t sight of a womanly figure at a window above him,
watching his retreat in due state, and there was the flutter of a
handkerchief as his carriage drove around the oval. "I wonder if Ram
Lal knows about the jewels. I must buy him out and out, or make Berthe
Louison do it unconsciously for me," so mused the victorious renegade.
"He is afraid of me! Now to dispatch Ram Lal to Allahabad. I must only
see Berthe Louison, at night, in her own bungalow, for my shy old bird
would take the alarm were we seen together. What the devil is her game?
I know mine, and I swear that I will soon know hers. I have him guessing
now. I must hunt up Hardwicke and call on old Willoughby to keep up the
dumb show. Johnstone may watch me--very likely he will. He is afraid of
some coup de theatre." He drove in a leisurely way back to the Club and
sported the oak after giving Ram Lal his last orders.

"I think I hear the jingle of gold 'in the near future,' as the Yankees
say; and, Miss Justine, you shall open the way to the veiled Rose of
Delhi for me, while Berthe Louison tortures this old vetch. Place aux
dames! Place aux dames!" he laughed.

BOOK II. "A DEVIL FOR LUCK."

CHAPTER VI. THE MYSTERIOUS BUNGALOW.

If the fates favored Major Alan Hawke upon this eventful day, for as he
was contentedly awaiting the news of Ram Lal's departure for Allahabad,
the card of Captain Harry Hardwicke, A. D. C., and of the Engineers, was
sent up to him. With a neat bit of Indian art, old Ram Lal had sent the
carriage around to report, as a mute signal of his own departure. It was
a flood tide of good fortune!

In ten minutes, the Major and his welcome guest were spinning along in
the cool of the evening, toward the deserted ruins of the old city of
Delhi! As they passed through the Lahore gate, Hardwicke's pith helmet
was doffed with a jerk, as a superb carriage passed them, proceeding in
a stately swing. Major Alan Hawke bowed low as he caught the cold eye of
the would-be Sir Hugh Johnstone.

"Who are the ladies, Hardwicke?" laughed the Major, as he saw the young
officer's face suddenly crimson. "For a man who won the V. C. in your
dashing style, you seem to be a bit beauty-shy!" They were hardly
settled yet for their cozy chat. Hardwicke lit a cheroot to cover his
evident confusion.

"I know" he slowly answered, "that one of them is Miss or Madame
Delande, old Fraser's house duenna--I will still call him Fraser, you
see--the other is the