“They went to the railroad at two o’clock at night, the coachman told me. We only began our watch by your orders at daybreak. She had been then gone four hours.” Johnstone foamed in an impotent rage.
“Who is left in the house?” he roared.
“Nobody, Sahib.” tersely said the Hindu.
“Get out and send me Simpson!” the old man sternly said. “Go back and watch that house till I have you relieved. Tell me everyone who goes in or out!”
And then the horrible fear that Willoughby or Abercromby had deceived him, began to dawn upon his excited mind. “Simpson,” he cried, “there’s a good fellow! Take the first trap and get over to Major Hawke. Tell him that I must see him here, at once, on the most important business. He must come. Then get to Ram Lal, and bring him yourself to your own room. Let me know, privately, when he is there. Never mind my dressing. Send me a couple of the others. Is the General awake?”
“Just coming down for his ride! Horses ordered in half an hour!”
Simpson fled away, muttering, “Hardwicke must know of this!”
Hugh Johnstone fancied that he was dreaming when he met his official guest, refreshed and jovial, but still under the spell of Venus.
“See here, Hugh!” said the gallant Abercromby. “I want you to present me to that stunning woman over there, at the Silver Bungalow, you know. They tell me she’s the Queen of Delhi. You old rascal, I’m bound to know her! Can’t we have a little breakfast there, under the rose?” A last desperate expedient occurred to Johnstone. His baronetcy was in danger now.
“There’s but one man in Delhi can bring you within the fairy circle. That’s Hawke—a devilish good officer too, by the way! Ought to be back on the ‘Temporary Staff,’ at least! He comes here to breakfast! I’ll turn you over to him. He manages all the lady’s private affairs. He is your man.”