he voice of
Jules fell icily distinct, and several men glanced round uneasily, as if
to deprecate the slightest disturbance of their calm. The appearance of
the person to whom Jules was speaking, however, reassured them somewhat,
for he had all the look of that expert, the travelled Englishman, who
can differentiate between one hotel and another by instinct, and who
knows at once where he may make a fuss with propriety, and where it
is advisable to behave exactly as at the club. The Grand Babylon was a
hotel in whose smoking-room one behaved as though one was at one's club.

'I didn't suppose you did keep it, but you can mix it, I guess, even in
this hotel.'

'This isn't an American hotel, sir.' The calculated insolence of the
words was cleverly masked beneath an accent of humble submission.

The alert, middle-aged man sat up straight, and gazed placidly at Jules,
who was pulling his famous red side-whiskers.

'Get a liqueur glass,' he said, half curtly and half with good-humoured
tolerance, 'pour into it equal quantities of maraschino, cream, and
creme de menthe. Don't stir it; don't shake it. Bring it to me. And, I
say, tell the bar-tender--'

'Bar-tender, sir?'

'Tell the bar-tender to make a note of the recipe, as I shall probably
want an Angel Kiss every evening before dinner so long as this weather
lasts.'

'I will send the drink to you, sir,' said Jules distantly. That was his
parting shot, by which he indicated that he was not as other waiters
are, and that any person who treated him with disrespect did so at his
own peril.

A few minutes later, while the alert, middle-aged man was tasting the
Angel Kiss, Jules sat in conclave with Miss Spencer, who had charge of
the bureau of the Grand Babylon. This bureau was a fairly large chamber,
with two sliding glass partitions which overlooked the entrance-hall and
the smoking-room. Only a small portion of the clerical work of the great
hotel was performed there. The place served chiefly as the lair of Miss
Spencer, who was as well known and as important as Jules himself. Most
modern hotels have a male clerk to superintend the bureau. But the Grand
Babylon went its own way. Miss Spencer had been bureau clerk almost
since the Grand Babylon had first raised its massive chimneys to heaven,
and she remained in her place despite the vagaries of other hotels.
Always admirably dressed in plain black silk, with a small diamond
brooch, immaculate wrist-bands, and frizze