went forward, and neither Mr nor Mrs Sampson Levi had ever the least
suspicion what a narrow escape they had had of looking very foolish in
the eyes of the thousand or so guests invited by them to the Gold Room
of the Grand Babylon that evening.

The Gold Room of the Grand Babylon was built for a ballroom. A balcony,
supported by arches faced with gilt and lapis-lazulo, ran around it, and
from this vantage men and maidens and chaperons who could not or would
not dance might survey the scene. Everyone knew this, and most people
took advantage of it. What everyone did not know--what no one knew--was
that higher up than the balcony there was a little barred window in the
end wall from which the hotel authorities might keep a watchful eye, not
only on the dancers, but on the occupants of the balcony itself.

It may seem incredible to the uninitiated that the guests at any social
gathering held in so gorgeous and renowned an apartment as the Gold Room
of the Grand Babylon should need the observation of a watchful eye. Yet
so it was. Strange matters and unexpected faces had been descried from
the little window, and more than one European detective had kept vigil
there with the most eminently satisfactory results.

At eleven o'clock Theodore Racksole, afflicted by vexation of spirit,
found himself gazing idly through the little barred window. Nella was
with him.

Together they had been wandering about the corridors of the hotel, still
strange to them both, and it was quite by accident that they had lighted
upon the small room which had a surreptitious view of Mr and Mrs Sampson
Levi's ball. Except for the light of the chandelier of the ball-room the
little cubicle was in darkness. Nella was looking through the window;
her father stood behind.

'I wonder which is Mrs Sampson Levi?' Nella said, 'and whether
she matches her name. Wouldn't you love to have a name like that,
Father--something that people could take hold of--instead of Racksole?'

The sound of violins and a confused murmur of voices rose gently up to
them.

'Umphl' said Theodore. 'Curse those evening papers!' he added,
inconsequently but with sincerity.

'Father, you're very horrid to-night. What have the evening papers been
doing?'

'Well, my young madame, they've got me in for one, and you for another;
and they're manufacturing mysteries like fun. It's young Dimmock's death
that has started 'em.'

'Well, Father, you surely didn't expect to keep yours