s, besought his aid and protection, pointing down to the
stairway. Hardwicke's ready nerve failed him not.

Grasping a heavy revolver from under the pillow, a mechanical
arrangement, a memory of his Indian life in the midst of untrusted
subordinates, the officer seized in his left hand the Sikh tulwar,
which was his own "property saber" of Thibetan royalty. Its naked,
wedge-shaped blade was as keen as that of a razor.

Pointing to the key, he mutely signed to the woman to lock herself in.
Then down the stair he crept, ready to face any unseen enemy. The light
streamed out from Janet Fairbarn's open door. "Perhaps it was only old
Simpson, drunk, or trying to gain a surreptitious entrance," he mused.
But the woman had pointed to the light and the keyhole of the door.
"Some one is in the old man's study!" Yes! There was the little
tell-tale pencil of light flickering on the darkened wall opposite. And
Hardwicke scented danger. "Was it Alan Hawke?"

Light-footed as the panther, the young soldier crept to the heavy oaken
door. A moment in his crouching position showed to him a man, with his
back toward him, raising one of the great red tiles of the study floor.
Yes! There was only a moment of suspense, for the tile was slid aside,
and a package was then eagerly clutched. With one mighty leap, the Major
bounded to the man's side as the door swung open. The cold steel
muzzle pressed the ruffian's temple as Hardwicke's hand closed upon
the burglar's throat. There lay the sealed canvas package, covered
with official Indian seals. In an instant, the Major's knee was on the
scoundrel's breast.

"One single sound, and I blow your brains out!" hissed the disguised
Englishman. And, astounded at the apparition of a stalwart Hindu
warrior, Jack Blunt's teeth chattered with fear. Dragging the
half-throttled wretch to his feet, Hardwicke tore off the sash of his
Indian sleeping robe and bound the villain's arms behind him. Picking up
his saber, he then cut the bell cord and lashed the fellow's legs to a
chair. Then, giving the canvas package a closer glance of inspection,
Hardwicke pressed the edge of his tulwar to Jack Blunt's throat, when
he had closed the window, half raised, and shut the shutter so neatly
forced with a jimmy. "What's in that package?" he said, with a sudden
divination of Alan Hawke's overmastering influence.

"A lot of valuable jewels," the sneaking ruffian answered. "If you'll
turn me loose, I'll now save what'