A Fascinating Traitor

C >> Col. Richard Henry Savage >> A Fascinating Traitor

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Major Alan Hawke had withdrawn himself into a stately solitude at
the Club. His evenings were spent with Ram Lal, and his mornings
with the deluded Justine, who dared not now write to the calm-faced
preceptress in Geneva how far the tide of love had swept her on.
In the long afternoons, Major Hawke was apparently busied with
the "dispatches" which duly mystified the Club quid mines, as they
were ostentatiously displayed in the letter-box. No one but Ram
Lal knew of the abstraction from the mail, and destruction of these
carefully sealed envelopes of blank paper. But the thieving mail
clerk in their secret pay, laughed as he consigned them later to
the flames.

The astute Major was not aware that he was being daily watched by
secret agents representing both the absent ones whom he desired
to dupe. But a daily letter was dispatched by a local banker to
a well-known Calcutta firm, which reached Madame Louison, and old
Hugh Johnstone, busied at his lawyers, or sitting alone at night with
Douglas Fraser in Calcutta, smiled grimly, when he, too, received
his data as to Hawke's progress. A growing coldness which had cut
off Hardwicke's friendship seemed to interest Hugh Johnstone. "I
suppose that old Willonghby thinks Hawke is spying upon him. Just
as well!"

There had been a lightning activity in the old man's movements
before Madame Louison arrived in Calcutta. He was fighting for his
future peace and his coveted honors. The lawyer with whom he spent
his first day was astounded at the peculiar nature of the last will
and testament which the old nabob ordered him to draft at once.
"The steamer, Lord Roberts, goes to-morrow, and I wish a duplicate
to be deposited here in the bank, under your care, as I shall write
to my senior executor regarding it."

The nabob's remark, "Make your fees what you will. I give you carte
blanche!" had silenced the remonstrances which rose to the lawyer's
lips. "I know what I am doing, Hodgkinson," said Hugh Johnstone.
"Blood is thicker than water! I can trust nothing else. These two
men as executors will exactly carry out my wishes. In naming a
guardian by will, for my daughter, I do not forget that she is yet
a child at eighteen, and, at twenty-one, she may be the destined
prey of many a fortune hunter! As for my directions and restrictions,
I know my own mind!"

When Hugh Johnstone, Esq., of Delhi and Calcutta, had seen the fleet
steamer, Lord Roberts, sail away for London, bearing a carefully
registered document addressed to "Professor Andrew Fraser, St. Agnes
Road, St. Heliers, Jersey, Channel Islands, England," he could not
remember a detail forgotten in the voluminous letters of positive
orders now also on their way to his distant brother. He smiled
grimly as he entered the P. and O. office, and, after a private
interview with the manager, called his nephew, Douglas Fraser, away
to a private luncheon. They had first visited the one bank, which
Johnstone trusted, and there deposited a sealed document to the
order of "Douglas Fraser, executor." The young man had been alarmed
at his stern old uncle's curtness, on the return trip from Allahabad,
his strange manner and his grim silence. But he was simply astounded
when his nabob relative quietly said:

"I have obtained a six months' leave of absence for you! Let no one
know of your movements. Leave your rooms and baggage just as they
are. I will now move in there, and put one of my servants in charge
while you are gone. I have made my will and named your father as my
executor and the guardian of my daughter, and you are to succeed,
in case of his death! There will be a small fortune for you both
in the fees, and neither of you are forgotten in the will! I have
drawn two thousand pounds in notes for you, and here is a bank draft
on London for three thousand more!" The young man was sitting in
open-mouthed wonder, when the nabob sharply said: "Now! Have your
wits about you! I bear all the expenses here, and your office pay
goes on. You will be promoted on your return. The manager of the
P. and O. is my lifelong friend."

"What am I to do?" gasped the young man, fearing his uncle was
losing his wits.

"You are to disappear from Calcutta to-night. Go without a word to
a living soul! You are neither to write to a soul in India, nor open
your mouth to a human being, in transit. You are to go by Madras,
take the first steamer to Brindisi, and then hurry by rail to Paris
and Granville, and to St. Heliers. You will find your detailed
orders there with your father. Then stay there, await my orders
from here, not leaving your father's side, a moment. Now, I tell
you again, your future fortunes depend upon your exact obedience!
I will give you my private wishes after we have had luncheon. The
only thing that you will have in writing is an address to which I
wish you to cable each day after you land at Brindisi, until you
turn over your business to your father. You may cable also from
Aden and Port Said."

