ustine Delande must be my secret friend! I
wonder if Euphrosyne really swallowed the bait! If she has fallen into
the trap and written to her sister, then--all is well!"

His eyes roved over the familiar scene of the broad Chandnee Chouk,
sweeping magnificently away from the Lahore gate to the superb palace.
The sun beat down with its old ferocious glare on shop and bazaar. Grave
merchants lolled over their priceless treasures of gold and silver work,
heaped up jewels and bullion-threaded shawls for princely wear. Under
the awnings lingered the familiar polyglot groups, while beggary and
opulence jostled each other on every hand.

"It's the same old road in life!" murmured Alan Hawke, "whether called
Inderput, Shahjehanabad, or Delhi--the same old game goes on here
forever, here by the sacred Jumna!"

He was dreaming of the artful part which he had to play in the fierce
modern race for wealth. "They used to fight for it like men in the old
days," he bitterly murmured. "Now, the only gold that I see before me
is to be had by gentlemanly blackmail! Right here--between old Hugh
Johnstone and this flinty-hearted woman avenger--lies my fortune. And I
swear that nothing shall stop me! I will be the prompter of the little
play now ready for a first rehearsal!" His eyes lighted up viciously
as he was swept along past the great marble house, gleaming out in the
shady compound, where the Rosebud of Delhi was hidden.

"Cursed old curmudgeon! To lock the girl up!" muttered the handsome
young rascal. "Old Ram Lal must do a bit of spying for me!" Hawke could
see on the raised plateau of marble steps all the evidences of the
sumptuous luxury of the haughty Briton, "who toils not, neither does
he spin." But, the dozen pointed arches on each face of the vast palace
house of the budding baronet showed no sign of life. The clustered
marble columns stretched out in a splendid lonely perspective, and
the square inner castellated keep rose up in the glaring sun, but with
closed and shaded windows. Dusky shapes flitted about, busied in the
infinitesimal occupations of Indian servitors, but no graceful woman
form could be seen in the witching gardens where a Rajah might have
fitly held a durbar.

"I'll warrant the old hunks has Bramah locks and Chubb's burglar proofs
to fence this beauty off!" growled the Major, as he sank back in the
carriage. "I fancy, though, that a liberal dose of Madame Louison's
gold, judiciously administered by me,