Part 7 (2/2)
”I'll warrant the old hunks has Bramah locks and Chubb's burglar proofs to fence this beauty off!” growled the Major, as he sank back in the carriage. ”I fancy, though, that a liberal dose of Madame Louison's gold, judiciously administered by me, in her interest, to Justine Delande, may open the way to the girl's presence! The mother's story may serve to win the girl's heart. If I can only busy old Hugh and the Madame in watching each other, then I can handle Justine.”
”Yes,” the satisfied schemer concluded, ”the old man's game is the bauble t.i.tle. Berthe Louison's must be some studied revenge. She is above all blackmail. I know already half the story of this clouded past.
Madame Alixe Delavigne must yield up the other half, bit by bit. By the time she arrives, my spies will have posted me. I will have opened my parallels on the Swiss dragon who guards the lovely Nadine. Now to make my first play upon the old nabob.”
Major Alan Hawke had studied skillfully out his gambit for an attack upon Hugh Johnstone's vanity. When he descended at the hospitable doors of his secret ally, Ram Lal Singh, he plunged into the seclusion of a luxurious easy toilet making. A dozen letters glanced over, a comforting hookah, and Alan Hawke had easily ”sized up” the situation. For Ram Lal's first skeleton report had clearly proved to him that the coast was clear. ”Thank Heavens there are as yet no rivals,” Hawke murmured.
”Neither confidential friend of the old boy, no das.h.i.+ng Ruy Gomez as yet in the way.” Hawke viewed himself complacently in the mirror. He was severely just to himself, and he well knew all his own good points.
”Pshaw!” he murmured, ”any man not one-eyed can easily play the Prince Charming to a hooded lady all forlorn, a mere child, a tyro in life's soft battles of the heart. I must impress this pompous old fool that I know all the intrigues of his proposed elevation. He will unbosom, and both trust and fear me. These pampered civilians are as haughty in their way as the military and be d.a.m.ned to them,” mused Hawke, cheerfully humming his battle song, those words of a vitriolic wit:
”General Sir Arthur Victorious Jones, Great is vermillion splashed with gold.”
”This old crab has quietly stolen himself rich, and now forsooth would tack on a Sir Hugh before his name. Ah! The jewels! I must delicately hint to him that I am in the inner circle of the cognoscenti.”
And then Alan Hawke cheerfully joined his obese and crafty friend and host, Ram Lal Singh. For an hour the soft, oily voice of the old jewel merchant flowed on in a purring monologue. The ease and mastery of the Conqueror's language showed that the usurer had well studied the masters of Delhi. Sixty years had given Ram Lal added cunning. A crafty conspirator of the old days when the mystic ”chupatties” were sent out on their dark errand, the sly jewel merchant had survived the b.l.o.o.d.y wreck of the throne of Oude, and from the place of attendant to one of the slaughtered princes, dropped down softly into the trade of money lender, secret agent, and broker of the unlawful in many varied ways.
It was Ram Lal's easy task to purvey luxuries to the imperious Briton, to hold the extravagant underlings in his usurious clutches, to be at peace with Hindu, Moslem, Sikh, Pathan, Ghoorka, Persian, and Armenian, and to blur his easy-going Mohammedanism in a generous partic.i.p.ation in all sins of omission and commission. A many-sided man!
Alan Hawke heaved a sigh of easy contentment when he had brought the chronique scandahuse of Delhi down to the day and hour.
”You say that she is beautiful, this girl?”
”As the stars on the sea!” nodded Ram Lal.
”And the Swiss woman?”
”Never leaves her for a minute. They see no one, for all men say the old Commissioner will take her home, to Court when he is gazetted!”
”None of the great people go there?” keenly queried Hawke.
”Not even the fine ladies,” laughed Ram Lal. ”The old fellow may have his own memories of the past. He trusts no one. The girl is only a bulbul in a golden cage and with no one to sing to.” Hawke cut short Ram Lal's flowery figures.
”Does the Swiss woman trade with you?” he demanded.
”Yes, she buys a few simple things--my peddlers take the Veiled Rose many rich things. The old Sahib is very generous to the child. And the dragon loves trinkets, too!” Then Alan Hawke's eyes gleamed.
”She knows your shop here?”
”Perfectly,” replied Ram Lal, ”and comes alone--on the master's business. You know I had many dealings with Sahib Hugh Fraser in the old days,” mused the jeweler. ”He always admits my men. I have valued gems for him for twenty years.”
”Good!” cried the happy Major. ”I want to send a man now to her with a note. I am going to put up at the United Service Club, but I must see this woman first. I don't like to send a letter, though. If I had any one to trust--”
The merchant promptly said: ”I will go myself! They are always in the garden in the afternoon. I can easily see her alone.”
”First rate! Then I will give you a message,” answered Hawke. ”I must see her to-morrow early, for old Hugh will surely ask me to tiffin. And, Ram, you must at once set your best man on to watch all that goes on there. I have a good fat plum for you now--to set up a neat little house here for a friend of mine who is coming, and you shall do the whole thing!” The merchant's dark eyes glistened. ”A new officer of rank?” he queried.
”It's a lady--a friend of mine--rich, too, and she wants to live on the quiet! She will stay here for some time!” The oily listener had learned a vast prudence in the days when he trod the halls of the last King of Delhi, so he held his peace and wondered at the suddenly enhanced fortunes of that star of graceful wanderers, Allan Hawke!
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