d the slow descent of the social magnates. A second telegram from
Johnstone had warned him that the wanderers were on the same train. "He
is a cool devil!" mused Hawke.

Radiant in beauty, pleasantly smiling, and watched by her French
bodyguard, Madame Louison swept into the grand cafe room upon the arm of
Hugh Johnstone, who deftly exchanged a silent glance of warning with
the artful Major. The first intimation of Johnstone's craft was the fact
that Alan Hawke found he could not manage to see Madame Louison alone,
even for a single moment. There was a veiled surprise in her beautiful
brown eyes, when the nabob led Hawke a few tables away for a conference
in full view of the beauty, who was surrounded with a cloud of
obsequious attendants. "As we have but one hour, Madame, pray at
once, order a repast for us all. I must have a few words with Hawke."
Johnstone was as smiling as a summer sea.

"We were delayed a day by my own private business," genially cried the
nabob. "What's new in Delhi?"

It was the crowning lie of Hawke's splendidly mendacious career when
he carelessly said, "Nothing. I supposed, of course, that you had grave
need of me here."

"So I have," earnestly replied Johnstone, as the station master bustled
up, scraping and bowing, with a bundle of letters and several telegrams.
"Just look over these five drafts on Glyn, Carr & Glyn's, while I look
at the letters," whispered Johnstone, handing Hawke an official looking
envelope. Even while the adventurer carefully scanned the bills of
exchange, he saw a gleam of devilish triumph in the old man's eyes as he
opened the telegrams, and with affected carelessness shoved his letters
in his pocket. "See here, Hawke! You can even earn a neat 'further
donation' if you will play your part rightly. General Abercromby, as
personally representing the Viceroy, arrives here to-morrow night to
adjust my accounts finally. He will be a week or so at Delhi. I want
you to represent me and receive him here. I've telegraphed back to
Abercromby that you will bring him up in a special car. He does not want
old Willoughby to think he is nosing around Delhi. Now, do the
handsome thing. Abercromby knows you. Here is a pocket-book. Lose a few
fifty-pound notes to the old boy on the train. Amuse him, mind you, and
set him up well! The car will be well stocked. I leave my two men here
to wait on you and him. That's all. I want to go off 'in a blaze of
glory,' as the Yankees would say