At the Delhi Club, Major Alan Hawke, in a strange unrest, paced his floor half the night. “I stand now nearly eleven thousand pounds to the good, with outlying counties to hear from, as the Yankees say.” He smiled, “that is, if the old fox does not stop these drafts. If he does, I’ll stop him!” he swore. And yet, he was troubled at heart. “I know Alixe Delavigne will call me back and pay me well. How did she find out about my bold bluff to Johnstone? Some servant may have overheard, and she is a deep one. She may even have her own spies there!” “Justine, I can count on you to help me later. But, how to treat old Hugh?” His dreams of an army reinstatement came back to worry him. “I might go to Abercromby and warn him about Johnstone. Damn it! I’ve no proof as yet! Berthe Louison will fire the great gun herself.” The renegade fell asleep, torturing himself about the needless breach with Johnstone. “All violence is a mistake!” he muttered, half asleep. “The angry old man will keep me away from the girl forever, and the old brute is going to Europe. I have spoiled one game in taking one trick too roughly.” Another “late party” was at Major Hardwicke’s quarters, where the loyal Simpson related to the lover all the gossip of Johnstone and General Abercromby, over their brandy pawnee and cheroots. Simpson was the eager servitor of the young engineer, whom he loved. General Willoughby had a little fit of “work” which seized upon him, and so he toiled till late at night, sending some cipher dispatches to the Viceroy. “I may make a point in this, perhaps a C. B.,” said the old veteran, who was sharper when drunk than sober. “I’ll put a pin in Johnstone’s game, and get ahead of Abercromby.” This last old warrior had secretly vowed to force Hugh Fraser Johnstone to present him to the “little party in the Silver Bungalow.” The Calcutta general was a Knight of Venus, as well as a Son of Mars, and had guarded memories of some wild episodes of his own there in the halcyon days of the great chieftain who had builded it. A gay young staff officer whispered: “Alan Hawke is the only one who really has the ‘open sesame.’ He knows that ‘little party.’ Didn’t you see Johnstone hurry her away? The old nabob, too, is sly.” “Ah!” mused the General. “I’ll make Johnstone have Hawke here to breakfast. Devilish clever fellow--and he’ll take me there!” Alas! for these rosy anticipations. The “little party” was already at Allahabad before the gouty general awoke from his love dream.