Racksole entered. The
room was brilliantly lighted.
'A visitor, who insists on seeing you, sir,' said Jules, and fled.
Mr Reginald Dimmock, still in evening dress, and smoking a
cigarette, rose hurriedly from a table.
'Hello, my dear Mr Racksole, this is an unexpected - ah - pleasure.'
'Where is my daughter? This is her room.'
'Did I catch what you said, Mr Racksole?'
'I venture to remark that this is Miss Racksole's room.'
'My good sir,' answered Dimmock, 'you must be mad to dream of
such a thing.
Only my respect for your daughter prevents me from expelling you
forcibly, for such an extraordinary suggestion.'
A small spot half-way down the bridge of the millionaire's nose
turned suddenly white.
'With your permission,' he said in a low calm voice, 'I will examine
the dressing-room and the bath-room.'
'Just listen to me a moment,' Dimmock urged, in a milder tone.
'I'll listen to you afterwards, my young friend,' said Racksole, and
he proceeded to search the bath-room, and the dressing-room,
without any result whatever. 'Lest my attitude might be open to
misconstruction, Mr Dimmock, I may as well tell you that I have
the most perfect confidence in my daughter, who is as well able to
take care of herself as any woman I ever met, but since you entered
it there have been one or two rather mysterious occurrences in this
hotel. That is all.' Feeling a draught of air on his shoulder,
Racksole turned to the window.
Pages:
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52