Alan Hawke softly smiled at those touching words, “Sad intelligence.” It was only the perfunctory regret of the shark-like lawyer, and the secretly rejoicing heirs. “This is not a case where the one who goes is happier than the one that’s left behind,” mused Hawke. “I must settle matters rapidly with Ram Lal, for if the will leaves the property to Nadine, she must be mine at all costs! “Shall I not send a well-armed man with you, Major?” asked the Captain. “It is very late!” “Thanks, Jordan,” lightly said the Major. “I’ve a good revolver and my service sword--a priceless old wootz steel tulwar. I’m good for a dozen Pandies! I’m used to Thug--and Dacoit, to bandit and ruffian. I have a little private business to attend to, and I’ll come home in a trap!” By a strange chance, Major Alan Hawke, the distinguished favorite of fortune, slunk along in byway and shadow till he reached the cottage, where a lovely woman, flower wreathed, with child-like face and timid, mournful eyes, anxiously awaited him. “I’ll be back in two or three hours,” he carelessly said, as he tossed her a roll of rupees. Then, with a long, slender package hidden in his bosom, he stole out after a long circuit and entered Ram Lal’s compound by the rear entrance, always at his use. “It is just as well not to make any little mistake just now,” mused Hawke, as with cat-like tread he sped through the old jeweler’s garden. And the “prevention of mistakes” consisted in the heavy Adams revolver which he carried slung around his neck and shoulder by a heavy cord, in the handy Russian fashion. His left hand steadied the peculiar parcel which he had so carefully hidden. An amused smile flitted over his face when old Ram Lal opened the door of the snuggery, where Justine had first listened to a lover’s sighs. “Poor girl! I wish she were here to-night!” tenderly mused the sentimental rascal, as he waved away Ram Lal’s bidding to a splendid little supper. “I came here to talk business, Ram, to-night” sternly said Hawke, who had inwardly decided not to taste food or drink with the past master of villainy. “He might give me a gentle push into the Styx,” acutely reflected the Major. “Sit down right there where I can see you,” said Hawke, his hand firmly grasping the revolver, as he indicated a corner of the table, after satisfying himself that the shop door was locked. He then quickly locked the garden door and pocketed both the keys. “What do you want of me?” murmured Ram Lal, who had noted the semi-hostile tone, and who clearly saw the butt of the revolver. “I want to talk to you of this Johnstone matter,” said the soldier, ignoring all other reference to the “dear departed.” This coolness unsettled the wily jeweler, who trembled as Hawke laid a long red pocketbook down on the table before him.