A Fascinating Traitor Part 12

As a wild Communard soldier he had risked his life vainly to save the aged Colonel Delavigne from a furious mob, for the red rosette in the old officer's b.u.t.tonhole had cost him his life in an awkward promenade, and this sent the orphans, Valerie and Alixe Delavigne, adrift upon the mad maelstrom of Paris incendie. While Ram Lal glowered in his dissatisfaction, Madame Berthe Louison complacently regarded her two secret protectors on guard in the special car. For the strange turn of Fortune's wheel, which had left Alixe Delavigne alone in the world, and rich enough to effect her special vengeance upon her one enemy, had given to Jules Victor and his wife Marie a sinecure for life as the personal attendants of the soi-disant Madame Berthe Louison.

Marie was but a wild-eyed child of ten when Jules had picked her up in the flaming streets of Paris, and they had graduated together from the gutters of Montmartre into the later control of Madame Louison's pretty little pied d' terre in Paris, hard by Auteuil, in that dreamy little impa.s.se, the Rue de Berlioz. Neither of these attendants were faint-hearted, for their young hearts had been attuned early to the wolfish precocity of the Parisian waif. And they had followed their resolute mistress in her weary quest of the past years.

Berthe Louison smiled in a comforting sense of security, as she gazed listlessly out upon the landscape flying by.

The two servants, modestly voyaging out to Calcutta, on a telegraphic summons, to embark at Ma.r.s.eilles, had preceded the Empress of India by ten days. So, neither friendless, nor without untiring devotion, was the wary woman who had thus secretly armed herself against any "little mistake" on the part of Major Alan Hawke. Certain private instructions to the manager of Grindlay & Co., at Calcutta, had caused that respectable party to open his eyes in wonder.

"Of course, Madame, our local agent at Delhi will act in your behalf, with both secrecy and discretion. I have already written him a private cipher letter in regard to your every wish being fulfilled."

Such is the potent influence of a letter of credit, practically approaching the "unlimited."

"If I could only use Jules in the double capacity of gentleman and factotum, I would dress him up a la mode and let him approach Hugh Johnstone," mused the beautiful tourist, but I must be content to use this cold-hearted adventurer Hawke, for he has at least a surface rank of gentleman, and, moreover, he knows my enemy! I must keep Jules and Marie every moment at my side, for some strange things happen in India by day as well as by night. Sir Hugh may dream of some 'unusually distressing accident' as a means of safely ridding himself of a long slumbering specter."

"Of course, this sly jeweler is Alan Hawke's spy! A few guineas extra, however, may buy his 'inner consciousness' for me," she mused. And so it fell out that Ram Lal Singh was destined to drop into the secret service of both Hawke and the fair invader! And, as yet, neither of his intending employers could divine the dark purposes of the oily rascal who had stealthily watched Hugh Fraser for long years to slake the hungry vengeance of a despoiled traitor to the last King of Oude.

Major Hawke found the tete e tete dinner with Hugh Johnstone a mere dull social parade. There was no demure face at the feast slyly regarding him, for while the two watchful secret foes exchanged old reminiscence and newer gossip, Justine Delande was cheering the lonely girl, whose silent mutiny as to her shining prison life now reached almost an open revolt. It was a grateful relief to the Swiss woman, whose agitated heart was softly beating the refrain: "To-morrow! to-morrow! I shall see him again!" She feared a self-betrayal!

While the governess mused upon the extent of her proposed revelations to the handsome Major, that rising social star had adroitly exploited his long tete e tete with Captain Hardwicke to his host, and gracefully magnified the warmth of General Willoughby's personal welcome.

"You see, Johnstone," patiently admitted the man who had dropped into a good thing, "They all want to delve into the secrets of my mission here.

You, of all men," he meaningly said, "cannot blame me for throwing the dust into their eyes. I detest this intrusion, and so in sheer self-defense I am going to give a formal dinner to a lot of these bores, and then cut the whole lot when I've once done the decent thing."

Circling and circling, and yet never daring to approach the subject, old Hugh Johnstone warily returned to the suspended baronetcy affair, at last revealing his secret burning anxieties. But when Alan Hawke heard the train whistles, announcing the arrival of his beautiful employer, he fled away from the smoking-room in a mock official unrest.

