The Grand Babylon Hotel by Arnold Bennett--Delphi Classics (Illustrated) by Arnold Bennett

Author:Arnold Bennett [BENNETT, ARNOLD]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Parts Edition 2 of 64 by Delphi Classics
Publisher: Delphi Classics (Parts Edition)
Published: 2017-08-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen. THE RELEASE OF PRINCE EUGEN

‘EUGEN,’ Prince Aribert called softly. At the sound of his own name the young man in the cellar feebly raised his head and stared up at the grating which separated him from his two rescuers. But his features showed no recognition. He gazed in an aimless, vague, silly manner for a few seconds, his eyes blinking under the glare of the lantern, and then his head slowly drooped again on to his chest. He was dressed in a dark tweed travelling suit, and Racksole observed that one sleeve — the left — was torn across the upper part of the cuff, and that there were stains of dirt on the left shoulder. A soiled linen collar, which had lost all its starch and was half unbuttoned, partially encircled the captive’s neck; his brown boots were unlaced; a cap, a handkerchief, a portion of a watch-chain, and a few gold coins lay on the floor. Racksole flashed the lantern into the corners of the cellar, but he could discover no other furniture except the chair on which the Hereditary Prince of Posen sat and a small deal table on which were a plate and a cup.

‘Eugen,’ cried Prince Aribert once more, but this time his forlorn nephew made no response whatever, and then Aribert added in a low voice to Racksole: ‘Perhaps he cannot see us clearly.’

‘But he must surely recognize your voice,’ said Racksole, in a hard, gloomy tone. There was a pause, and the two men above ground looked at each other hesitatingly. Each knew that they must enter that cellar and get Prince Eugen out of it, and each was somehow afraid to take the next step.

‘Thank God he is not dead!’ said Aribert.

‘He may be worse than dead!’ Racksole replied.

‘Worse than — What do you mean?’

‘I mean — he may be mad.’

‘Come,’ Aribert almost shouted, with a sudden access of energy — a wild impulse for action. And, snatching the lantern from Racksole, he rushed into the dark room where they had heard the conversation of Miss Spencer and the lady in the red hat. For a moment Racksole did not stir from the threshold of the window. ‘Come,’ Prince Aribert repeated, and there was an imperious command in his utterance. ‘What are you afraid of?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Racksole, feeling stupid and queer; ‘I don’t know.’

Then he marched heavily after Prince Aribert into the room. On the mantelpiece were a couple of candles which had been blown out, and in a mechanical, unthinking way, Racksole lighted them, and the two men glanced round the room. It presented no peculiar features: it was just an ordinary room, rather small, rather mean, rather shabby, with an ugly wallpaper and ugly pictures in ugly frames. Thrown over a chair was a man’s evening-dress jacket. The door was closed. Prince Aribert turned the knob, but he could not open it.

‘It’s locked,’ he said. ‘Evidently they know we’re here.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Racksole brusquely; ‘how can they know?’ And, taking hold of the knob, he violently shook the door, and it opened.

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