“He’s a good lad, but a stranger to me, Hawke,” broke in the host. “The fact is, I am as yet undecided. I go home for my daughter’s sake; it’s no place for her out here,” he sternly said. “You know what Indian life is?” Hawke bowed, and mutely cried, “Peccavi.” He had been a part of it. “I’m waiting for the action of the Government. This Baronetcy. I must talk with you about it. I might have had the Star of India. You see, it’s an empty honor. And I hate to break away for good, after all. Do you know anything from Anstruther? He was up here, you know.” “I have him now!” secretly exulted Hawke, as he said gravely, “You know what duty is, I cannot speak as yet, but you can depend on me as soon as my honor will permit--” “Yes, yes, I know,” said Hugh Johnstone, with a sigh, rising from the table. “You must make yourself at home here. In fact, I am thinking of sending my daughter back to Europe. Douglas Fraser can have them well bestowed; that is, if I have to remain and fight out this Baronetcy affair, then I could put you up here.” Alan Hawke bowed his thanks. They had wandered back to the reception-room. With an affected surprise the Major consulted his watch. “By Jove! I’ve got a heavy official mail to prepare, and I’m to dine to-day with Harry Hardwicke, of the Engineers. General Willoughby wants a private conference with me, and Hardwicke is the only confidential man he has. He gets his Majority soon, and Willoughby will lose him on promotion. A fine fellow and a rising man.” “See here, Hawke! Come in to-morrow and dine with me at seven. I want to have a long talk with you,” said the uneasy host. “You may absolutely depend on me, Sir Hugh,” heartily answered the visitor, with a fine forgetfulness as to the title. When he rode away, Major Hawke caught sight of a womanly figure at a window above him, watching his retreat in due state, and there was the flutter of a handkerchief as his carriage drove around the oval. “I wonder if Ram Lal knows about the jewels. I must buy him out and out, or make Berthe Louison do it unconsciously for me,” so mused the victorious renegade. “He is afraid of me! Now to dispatch Ram Lal to Allahabad. I must only see Berthe Louison, at night, in her own bungalow, for my shy old bird would take the alarm were we seen together. What the devil is her game? I know mine, and I swear that I will soon know hers. I have him guessing now. I must hunt up Hardwicke and call on old Willoughby to keep up the dumb show. Johnstone may watch me--very likely he will. He is afraid of some coup de theatre.” He drove in a leisurely way back to the Club and sported the oak after giving Ram Lal his last orders. “I think I hear the jingle of gold ‘in the near future,’ as the Yankees say; and, Miss Justine, you shall open the way to the veiled Rose of Delhi for me, while Berthe Louison tortures this old vetch. Place aux dames! Place aux dames!” he laughed. BOOK II. “A DEVIL FOR LUCK.” CHAPTER VI. THE MYSTERIOUS BUNGALOW.