ad referred to his watch for the fiftieth time, when, from a closed
carriage, the object of his mental vituperations gracefully alighted
at last. It was with the very coldest of bows that the irritated man
received the graceful, self-possessed woman, whose lovely face was but
partially hidden by her coquettishly dotted veil.

"She dresses like a Parisienne, walks like an Andalu-sian, and has
all the seductiveness of a Polish countess!" the quick-witted rascal
thought, as they strolled into the museum, which the departed General
Rath knew not would be the scene of many a hidden love intrigue, when
he endowed it with a benevolent vanity. The two wary strangers strolled
along until they found a retired corner. Madame Louison seated herself,
waving her lace parasol with the impatient gesture of one accustomed to
command.

Alan Hawke was in no gentle humor, and his cheeks reddened as he
felt the calm scrutiny of the woman's searching glances. He was now
determined to take the whip hand, and to keep it. His accents were
staccato as he said, "Tell me now who you are, and what you wish of
me!" A clock, hung high over them on the dreary, drab walls, ticked away
brusquely, as the angered woman gazed steadily into his face.

"And so your little windfall of last night has already made you
impudent? If you cannot find another tone at once, I will find another
agent! The man whom you plucked has told me the story of your wonderful
skill at cards!" The sneer cut the renegade like a whip lash, and Alan
Hawke sprang up in anger. Madame Berthe Louison coolly settled herself
down into the red cushions.

"The way to India is before you, but five hundred pounds is not a
fortune for Major Alan Hawke! Listen! I watched you carefully yesterday,
in your vigil upon Rousseau's Island. Your telltale face betrayed
you. You were left stranded here in Geneva. An accident has brought us
together. You cannot divine my motives. I can fathom yours easily. Tell
me now, of yourself, of your past in India--of your present standing
there. If you are frank, I may contribute to your fortune; if not--our
ways part here!"

"And, if I warn Anson Anstruther that you are a mere adventuress, if I
notify my old friend Hugh Fraser (soon to be Sir Hugh Johnstone), then
your little game will be spoiled, Madame Louison!" defiantly said Hawke.
The woman leaned back and laughed merrily in his face.

"You are like all professional lady killers, a mere fool in the hand