A mental flash of lightning showed him how he was
"sewed up," for Johnstone's all too polite servants shadowed him,
alternately, in his every movement. He even dared not visit the
secret telegraph address. "Old scoundrel!" raged Alan Hawke. "I
will only get the first news after the fair and probably in a storm
from Berthe. The denouement may occur with me languishing here in
Capua. Suppose that this she-devil would bolt? Where would I land
then?" He was most sadly rattled.
In the Delhi train, Hugh Johnstone busied with his late London
papers, slyly smiled as he studied a route map and railway time
table. He had received a single telegraphed word, dated Madras,
and wisely left unsigned, but that one word was the keynote of his
coveted victory--"Arrived."
"Ah! my lady," he mused, casting his eyes in the direction of Madame
Louison's cozy private compartment. "To-morrow at Delhi, if Douglas
Fraser is true to his trust, there will be the message which tells
of a 'bark upon the sea,' which bears away forever all the brightness
of your life--away from you, yes, forever! And Hawke, this smart
cad, is powerless now, and both of them are outwitted. The Baronetcy
is safe the very moment that Abercromby's work is done. I've paid
Hawke now, and he has been very naturally brought down here, out of
the way. Madame! Madame! Now to settle accounts with you the very
moment that Abercromby has reported back from Calcutta.
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