al General Abercromby, it might have seriously disturbed
the host to know what hidden suspicions the Viceroy's envoy had brought
back from a very secret conference with that acute old local commander,
Willoughby.

"It sounds all very well, Abercromby, my old friend," said Willoughby,
"but Johnstone, or old Fraser, as we call him, is a hitman shark!
Without a list or some general details, he will surely rob the crown of
one-half the jewels, you may be sure. His cock and bull story of their
recovery is too pellucid. It's Hobson's choice, though. That or nothing.
He, of course, slyly claims to have only lately made this bungling
accidental recovery. If the return is a really valuable one, then all
you can officially do is to accept it. But be wary! I can give you some
friendly aid here, when you get all the returned treasure. I'll give
you a captain's guard here. Bring all here at once. We, you, and I, will
seal it up, and I'll have old Ram Lal Singh secretly come here and value
them. He's the best judge of gems in India, and he was once an official
in the Royal Treasure Chamber of the old King of Oude. Less than fifty
thousand pounds worth as a return would be a transparent humbug, and
besides you can delay your signature for a day or so, till you and I,
after listing the gems, see this old expert and have him examine them in
our presence. No one need know of it but you and I, and His excellency,
the Viceroy. As for Hugh Johnstone, he is simply capable of anything. I
told the Viceroy's aid, Anstruther, so. And I'll be damned glad to get
Johnstone out of my bailiwick, that I will."

With which vigorous "flea in the ear," General Willoughby dismissed his
startled comrade to the society of his crafty old host. And, that night,
strange dreams of unrest haunted the "modern Major General" in the
marble house, while singularly gloomy misgivings weighed down the
brave-hearted Berthe Louison, now heart-hungry for a sight of the doubly
beloved child of the dead lady of Jitomir. She woke in the hot and
clammy night to cry "No, no! He would never dare to! She is here! I
shall go boldly and demand to see her to-morrow!" Her womanly intuition
told her the lines were broken.

And so, robed in fashion's shining armor, Alixe Delavigne counted the
moments, until at four o'clock of the next afternoon her carriage waited
in the bower-decked oval of the marble house. A gloomy frown settled
upon her face, as the impassive Hugh Johnstone appr