A Fascinating Traitor

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

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And that very evening at Calcutta, Alixe Delavigne would have
laughed in triumph to know of Hugh Johnstone's strange eagerness
to dispatch his amorous guest. For the lady--in the safe haven of
the great banker's home--had just returned from a captivated Viceroy,
who had instantly recalled Abercrornby by a dispatch to be "obeyed
forthwith."

"You, Madame, have laid me under an obligation which I can never
forget," said the graceful statesman. The list of Ram Lal was in
his hands now! And so Hugh Johnstone was highly pleased, and Madame
Berthe Louison, still in her masquerade, was happy, and the watchful
Commanding-General Willoughby was more than pleased; and the now
doubly hopeful Major Alan Hawke rejoiced, while General Abercromby
knew that the "little party" was waiting him in Calcutta. But most
of all pleased was Ram Lal Singh, clutching in his dreams at the
dagger of Mirzah Shah, lying there by his bedside. "He will be
left alone, and he knows my signal--his own device--THREE TAPS AT
HIS WINDOW! In Delhi there only lingered, sad and lonely, Major Harry
Hardwicke, whose sighs were echoed back from afar by a starry-eyed
girl watching the sandy shores of the Suez Canal.

"I dare not telegraph to him till we reach Brindisi," mused the
loving girl. "After that our path will be plain, and Justine MUST
help me! Then he can follow me--if he loves me!" She faltered, hiding
her blushing face. The only comforter of the lonely Hardwicke was
"Rattler Murray." Red Eric, of the Eighth Lancers, had just fallen
into a pot of money.

"Take your long leave, my boy!" he cried. "I've been nine long
years a Lieutenant! I'll have my troop before my leave is out!
And there's a loving lass awaiting me! One I love--one who loves
me--one you must know, for you must be the 'best man'!"

"Wait, only wait a couple of weeks, Eric!" said the Major, whose
eyes were now turned daily to Simpson. "Then I'll put in my own
application, and we'll go home together."

This bright hope was duly pledged in many a loving cup.

General Abercromby was far away on the road to Calcutta when
Major-General Willoughby sent, posthaste, for Major Harry Hardwicke
of the Corps of Engineers. The puzzled Commanding General was racking
his brains to find out if his old friend Abercromby had committed
any fatal error during his somewhat bacchanalian visit on "special
duty."

"I'm glad he is gone" mused the stout-hearted, thick-headed old
Commander, as he read, over and over, the Viceroy's cipher dispatch
to the departed General.

"Do nothing further! Turn over all property, on invoice, to General
Willoughby, and report here forthwith. Hold no communication with
Johnstone, and guard an absolute silence. Report in person, instantly
on your arrival."

"Something has surely gone wrong!" at last decided Willoughby. "Old
Hugh Fraser Johnstone may have been too much for him. Strange, the
Viceroy says nothing of him!" And then he read a second dispatch,
with the Viceroy's orders to himself. "Notify Major Harry Hardwicke,
Royal Engineers, to report in person, to the Viceroy for special
duty, prepared to go in a week to England on duty. Absolute secrecy
required. His leave application will be approved for any period,
to take effect on his completion of duties assigned, in London.
Special cipher orders will be sent to him this A.M. Deliver them
and furnish him the code No. 2. No copies to be retained. Furnish
Major Hardwicke with a captain and ten picked men to escort
the property received by General Abercromby to Calcutta. Invoices
to you to be signed by him. Property to be sent down in sealed
pay-chests, with your seal and Major Hardwicke's. Report compliance,
and telegraph in cipher No. 2 Hardwicke's departure for Calcutta.
Special transportation has been ordered."

"There, my boy, you have your orders!" an hour later said General
Willoughby when Major Hardwicke reported. "I am glad to have the
whole thing off my hands. Here is the double-ciphered code. You
are to translate for yourself, and, remember, then destroy your
translation. Remember, also, one single whisper of your destination,
and you are a ruined man! Evidently the Viceroy is bent on trapping
old Hugh Johnstone. Damn him, for a sneaking civilian! I never
trusted him!" And the old General rolled away for his family tiffin.
"I'll see you when you have translated the private orders. Thank
God, the Viceroy keeps me out of this dirty muddle! You see, I
have no power over Johnstone--he is a blasted civilian." Two hours
later, the grateful old General found Hardwicke pacing up and
down impatiently. "I ought only to tell Murray," he murmured, "if
I could! He is going home to be married, and I am to stand up with
him."

