And, last of all the “late parties” on this eventful night was Hugh Fraser Johnstone’s little solitary council of war. He had, with a prescience of coming trouble, detailed two of his own keenest personal servants to watch the Silver Bungalow, from daylight, relieving each other, and never losing sight a moment of the hidden tiger’s den. “I’ll find out who goes and comes there! By God! I will!” he raged. After a long cogitation, he evolved a “way out” of his quarrel with Hawke. “Damn the fellow! I must not drive him over into the enemy’s camp. I’ll have him here--to breakfast, to-morrow. The jewels are safely out of the way now. For a few pounds he will watch this she-devil, and that yellow thief, Ram Lal, for me. My only danger is in their coming together. I’ll get a note to him early.” Seizing his chit-book, he dashed off in a frankly apologetic way a few lines. “There! That’ll do! Not too much!” He read his lines with a final approval. “Dear Hawke: I’ve been worried to death with a lot of people thrust on me. Mere figure-heads. You must excuse an old friend--an old man--and Madame Louison is like all women--only a bundle of nerves. Come over to the house to-day at noon and breakfast with Abercromby and myself alone. I’ll send you back to Calcutta with him on a little run. I appreciate your manliness in keeping out of my little misunderstanding with the Madame. By the way, a few words from Abercromby to the Viceroy would put you back on the Army Staff, where you rightly belong. Let bygones be bygones, and you can make your play on the General, It’s the one chance of a life. Come and see me. J.” “There! He will never show that!” mused Hugh Johnstone. “It touches his one little raw spot!” And calling a boy the old Commissioner dispatched the note, carefully sealed, to the Club. The last one to seek his rest in the marble house, old Johnstone was strangely shaken by the events of the day. Berthe Louison’s threats, Ram Lal’s stubborn refusal, and the useless quarrel with Hawke had unmanned him. He drank a strong glass of grog and then sought his room. “All things settle themselves at last! This thing will blow over! I wish to God that she was out of the way! I could then handle the rest!” For in his heart he feared the defiant woman. There were two men equally surprised when gunfire brought the “day’s doings” on again in lazy, luxurious Delhi. Over his morning coffee, Major Alan Hawke thankfully cried: “I am a very devil for luck! This old skinflint is opening his bosom and handing me a knife. By God! I’ll have my pound of flesh!” He leaped from his couch as blithe as a midshipman receiving his first love letter from a fullgrown dame. There was great joy in the house of Hawke.