Berthe Louison listened to all! “You will get your staff appointment,” she smiled, “and I will help you! Bring your friend General Abercromby to see me here to-morrow evening! I will be amiable to him, for your sake, and for the sake of my future interests!”
The grateful young man, now on the threshold of reinstatement, in a sudden impulse cried, “I can, now, give you Nadine Johnstone’s hiding place! You can trust to me and I will prove it, now! It is—”
“With Andrew Fraser, retired Professor of Edinburgh University, historian and philologist, ethnologist, etc.; St. Agnes Road, St. Heliers, Jersey,” laughingly rejoined Berthe Louison.
“You are a—witch, woman! A wonder!” cried the astounded adventurer.
“Ah! You see that I have trusted you!” she smiled. “Now, do as I bid you, and you will rise in the service! Remember! You are to do just what I say! The bank here, or in Delhi, will give you always my directions. Remember! I shall not lose sight of you for a moment, though near or far! And money and promotion will reward your good faith! Go now! my friend,” she kindly said, extending her hand. “Bring the General, here, tomorrow evening, at eight! I will be busied till then! There is nothing for you to do now!”
The astonished schemer was in a maze as he dashed away to the Calcutta Club to meet General Abercromby. “She is a very devil and a mistress of the Black Art!” he mused. “I will stand by her,” he admiringly cried, “as long as it pays me.” It was the honest tribute of a grateful scoundrel’s heart!
While the happy Abercromby dallied with Major Hawke over a claret cup, an official messenger sought him out, at the Club. “There, my boy! You see that I am a man of my word!” cried the would-be lover. Alan Hawke’s lip trembled as he tore open an envelope directed to him and marked: “On Her Majesty’s Service.” The first in many years. The walls spun around before his eyes when he read his provisional appointment, with an order to report forthwith, to the Chief of Staff, for private instructions. “Ah! I congratulate you, my boy!” heartily cried the happy General. “You are a very devil for luck! One toast to the Viceroy! I’ll meet you here to-night!”
The happiest man in India sped away to his newly opened gate of Paradise Regained, while afar in the sweltering September sun, the gleam of rifles and red coats told of an armed escort on the train, bearing Major Hardwicke and Captain Eric Murray, on to Calcutta, with the swiftness of the wind. Neither of the officers for a moment quitted their compartment, and two chosen sergeants, revolver in hand, watched certain sealed packages lying beside them all there in plain view. Major Hardwicke’s soul was now in his quest!
There was a gleam of romance in the great Viceroy’s morning duties, while Major Hawke had hastened to the Chief of Staff’s office.
Madame Berthe Louison, escorted by her guardian, the bank manager, had placed upon the Viceroy’s table a little document which he studied with great care. “You are sure that there is no mistake?” the statesman said, gravely interrogating the banker. “I will guarantee it, Your Excellency, with its face value, fifty thousand pounds.” answered the financier. It was the memorandum of a policy of assurance for a sealed package, on the steamer Lord Roberts, sent by Hugh Fraser Johnstone to Prof. Andrew Fraser, St. Agnes Road, St. Heliers, Jersey and now half way to England.