an Hawke rejoiced, while General Abercromby knew that
the "little party" was waiting him in Calcutta. But most of all pleased
was Ram Lal Singh, clutching in his dreams at the dagger of Mirzah Shah,
lying there by his bedside. "He will be left alone, and he knows my
signal--his own device--THREE TAPS AT HIS WINDOW! In Delhi there only
lingered, sad and lonely, Major Harry Hardwicke, whose sighs were echoed
back from afar by a starry-eyed girl watching the sandy shores of the
Suez Canal.

"I dare not telegraph to him till we reach Brindisi," mused the loving
girl. "After that our path will be plain, and Justine MUST help me! Then
he can follow me--if he loves me!" She faltered, hiding her blushing
face. The only comforter of the lonely Hardwicke was "Rattler Murray."
Red Eric, of the Eighth Lancers, had just fallen into a pot of money.

"Take your long leave, my boy!" he cried. "I've been nine long years
a Lieutenant! I'll have my troop before my leave is out! And there's
a loving lass awaiting me! One I love--one who loves me--one you must
know, for you must be the 'best man'!"

"Wait, only wait a couple of weeks, Eric!" said the Major, whose eyes
were now turned daily to Simpson. "Then I'll put in my own application,
and we'll go home together."

This bright hope was duly pledged in many a loving cup.

General Abercromby was far away on the road to Calcutta when
Major-General Willoughby sent, posthaste, for Major Harry Hardwicke of
the Corps of Engineers. The puzzled Commanding General was racking his
brains to find out if his old friend Abercromby had committed any fatal
error during his somewhat bacchanalian visit on "special duty."

"I'm glad he is gone" mused the stout-hearted, thick-headed old
Commander, as he read, over and over, the Viceroy's cipher dispatch to
the departed General.

"Do nothing further! Turn over all property, on invoice, to General
Willoughby, and report here forthwith. Hold no communication with
Johnstone, and guard an absolute silence. Report in person, instantly on
your arrival."

"Something has surely gone wrong!" at last decided Willoughby. "Old Hugh
Fraser Johnstone may have been too much for him. Strange, the Viceroy
says nothing of him!" And then he read a second dispatch, with the
Viceroy's orders to himself. "Notify Major Harry Hardwicke, Royal
Engineers, to report in person, to the Viceroy for special duty,
prepared to go in a week to England on duty. Absolute secrecy requi