“Oh! I say, Hawke,” cried Anstruther, “they’ll show you up to my rooms in a few moments. I’ll go and see the maitre d’hotel here! The service is beastly—beastly!” and the youth fled quickly away.
Major Alan Hawke nodded affably, and slowly mounted the staircase to his room, wondering if the aid-de-camp was destined by the gods to furnish forth his purse for the return to India. “He’s pretty well set up now, and he evidently has his eye upon this brown-eyed nixie. Dare I rush my luck? The boy’s a bit stupid at cards.” With downcast eyes the anxious adventurer wandered along the corridor in the dimly-lighted second story. It was the turning point of his career.
There was the rapid rustle of silk, the patter of gliding feet, a warm, trembling hand seized his own, and in the darkness of a window recess he was aware that he was suddenly made the prize of the fair corsair ci la Houbigant. “Quick, quick, tell me! Do you go with him?” the strange enchantress said, in excited tones, using the English tongue as if to the manner born.
“Madame! I hardly understand,” cautiously said the astounded Major.
“I want you to help me! You must help me! I must see him! I must find out all.” The sound of a servant’s steps arrested her incoherent remarks. “Wait here!” the excited woman whispered, as she walked back down the hall. There was a whispered colloquy, and Alan Hawke caught the gleam of the silver neck chain of the maitre d’hotel. The sound of an opening door was heard, and, in a few moments the flying Camilla returned to her hidden prey.
“Tell me truly,” she panted, “what will you do with him? He wishes me to ride with him; my answer depends on you. You are in trouble; I can see it in your haggard eyes. Help me now, and—and I will help you!” And then Alan Hawke spoke truly to the waif of Destiny, whom chance had thrown in his way.
“I only wish to play with him for a couple of hours; if luck turns my way, that will be time enough!”
“Ah! you would have money! Let him go away in peace! Help me to-morrow, here, and I will give you money!”
“What is your own scheme?” the doubting vaurien demanded.
“I must know all of this Hugh Johnstone, all about this girl,” she whispered, her lips almost touching his cheek.