In Andrew Fraser’s study, the sallow face of Professor Alaric Hobbs was seen bending over many documents and papers. He was not only busied as a volunteer lawyer for Fraser, but was now the commentator and collaborator of that famous interrupted work, “The History of Thibet.” “Say! Go light now on the old man!” prayerfully whispered Alaric Hobbs, drawing Major Hardwicke into the study. “Captain Murray is a devilish good fellow. He is going to make this great traveler, Frank Hatton, my friend. And you’ll both be benefactors to ‘Science,’ if you drop masquerading and post me honestly on Thibet. You are a dead winner in the little social game here. You get the girl--that’s all you want. She’s a nice girl, too! I’ll make the old boy come down and be reasonable. I helped you out, you know. You owe me a good turn, you do.” “All right, Professor Hobbs. I believe I do owe you my wife to be. They would have carried her off or injured her in some way,” said the now anxious Hardwicke. “You bet your sweet life they would!” said the strange Western savant, more forcibly than elegantly. “They would have had the ransom of a prince, or else they would have chucked her in the channel! That was their game!” In the library, General Wragge, Captain Anstruther and Captain Murray faced Professor Andrew Fraser, whose face was as set as a stone sphinx. His feeble heart was thumping, for the stolen jewels were not his to return now. He cursed the day he had lied about them. The old General gravely said: “Professor Fraser, I desire to say that Captain Anson Anstruther represents both her Majesty’s Government and His Excellency, the Viceroy of India. There is a magistrate waiting in the house even now, and I recommend you to seriously consider the words of the Captain. If you are officially brought to face your past refusal to his just demands, I fear that you will be left, Sir, in a very pitiable position. I will now retire until you have conferred with the representative of the Indian Government. Remember! Once in the hands of the authorities, your person and estate will suffer grievously if you have conspired against the Crown.” Andrew Fraser’s eyes were downcast as Captain Anstruther, with a last glance at his friend, then locked the door. “Now, Sir, I repeat to you for the last time the official demand which I made in London upon you as executor of the late Hugh Fraser Johnstone, to surrender certain jewels wrongfully withheld, a list of which I have furnished you, as the property of Her Majesty’s Indian Government, and which stolen property I now demand on this list.” There was a long pause. “I cannot! They are not in my possession! I know nothing whatever of them,” faintly replied the startled old miser. “I warn you that I have a search warrant, particularly describing the articles stolen and the place of their concealment, and a magistrate now awaits my slightest word,” said the aid-de-camp sternly.