In vain Andrew Fraser raved to the Magistrate, demanding that Major Hardwicke and Captain Murray should explain their past conduct. “I am directed by General Wragge to say that he will visit you, himself, officially, to-morrow, Professor Fraser, and he will have an important governmental communication for you. Until then, I desire these two gentlemen to be allowed to remain in your house. They will remove all their luggage this evening.” And then, old Fraser, with a presage of coming trouble, shivered in a sullen silence. Conscience smote him, sorely.
“The lost jewels!” In fact, a handsomely appointed carriage and a van, in the afternoon, removed all of the effects of the two pseudo “orientals,” who, half an hour after the carriage had arrived, appeared in their respective undress uniforms of the Royal Engineers and the Eighth Lancers, to the dismay of old Fraser—now affrighted at his dangerous position. There was gloom in the house now, for Miss Nadine Johnstone flatly refused to even see her guardian a single moment! And Simpson, alone, sat in conclave with Major Hardwicke, who had learned privately of the secret removal of Alan Hawke’s body to St. Heliers. Messengers, in uniform, coming and going rapidly, were hourly admitted to Major Hardwicke’s presence, and already a pale-faced woman was on her way from Geneva to rejoin Madame Alixe Delavigne, at the old chateau mansion where Captain Murray only awaited the arrival of Anstruther now ready to open his siege batteries on the man who had covered up his brother’s crime. There was not a word to be gleaned from the authorities, and St. Heliers was simply convulsed in a useless fever of curiosity. Even Frank Hatton, representing the London press, was muzzled. Not a soul was, as yet, permitted to approach the old martello tower, where Alan Hawke had faced the Moonshee, “man to man.” A squad of coast guardsmen sternly picketed the vicinity of Rozel Head. And a great smuggling raid was the only accepted explanation to the public.
Captain Murray had duly reported the completion of all the Major’s carefully matured preparations, and fled away to await the arrival of Justine Delande and Captain Anson Anstruther.
It was a sunny morning, two days later, when Major Hardwicke descended at Simpson’s summons, dressed in his full uniform, to the great library, where several grave-faced visitors were now awaiting a formal interview with the agitated Professor Andrew Fraser. The young Major’s face was simply radiant, for Mattie Jones had just given him a letter and a nosegay, sent by the young heiress, who had already read a dozen times her lover’s smuggled love missive of this fateful morning.
“To-day will decide all. And you will be to-morrow as free as any bird of the air. Then, darling, it will be only you and I, all in all to each other forever more! I will send for you. Wait for me. Our hold on Andrew Fraser is the deadly grip of the criminal law. He must yield.”
“The flowers are from Miss Nadine’s breast; she sent them to you, with her dearest love,” cried Mattie, who rejoiced in the private assurance that her own liberal-minded sweetheart was soon to be discharged ‘for lack of evidence.’ Captain Eric Murray had obtained a complete deposition, which the magistrate representing the Parliament of Jersey had accepted as State’s evidence, under the special orders of the Home Office.
In Andrew Fraser’s study, the sallow face of Professor Alaric Hobbs was seen bending over many documents and papers. He was not only busied as a volunteer lawyer for Fraser, but was now the commentator and collaborator of that famous interrupted work, “The History of Thibet.” “Say! Go light now on the old man!” prayerfully whispered Alaric Hobbs, drawing Major Hardwicke into the study. “Captain Murray is a devilish good fellow. He is going to make this great traveler, Frank Hatton, my friend. And you’ll both be benefactors to ‘Science,’ if you drop masquerading and post me honestly on Thibet. You are a dead winner in the little social game here. You get the girl—that’s all you want. She’s a nice girl, too! I’ll make the old boy come down and be reasonable. I helped you out, you know. You owe me a good turn, you do.”
“All right, Professor Hobbs. I believe I do owe you my wife to be. They would have carried her off or injured her in some way,” said the now anxious Hardwicke.
“You bet your sweet life they would!” said the strange Western savant, more forcibly than elegantly. “They would have had the ransom of a prince, or else they would have chucked her in the channel! That was their game!”
In the library, General Wragge, Captain Anstruther and Captain Murray faced Professor Andrew Fraser, whose face was as set as a stone sphinx. His feeble heart was thumping, for the stolen jewels were not his to return now. He cursed the day he had lied about them.