ent--how wondrous none but the really skilful carver
can properly appreciate. The chefs emitted a hum of applause, and
Rocco, long, lean, and graceful, retired to his own apartment. Racksole
followed him. Rocco sat in a chair, one hand over his eyes; he had not
noticed Theodore Racksole.

'What are you doing, M. Rocco?' the millionaire asked smiling. 'Ah!'
exclaimed Rocco, starting up with an apology. 'Pardon! I was inventing a
new mayonnaise, which I shall need for a certain menu next week.'

'Do you invent these things without materials, then?' questioned
Racksole.

'Certainly. I do dem in my mind. I tink dem. Why should I want
materials? I know all flavours. I tink, and tink, and tink, and it is
done. I write down.

I give the recipe to my best chef--dere you are. I need not even taste,
I know how it will taste. It is like composing music. De great composers
do not compose at de piano.'

'I see,' said Racksole.

'It is because I work like dat dat you pay me three thousand a year,'
Rocco added gravely.

'Heard about Jules?' said Racksole abruptly.

'Jules?'

'Yes. He's been arrested in Ostend,' the millionaire continued,
lying cleverly at a venture. 'They say that he and several others are
implicated in a murder case--the murder of Reginald Dimmock.'

'Truly?' drawled Rocco, scarcely hiding a yawn. His indifference was so
superb, so gorgeous, that Racksole instantly divined that it was assumed
for the occasion.

'It seems that, after all, the police are good for something. But this
is the first time I ever knew them to be worth their salt. There is to
be a thorough and systematic search of the hotel to-morrow,' Racksole
went on. 'I have mentioned it to you to warn you that so far as you are
concerned the search is of course merely a matter of form. You will not
object to the detectives looking through your rooms?'

'Certainly not,' and Rocco shrugged his shoulders.

'I shall ask you to say nothing about this to anyone,' said Racksole.
'The news of Jules' arrest is quite private to myself. The papers know
nothing of it. You comprehend?'

Rocco smiled in his grand manner, and Rocco's master thereupon went
away.

Racksole was very well satisfied with the little conversation. It was
perhaps dangerous to tell a series of mere lies to a clever fellow like
Rocco, and Racksole wondered how he should ultimately explain them
to this great master-chef if his and Nella's suspicions should be
unfounded, and no