The luncheon was "a short horse and soon curried." For a half an
hour Hugh Johnstone earnestly whispered to his nephew, whose face
was grave and ashen. At last the old man concluded, "Here is a letter
to use at Delhi. There will be a telegram already in the hands of
the two parties intended.

"'Remember! You are to go, but once, from here to your lodgings.
Then simply disappear! Take nothing but a mackintosh, an umbrella,
and your traveling bag. Buy at Madras what you want. Here's a
couple of hundred pounds. You will find the engine at the station
now in waiting for you. The whole line is open for you. Do your
Delhi work at night. The train will be made up for you the very
moment you arrive at Delhi. I give you just one day to connect with
the Rangoon at Madras. You are not for one single moment to lose
your charge from sight till on the steamer. From Brindisi, the
directions I have given cover all. Here is an envelope for the
Swiss woman which will make her your friend. Now go, Douglas! This
is the foundation of your fortune. If you succeed, you will have
all I leave behind in India. In case of any trouble in India,
telegraph instantly to this address, and I will join you at once.
Memorize this address, and destroy it then! Telegraph to me from
Delhi, but only when you start. And, when you sail from Madras,
only the name of the steamer. The trainmen will do the rest. They
have their orders already. Is there anything else?"

The young man pulled himself together. "It's like the Arabian
Nights!"

"Go ahead, now, and show yourself a man!" cried Hugh Johnstone,
almost in anguish. "I do not wish to see you again until you have
earned your fortune! One last word: You are to make no explanations
whatever!"

The young envoy grasped his kinsman's hands, crying: "You may count
on me in life and death! I'll do your bidding."

Old Johnstone drank a bottle of pale ale and composedly smoked
a cheroot, after he had watched the stalwart, rosy young Briton
stride away on his strange journey. A robust, frank-faced, fine
young fellow of twenty-six, with the fair brow and clear blue eyes
of the "north countree," was manly Douglas Fraser.

Toiling resolutely to rise, step by step, in the service of the
Peninsular and Oriental Steamship Company, he had never dreamed of
the sudden favor of his rich kinsman, and yet, loyal as the good
Sir James Douglas, he silently took up his quest.

"I can't understand the old gentleman." he mused as he hurried
a half an hour later into the station, though prudently selected
by-streets. "There may be some old official entanglement hanging
over him yet. Some reason why he would quit India quietly, or perhaps
some one who owes him a grudge. At any rate I'll do my duty to him
like a man--to him and to the others--like a gentleman."

Hugh Johnstone measuredly betook his way to Douglas Fraser's
lodgings.

Before the old man was settled on Douglas's cozy wicker lounge,
the pilot engine was tearing away with the young voyager, who had
simply stepped out of his own life to make a sudden fortune.

"Now, damn you, Alixe Delavigne," hoarsely muttered the old man,
when alone, "I will see you to-morrow! You shall rule me until I
get these two coffers out of the bank, and until our home-coming at
Delhi. Then, you jade," he growled, "Ram Lal shall do the business
for you, even if it costs me ten thousand pounds!" which proves
that an old tiger may be toothless and yet have left to him strong
claws to drag his prey down. "Money will do anything in India or
anywhere else!" the old nabob growled, forgetting that even all the
yellow gold of the Rand or the gleaming diamonds of the Transvaal
will not avail to fill the burned-out lamp of life!

The prolonged absence of the embryo Sir Hugh Johnstone was a
matter of public comment in Delhi, while the knowing ones winked
significantly at the almost triumphal departure of Madame Berthe
Louison, whose special car and ample retinue made her a modern
European Queen of Sheba. "Tell you what, fellows," said "Rattler"
Murray, otherwise known as "Red Eric, of the Eighth Lancers," "the
old Commissioner will return superbly 'improved and illustrated'
with her, a new edition of the standard old work. You see, there's
a French Consul-General at Calcutta, and then and there the
matrimonial obsequies will be performed. But I'll give him just a
year's life," and the gay lieutenant struck an attitude, quoting
the menacing jargon in "Hamlet":

"In second husband, let me be accurst; None wed the second, but
who killed the first."

"What infernal rot you do gabble, Murray!" suddenly cried Alan Hawke,
dropping a double barrier of the newest Times, as he prepared to
leave the clubroom in disgust. "Hugh Johnstone was only called down
to Calcutta on some important financial business some days ago, and
he went there simply to rearrange some of his large investments.
Madame Louison is only a stranger here, a tourist traveling
incognito, and connected with some of the best noble families of
France." With great dignity Major Hawke stalked away to his rooms,
leaving the club for a long drive in disgust.

