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 nothing came of them. Nevertheless,
Rocco's manner, a strange elusive something in the man's eyes, had
nearly convinced Racksole that he was somehow implicated in
Jules' schemes - and probably in the death of Reginald Dimmock
and the disappearance of Prince Eugen of Posen.
That night, or rather about half-past one the next morning, when
the last noises of the hotel's life had died down, Racksole made his
way to Room 111 on the second floor. He locked the door on the
inside, and proceeded to examine the place, square foot by square
foot. Every now and then some creak or other sound startled him,
and he listened intently for a few seconds. The bedroom was
furnished in the ordinary splendid style of bedrooms at the Grand
Babylon Hotel, and in that respect called for no remark.
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