The Society papers had been stating for a week past that London was empty, but, in spite of the Society papers, London persisted in seeming to be just as full as ever. The Grand Babylon was certainly not as crowded as it had been a month earlier, but it was doing a very passable business. At the close of the season the gay butterflies of the social community have a habit of hovering for a day or two in the big hotels before they flutter away to castle and country-house, meadow and moor, lake and stream. The great basket-chairs in the portico were well filled by old and middle-aged gentlemen engaged in enjoying the varied delights of liqueurs, cigars, and the full moon which floated so serenely above the Thames. Here and there a pretty woman on the arm of a cavalier in immaculate attire swept her train as she turned to and fro in the promenade of the terrace. Waiters and uniformed commissionaires and gold-braided doorkeepers moved noiselessly about; at short intervals the chief of the doorkeepers blew his shrill whistle and hansoms drove up with tinkling bell to take away a pair of butterflies to some place of amusement or boredom; occasionally a private carriage drawn by expensive and self-conscious horses put the hansoms to shame by its mere outward glory. It was a hot night, a night for the summer woods, and save for the vehicles there was no rapid movement of any kind. It seemed as though the world—the world, that is to say, of the Grand Babylon—was fully engaged in the solemn processes of digestion and small-talk. Even the long row of the Embankment gas-lamps, stretching right and left, scarcely trembled in the still, warm, caressing air. The stars overhead looked down with many blinkings upon the enormous pile of the Grand Babylon, and the moon regarded it with bland and changeless face; what they thought of it and its inhabitants cannot, unfortunately, be recorded. What Theodore Racksole thought of the moon can be recorded: he thought it was a nuisance. It somehow fascinated his gaze with its silly stare, and so interfered with his complex meditations. He glanced round at the well- dressed and satisfied people—his guests, his customers. They appeared to ignore him absolutely.