“Not one of the seventy-five thousand here,” frankly answered Hawke. “The only man I came here to see, the English Consul, is away on leave.”
“Then I can use you safely,” answered the stranger. “Now, I owe you a breakfast. Will you put me in my carriage? I know the town thoroughly. Remember that it is only business that brings us together, and yet we may become better friends.” In a half an hour they were seated in an arbor by the lake, where a homely German restaurant offered good cheer.
The Lady of the Lake did the honors ceremoniously, and Major Alan Hawke was permitted a cigar after the lake trout, filet, pears, cheese, Chambertin, and black coffee had been discussed. He was both conquered and repentant, and had adroitly atoned for his mauvais debut by a respectful demeanor, which was not feigned. He answered the running fire of questions which had led him from Cape Comorin to the Himalayas, and from Chittagong to the Khyber Pass.
“You are sure that no one in Geneva knows your face?” Berthe Louison asked at last.
“I have been here only two days, and it is twenty years since I first roved over Switzerland on schoolboy leave,” was the truthful answer.
“Then I can use you if you will decide to aid me, after you have heard me. I know, already, all that young Anstruther knows of the whole Johnstone matter. I do not intend to meet him at Paris,” she demurely said. “I am absolutely untrammeled in this world. I am free to act as a woman’s moods sway her. I have plenty of money, a fact which lifts me above the degradation of man’s chase, and I indulge in no illusions. I am a soldier’s daughter, and my dead father was the son of one of Napoleon’s heroes of La Grande Armee. My whole life has been most unconventional; and I am free to dispose of myself, body and soul, and will, but for one thing.” She was pleased with Alan Hawke’s mute glance of inquiry. “Only the business which brought me to Geneva! We are all the slaves of circumstance! The veriest fools of fortune! I do not blame you for your surmises! I had vainly sought, for two years, the very information which I gained last night by chance at a Geneva table d’hote. It was from Anstruther that I discovered the changed name under which Hugh Fraser’s daughter has been hidden from me for years. For I owe this all to chance, to Anstruther’s susceptibility, and to my playing the risque part which you saw fit me so well.” The woman’s eyes were now flashing ominously.
“But you led me on—you deceived me!” stammered Alan Hawke.
“I had nothing to risk!” the resolute beauty replied. “My name is not Berthe Louison, as you may well imagine! As for the little amourette de voyage, I will leave the laurels to your handsome young friend and yourself. I do not play with boys, and, as for you, I should always guard myself against you!
“Now, I will be practical! I know Europe; I do not know India! I need a man brave, cool, and unscrupulous; I need a resolute man to aid me in the one purpose of my life! I wish to go out to India to face this Hugh Fraser, to lift up the curtain of the dead past, and I need a protector—a paid champion—a man who values the only thing which is concrete power in life; a man who knows the power of money! For, gold is irresistible!” Her bright face hardened.
“My duties are, then, not to be of a tender nature,” lightly hazarded Hawke.