's bankers. But the lady
only sweetly continued: "I have some business in Calcutta. You can
write to me at the general postoffice at Allahabad, and leave your Delhi
address there. I shall probably telegraph for you to come down and meet
me there."

Major Hawke, neatly entering the lady's directions in a silver-clasped
betting book, murmured lazily without lifting his eyes: "You seem to
know a great deal about Hindostan."

"I have made a careful study of it for years--long years," said the
woman with a telltale flush of color, as the servants entered with the
impromptu feast.

They were left alone, at an imperious signal, and Madame Louison bade
Hawke regale himself en garcon. The Major paused with suspended pencil,
as he quietly approached the decisive question: "And at Delhi, what am I
to do?"

"You are to take up your old friendship with Hugh Fraser--this budding
baronet," replied Berthe calmly. She was pouring out a glass of the wine
beloved of women, but her hand trembled as she hastily drank off the
inspiring fluid. "All this is bravo--mere bravo! She's a very smart
woman, and a cool customer!" decided the schemer, who had filled himself
up a long drink. He took up at once the object-lesson. They were simply
to be comrades--and nothing more.

"I will obey you to the very letter," he said simply, for he was well
aware the woman was keenly watching him.

"Then that is all. There is nothing more," soberly concluded his
companion. "The letters at Suez and Aden are, of course, to be mere
billets de voyage. The correspondence at Allahabad may cover all of
moment. Can you not give me a safe letter and telegraph address at
Delhi?"

"Give me your notebook," said Alan Hawke, as he carefully wrote down the
needed information: "Ram Lal Singh, Jewel Merchant, 16 Chandnee Chouk,
Delhi."

"There's the address of my native banker; and as trusty a Hindu as ever
sold a two-shilling strass imitation for a hundred-pound star sapphire.
But, in his way he is honest--as we all are." And then Alan Hawke boldly
said: "How shall I address you at Allahabad?"

The flashing brown eyes gleamed a moment with a brighter luster than
pleasure's glow. "You have my visiting card, Major," the woman coldly
said. "I travel with a French passport, always en regie."

"By God! she has the nerve!" mused Alan Hawke, as he hastily said: "And
now, as we have settled all our little preliminaries, when am I to know
whether you trust me or not?"