"Just the thing!" gayly cried Willoughby. "Murray's captaincy is
in the Gazette of to-day's mail. I will order him down with you,
in command of the guard, and, at Calcutta, the Viceroy will release
you from your promise, so as to let him know that you can meet
him in London. His Excellency evidently wants to hoodwink all the
gossips here, and, above all, to blind old Johnstone. Now, Harry,
I feel like a brute to let you go without a poor send-off, but,
by Heaven, the whole Willoughby clan will follow you in London,
and pay off a part of our debt for that 'run-under fire' with my
wounded boy. Name anything you want. Do you want any help to watch
Johnstone?" The old General was eager.

"Ah! I fear that I must attend to him, alone!" sadly said Major
Hardwicke, whose heart was racked, for a fair, dear face now afar
must soon be clouded with sorrow and those dear eyes weep a father's
shame.

"Call, day and night, for anything you want!" heartily said the
loyal old father of the rescued officer. "The day before you go
you must dine with us, alone, and Harriet will give you her last
greeting."

As the day wore away, there was a jovial rapprochement in the special
car where General Abercromby and Major Hawke were gayly extolling
Madame Berthe Louison's perfections. "Mind you, General, I am no
squire of dames," said the Major. "You must make your own running."

"Ah! my boy, you have earned your temporary rank as a Major
of Staff, when you've introduced me. I flatter myself that I know
women!" cried Abercromby as they cracked t'other bottle of Johnstone's
champagne.

"Take me to her, and then, I'll take you to the Viceroy. I guarantee
your rank!"

"It's a bargain!" cried the delighted Hawke. While Abercromby
dreamed of the lovely lady of the Silver Bungalow, Major Alan Hawke
leisurely examined a sheaf of letters from Europe which had been
thrust in his pocket by Ram Lal at parting.

"Victory!" he cried, as he read a tender letter from Euphrosyne
Delande, in which she promised her absolute compliance with his
every wish. "Justine has written to me herself," was the underscored
hint that the three might join fortunes. "It's about time for that
Madras boat to get to Brindisi," mused Hawke, as they ran into
Allahabad, "There maybe telegrams here now." And, while General
Abercromby jovially feasted, Hawke ran over to his secret haunt
to which he had ordered Ram Lal to send any telegrams, for one day
only, and then, the rest would be safe with Ram's secret agent in
Calcutta. "My God! This is my fortune! Bravo, Justine!" cried Hawke,
"True and quickwitted. I now hold Berthe Louison in my hand."

He read the words--"Andrew Fraser, St. Agnes' Road, St. Heliers,
Jersey." The dispatch was headed Brindisi, and signed "Justine."
"A man might do worse than marry a woman as true and keen as that,"
smiled Hawke. "I am a devil for luck!" And then he gayly drank
Justine's health, in silence, when he joined the amorous Abercromby
at the table.

But the "devil for luck" did not know of a little scene at Brindisi,
where the blushing Nadine Johnstone hid her face in her friend's
bosom. "It is my life, my very existence, Justine!" she pleaded. "I
will never forget you; we are both women, and my heart will break
if you refuse!" And thus Justine Delande had learned at last of
Nadine's easy victory over the frank-hearted cousin's prudence.

"What's the wrong--to tell her?" he had mused, under the spell of
the loving eyes. "We go straight through, and I am in charge till
my father takes her out of my hands! Poor girl, it will be a grim
enough life with him. Not a man will ever set eyes on her face
without old Hugh's written order!" And it was thus that Justine was
enabled to warn her own lover when she had slipped away and cabled
by her mistress's orders to the young Lochinvar at Delhi:

"Captain Harry Hardwicke, Royal Engineers, Delhi: Letters for you
at Andrew Fraser's, St Agnes Road, St. Heliers, Jersey. Come."

The Swiss woman shuddered as she boldly signed Nadine! And this
same dispatch when received by the young officer, now busied with
the Viceroy's mandate, brought the sunlight of Love back into his
darkened soul! The minutes seemed to lengthen into hours until the
special train was ready. At the risk of his military future, the
Major gave to the faithful Simpson his London Club address. "If
anything happens here, you must go to General Willoughby. Tell
him what you want me to know. He will send it on, and give you
a five-pound note. Remember! Simpson, you'll die in my service if
you stand true!"

"That I will, for your brave father's sake, and for the young lady's
bright eyes! Bless her dear, sunny face! Tell her that I will work
for her in life and death!" And when, in a few days the lengthened
absence of Major Harry Hardwicke and Red Eric Murray was noted, the
groups only conjectured a little junket to some near-by station,
or a long shikaree trip. But Simpson and General Willoughby knew
better. Simpson was a "lord" in these days, in the quarter, for
Hardwicke had not left Delhi with a closed hand.

