lit a cigar and then took a refreshing draught from a pocket
flask.

"Now open your strong box and show me your jewels! I want some of them!"
The sobbing wretch at his feet demurred until the cold nozzle of the
pistol was pressed against his forehead. "I will make the English
bankers pay the other four bills; but, you brute, did you think that
I would let you off with a poor five thousand pounds? Harken! I go to
England in a week! Then you are safe forever! Bring out all your jewels!
You got fifty thousand pounds from the old man! I know it!"

Begging and beseeching in vain, Ram Lal crawled to his great iron strong
box studded over with huge knobs, and, after a half an hour's critical
selection, Alan Hawke had concealed on his person four little bags,
in which he had made the shivering wretch place the choicest of his
treasures.

"Call up your man now. Do not stir for an instant from my side! If the
drafts are not with me before sundown to-morrow, you will be hung in
chains, and the ravens will finish what the hangman leaves! Remember--my
boy! The rail and telegraph will cut off any little tricks of yours!
And," he laughed, "you will not run away; you have too much here to
leave. It would be a fat haul for the Crown authorities. I will keep
my eye on you, near or far. I will be with you always. We have our own
little secret, now!"

"I will obey--only save me! Save me, Hawke Sahib. I will do all upon
my head, I will!" pleaded Ram Lal, whose vast fortune was indeed at the
mercy of the law.

"Call up your servants. Get out the carriage. Go back to your women.
Make merry. You are perfectly safe, but only if you obey me!" was the
last mandate of the triumphant bravo. When he stepped out of the house,
attended by the frightened murderer, Alan Hawke whispered from the
carriage: "Your house is under a close watch--even now. Remember--I give
you till sundown, and if you fail, I will come with the guard! I shall
seal up the dagger and leave it here with a message to the General
Willoughby Sahib to be given to him, at once, by one who knows you! So,
I can trust you. Nothing must happen to your dear friend, you know!" he
smilingly said in adieu, as Ram Lal groaned in anguish.

Alan Hawke had closely examined the vehicle, and he sat with his drawn
revolver ready as he drove down the still lit-up Chandnee Chouk. In a
storm of remorse and agony, the plundered jeweler was now doubly locked
up in his room. "I must do this devil's