A Fascinating Traitor Part 13

"She is younger than her sister Euphrosyne," gravely said Alan Hawke, "and not without some personal attractions. Her older sister adores her.

Even this old brute, Johnstone, seems to treat her with great respect and deference."

"There is the only danger to us! Watch that woman! Mingle freely in the Johnstone household," said Berthe, wearily, "but never cast your eyes toward Nadine. Never even hint to this Swiss governess that you have seen her sister. After they return to Europe it is another thing.

Silence and discretion now. Good night. Come to-morrow night at ten o'clock; all will be quiet, and you can steal away from the Club in safety."

Major Alan Hawke stole away to the hidden entrance like a thief of the night. He started as he saw the menacing figure of Jules Victor glide swiftly after him to the secret opening in the wall. The servitor spoke not a single word, but watched the business agent disappear. "I must watch this d.a.m.ned Frenchman," he mused, feeling for his packet of notes and loosening his revolver. "He may be set on by this she devil to watch Ram Lal." And then Hawke gayly sought the jewel merchant, lingering an hour in the very room where he was on the morrow to meet the heart-awakened Justine. Old Ram Lal grinned as he accepted the letter.

He was happy, for he heard the jingling of golden guineas in the near future. "You have nothing to do with me, Ram Lal," laughed the Major.

"The lady will give you your orders, only you are to tell me all for both our sakes. I will see you rewarded," and again Ram Lal grinned in his quiet way.

When Alan Hawke's head was resting on his pillow he suddenly became possessed with a strange new fear. "By G.o.d! I believe that she has been here before; she seems to be up to the whole game."

Alan Hawke's steps hardly died away in the hallway before the beautiful Nemesis made a careful inspection of her splendid reception-room. The splendors of its curtained arches, its fretted ceiling, and its frescoed walls were idly pa.s.sed over, for the woman only made an exhaustive survey of its geometrical arrangement. Marie Victor was in waiting at her side, and the mistress and maid were soon joined by Jules. Throwing open the door of a little adjoining cabinet, Madame Louison whispered a few private directions to the ex-Communard. "Do this at once yourself; none of the blacks are to know. I trust none of them!" imperatively commanded Berthe. "Marie will receive him. You are to be here at nine o'clock, and be sure to let no one of these yellow spies observe you.

Now, both of you. Here is the rearrangement of the furniture. This will be your first task in the morning. You can both use the whole household for these changes. They are to obey you in all. Let all be ready when I have breakfasted. Now, Marie, I will try and rest. Jules, inspect and examine the house; then you can take your post for the night at my door.

Have you exhausted every possibility of any trickery in the sleeping room?"

"There's but the one door, Madame. Trust to me. I have sounded every inch of the walls, and even examined the floor." Jules Victor's romantic nature thrilled with the possibilities of the little life drama to come.

Berthe Louison departed to rest upon her arms the night before the battle. Much marveled the swarming band of Ram Lal's creatures that no human being was suffered to approach the Lady of the Bungalow but her two white attendants. Berthe Louison had not reached the idle luxury of employing a dozen Hindus in infinitesimal labors near her person. For she fathomed easily Ram Lal's devotion to Major Alan Hawke.

The presence of keen-eyed Marie Victor's bra.s.s camp-bed in My Lady's sleeping-room was a source of wonder to the velvet-eyed spy who was Ram Lal's especial "Bureau of Intelligence." "Strange ways has this Mem-Sahib," murmured the Hindu when he craved to know if the Daughter of the Sun and Light of the World desired aught. "I will then have two to watch. The waiting woman has the eye of a tiger."

A personal verification of the fact that Jules Victor was encamped for the night, en zouave, on a divan drawn before the only door joining the boudoir and sleeping-room, caused the sly spy to greatly marvel, for the scarred face of the French social rebel was ominously truculent, and a pair of Lefacheux revolvers and a heavy knife lay within the ready reach of this strange "outside guard."

In the dim watches of the first night in Delhi, the same barefooted Hindu spy learned by a visit of furtive inspection, that a night light steadily burned in the boudoir where Jules was toujours pret. The sneaking rascal crept away, with a violently beating heart, fearing even the rustle of his bare feet upon the mosaic floor.

And all this, and much more, did he deliver with abject humility to Ram Lal Singh, when that worthy appeared the next day to crave his mysterious patron's orders. It seemed a tough nut to crack, this tripart.i.te household arrangement.

The dawn found Madame Berthe Louison as alertly awake as bird and beast stirring in the ruined splendors of old Shahjehanabad. Long before the anxious Justine Delande arose to deck herself furtively for her tryst with Alan Hawke, Berthe Louison knew that all her orders of the night before were executed.

"You are sure that you can see perfectly, Jules?" said the anxious woman.

"I command the whole side of the room where you will be seated," replied the Frenchman, "and the ornaments and carved tracery cover the aperture.

Marie has tested it and I have also done the same, reversing our positions. Nothing can be seen."

"Good! Remember! Nine o'clock sees you at your post! You are prepared?"

The woman's voice trembled.

"Thoroughly!" cried the alert servitor, "Only give me your signal! I must make no mistake! There's no time to think in such cases!" He bent his head, while his mistress, in a low voice gave her last orders. Jules saluted, as if he were the leader of a forlorn hope.

"And now for the first skirmish!" mused Berthe Louison, as she personally examined some matters, of more material interest to her, in the reception-room.

The rearrangement of the furniture seemed to be satisfactory, and Madame Berthe Louison composedly busied herself with the arrangement of a writing case, and a few womanly articles upon the table which she had chosen as her own peculiar fortification. A few moments were wasted upon trifling with a well-worn envelope, now carefully hidden in her bosom.

