Produced by Carrie Fellman A FASCINATING TRAITOR AN ANGLO-INDIAN STORY By Col. Richard Henry Savage CONTENTS. BOOK I. OUT OF THE DEAD PAST. I.-A Chance Meeting at Geneva II.-An Offensive and Defensive Alliance III.-“And at Delhi What Am I to Do?” IV.-The Veiled Rosebud of Delhi V.-A Diplomatic Tiffin BOOK II. “A DEVIL FOR LUCK.” VI.-The Mysterious Bungalow VII.-The Price of Safety VIII.-Harry Hardwicke Takes the Gate Neatly! IX.-Alan Hawke Plays His Trump Card X.-A Captivated Viceroy BOOK III. PRINCE DJIDDIN’S VISIT TO ENGLAND. XI.-“Do You See This Dagger?” XII.-On the Cliffs of Jersey XIII.-An Asiatic Lion in Hiding. XIV.-The Council at Granville XV.-The French Fisher Boat “Hirondelle” BOOK I. OUT OF THE DEAD PAST. CHAPTER I. A CHANCE MEETING AT GENEVA. “By Jove! I may as well make an end of the thing right here to-night!” was the dejected conclusion of a long council of war over which Major Alan Hawke had presided, with the one straggling comfort of being its only member. All this long September afternoon he had dawdled away in feeding certain rapacious swans navigating gracefully around Rousseau’s Island. He had consumed several Trichinopoly cigars in the interval, and had moodily gazed back upon the strange path which had led him to the placid shores of Lake Leman! The gay promenaders envied the debonnair-looking young Briton, whose outer man was essentially “good form.” Children left the side of their ox-eyed bonnes to challenge the handsome young stranger with shy, friendly approaches. Bevies of flashing-eyed American girls “took him in” with parthian glances, and even a widowed Russian princess, hobbling by, easing her gouty steps with a jeweled cane, gazed back upon the moody Adonis and sighed for the vanished days, when she possessed both the physical and mental capacity to wander from the beaten paths of the proprieties. But--the world forgetting--the young man lingered long, gazing out upon the broad expanse of the waters, his eyes resting carelessly upon the superb panorama of the southern shore. He had wandered far away from the Grand Hotel National, in the aimlessness of sore mental unrest, and, all unheeded, the hours passed on, as he threaded the streets of the proud old Swiss burgher city. He had known its every turn in brighter days, and, though the year of ninety-one was a brilliant Alpine season, and he was in the very flower of youth and manly promise, gaunt care walked as a viewless warder at Alan Hawke’s side.