“Simply ignore my existence; if we meet we are strangers!” gasped Berthe, who had thrown herself on a divan. “Obey me without questioning my motive! Each night you will receive orders for the next day, should I need your secret hand! Go now! I am tired! I must be ready to meet this man!”
Alan Hawke had reached the door, but he turned back. “And as to Ram Lal? What shall I do?” The woman’s eyes flashed fire.
“Leave him also to me! I will handle him! A few rupees—will serve as his bait. Stay! You say that this Swiss woman, Justine Delande, is sympathetic, and seems to be a worthy person?” She was scanning his impassive face with steely glances now.
“She is younger than her sister Euphrosyne,” gravely said Alan Hawke, “and not without some personal attractions. Her older sister adores her. Even this old brute, Johnstone, seems to treat her with great respect and deference.”
“There is the only danger to us! Watch that woman! Mingle freely in the Johnstone household,” said Berthe, wearily, “but never cast your eyes toward Nadine. Never even hint to this Swiss governess that you have seen her sister. After they return to Europe it is another thing. Silence and discretion now. Good night. Come to-morrow night at ten o’clock; all will be quiet, and you can steal away from the Club in safety.”
Major Alan Hawke stole away to the hidden entrance like a thief of the night. He started as he saw the menacing figure of Jules Victor glide swiftly after him to the secret opening in the wall. The servitor spoke not a single word, but watched the business agent disappear. “I must watch this damned Frenchman,” he mused, feeling for his packet of notes and loosening his revolver. “He may be set on by this she devil to watch Ram Lal.” And then Hawke gayly sought the jewel merchant, lingering an hour in the very room where he was on the morrow to meet the heart-awakened Justine. Old Ram Lal grinned as he accepted the letter. He was happy, for he heard the jingling of golden guineas in the near future. “You have nothing to do with me, Ram Lal,” laughed the Major. “The lady will give you your orders, only you are to tell me all for both our sakes. I will see you rewarded,” and again Ram Lal grinned in his quiet way.
When Alan Hawke’s head was resting on his pillow he suddenly became possessed with a strange new fear. “By God! I believe that she has been here before; she seems to be up to the whole game.”
Alan Hawke’s steps hardly died away in the hallway before the beautiful Nemesis made a careful inspection of her splendid reception-room. The splendors of its curtained arches, its fretted ceiling, and its frescoed walls were idly passed over, for the woman only made an exhaustive survey of its geometrical arrangement. Marie Victor was in waiting at her side, and the mistress and maid were soon joined by Jules. Throwing open the door of a little adjoining cabinet, Madame Louison whispered a few private directions to the ex-Communard. “Do this at once yourself; none of the blacks are to know. I trust none of them!” imperatively commanded Berthe. “Marie will receive him. You are to be here at nine o’clock, and be sure to let no one of these yellow spies observe you. Now, both of you. Here is the rearrangement of the furniture. This will be your first task in the morning. You can both use the whole household for these changes. They are to obey you in all. Let all be ready when I have breakfasted. Now, Marie, I will try and rest. Jules, inspect and examine the house; then you can take your post for the night at my door. Have you exhausted every possibility of any trickery in the sleeping room?”
“There’s but the one door, Madame. Trust to me. I have sounded every inch of the walls, and even examined the floor.” Jules Victor’s romantic nature thrilled with the possibilities of the little life drama to come.
Berthe Louison departed to rest upon her arms the night before the battle. Much marveled the swarming band of Ram Lal’s creatures that no human being was suffered to approach the Lady of the Bungalow but her two white attendants. Berthe Louison had not reached the idle luxury of employing a dozen Hindus in infinitesimal labors near her person. For she fathomed easily Ram Lal’s devotion to Major Alan Hawke.