“I am entirely at home, thanks to your thoughtful provision,” she smiled. “There is nothing to-night. Have you seen Johnstone?” Her dark eyes were steadfastly fixed upon him now. “Yes; he sent for me. He is very much agitated and, I should say, he is almost at your mercy. But beware of an apparent surrender on his part. He is--capable of anything!” “I know it. I am on my guard,” slowly replied Berthe Louison. She saw that Alan Hawke had spoken the truth to her--even with some mental reservations. “To-morrow morning will determine my public relations with Hugh Johnstone. Come to me to-morrow night, and do not be surprised if we meet as guests at Hugh Johnstone’s table. You must only meet me as a stranger. I may leave here for a few days, and then I will place you in charge of my interests in my absence.” The Major gravely replied: “You may depend upon me wherever you may wish to call upon me.” “Strange mutability of womanhood,” he mused a half hour later as he left the lady’s side. “There is a woman whom I should not care to face tomorrow morning if I were in Hugh Johnstone’s shoes.” It was the renegade’s last verdict as he slept the sleep of the prosperous. The Willoughby dinner and his own feast now occupied his attention, for his mysterious employer had bade him to eat, drink, and be merry. At ten o’clock the next day the “gilded youth” of the Delhi Club all knew that Hugh Johnstone had betaken himself to the Silver Bungalow, in the carriage of the woman whose beauty was now an accepted fact. Hugely delighted, these ungodly youth winked in merry surmises as to the relationship between the budding Baronet and the hidden Venus. Even bets as to discreetly “distant relationship,” or a forthcoming crop of late orange blossoms were the order of the day. But silent among the merry throng, the handsome Major, making his due call of ceremony upon General Willoughby, denied all knowledge of the designs of either of the high contracting parties. In due state, escorted by the alert Jules Victor, Hugh Johnstone entered the Silver Bungalow, to find his Cassandra silently awaiting him. There was no memory of the happenings of the day before in her unconstrained greeting. The door of the strategic cabinet was ajar, but the tottering visitor had no fears of an ambush. For Madame Alixe Delavigne calmly said: “Jules, you may remain within call, in the hall.” The old nabob’s heart leaped up in a welcome relief at this command. His wrinkled face was of the hue of yellowed ivory, and his cold blue eyes were weak and watery, as he heavily lurched into a chair facing his hostess. Courage and craft had not failed him, for already Douglas Fraser was speeding on to Delhi from Calcutta, the sole occupant of a special train. In the long vigil of the night, Hugh Johnstone had evolved a plan to ward off the blow of the sword of Fate! But watchfully silent he awaited his enemy’s conversational attack. “Damn her! I will outwit her yet!” he silently swore.