By the next evening Madame Berthe Louison had been discovered to be
a noble relative of the Comte de Chambord, "traveling incognito,"
and then the clacking tongues of gossip rose up in a shrill chorus
of greater intensity. Immense investments of the Orleans fortunes
in Indian properties to be managed by Major Alan Hawke were discovered
to be the object of her Indian tour, with wise old Hugh Johnstone
as an infallible financial adviser. But Alan Hawke smiled his
superior smile and said nothing.

All this and more soon reached the ears of Capt. Harry Hardwicke,
whose fever of gnawing curiosity and romantically born love was now
strong upon him. A second conference with his old friend Simpson
enlightened the engineer officer upon many things, as yet "seen
in a glass darkly." He began to fear that Alan Hawke was growing
dangerous as the secret juggler in the strange social situation
at the marble house. With the vise-like memory of an old soldier,
Simpson had retained various anecdotes not entirely to the credit
of the self-promoted Major Alan Hawke, and had partly supplied the
hiatus between the sudden disappearance of the desperate lieutenant,
a rake gambler and profligate, and the return of the prosperous and
debonnaire Major en re'traite. "Don't let him work too long around
Miss Nadine, Major Hardwicke," said the wary Simpson. "Sly and quiet
as he seems, he's surely here for no good. I know him of old. He's
forgotten me, though."

That night, the night when Berthe Louison, in her special car was
nearing Calcutta, at last, Captain Hardwicke was haunted in his
dreams by the sweet apparition of Nadine Johnstone, and her lovely
arms were stretched appealingly to him. It was the early dawn when
he awoke, and sprang blithely from his couch. "If that graceful
shade crosses my path to-day, I'll speak to it in the flesh--though
a dozen Hawkes and a hundred crusty fathers forbid," he gayly cried,
for his entrancing dream had given him a strangely prophetic courage.

In the ambrosial freshness of the morning, a long gallop upon his
pet charger, "Garibaldi," restored the equilibrium of the young
officer's nerves. He had neatly taken the strong-limbed cross-country
horse over a dozen of the old walls out by the Kootab Minar, and
with the reins lying loosely on Garibaldi's neck, he rode back to
the live city by the side of its two dead progenitors.

The bustle and hum of awaking Delhi interested him not, for a fond
unrest led him down to the great walled inclosure of the marble
house.

"Shall I see her to-day? Will she be in the garden?" he murmured
in his loving day-dream.

The springy feet of the charger dropped noiselessly on the lonely
avenue and already the double carriage gate was in sight. An instinct
of martial coquetry caused Harry Hardwicke to gather up his reins
and straighten lightly into the military position of eyes right.
He was watching the gate of Paradise, a Paradise as yet forbidden
to him.

Yes. There was the gleam of white robes shining out across the
friendly gate.

Standing under a huge spreading camphor tree, a graceful form was
there, clear cut against the dark foliage, and seeming to float
upon the tender green of the dewy grass. A nymph--a goddess, shyly
standing there, was shading her eyes with one slender hand and
gazing down the path toward the golden East which was bringing to
the Lady of his dreams, a flood of golden sunlight and her secret
adorer, the man whose lonely young heart had throned her as its
queen. Hardwicke raised his head quickly as a wild shriek sounded
out upon the still morning air.

The lover with one agonized glance saw the outspread arms of Justine
Delande, and heard again a voice which had thrilled his soul in
loving memory. It appealed for aid. Nadine was shrieking for help.

With one glance, the young soldier gathered his noble steed. There
was but twenty yards for the rally and the raise, but the game
old "Garibaldi" dropped as lightly on the other side of the closed
carriage gate as any "blue ribbon" of the Galway "Blazers."

There was a moment, but one fleeting moment, given to the lover
to see the danger menacing the woman whom he loved. His heart
was icy, but his hand was quick. There, a few feet only from the
horribly fascinated girl, a cobra di capdlo rising and swaying in
angry undulations. The huge snake was angrily hissing with a huge
distended puffed hood swelling menacingly over the dirty brown
body. "Standfast!" yelled Hardwicke in agony.

There was a gleam of steel, the rush of a charger's feet, and as
man and horse swept by the fainting girl--the swing of a saber, and
the heavy trampling of iron-clad hoofs! Only Justine Delande saw
the flashing saber cleaving the air again and again, as Hardwicke
gracefully leaned to his saddle bow, in the right and left cut on
the ground. And Garibaldi's beating hoofs soon completed the work
of the circling sword.

And then as the Swiss woman broke her trance and turned to run
toward the house, the young horseman leaped lightly to the ground.
"Go on, go on!" he cried. "The other snake is not far off!" When
Simpson and the frightened domestics rushed out to the veranda in
a panic, they only saw before them a graceful youth with his strong
arms burdened with the senseless form of the woman he loved--the
woman whose life he had saved!

