"Ah!" smiled the lady. "Jules, show Sir Hugh Johnstone to his carriage."
And then turning her back in disdain, she vanished without a word.
CHAPTER VII.
THE PRICE OF SAFETY.
When nabob Hugh Johnstone's carriage dashed swiftly down the crowded
Chandnee Chouk, on its return to the marble house, the driver and
footman, as well as the slim syce runners, were alarmed at the
old man's appearance when he was half led, half carried out of his
luxurious vehicle. The staggering sufferer reached his rooms and
was surrounded by a bevy of frightened menials, while the equippage
dashed away in search of old Doctor McMorris, the surgeon par
excellence of Delhi. A second butler had hastily darted away to
the Delhi Club with an imperative summons for Major Alan Hawke,
who had, unfortunately, left for the day.
With a shudder of affright Mademoiselle Justine Delande had slipped
into a booth on the great thoroughfare, only to feel safe when she
glided into Ram Lal Singh's jewel shop, to be swiftly hurried into
the rear reception room by the argus-eyed merchant, who had noted
the swiftly passing carriage. Her womanly conscience was as tender
as her heart.
"Lock the door, Ram Lal!" cried Alan Hawke, "We will be in the pagoda
in the garden. Let no one pass this door, on your life!" When they
were alone, Major Alan Hawke led the trembling woman away to to
the hidden bower, where Ram Lal had hospitably spread a feast of
India's choicest cakes and dainties.
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