Old Johnstone will then know at once that I have
betrayed him." An hour's cogitation led Alan Hawke to decide to
let the "high contracting parties" fight it out themselves at Delhi.
"I'll secretly join the winner and then bleed them both. I must be
unconscious of all. Johnstone's money I want first, then, Berthe
must pay me well for my aid." With an exquisite nosegay of flowers,
he awaited the slow descent of the social magnates. A second telegram
from Johnstone had warned him that the wanderers were on the same
train. "He is a cool devil!" mused Hawke.
Radiant in beauty, pleasantly smiling, and watched by her French
bodyguard, Madame Louison swept into the grand cafe room upon the
arm of Hugh Johnstone, who deftly exchanged a silent glance of
warning with the artful Major. The first intimation of Johnstone's
craft was the fact that Alan Hawke found he could not manage to see
Madame Louison alone, even for a single moment. There was a veiled
surprise in her beautiful brown eyes, when the nabob led Hawke a
few tables away for a conference in full view of the beauty, who
was surrounded with a cloud of obsequious attendants. "As we have
but one hour, Madame, pray at once, order a repast for us all. I
must have a few words with Hawke." Johnstone was as smiling as a
summer sea.
"We were delayed a day by my own private business," genially cried
the nabob. "What's new in Delhi?"
It was the crowning lie of Hawke's splendidly mendacious career
when he carelessly said, "Nothing.
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