263

XXVIII TRAVERS NUGENT PAYS 274

XXIX THE STING OF THE NETTLE 287

XXX AFTERMATH OF STORM 296

A TRAITOR'S WOOING

CHAPTER I

TWO VILLAINS AND THE HEROINE

"Your Highness will find your opportunity now; Miss Maynard is for the
moment alone," Mr. Travers Nugent whispered to his companion.

A guttural "Ah!" was the only answer as the individual addressed left
the speaker's side and made his way through the crush towards a tall
girl who had just dismissed her partner in the last dance. The ball-room
at Brabazon House was almost inconveniently crowded on the occasion of
this, the first great function of the London season, and progress was a
little difficult. A gleam of satisfaction crept into Mr. Nugent's
steadily following eyes when at length the Maharajah stood bowing before
the fair young Englishwoman.

The Indian Prince, a notable figure by reason of the jewelled turban
that crowned his otherwise orthodox European evening dress, gave his arm
to the girl, who greeted him with a pleasant smile of recognition, and
together the pair strolled out through one of the French windows into
the vast tropical winter-garden for which Brabazon House is celebrated.
The dusky face of the Maharajah as it disappeared from view wore an
expression of ecstatic rapture that caused Mr. Nugent's thin lips to
curl in the ghost of a sneer.

"His Highness won't look like that when he comes back," the watcher
muttered under his breath, as he leaned against a pillar and composed
himself to wait. Mr. Travers Nugent spent much of his life in
waiting--with the consolation of knowing that there was generally a big
stake to wait for. He was a well-built man of middle age and height,
wearing a long, fair moustache that at first sight gave him rather a
distinguished air--an impression that was, however, negatived for any
student of character by a hint of shiftiness in the close-set blue eyes.

A bachelor of good family, and of no visible occupation, Travers Nugent
moved easily in the orbit of West End society. He occupied a luxurious
flat in Jermyn Street, and rented besides a pretty cottage in
Devonshire, to which he retired after the fatigues of the season. He had
a host of acquaintances, but very few intimates, and even to these
latter the source of his income was a my