"Let the fool arise. The contents are only blank paper. The document
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
assailant 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 document 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.

When nabob Hugh Johnstone's carriage dashed swiftly down the crowded
Chandnee Chouk, on its return to the marble house, the driver and
footman, as well as the slim syce runners, were alarmed at the old
man's appearance when he was half led, half carried out of his luxurious
vehicle. The staggering sufferer reached his rooms and was surrounded by
a bevy of frightened menials, while the equippage dashed away in search
of old Doctor McMorris, the surgeon par excellence of Delhi. A second
butler had hastily darted away to the Delhi Club with an imperative
summons for Major Alan Hawke, who had, unfortunately, left for the day.

With a shudder of affright Mademoiselle Justine Delande had slipped into
a booth on the great thoroughfare, only to feel safe when she glided
into Ram Lal Singh's jewel shop, to be swiftly hurried into the rear
reception room by the argus-eyed m