It
swerved into midstream and headed towards London Bridge. There
was a silent mist over the river. Racksole was helpless. . . .
Although Racksole had now been twice worsted in a contest of
wits within the precincts of the Grand Babylon, once by Rocco and
once by Jules, he could not fairly blame himself for the present
miscarriage of his plans - a miscarriage due to the
meddlesomeness of an extraneous person, combined with pure
ill-fortune. He did not, therefore, permit the accident to interfere
with his sleep that night.
On the following day he sought out Prince Aribert, between whom
and himself there now existed a feeling of unmistakable, frank
friendship, and disclosed to him the happenings of the previous
night, and particularly the tampering with the bottle of
Roman?e-Conti.
'I believe you dined with Prince Eugen last night?'
'I did. And curiously enough we had a bottle of Roman?e-Conti,
an admirable wine, of which Eugen is passionately fond.'
'And you will dine with him to-night?'
'Most probably. To-day will, I fear, be our last day here. Eugen
wishes to return to Posen early to-morrow.'
'Has it struck you, Prince,' said Racksole, 'that if Jules had
succeeded in poisoning your nephew, he would probably have
succeeded also in poisoning you?'
'I had not thought of it,' laughed Aribert, 'but it would seem so. It
appears that so long as he brings down his particular quarry, Jules
is careless of anything else that may be accidentally involved in
the destruction.
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