"Some one is in the old man's study!" Yes!
There was the little tell-tale pencil of light flickering on the
darkened wall opposite. And Hardwicke scented danger. "Was it Alan
Hawke?"
Light-footed as the panther, the young soldier crept to the heavy
oaken door. A moment in his crouching position showed to him a
man, with his back toward him, raising one of the great red tiles
of the study floor. Yes! There was only a moment of suspense, for
the tile was slid aside, and a package was then eagerly clutched.
With one mighty leap, the Major bounded to the man's side as the
door swung open. The cold steel muzzle pressed the ruffian's temple
as Hardwicke's hand closed upon the burglar's throat. There lay
the sealed canvas package, covered with official Indian seals. In
an instant, the Major's knee was on the scoundrel's breast.
"One single sound, and I blow your brains out!" hissed the disguised
Englishman. And, astounded at the apparition of a stalwart Hindu
warrior, Jack Blunt's teeth chattered with fear. Dragging the
half-throttled wretch to his feet, Hardwicke tore off the sash of
his Indian sleeping robe and bound the villain's arms behind him.
Picking up his saber, he then cut the bell cord and lashed the
fellow's legs to a chair. Then, giving the canvas package a closer
glance of inspection, Hardwicke pressed the edge of his tulwar to
Jack Blunt's throat, when he had closed the window, half raised,
and shut the shutter so neatly forced with a jimmy.
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