Major Hawke assumed a mysterious air, “That depends upon the Russian and Chinese game—the Persian and Afghan intrigues! You see, I am awaiting some ripening affairs in the F. O. I was called back on account of my familiarity with the Pamirs, and there’s a good bit of Blue Book work that my knowledge of Penj Deh, and the whole Himalayan line has helped out.” The captain was a bit agnostic now.
“You were—-” began Anson Anstruther, timidly, the old vague gossip returning to haunt him. His ardor was cooling in view of the very neat sum of his losses in three figures.
“On Major Montgomerie’s escort as a raw boy when I came out,” promptly interrupted Hawke. “I went all over Thibet in ‘75 with Nana Singh as a youngster. He was a wonderful chap and besides executing the secret survey of Thibet, he ran all over Cashmere, Nepaul, Sikkim, and Bhootan, secretly charged with securing authentic details of the death of Nana Sahib.” The cool assurance of the adventurer disarmed the now serious Anstruther, for both the sagacious English officer and his disguised assistant, Nana Singh, were both dead these many years. “Morley’s is my regular address; I keep up no home club memberships now,” coolly said Hawke, as at last they threw the cards down.
Anstruther picked up his marker card as he glanced at Hawke’s ready money upon the table. There was a ten-pound note folded under the Major’s neat pocket case and a plethoric fold of Bank of England notes bulged the neat Russia leather. He never knew that only thirteen one-pound notes made up this brave financial show of his adversary. Alan Hawke was a past master of keeping up a brave exterior and he blessed the Cook’s Tourists who had that day left these small bills with the hotel cashier.
“Now, here you are,” hastily said Anstruther. “Do you make the same total as I do?” The spoiled patrician boy carelessly shoved out sixty pounds in notes and rummaging over his portmanteau produced a check book. “There, I think that’s right. Check on Grindlay, 11 and 12 Parliament Street, for four hundred and twenty-eight.” Hawke bowed gravely with the air of a satisfied duelist, and then carelessly swept the check and notes into his breast pocket.
“Tell me, what sort of a girl is this Nadine Johnstone,” the wanderer said, by way of a diversion.
“I can’t tell you! Only old General Willoughby has pierced the veil. Of course, Johnstone could not refuse a visit from the Commander of Her Majesty’s forces. In fact, Harry Hardwicke, of the Engineers, accompanied Willoughby. The old chief treats Hardwicke as a son since he bore the body of the dear old fellow’s son out of fire in the Khyber Pass, and won a promotion and the V. C. Harry says the girl is a modern Noor-Mahal! But, she is as speechless and timid as a startled fawn! Now, Major, you will excuse me. I have to leave you!” There was a fretful haste in the passionate boy’s manner. The hour was already near midnight.
“Shall I not see you to-morrow?” politely resumed Hawke. “You will not spend your whole morning with the stern damsel in spectacles and steel-like armor of indurated poplin?”
“Do you know I’m afraid I shall miss you,” earnestly said the aide. “Hugh Johnstone wishes me to urge Mademoiselle Euphrosyne to allow her sister to remain in India, in charge of the Rose of Delhi until the old eccentric returns. Of course, the girl left alone would be an easy prey to every fortune hunter in India, should anything happen!” There was a ferocious, wild gleam in Alan Hawke’s eyes as the aide grasped his hat and stick. “I wish to probe the family records and find out what I can of the ‘distaff side of the line,’ as Mr. Guy Livingstone would say. I have some really valuable presents, and I am on honor to the Viceroy in this, for, of course, a baronetcy must not be given into sullied hands. Johnstone will probably hermetically seal the girl up till the Kaisar-I-Hind has spoken officially. Then, if this delicate matter of the hidden booty of the King of Oude is settled, the old fellow intends to return to the home place he has bought. I’m told it’s the finest old feudal remnant in the Channel Islands, and magnificently modernized. The government does not want to press him. You see they can’t! The things went out of the hands of the hostile traitor princes, and Hugh Fraser, as he was, cajoled them from the custody of the go-betweens. We have never gone back on the plighted word of a previous Governor-General! The Queen’s word must not be broken. I have a bit of persuading to do, and some other little matters to settle!”
“Well, then, Anstruther, we may meet again on the line of the Indus,” said Hawke, with his lofty air. “I have always preferred the secret service to mere routine campaigning, for, really, the waiting spoils the fighting! Poor Louis Cavagnari! He confirmed my taste for silent and outside work! I was sent out from Cabul by him as private messenger just before that cruel massacre, a faux pas, which I vainly predicted. He taught me to play ecarte, by the way!”