'
'Do that to-morrow morning, then, if necessary,' said Racksole, and
departed.
It was then about one o'clock a.m. The millionaire retired to bed -
not his own bed, but a bed on the seventh storey. He did not,
however, sleep very long. Shortly after dawn he was wide awake,
and thinking busily about Jules.
He was, indeed, very curious to know Jules' story, and he
determined, if the thing could be done at all, by persuasion or
otherwise, to extract it from him. With a man of Theodore
Racksole's temperament there is no time like the present, and at
six o'clock, as the bright morning sun brought gaiety into the
window, he dressed and went upstairs again to the eighth storey.
The commissionaire sat stolid, but alert on his chair, and, at the
sight of his master, rose and saluted.
'Anything happened?' Racksole asked.
'Nothing, sir.'
'Servants say anything?'
'Only a dozen or so of 'em are up yet, sir. One of 'em asked what I
was playing at, and so I told her I was looking after a bull bitch
and a litter of pups that you was very particular about, sir.'
'Good,' said Racksole, as he unlocked the door and entered the
room. All was exactly as he had left it, except that Jules who had
been lying on his back, had somehow turned over and was now
lying on his face. He gazed silently, scowling at the millionaire.
Racksole greeted him and ostentatiously took a revolver from his
hip-pocket and laid it on the dressing-table.
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