‘Surely,’ said Babylon, ‘it was indiscreet to trust to mere good fortune in such a serious matter?’
‘I didn’t trust to mere good fortune. I didn’t trust to anything except Rocco, and he deceived me.’
‘But why did you quarrel with him?’
‘I didn’t quarrel with him. I found him embalming a corpse in the State bedroom one night—’
‘You what?’ Babylon almost screamed.
‘I found him embalming a corpse in the State bedroom,’ repeated Racksole in his quietest tones.
The two men gazed at each other, and then Racksole replenished Babylon’s glass.
‘Tell me,’ said Babylon, settling himself deep in an easy chair and lighting a cigar.
And Racksole thereupon recounted to him the whole of the Posen episode, with every circumstantial detail so far as he knew it. It was a long and complicated recital, and occupied about an hour. During that time little Felix never spoke a word, scarcely moved a muscle; only his small eyes gazed through the bluish haze of smoke. The clock on the mantelpiece tinkled midnight.
‘Time for whisky and soda,’ said Racksole, and got up as if to ring the bell; but Babylon waved him back.