And, dangling from his right wrist, by the leather sword-knot, hung
the saber which Colonel Hardwicke had swung in the mad onslaught
on the mutineers' camp at Lucknow.

"Here, Simpson! Send for Doctor McMorris!" cried Hardwicke, as a
dozen willing hands sprang to aid him. "Bring brandy, ammonia, and
oil!" There was a bamboo settee on the veranda. It received the
precious burden which the soldier had held against his heart. "Carry
her to her rooms! Gently, now!" commanded the captain. Seizing
Justine by the arm, he said: "I think that I arrived in time. Go!
Go! You will find me waiting for you here! Examine her at once!
The hot iron and artery ligatures alone will save her if she was
bitten!" His brow was knotted in agony.

"You came between them!" gasped Justine. "The thing never reached
her side!"

"God be thanked! Go! Go!" cried Hardwicke. "I have my work to do
here!" A black servant had already led the dancing Garibaldi out
to the open safety of the graveled carriage drive. "Look to my
horse!" cried Hardwicke. "See that he is not bitten!" and then he
slowly walked over to where a dozen menials, with heavy clubs, had
beaten the writhing cobra into a shapeless mass.

"Come away, all of you!" cried the captain, in Hindustanee. "Run,
some of you, and get the snake catcher!" Doctor McMorris, arriving
on the gallop, had reported the absolute safety of the frightened
girl, when Harry Hardwicke, leaning on his sheathed sword, watched
a slim, glittering-eyed Hindu, followed by a boy bearing an earthen
pot, who had noiselessly reconnoitered the vicinity of the great
tree. The boy most keenly watched all the movements of his white-robed
master, who, drawing a little fife from his red cummerbund sash,
began to play a shrill, weird tune. A frightened household coterie
watched from a safe distance the thirty-foot circle of herbage
around the shade of the giant tree trunk. A shudder crept over the
watchers as a huge brown head, with two white circles on the back
of the neck, rose slowly out of the grass, and two red-hot gleaming
eyes blazed out, as an immense cobra swelled out its fearfully
disgusting hood, and, rising halfway, bloated out its loathsome
head, swaying to and fro, to the strange music. "There's the mate!"
quietly whispered Hardwicke to Simpson. The snake now showed its
greasy belly, like dirty stained marble, and the lithe boy, circling
behind it, warily essayed to drop the red earthen pot over its
head. But one of the excited servants, stealing up, had released
a little mongoose, which now bravely darted upon its deadly enemy.

Seven times did the active little animal dart upon the huge reptile,
in a confusedly vicious series of attacks and close in a deadly
conflict, and, when, at last, the snake charmer walked disgustedly
away, the little ferret's sharp teeth were transfixed in the throat
of its dead enemy.

A handful of silver to the snake catcher and his boy sent them away
delighted, while the wounded mongoose, having greedily sucked the
blood of the dead cobra, wandered away in triumph, creeping on its
belly into the rank grass in search of the life-saving herb which
it alone can find, to cure the venom-inflamed wounds of the deadly
"naja." The silent duel was over, and the bodies of the dreadful
vipers were hastily buried.

"I shall call this afternoon, at five, to ask Miss Johnstone
if she has entirely recovered," gravely said Captain Hardwicke to
Mademoiselle Justine Delande, when the still excited Swiss woman
poured forth her congratulations to the young hero of this morning's
episode. Hardwicke was standing with his gloved hand grasping the
mettlesome "Garibaldi's" bridle. Justine Delande threw her arms
around the neck of the noble horse and kissed his sleek brown
cheek. Then she whispered a few words to Captain Hardwicke, which
made that young warrior's heart leap up in a wild joy.

He laughed lightly as he said: "Keep this quiet. Pray do not allow
Miss Johnstone to walk any more in the dewy grass. These deadly
reptiles affect moisture, and, strange to say, they love the
vicinity of human habitations. As for 'Garibaldi,' good old fellow,
I'll bring him this afternoon, but I'll not take him again over
the gate. It was a pretty stiff jump for the old boy." When Simpson
escorted the happy Captain to the opened carriage gate, he threw
up his wrinkled hand in salute.

"You're your father's own son, Captain, and God bless you and good
luck to you and the young mistress."

There was no answer as Harry spurred the charger down the road, but
Simpson pocketed a sovereign, with the sage prophecy that things
were at last, going the right way.