And old Hugh Johnstone, greatly relieved at heart, was now busied
in secretly arranging for his own flitting. "I'll run down to
Calcutta, see the Viceroy, give Abercromby a splendid dinner, and
then slip off home, on the quiet, via Ceylon. I'll send Douglas
back when I get to Jersey, and then I can put those jewels where
no human being can ever trace them! Once that brother Andrew has
my full orders as to Nadine, I will bar this she-devil forever from
her side! On the excuse of a leisurely contemplated tour, I can
have the rich Jew brokers of Amsterdam and Frankfort, with their
agents in Cairo and Constantinople, divide up the jewels among the
foreign crown-heads. I am then safe! safe! No human hand can ever
touch me now," he gloated.

There was a clattering of aides-de-camp and great official bustle
at the Government House in Calcutta when General Abercromby reported
to the great statesman Viceroy, dwelling in the vast palace, builded
by the Marquis of Wellesley.

General Abercromby, marveling at the abruptness of the Viceroy, was
relieved to know that his "secret service" had been transferred to
Major Hardwicke under the orders of Major-General Willoughby. His
mind was intently occupied with the promised introduction to Madame
Berthe Louison--"that little party"--and so he failed not to refer
to the future value to the crown of Alan Hawke's services.

"He is here with me, Your Excellency!" respectfully said Abercromby,
who had already posted off his leporello to call in due form
at the banker's mansion, where the disguised Alixe Delavigne had
taken refuge. "Send him to me at once, General. I need him! I will
give him the local staff rank of Major and immediate employment.
Willoughby has also written to me especially about his wonderful
knowledge of our northern lines. Stay! Bring him yourself, to-morrow,
at ten o'clock."

"Splendid! Splendid!" cried the love-lorn General, rubbing his
hands, as he hastened away in his carriage to meet Alan Hawke! "I
am ready for him, if he is ready for me! I wish she were at some
one of the great hotels instead of being buried in the silver-gray
respectability of the Manager's family circle. But--but--I will take
her to the Viceroy. The bird shall then learn to test its wings.
I will bring her out as a social star!"

Major Alan Hawke, with a beating heart, recounted to Madame Berthe
Louison all the occurrences in Delhi, when they were left alone
in the great banker's vast parlors. "She is a puzzle, this strange
woman!" mused Hawke, for a serene and stately triumph shone in her
splendid eyes.

Berthe Louison listened to all! "You will get your staff
appointment," she smiled, "and I will help you! Bring your friend
General Abercromby to see me here to-morrow evening! I will be amiable
to him, for your sake, and for the sake of my future interests!"

The grateful young man, now on the threshold of reinstatement, in
a sudden impulse cried, "I can, now, give you Nadine Johnstone's
hiding place! You can trust to me and I will prove it, now! It
is--"

"With Andrew Fraser, retired Professor of Edinburgh University,
historian and philologist, ethnologist, etc.; St. Agnes Road, St.
Heliers, Jersey," laughingly rejoined Berthe Louison.

"You are a--witch, woman! A wonder!" cried the astounded adventurer.

"Ah! You see that I have trusted you!" she smiled. "Now, do as I
bid you, and you will rise in the service! Remember! You are to do
just what I say! The bank here, or in Delhi, will give you always
my directions. Remember! I shall not lose sight of you for a moment,
though near or far! And money and promotion will reward your good
faith! Go now! my friend," she kindly said, extending her hand.
"Bring the General, here, tomorrow evening, at eight! I will be
busied till then! There is nothing for you to do now!"

The astonished schemer was in a maze as he dashed away to the
Calcutta Club to meet General Abercromby. "She is a very devil and
a mistress of the Black Art!" he mused. "I will stand by her," he
admiringly cried, "as long as it pays me." It was the honest tribute
of a grateful scoundrel's heart!

While the happy Abercromby dallied with Major Hawke over a claret
cup, an official messenger sought him out, at the Club. "There, my
boy! You see that I am a man of my word!" cried the would-be lover.
Alan Hawke's lip trembled as he tore open an envelope directed to
him and marked: "On Her Majesty's Service." The first in many years.
The walls spun around before his eyes when he read his provisional
appointment, with an order to report forthwith, to the Chief of
Staff, for private instructions. "Ah! I congratulate you, my boy!"
heartily cried the happy General. "You are a very devil for luck!
One toast to the Viceroy! I'll meet you here to-night!"

The happiest man in India sped away to his newly opened gate of
Paradise Regained, while afar in the sweltering September sun, the
gleam of rifles and red coats told of an armed escort on the train,
bearing Major Hardwicke and Captain Eric Murray, on to Calcutta,
with the swiftness of the wind. Neither of the officers for a moment
quitted their compartment, and two chosen sergeants, revolver in
hand, watched certain sealed packages lying beside them all there
in plain view. Major Hardwicke's soul was now in his quest!

