The Grand Babylon Hôtel

‘YOU--you’re only doing that to frighten me,’ stammered Miss Spencer, in a low, quavering voice.

‘Am I?’ Nella replied, as firmly as she could, though her hand shook violently with excitement, could Miss Spencer but have observed it. ‘Am I? You said just now that I might be a Yankee girl, but I was a fool. Well, I am a Yankee girl, as you call it; and in my country, if they don’t teach revolver-shooting in boarding-schools, there are at least a lot of girls who can handle a revolver. I happen to be one of them. I tell you that if you ring that bell you will suffer.’

Most of this was simple bluff on Nella’s part, and she trembled lest Miss Spencer should perceive that it was simple bluff. Happily for her, Miss Spencer belonged to that order of women who have every sort of courage except physical courage. Miss Spencer could have withstood successfully any moral trial, but persuade her that her skin was in danger, and she would succumb. Nella at once divined this useful fact, and proceeded accordingly, hiding the strangeness of her own sensations as well as she could.

‘You had better sit down now,’ said Nella, ‘and I will ask you a few questions.’

And Miss Spencer obediently sat down, rather white, and trying to screw her lips into a formal smile.

‘Why did you leave the Grand Babylon that night?’ Nella began her examination, putting on a stern, barrister-like expression.

‘I had orders to, Miss Racksole.’

‘Whose orders?’

‘Well, I’m--I’m--the fact is, I’m a married woman, and it was my husband’s orders.’

‘Who is your husband?’

‘Tom Jackson--Jules, you know, head waiter at the Grand Babylon.’

‘So Jules’s real name is Tom Jackson? Why did he want you to leave without giving notice?’

‘I’m sure I don’t know, Miss Racksole. I swear I don’t know. He’s my husband, and, of course, I do what he tells me, as you will some day do what your husband tells you. Please heaven you’ll get a better husband than mine!’

Miss Spencer showed a sign of tears.

Nella fingered the revolver, and put it at full cock. ‘Well,’ she repeated, ‘why did he want you to leave?’ She was tremendously surprised at her own coolness, and somewhat pleased with it, too.

‘I can’t tell you, I can’t tell you.’

‘You’ve just got to,’ Nella said, in a terrible, remorseless tone.

‘He--he wished me to come over here to Ostend. Something had gone wrong.

Oh! he’s a fearful man, is Tom. If I told you, he’d--’

‘Had something gone wrong in the hotel, or over here?’

‘Both.’

‘Was it about Prince Eugen of Posen?’

‘I don’t know--that is, yes, I think so.’

‘What has your husband to do with Prince Eugen?’

‘I believe he has some--some sort of business with him, some money business.’

‘And was Mr Dimmock in this business?’

‘I fancy so, Miss Racksole. I’m telling you all I know, that I swear.’

‘Did your husband and Mr Dimmock have a quarrel that night in Room 111?’

‘They had some difficulty.’

‘And the result of that was that you came to Ostend instantly?’

‘Yes; I suppose so.’

‘And what were you to do in Ostend? What were your instructions from this husband of yours?’

Miss Spencer’s head dropped on her arms on the table which separated her from Nella, and she appeared to sob violently.

‘Have pity on me,’ she murmured, ‘I can’t tell you any more.’

‘Why?’

‘He’d kill me if he knew.’

‘You’re wandering from the subject,’ observed Nella coldly. ‘This is the last time I shall warn you. Let me tell you plainly I’ve got the best reasons for being desperate, and if anything happens to you I shall say I did it in self-defence. Now, what were you to do in Ostend?’

‘I shall die for this anyhow,’ whined Miss Spencer, and then, with a sort of fierce despair, ‘I had to keep watch on Prince Eugen.’

‘Where? In this house?’

Miss Spencer nodded, and, looking up, Nella could see the traces of tears in her face.