"Go and send Ram Lal to me at once!" sternly said Berthe Louison.
"Then to Major Hawke. Tell him that I want him to dine with me,
and I shall need him all the evening. Order my carriage for five
o'clock!"
Alan Hawke had played his best trump card, and played it well, for
the woman who had doubted him, gloried in his courage and hardihood.
"I can trust him now!" she murmured when she drove to the Delhi agency
of Grindlays and, two hours later, astounded the local manager by
the executive rapidity of her varied business actions.
"What's in the wind?" murmured the bank manager. "A sudden flitting!"
He had been ordered to detail two of his best men to accompany
Madame Louison to Calcutta, in a special car leaving at midnight.
"Telegraph to your head office in Calcutta of my arrival. Major
Alan Hawke will represent me here, under written orders to be left
with your Calcutta manager. Send this on in cipher." She handed
him a long dispatch to his chief.
Madame Berthe Louison was seen in Delhi, in public, for the last
time, as she gazed steadily at the brilliant throng on the lawns
of the marble house. A fete Champetre had brought "all of Delhi"
together, and the conspicuous absence of "the French Countess" was
the reigning sensation. The tall, bent form of Hugh Fraser Johnstone
was prominent reigning as host, under a great marquee. Neither of
the great generals were there, however, for Simpson had drawn Major
Hardwicke aside to whisper: "A captain's guard came here to-day
and took an enormous treasure in precious stones up to Willoughby's
Headquarters!" and the two commanders were even then busied in
listing the recovered loot, with a dozen yellow-faced Hindus and
several confidential staff officers.
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