'
'I am ashamed to say that I have not yet inspected my wines,'
smiled Racksole; 'I have never given them a thought. Once or
twice I have taken the trouble to make a tour of the hotel, but I
omitted the cellars in my excursions.'
'Impossible, my dear fellow!' said Babylon, amused at such a
confession, to him - a great connoisseur and lover of fine wines -
almost incredible. 'But really you must see them to-morrow. If I
may, I will accompany you.'
'Why not to-night?' Racksole suggested, calmly.
'To-night! It is very late: Hubbard will have gone to bed.'
'And may I ask who is Hubbard? I remember the name but dimly.'
'Hubbard is the wine-clerk of the Grand Babylon,' said Felix , with
a certain emphasis. 'A sedate man of forty. He has the keys of the
cellars. He knows every bottle of every bin, its date, its qualities,
its value. And he's a teetotaler. Hubbard is a curiosity. No wine can
leave the cellars without his knowledge, and no person can enter
the cellars without his knowledge. At least, that is how it was in
my time,' Babylon added.
'We will wake him,' said Racksole.
'But it is one o'clock in the morning,' Babylon protested.
'Never mind - that is, if you consent to accompany me. A cellar is
the same by night as by day. Therefore, why not now?'
Babylon shrugged his shoulders. 'As you wish,' he agreed, with his
indestructible politeness.
'And now to find this Mr Hubbard, with his key of the cupboard,'
said Racksole, as they walked out of the room together.
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