only belted on a heavy Adams revolver, and
concluded at last that some others of the household were busied
in secret dissipation or nocturnal lovemaking. "No one man has a
controlling patent on being a fool," mused Simpson. "Black and white,
we're all of a muchness." And as he knew they might now leave at any
moment he sped away to his last delightful nights in Delhi.

On the night when Alan Hawke returned from Calcutta, the inky blackness
of an approaching storm wrapped dreaming Delhi in an impenetrable
mantle. Under the huge camphor tree where the cobra had risen in its
horrid menace before the frightened girl, a dark figure waited till a
man glided to his side. His head was bent as the spy reported "Simpson
is gone to the quarter. Two of our men have followed him, and, if
he returns, he will be stopped on the way." The only answer was an
outstretched arm, and the whispered words, "Go, then, and watch."

"It is the very night--the night of all nights!" muttered the watcher
under the tree, and then, stealing forward, he tapped three times at the
window where Hugh Johnstone stood with his heart beating high in all
the pride of a coming triumph ready to open to the man who was settling
hisprivate affairs.

"No one shall know that I have stolen away," he mused. "Forever and in
the night."

A light foot pressed the floor as the expected one glided over the low
window sill. There was a night lamp burning dimly in a shaded corner.
"Put out the light. I must tell you something. We are both watched and
spied on!" whispered a well-known voice.

As Hugh Johnstone turned from the corner, in the darkness, there was a
gurgling cry--a half-smothered groan--as Mirzah Shah's poisoned dagger
was driven to the hilt between his shoulders. His accounts were settled,
at last!

An hour later, a dark form crept through the gardens toward the gate
where Harry Hardwicke had rode in to the rescue. There was a silent
struggle as two men wrestled in the darkness, and one fled away into the
shadows of the night. It was the chance meeting of a spy and a murderer.

And then Major Alan Hawke stooped and picked up a heavy dagger lying at
his feet. "I have the beggar's knife," he growled. And, with a sudden
intention, he vanished toward the Club, for the knife of Mirzah Shah was
reeking, and Hugh Johnstone had gone out on his darkened path alone. He
had left Delhi--forever.

BOOK III. PRINCE DJIDDIN'S VISIT TO ENGLAND.

CHAPTER XI