A CAPTIVATED VICEROY.
There were several "late parties" in sumptuous Delhi, on the evening
when Madame Berthe Louison drove quietly to the railway station at
two o'clock. A little knot of tired officials were still on duty,
and when some forerunner had given a private signal, a single car,
drawn by a powerful locomotive, glided out of the darkness.
In a few moments a dozen trunks and a score of bags and bundles
were tossed aboard the baggage van. Five persons stepped nimbly
aboard, and then with no warning signal, the Lady of the Silver
Bungalow was borne out into the darkness, racing on toward Calcutta
with the swiftness of the wind.
Jules Victor, vigorous and alert, after several cups of cafe noir,
well dashed with cognac, disposed his two Lefacheux revolvers in
readiness, and then betook himself to a nap. His bright-eyed wife
was in the compartment with her beautiful mistress, and ready to
sound a shrill Gallic alarm at any moment. She gravely eyed the
two escorting officials of the bank. Marie said in her heart that
"all men were liars," and she believed most of them to be voleurs,
in addition. Jules, when the little train was whirling along a-metals
a score of miles away from Delhi, relaxed his Zouave vigilance, and
bade a long adieu to Delhi, in a vigorous grunt. "Va bane! Sacre
Canaille!"
There was silence at the railway station when the head agent
wearily said, "I suppose the Bank is moving a lot of notes back to
Calcutta! They are a rum slick lot, these money changers!" When
all was left in darkness, save where a blinking red and white line
signal still showed, Ram Lal Singh crept away from the line of the
rails.
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