CHAPTER Twenty-Two IN THE WINE CELLARS OF THE GRAND BABYLON.
'DO you know anything of the antecedents of this Jules,' asked Theodore Racksole, helping himself to whisky.
'Nothing whatever,' said Babylon.

'Until you told me, I don't think I was aware that his true name was Thomas Jackson, though of course I knew that it was not Jules.

I certainly was not aware that Miss Spencer was his wife, but I had long suspected that their relations were somewhat more intimate than the nature of their respective duties in the hotel absolutely demanded.

All that I do know of Jules--he will always be called Jules--is that he gradually, by some mysterious personal force, acquired a prominent position in the hotel.

Decidedly he was the cleverest and most intellectual waiter I have ever known, and he was specially skilled in the difficult task of retaining his own dignity while not interfering with that of other people.
I'm afraid this information is a little too vague to be of any practical assistance in the present difficulty.' 'What is the present difficulty ?' Racksole queried, with a simple air.
'I should imagine that the present difficulty is to account for the man's presence in London.' 'That is easily accounted for,' said Racksole.
'How?
Do you suppose he is anxious to give himself up to justice, or that the chains of habit bind him to the hotel ?' 'Neither,' said Racksole.