unknown. Nevertheless, from habit, he obeyed
his daughter, giving her credit for a certain amount of perspicuity and
cleverness.

The kitchens of the Grand Babylon Hotel are one of the wonders of
Europe.

Only three years before the events now under narration Felix Babylon had
had them newly installed with every device and patent that the
ingenuity of two continents could supply. They covered nearly an acre of
superficial space.

They were walled and floored from end to end with tiles and marble,
which enabled them to be washed down every morning like the deck of a
man-of-war.

Visitors were sometimes taken to see the potato-paring machine, the
patent plate-dryer, the Babylon-spit (a contrivance of Felix Babylon's
own), the silver-grill, the system of connected stock-pots, and other
amazing phenomena of the department. Sometimes, if they were fortunate,
they might also see the artist who sculptured ice into forms of men and
beasts for table ornaments, or the first napkin-folder in London, or the
man who daily invented fresh designs for pastry and blancmanges.
Twelve chefs pursued their labours in those kitchens, helped by ninety
assistant chefs, and a further army of unconsidered menials. Over all
these was Rocco, supreme and unapproachable. Half-way along the suite
of kitchens, Rocco had an apartment of his own, wherein he thought out
those magnificent combinations, those marvellous feats of succulence
and originality, which had given him his fame. Visitors never caught a
glimpse of Rocco in the kitchens, though sometimes, on a special night,
he would stroll nonchalantly through the dining-room, like the great
man he was, to receive the compliments of the hotel habitues--people of
insight who recognized his uniqueness.

Theodore Racksole's sudden and unusual appearance in the kitchen caused
a little stir. He nodded to some of the chefs, but said nothing to
anyone, merely wandering about amid the maze of copper utensils, and
white-capped workers. At length he saw Rocco, surrounded by several
admiring chefs. Rocco was bending over a freshly-roasted partridge which
lay on a blue dish. He plunged a long fork into the back of the bird,
and raised it in the air with his left hand. In his right he held a
long glittering carving-knife. He was giving one of his world-famous
exhibitions of carving. In four swift, unerring, delicate, perfect
strokes he cleanly severed the limbs of the partridge. It was a
wonderful achievem