in twenty-four to-morrow.'

Miss Racksole set her small white teeth.

There was a gentle cough. Jules stood over them. It must have
been out of a pure spirit of adventure that he had selected this table
for his own services. Usually Jules did not personally wait at
dinner. He merely hovered observant, like a captain on the bridge
during the mate's watch. Regular frequenters of the hotel felt
themselves honoured when Jules attached himself to their tables.

Theodore Racksole hesitated one second, and then issued the order
with a fine air of carelessness:

'Filleted steak for two, and a bottle of Bass.' It was the bravest act
of Theodore Racksole's life, and yet at more than one previous
crisis a high courage had not been lacking to him.

'It's not in the menu, sir,' said Jules the imperturbable.

'Never mind. Get it. We want it.'

'Very good, sir.'

Jules walked to the service-door, and, merely affecting to look
behind, came immediately back again.

'Mr Rocco's compliments, sir, and he regrets to be unable to serve
steak and Bass to-night, sir.'