“That is all. I slipped into the house when Simpson went away next day. He often goes out to drink secretly, and he has a pretty Eurasian friend or two, besides, down in the quarter.” Ram Lal winked significantly. “I went all over the upper part of the house myself. The women’s rooms were left just as if they had gone out for a drive along the Jumna. If they took anything it was only a few hand parcels. Now you know all that I know. No one ever saw the strange man before. And these people are gone for good, that is all. Go now to the Mem-Sahib at the Silver Bungalow. I fear her. But tell me what I must say to her.” The old man was evidently in a mortal fear. “There is that French devil--that old soldier. He is a fighting devil, that one, and the woman a tiger. The lady herself is a tiger of tigers!” “Say nothing, Ram Lal,” soothingly said Hawke. “Leave it all to me. I see it. Old Johnstone has sent the girl to the hills to keep her away from the young fellows who will crowd the house, while this General Abercromby is here. There’ll be drink and cards, and God knows what else.” “I know,” grinned Ram Lal. “I knew old Johnstone in the old days, a man-eater, a woman-killer, a cold-hearted devil, too! What does he do with this General?” The jewel merchant’s eyes blazed. “Oh! Buying his new title with some official humbug or another. I don’t know. Perhaps he is really settling his accounts,” laughed Hawke. “I have a little account of my own to settle with him! I will see him at once! He, too, may slip away and follow his girl to the hills,” quietly said Ram Lal. “I know his past. He is never to be trusted--not for a moment--as long as he is alive!” Alan Hawke stared in wonder at Ram Lal, who humbly salaamed, when he closed: “See the woman over there--come back, and tell me what I must do or say. You and I are comrades,” the jewel seller leeringly said, “and we must lie together! All the world are liars-and half of the world lives by lying.” with which sage remark the old curio seller betook himself to his narghileh. In a half an hour, Major Alan Hawke was wandering through the garden of the Silver Bungalow with Alixe Delavigne at his side. Behind them, at a discreet distance, sauntered Jules Victor, his dark eyes most intently fixed upon the promenaders. Madame Delavigne was pleased to be cheerfully buoyant. She had silently listened to Hawke’s recital of the probable causes of General Abercromby’s visit. “I could see that Johnstone evidently wished to occupy us both at Allahabad. Your conduct was discretion itself! Have you seen him yet? Or the ladies?” She eyed her listener keenly.