This maneuver pa.s.sed the time needed for a stately carriage to sweep up from the opened grand gate of the bungalow to the raised veranda steps.

"There he is!" she grimly said. "Now, for the first blood!"

A man who was shaking with mingled rage and fear hastily strode across the broad portico, as Berthe Louison glided away from the curtained window and confidently resumed her own chosen chair. Her bosom was heaving, her eye was fixed and stern, and she steadily awaited her foe, for one last warning whisper had reached her hidden servitor.

When Marie Victor threw open the double doors of the reception room, on its threshold stood the towering form of the man whom Alixe Delavigne had known in other years as Hugh Fraser, the man whose pallid face told her that he knew at last that he was under the sword of Damocles! Clad in white linen, his sun helmet in his hand, steadying himself with a jeweled bamboo crutch-handled stick, the old Anglo-Indian waited until Berthe Louison's voice rang out, as clear as a silver bell: "Marie! I am not to be interrupted." she calmly said. "You may wait beyond, in the ante-room!"

The woman who had emerged from the dark penumbra of a dead Past, to torture the embryo Baronet, gazed silently at the stern old man glowering there.

Striding up to her, the insolent habit of years was, strong upon him, as he hoa.r.s.ely said: "What juggling fiend of h.e.l.l brings you here?"

Without a tremor in her voice, the lady of Jitomir replied:

"I came here to undo the work of years! To teach an orphaned girl to know that a love which hallows and which blesses, can reach her from the grave in which your cold brutality buried the only being I ever loved!

She shall know her mother, from my lips, and not wither in the gray h.e.l.l of your egoism. I have searched the world over, and found you, at last, together!"

"By G.o.d! You shall never even see her face, you she-devil!" cried the infuriated old man, nearing the defiant woman. "You were the go-between for your worthless sister and that Russian cur, Troubetskoi!"

"You lie! Hugh Fraser, you lie!" cried Berthe, in a ringing voice. "You crushed the flower that Fate had drifted within your reach! You turned her into the streets of London to starve! You robbed her of her child, all this to feed your own flinty-hearted tyrant vanity! She was divorced from you by a Royal Russian Decree, before she married the man whose heart broke when she was laid in the tomb. She rests with the princes of his line, and her tomb bears the name of wife!"

The old nabob crept nearer, growling:

"You shall never see the child's face!"

Then, Alixe Delavigne sprang up and faced him: "There she is! on my heart! Just what her mother was, before you sent her to an early grave.

Valerie died hungering for one sight of that child's face!" Throwing the picture of Nadine Johnstone on the table, the lady of Jitomir said: "Pierre Troubetskoi left to me the wealth which makes me your equal. I fear you not! I shall see Nadine to-morrow!"

"Never!" roared Hugh Johnstone, now beyond all control. "I defy you!

Beware how you approach my threshold!" His eyes were murderous in their steely blue gleam, and, yet, he met a glance as steady as his own.

"Listen," said Berthe Louison, sinking back into her chair, "I will tell you a little story." Hugh Johnstone was now gazing at the photograph, which trembled in his hand. "Once upon a time a man secreted a vast deposit of jewels, really the spoil of a deposed king, and, rightly, the property of the victorious British Government!" The photograph fell to the floor as the old man sprang up from the chair, into which he had dropped. "This paper, the receipt for the deposit, once delivered to the Viceroy of India--and the Baronetcy which is to be your life crown is lost for ever." The old man's hands knotted themselves in anger. "The lying story that the deposit was stolen by an underling will bring you, Hugh Johnstone, to the felon's cell! You shall live to wear the convict's chain! The Government is partly aware of the facts. It rests for me to give the Viceroy the receipt for your private deposit. The private bank vault in Calcutta has hidden your shame for twenty years.

You know the condition of your settlement with the Government. Now, shall I see my sister's child? I hold your very existence here--in the hollow of my hand!" The dauntless woman drew forth a yellowed envelope from her breast. There was a smothered shriek, a crash and a groan, as Jules Victor, springing from his concealment, hurled the infuriated man to the floor!

With a knee on the panting nabob's breast, he hissed:

"Move, and you are a dead man!"

"Take the paper, Madame," calmly said the victorious Jules. Then Alixe Delavigne laughed scornfully.

"Let the fool arise. The contents are only blank paper. The doc.u.ment is where I can find it for use. Remain here, Jules," concluded the triumphant woman, as she replaced the photograph in her bosom. "Take the envelope--you know it, Hugh Fraser. I stole it the night you drove the sister I loved from our miserly lodgings in London." The furious onslaught had failed, and the old nabob was only a cowering, cringing prisoner at will. He dared not even cry out.

Hugh Johnstone groaned as his eyes turned from the woman, now laughing him to scorn, to the stern-faced Frenchman, who was covering the baffled a.s.sailant with the grim Lefacheux revolver.

"Send this man away. Let us talk, Alixe," muttered the astounded Johnstone. Then a mocking laugh rang out in the room.

"I am in no hurry now. I can wait. I like Delhi, and I shall find my way to Nadine's side, and she shall know the story of a mother's love. One signal from me, by telegraph, and the doc.u.ment goes to the Viceroy. So, I fear you not, my would-be strangler! It is for me to make conditions!

Listen! I will send my carriage and my man to your house to-morrow morning at ten. You will have made up your mind then. I have friends all around me, here, at Allahabad, and in Calcutta. If you practice any treachery on me you die the death of a dog, even here, in your robber nest!"

"I will come! I will come!" faltered Johnstone.

"Ah!" smiled the lady. "Jules, show Sir Hugh Johnstone to his carriage."

And then turning her back in disdain, she vanished without a word.

CHAPTER VII. THE PRICE OF SAFETY.