The watchful Hugh Johnstone was already in waiting, on this very
morning, at the East Indian station in Calcutta, with a sumptuous
carriage; for a telegram had warned him that the woman whom he
dreaded, and had secretly doomed, was fast approaching. His heart
was resolutely set upon the master stroke of his life, for a private
audience with the Viceroy of India had been graciously granted him
at two o'clock. "I am saved--if nothing goes wrong," he murmured,
as the Delhi train trundled into the station.

A steely glare lit up his eyes as he advanced with raised sun helmet
to meet the Lady of the Silver Bungalow.

In the train were one or two of the curious Delhi quid nuncs, who
smiled and exchanged glances as the embryo Sir Hugh led the lady
to the carriage.

On the box Jules Victor sat bolt upright clasping a traveling bag,
while Marie gazed at the swarming streets of Calcutta from her
mistress's side. "She is on the defensive. I'll show her a trick,"
old Hugh murmured, as he noted the servants' presence.

A few murmured words exchanged between the secret foes caused Hugh
Johnstone to sternly cry, "To Grindlay and Company's Bank."

The dark goddess Kali, patron demon of Kali Ghatta, was hovering
above them in the pestilential air as the carriage swiftly rolled
along the superb streets of the metropolis born of Governor Charnock's
settlement in sixteen eighty-six. The gift of an Emperor of Delhi
to the ambitious English, Fort William had grown to be an octopus
of modern splendor. Down the circular road, past the splendid
Government House, they silently sped through the "City of Palaces."
Berthe Louison never noted the varied delights of the Maiden Esplanade,
nor, even with a glance honored Wellesley and Ochterlony, raised
up there in marble effigy. Her face was as fixed as bronze, while
Hugh Johnstone, right and left, saluted his countless friends.

Men of the Bengal Asiatic, the Bethune, the Dai-housie, plumed
generals, native princelings, gay aides-de-camp, grave judges, and
university Dons eagerly bowed to the richest civilian in Bengal--the
homage of triumphant wealth.

Stared at from club windows, Johnstone, with proudly erect head,
nodded to fashion's fools, crowding there all eager to catch a
glimpse of the lovely Lady Johnstone in posse.

For these last days of waiting had been only a mental torture to
the nabob assailed by rallying gossipers. He was now counting grimly
the moments till a telegram from Delhi should seal his safety for
life. And then, his dark and silent revenge!

At Grindlay's Bank, Madame Louison quietly descended, leaning on
the arm of Hugh Johnstone. There was hurrying to and fro on their
appearance, and in ten minutes a second carriage received the
disguised Alixe Delavigne, while the Manager of Grindlay's escorted
her, under the eyes of her two guardians. The Golden Calf was the
reigning god, even in these later days.

With a dignified pace, the carriage of Hugh Johnstone led the way
to the Bank of Bengal, where a private room soon hid the three
principal parties from the gaze of the multi-colored throng of
clerks and accountants. A conference of the gravest nature ensued,
as both the Bank Managers jealously watched each other.

Hugh Johnstone was as pale as a man wrestling with the dark angel
when Madame Louison produced a faded document and a receipt of
extended legal verbiage. The Manager of Grindlay's gazed, in mute
surprise, when the highest dignitary of the Bengal Bank at last
entered the room, followed by two porters bearing two brass-bound
mahogany boxes of antique manufacture. Hugh Fraser Johnstone's
stony face was carelessly impassive.

"Pray examine these seals!" the newcomer said, "and, remember, Mr.
Johnstone, that we exact your absolute release for the long-continued
responsibility. Here is a memorandum of the storage and charges.
You must sign, also, as Hugh Fraser--now Hugh Fraser Johnstone."

Old Hugh Johnstone's voice never trembled, as he said, after a
minute inspection:

"I will give you a cheque." Then, dashing off his signature upon the
receipt tendered by Madame Louison, he calmly said: "These things
are only of a trifling value--some long-treasured trinkets of my
dead wife's. May I be left alone for a moment?"

The three silent witnesses retired into an adjoining room. In
five minutes, Hugh Johnstone called the Bank Governor to his side.
"There is your receipt, duly signed, and your cheque to balance,
Mr. Governor. We are now both relieved of a tiresome controversy.
Will you please bring in the others?"

With a pleasant smile, the flush of a great happiness upon his
face, Hugh Fraser Johnstone remarked: "I desire to state publicly
that Madame Louison and my self have, in this little transaction,
closed all our affairs. I have given to her a quit-claim release of
all and every demand whatsoever." With kindly eyes, Berthe Louison
listened to a few murmured words from Hugh Johnstone. Bowing her
stately head, she swept from the room upon the arm of the polite
manager of Grindlay's.

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