"As for the old master, he was an out and out hard 'un," stolidly
said Simpson. "Who killed him, nobody knows and nobody cares. I've
always suspicioned that there Ram Lal and yer fancy friend, this
Major Alan Hawke."
Hardwicke started in a sudden alarm. "Why so?" he demanded.
"I believe that they tried to blackmail him about some of his old
Eurasian love affairs, or else some official secret they had spied
out. You see the niggers in the marble house were all Ram Lal's
friends, and any one of them could have left the murderers alone
to do their work and then let 'em out of the house. I believe that
Hawke did the job, and Ram Lal got away with some of the missing
crown jewels. I'll tell you, Major Harry, General Willoughby and
the magistrates had me under fire there for many a day."
"See here, Simpson," said Major Hardwicke, "a man who would murder
the father, would rob the daughter! I'll give you a thousand pounds
if you instantly notify me, if Hawke ever is found creeping around
here. There may be some ugly old family secrets, you know."
"I'm your man! Pay or no pay!" cried Simpson. "Only they think of
giving me a three months' leave on pay to visit my people."
"Don't go! Don't go! till I tell you!" cried the Major.
"I am glad this fellow Hawke, whom you say has been dropped, is
now on his way back to India," said Simpson.
"Yes, but he might show up here devilish strangely," mused
Hardwicke.
Pages:
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422