There was a silent mist over the river.
Racksole was helpless....
Although Racksole had now been twice worsted in a contest of wits within the precincts of the Grand Babylon, once by Rocco and once by Jules, he could not fairly blame himself for the present miscarriage of his plans--a miscarriage due to the meddlesomeness of an extraneous person, combined with pure ill-fortune.

He did not, therefore, permit the accident to interfere with his sleep that night.
On the following day he sought out Prince Aribert, between whom and himself there now existed a feeling of unmistakable, frank friendship, and disclosed to him the happenings of the previous night, and particularly the tampering with the bottle of Romanee-Conti.
'I believe you dined with Prince Eugen last night ?' 'I did.

And curiously enough we had a bottle of Romanee-Conti, an admirable wine, of which Eugen is passionately fond.' 'And you will dine with him to-night ?' 'Most probably.

To-day will, I fear, be our last day here.

Eugen wishes to return to Posen early to-morrow.' 'Has it struck you, Prince,' said Racksole, 'that if Jules had succeeded in poisoning your nephew, he would probably have succeeded also in poisoning you ?' 'I had not thought of it,' laughed Aribert, 'but it would seem so.