"I am expecting dispatches from England, and also very important detailed secret instructions. I've had a warning wire from Calcutta."

He had broken off the se'ance brusquely with a design of his own, and he rejoiced as Hugh Johnstone brokenly said: "Let me see you very soon again. I must have a plain talk with you." The old nabob was in a close corner now. There had been a few bitter queries from the half-distracted girl which showed, even to her stern old father, that his position was becoming untenable.

"d.a.m.n it! I must either talk or send her away," he growled when left alone. "I've half a mind to telegraph Douglas Fraser to come here and convoy this foolish young minx home to Europe. She may grow to be a silent rebel like her mother." His scowl darkened. "And yet, where to send her? I ought to go with them. Can I trust the Delandes to find a safe place to keep her till I come?" He was all unaware that his daughter Nadine was now a woman like her bolder sisters of society, but it was true. The chrysalis was nearing the b.u.t.terfly stage of life and beating the bars with her wings.

The secret exultation of Justine Delande in her shadowy hold on Major Alan Hawke caused her to furtively lead Nadine Johnstone to the head of the great stairway, when Hawke made his adieux.

"He is a handsome young officer," timidly whispered the girl, shrinking back out of sight. "What can he have in common with my father? I thought he was some old veteran." And the awakened heart of Justine Delande bounded in delight. She would have joyed to tell Nadine of her own romantic budding friendship, but a wholesome fear tied her tongue, and she was only happy when caressing the diamond bracelet that night, which encircled her arm, while with dry and aching eyes she waited for the dawn.

While Hugh Johnstone paced the veranda of his lonely marble palace that night, a prey to vague fears, and unwilling to face the accusing eyes of his daughter, Major Alan Hawke, with a sudden astonishment, stood mute before the splendid woman who received him in the mysterious bungalow.

There was scant ceremony of greeting between them, for Berthe Louison impatiently grasped his hands.

"He is here, and the girl, too," she said, with blazing eyes. She stood robed as a queen before her secret agent. "Where were you? You left me here to wait in a torment of anxiety."

"I have just come from his dinner table," quietly said the startled Major. "They are both here, and well. I am already intimate at the house, but I have not seen the girl. I feared being followed or I would have met you at the train." He marveled at her royal beauty. She was conscious now of the power of wealth, and some hidden fire glowed in her veins. "What can I do for you? He watches me. I can only come at night."

"Ah!" the lady sternly said, "we must then play at hide and seek!"

Ringing a silver bell twice, Madame Louison sank into a chair. Alan Hawke started up, inquiringly, as Jules and Marie entered the room from an ante-room, whose door was left ajar.

"Jules! Marie!" calmly said Madame Louison. "This gentleman is my secret business agent. He will call here in the evenings very often. He has pa.s.s keys of his own, and you need not announce him. He is the only person who has the right to be in my house--at all times." The husband and wife bowed in silence and, at a gesture from their mistress, departed silently, having mentally photographed the newcomer.

Gazing in open-eyed astonishment, the surprised Major faltered, "Who are these people? Why did you do this strange thing?"

"To a.s.sure myself of safety," quietly smiled Berthe Louison. "They are my personal servants, whom I brought on from Calcutta, and I have reason to believe that Jules is both alert and courageous. He is a veteran of the Tonquin war, and that pretty scar was a present from the Black Flags. They were selected by one who knows the wiles of my desperate enemy Johnstone."

"Now, Major Hawke, let us to business" calmly continued Berthe, secretly enjoying Alan Hawke's dismay. "Tell me your whole story. Only the events since your arrival here. The rest counts for nothing. We are all on the ground here and I propose to act quickly. I learned some matters in Calcutta which have greatly enlightened me." The facile tongue of the renegade was slow to do the bidding of his unready brain. "Damme! But she's a cool one!" the ex-officer concluded, as he caught his breath.

But, conscious of her watchful eye, he related all his adventures, with a judicious reserve as to Justine Delande. The burning eyes of Berthe Louison were steadily fixed upon the relator's face, and she was coldly noncommittal when Hawke paused for breath and a mental recapitulation.

The Major now gazed upon her immovable visage. There was neither joy nor sorrow, neither the flush of anger nor the trembling of rage, awakened by the businesslike presentment of the social facts. "She is a human icicle," he mused. "She has some deadly hold on him!"

