ole. No other head-waiter had been formally
appointed in his place; and, indeed, the absence of one man--even the
unique Jules--could scarcely have been noticed in the enormous staff
of a place like the Grand Babylon. The functions of a head-waiter are
generally more ornamental, spectacular, and morally impressive than
useful, and it was so at the great hotel on the Embankment. Racksole
accordingly had the excellent idea of transporting his prisoner, with as
much secrecy as possible, to this empty bedroom. There proved to be no
difficulty in doing so; Jules showed himself perfectly amenable to a
show of superior force.

Racksole took upstairs with him an old commissionaire who had been
attached to the outdoor service of the hotel for many years--a
grey-haired man, wiry as a terrier and strong as a mastiff. Entering the
bedroom with Jules, whose hands were bound, he told the commissionaire
to remain outside the door.

Jules' bedroom was quite an ordinary apartment, though perhaps slightly
superior to the usual accommodation provided for servants in the
caravanserais of the West End. It was about fourteen by twelve. It
was furnished with a bedstead, a small wardrobe, a--mall washstand and
dressing-table, and two chairs. There were two hooks behind the door,
a strip of carpet by the bed, and some cheap ornaments on the iron
mantelpiece. There was also one electric light. The window was a
little square one, high up from the floor, and it looked on the inner
quadrangle.

The room was on the top storey--the eighth--and from it you had a view
sheer to the ground. Twenty feet below ran a narrow cornice about a foot
wide; three feet or so above the window another and wider cornice jutted
out, and above that was the high steep roof of the hotel, though you
could not see it from the window. As Racksole examined the window and
the outlook, he said to himself that Jules could not escape by that
exit, at any rate. He gave a glance up the chimney, and saw that the
flue was far too small to admit a man's body.

Then he called in the commissionaire, and together they bound Jules
firmly to the bedstead, allowing him, however, to lie down. All the
while the captive never opened his mouth--merely smiled a smile of
disdain. Finally Racksole removed the ornaments, the carpet, the chairs
and the hooks, and wrenched away the switch of the electric light. Then
he and the commissionaire left the room, and Racksole locked the door on
the out