Pointing to the key, he mutely signed to the woman to lock herself in. Then down the stair he crept, ready to face any unseen enemy. The light streamed out from Janet Fairbarn’s open door. “Perhaps it was only old Simpson, drunk, or trying to gain a surreptitious entrance,” he mused. But the woman had pointed to the light and the keyhole of the door. “Some one is in the old man’s study!” Yes! There was the little tell-tale pencil of light flickering on the darkened wall opposite. And Hardwicke scented danger. “Was it Alan Hawke?”
Light-footed as the panther, the young soldier crept to the heavy oaken door. A moment in his crouching position showed to him a man, with his back toward him, raising one of the great red tiles of the study floor. Yes! There was only a moment of suspense, for the tile was slid aside, and a package was then eagerly clutched. With one mighty leap, the Major bounded to the man’s side as the door swung open. The cold steel muzzle pressed the ruffian’s temple as Hardwicke’s hand closed upon the burglar’s throat. There lay the sealed canvas package, covered with official Indian seals. In an instant, the Major’s knee was on the scoundrel’s breast.
“One single sound, and I blow your brains out!” hissed the disguised Englishman. And, astounded at the apparition of a stalwart Hindu warrior, Jack Blunt’s teeth chattered with fear. Dragging the half-throttled wretch to his feet, Hardwicke tore off the sash of his Indian sleeping robe and bound the villain’s arms behind him. Picking up his saber, he then cut the bell cord and lashed the fellow’s legs to a chair. Then, giving the canvas package a closer glance of inspection, Hardwicke pressed the edge of his tulwar to Jack Blunt’s throat, when he had closed the window, half raised, and shut the shutter so neatly forced with a jimmy. “What’s in that package?” he said, with a sudden divination of Alan Hawke’s overmastering influence.
“A lot of valuable jewels,” the sneaking ruffian answered. “If you’ll turn me loose, I’ll now save what’s dearer to you than all this diamond stuff that I was sent for. I’ve watched you here for three weeks. You’re after the girl. By God! Hawkes got her now!”
“Do you speak the truth?” said Hardwicke. “If you deceive me, I’ll butcher you! Speak quickly! You’ve got just one chance to save transportation for life now!”
The coward thief muttered: “The old man is on his way back from St. Heliers, and Hawke’s got a dozen French fellows to run the girl off and perhaps ‘do up’ the old man. But he wanted this same stuff. He’s a downy cove!”
While Jack Blunt worked upon the lover’s fears, “Prince Djiddin’s” hands, on an exploring tour, drew out a knife and two revolvers from the captured burglar’s wideawake coat. He picked up the bulky bundle which the thief had dropped, and saw the bank seals of Calcutta and the insurance labels thereon. “I’ll give you a show. Keep silent!” cried Hardwicke as he cut the cords on the fellow’s legs. Then grasping him by the neck, he dragged him bodily to the door of the “Moonshee’s” room, where he thrust him in. Then he locked the door, and knocking on his own, induced the frightened Janet Fairbarn to open at last. The poor woman screamed as “Prince Djiddin” calmly said: “Go and rouse up the girls. Send one of them to bring the gardener and his two men over here. I’ve got the thief locked up.”
“My God! who are you?” screamed the affrighted Scotswoman, as the Prince dropped into English.
“I’m an English officer, madam. Don’t be a fool. Rouse these people. There’s been one crime already committed, and there may be another. There’s no one else in the house. Get the three men over here at once to me. I’ll stand guard over this thief.” Then as Janet Fairbarn fled away shrieking and yelling, Harry Hardwicke locked the recovered package in his own trunk, which stood in his room. Bounding across the hall, he then dragged his captive over the way and thrust him in a helpless heap into a chair. Before Hardwicke was dressed, he had extorted the secret of the rendezvous at the old Martello tower.
“Now, sir, no one has seen you yet,” said Hardwicke. “If you guide me there and save her, you shall cut stick. If you betray me, then, by God, you shall die on the spot.” A groan of acquiescence sealed the bargain, as the three gardeners, armed with bili-hooks and pruning-knives, now burst into the room. “One of you stay here with the women. Light up the whole house now. Let no one leave it till I return. Now, you two, each take a pistol. Get your lanterns, at once, and a good club each. Come back instantly here.”