Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 153, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 June 1912 — The Grand Babylon Hotel [ARTICLE]

The Grand Babylon Hotel

Copyright by Frank A. Munsey Co. o ; ; CHAPTER XXV. The Steam Launch. Mr. Tom Jackson’s notion of making good his escape by means of a steam yacht was an excellent one, so far as it went; but Theodore Racksole, for his part, did not consider; that it went quite far enough. Racksole opined. With peculiar glee, that he now had a tagible and definite clue for catching the Grand Babylon ex-waiter.

He knew nothing of the port of London, but he happened to know a good deal of the far more complicated, though somewhat smaller, port of New York, end he felt sure there ought to be no difficulty in getting hold of Jules* launch. The fact is that there are hundreds of men between St. Katharine’s wharf and Blackwell who literally know the Thames as the suburban housekeeper knows his back garden; who can recognize thousands of ships and put a naffie on them at a distance of half a mile. By these experts of the Thames the slightest unusual event on the water is noticed and discussed. Theodore Racksole had no satisfactory means of identifying the steam launch which carried away Mr. Tom Jackson. The sky had clouded over soon after midnight and there was also a slight mist, and he had only been able to make out that it was a low craft, about 60 feet long, probably painted black. He had personally kept a watch all through the night on vessels going up stream, and during the next morning he had a man take his place who warned him whenever a launch went toward Westminster. At noon after his conversation with Prince Aribert he went down the river in a hired rowboat as far as the custom-house, and poked about in search of any vessel which could by any possibility be the one he was in search of. At the cus-tom-house stairs he landed and asked for a very high official—an official inferior only to a commission—whom he had entertained once in New York and who had met him in London on business at Lloyd’s. In the large but dingy office of the great man a long conversation took place, a conversation in which Racksole had to exercise a certain amount of persuasive power and which ultimately ended in the high official ring-

ing his bell. “Desire Mr. Hazell, room 332, to speak to me ’’ said the official to the boy who answered the summons, and then, turning to Racksole, “I need hardly repeat, my dear Mr. Racksole, that this is strictly unofficial.” “Agreed, of course,” said Racksole. Mr. Hazell entered. He was a young man of about 30, dressed in blue serge, with a pale, keen face, a brown mustache and a rather handsome brown beard.

“Mr. Hazell,’’ said the high official, “Let me introduce you to Mr. Theodore Racksole—you will doubtless be familiar with his name. Mr. Hazell,” he went on to Racksole, “is one of our outdoor staff, what we call an examining officer. Just now he is doing night duty. He has a boat on the river and a couple of men, and the right to examine any craft whatever. What Mr. Hazell and his crew don’t know about the Thames between -here and Gravesend isn’t knowledge.”

“Glad to meet you, sir," said Racksole simply, and they shook hands. Racksole observed with satisfaction that Mr. Hazell was entirely at ease. “Now, Hazell,” the high official continued, "Mr. Racksole wants you to help in a little' private expedition on the river tonight I will give you a night's leave. I sent for you partly because I thought you would enjoy the affair and party because I think I can rely on you to regard it as entirely unofficial and not to talk about it You understand? I dare say you will have no cause to regret having obliged Mr.. "I think I grasp the situation,” said Hazell, with a slight smile. “And, by the way,” added the high official, "although the business is unofficial, it might be well if you wore your official overcoats See?" “Decidedly,” said Hazell. "I should have done so in any case.” “And now, Mr. Hazell," said Racksole, “will, you do m<e the pleasure of lunching with me. If you agree, I Mwi like to lunch at the place you usually frequent” . ‘..J So it came to pass that Theodore Racksole and George Hazell, outdoor clerk in the customs, lunched together at Thomas* chopbouse, in the city, upon mutton chops and coffee. The millionaire soon discovered, that he had got hold of a keen-witted man and a person of much insight

L .! | . •-e “Tell me,” said Hazel], when they had reached the cigarette stage, “are the magazine writers anything like correct?" “What do you mean?” asked*Rack“Well, you’re a millionaire—one of the best, I believe. One often sees articles on and interviews with millionaires, which describe their private railroad cars, their steam yachts on the Hudson, their marble stables and so on and so on. Do you happen to have those things?” “I have a private car on the New York Central, and I have a 2000-ton schooner yacht, though it isn’t on the Hudson —it happens just now to be on the East river—and I am bound to admit that the stables of my uptown place are fitted with marble.” Racksole laughed.

“Ah!” said Hazel!. “Now I can believe that I am lunching with a millionaire. It’s strange how facts like those, unimportant in themselves, appeal to the imagination. You seem -to me a real millionaire now. You’ve given me some personal information. I’ll give you some in return.”

“I earn three hundred a year, and perhaps sixty pounds a year extra for overtime. I live by myself in two rooms in Muscovy court. I’ve as much money as I need, and I always do exactly as I like outside office. As regards the office, I do as little work as I can, on principle—it’s a fight between us and the commissioners who shall get best; they try to do us down and we try to do them down; it’s pretty even on the whole. All’s fair in war, you know, and there aren’t any 10 commandments in a government office.” Racksole laughed. “Can you get off this afternoon?” he asked. : “Certainly,” said Hazell. “Well,” said Racksole,, “I should like you to come down .with me to the Grand Babylon. Then we can talk over my little affair at length. And may we go on your boat? I want to meet your crew.” That night, just after dark, Racksole embarked with his new friend, Hazell, in one of the black-painted customs wherries, manned by a crew of two men—both the latter freemen of the river, a distinction which carries with it privileges unfamiliar to the mere landsman.

Racksole looked over the side of the boat into the brown water and asked himself what frightful secrets lay hidden in its depths. Then he put his hand into his hip pocket and touched the stock of his Colt revolver; that familiar substance comforted him. The oarsmen had instructions to drop slowly down to the Pool, as the wide reach below the Tower is called. These two men had not been previously informed of the precise object of the expedition; but, now they were safely -afloat, Hazell judged lt expedient to give them some notion of it.

“We expect to come across a rather suspicious steam launch,” he said. “My friend here is very anxious to get a sight of her, and until he has seen her nothing definite can be done.” “What sort of a craift is she, sir?” asked the stroke oar, a fat-faced man who seemed absolutely incapable of any serious exertion.

"I don’t know,” Racksole replied. “But as near as I can judge she’s about 60 foot in length and painted black. I fancy I shall recognize her when I see her.” “Not much to go by—that!” exclaimed the other man curtly. But he said no more. He, as well as his mate, had received from Racksole one English sovereign as a kind of preliminary fee, and an English sovereign will do a lot toward silencing the natural sarcastic tendencies and free speech of a Thames waterman.

‘"There’s one thing I noticed,” said Racksole suddenly, “and I forgot to tell you of it, Mr. Hazell. Her screw seemed to move with a rather irregular, lame sort of way.” Both watermen immediately' burst into a simultaneous laugh. “Oh!” said the fat rower. “It’s Jack Everett’s launch —commonly called Squirm. She’s got a four-bladed propeller, and one blade is broken off short.” ' . “Ah!” That’s it, sure enough,” agreed the man in the bow. “And if it’s her you want, I seed her lying up against Cherry Gardens pier this very morning;” • (To Be Continued.)

Frank Schroer, of Barkley _tow nship, who was one of the first farmers hereabouts to buy, an automobile, having had two previously, has now purchased a 5-passenger Apperson, similar to the one owned by Mis brother. He traded-in his Ford and that car is now owned by the Rensselaer Garage and will be used for livery purposes.