General Abercromby turned a stony eye upon his host. “Does Willoughby go there?” he huskily whispered.
“Never crossed the line! Hawke is far too shy. You see, Willoughby has not recognized Major Hawke’s rank and past services!”
“Ah!” said the jealous warrior. “If Hawke is the man you say he is, I can get the Viceroy to give him a local rank, in two weeks! Send him down with me to Calcutta!” and the gay old would-be lover jingled away on his morning ride.
“This may be my one anchor of safety!” gasped the wondering Johnstone, as Alan Hawke came dashing into the grounds. In half an hour, the broken entente cordiale was restored, and Johnstone had slipped away and questioned the wary Ram Lal.
“All I know is that the lady hired the house temporarily from me, I am agent for Runjeet Hoy, who owns it now. She went without a word, and gave me three hundred pounds yesternight, for her rent and supplies. I asked the Mem-Sahib no questions. She went away all by herself, in the middle of the night.”
“Ah! You know nothing more?” sharply queried Johnstone.
“Of course not! I thought you, or Hawke Sahib, or General Wilhoughby, was a secret friend.” Slyly said Ram Lal.
“She owes you nothing? You do not expect her to return?” the nabob cried.
“I think she has gone to Calcutta! She came from there.”
“Come to-night, privately, Ram Lal. I’ll show you how to get in. Just tap at my bedroom window three times. Come secretly, at eleven o’clock, and find out all you can. Wait in the garden till the house is dark. I’ll pay you well,” continued Johnstone, leading the old jeweler to his bedroom. “I will leave this one window unfastened. So you can come in! The room will be dark!”