"Can you trust this Ram Lal Singh?" the woman demanded in a business-like tone. Alan Hawke nodded decisively.

"He knows Hugh Fraser Johnstone well?" queried Berthe.

"They have been companions in the mixed line or Delhi since the mutiny,"

earnestly replied Hawke, slowly concluding: "And Ram Lal has been Johnstone's broker in selecting his almost unequaled Indian collection.

Ram is a thief, like all Hindus, but he is square to me. I hold him in my hand. You can trust to him, but only through me!" Berthe Louison raised her eyes and then fixed a searching glance upon Alan Hawke, as if she would read his very soul.

"And, can I trust you?" she said, almost solemnly.

"You remember our strange compact, Madame," coldly said Alan Hawke.

"Here, face to face with the enemy, I expect to know what is required of me--and also what my future recompense will be."

"Ah, I forgot," mused the strange lady of the bungalow. "You have the right to teach me a lesson, in both manners and business. I forgot how sharply I had drawn the line, myself. Well, Sir, I will trust to you without any a.s.surance on your part." She rang the silver bell at her side, once, and the silent Jules appeared, as attentive as Rastigh.e.l.lo in the boudoir of the d.u.c.h.ess of Ferrara. "My traveling bag, Jules,"

said the lady, in a careless tone. There was a silence punctuated only by Alan Hawke's heavy breathing, until the silent servitor returned, bowing and departing without a word, as he placed the bag at Madame Louison's side. With a businesslike air, the lady handed Alan Hawke a sealed letter, addressed simply:

HUGH FRASER JOHNSTONE, ESQ., DELHI.

Near at hand, in the opened bag, the watchful Major saw the revolver and dagger once more which he had noted, at Lausanne.

"Let Ram Lal deliver that personally to the would-be Baronet, to-morrow morning at eight o'clock. He is to say nothing. There will be no reply,"

measuredly remarked the strange woman whose life as Alixe Delavigne had brought to her the legacy of an undying hatred for the man whom she was about to face. "This will bring Hugh Johnstone to me at once!"

"That is all?" stammered Alan Hawke, as he received the doc.u.ment, respectfully standing "at attention."

"No, not quite all!" laughed Berthe Louison. "Pray continue a career of judiciously liberal social splendor here, an external 'swelling port'

just suited to a man whose feet are planted upon a financial rock. But do not overdo it! It might excite Hugh Johnstone's alarm. Here is five hundred pounds in notes. There will be no accounts between us."

"And, I am to do nothing else?" cried Hawke, in surprise. "I fear to have you meet this man alone! He is rich, powerful, and crafty. The nature of your business, I fear, is that of deadly quarrel. Remember, this man is at bay. He is unscrupulous. I fear for you!"

The renegade spoke only the truth. For dark memories of Hugh Fraser's bitter deeds in days past now thronged upon his brain.

"Fear not for me." cried Berthe Louison, springing up like a tigress in defense of her cubs. "Do you know that his life would be the forfeit of a lifted finger? Do you take me for a blind fool?" she raged. "Do you know the power of gold? Ah, my friend, there are unseen eyes watching my pathway here, and may G.o.d have mercy upon any one who practices against me, in secret! Any 'strange happening' to me would be fearfully avenged!

As for this flinty-hearted brute, he would never even reach that threshold alive, if he dared to threaten! Go! Leave him to me. Come here to-morrow night. I shall have need of your cool brain and your ready wit! My only task was to find him and the girl together."

"And if I am questioned about you? If anything occurs?" persisted Alan Hawke.

"Simply ignore my existence; if we meet we are strangers!" gasped Berthe, who had thrown herself on a divan. "Obey me without questioning my motive! Each night you will receive orders for the next day, should I need your secret hand! Go now! I am tired! I must be ready to meet this man!"

Alan Hawke had reached the door, but he turned back. "And as to Ram Lal?

What shall I do?" The woman's eyes flashed fire.

"Leave him also to me! I will handle him! A few rupees--will serve as his bait. Stay! You say that this Swiss woman, Justine Delande, is sympathetic, and seems to be a worthy person?" She was scanning his impa.s.sive face with steely glances now.