There was a gleam of romance in the great Viceroy's morning duties,
while Major Hawke had hastened to the Chief of Staff's office.

Madame Berthe Louison, escorted by her guardian, the bank manager,
had placed upon the Viceroy's table a little document which he
studied with great care. "You are sure that there is no mistake?"
the statesman said, gravely interrogating the banker. "I will
guarantee it, Your Excellency, with its face value, fifty thousand
pounds." answered the financier. It was the memorandum of a policy
of assurance for a sealed package, on the steamer Lord Roberts,
sent by Hugh Fraser Johnstone to Prof. Andrew Fraser, St. Agnes
Road, St. Heliers, Jersey and now half way to England.

"I will act, Madame, at once!" said the holder of a scepter by
proxy. "You are to guard this secret, both, upon your honor. Send
the dispatch, as you have proposed. My official action is to follow
this up. I will let the game go on in silence just a little longer.
And now--" the Viceroy led the lady aside, whispering a few private
words, which left her a proud and happy woman. "My special aid
will call at your residence as soon as it is dark. The consular
officials at Aden, Suez, Port Said, and Brindisi will all have
orders regarding you. I am ashamed that the prudence needed in the
official side of this affair prevents me socially honoring you as
I would. The French Consul-General has given to me his official
guaranty for you, which," he smiled, "was not needed. We shall meet
again, and your conduct will not be forgotten."

Alixe Delavigne bowed with the grace of a queen and never lifted
her eyes until her sober mentor had brought her to the shelter of
his home. Before they were seated at tiffin the wires bore away
this dispatch, which astounded its recipient:

"CAP. ANSON ANSTRUTHER, JUNIOR UNITED SERVICE CLUB,

LONDON.

Meet me at Morley's Hotel, London. Will telegraph you from Brindisi.
Official dispatches to you explain.

BERTHE LOUISON."

When the stars lit up the broad Hooghly that night, a swift
Peninsular and Oriental Liner drew away down the river, with a
smart steam-launch towing at her companionway. The woman who said
adieu to the Viceroy's aid and her grave-faced banker in her splendid
rooms had read the brief words of Captain Anstruther, telling her
that the electric Ariel was true to his trust. "All right. Both
dispatches received. Welcome. Anstruther." The official staterooms
were a bower of floral beauty, and the gallant aid murmured: "I
hope that nothing has been forgotten. The whole ship is at your
disposal. The Commander has the Viceroy's personal orders. And, I
was to give you the letter and this package!" When the banker had
exchanged the last words of counsel and advice, he said: "Trust
me! I know Hawke of old! We will let him go up the ladder of life
a little, while the other fellow comes down!"

When the little steam-launch was a black blur on the blue waters,
then Alixe Delavigne, standing alone at the rail, smiled as she
saw the lean, straggling shores sweep by. "I fear that General
Abercromby will deem me discourteous! But time, tide, and the P.
and O. steamers wait for no elderly beau, however fascinating!"

It is a matter of local history in Calcutta that General
Abercromby's remark: "Hawke! we have been a pair of damned fools!
We are outwitted!" found its way at last into the clubs, and the
attack of jaundice, followed up by a severe gout, which "laid out"
the sighing lover for long months, proves, as of old, that stern
Mars cannot cope with the bright and all-compelling Venus! But
Major Alan Hawke, of the Provisional Staff, hearkened wisely to the
banker's words: "Don't be fool enough to think that you can trifle
with Madame Louison's interests. The noble Viceroy has placed you
on duty, at her own personal request, to give you a last chance to
regain all the promise of your youth. One word from her, and--and
you will be suspended or, dropped! You will get your military orders
from the Viceroy and her wishes from me."

Alan Hawke was paralyzed with astonishment the next day, when
the Viceroy ordered him to proceed at once to Delhi, to report to
General Willoughby, and to hasten to London, via Bombay, on completion
of his secret service at Delhi."

"I am a devil for luck!" muttered Hawke. "But even the tide of Fortune
can drive along too fast!" He had lost his head, and forgotten all
his pigmy plans. A stronger hand than his own was secretly guiding
his onward path, upward to the old status of the "British officer!"
"What the devil do they want of me in London?" he mused.

And, chuckling over how easily he had made the lovesick Abercromby
help him into his "military seat" once more, Alan Hawke betook himself
forthwith to Delhi, to report to General Willoughby for instant
service. When he descended at Allahabad, his undress uniform of a
major of the Staff Corps brought down on him a storm of congratulations
from old friends gathered there. "Sly old boy you were!" the service
men laughed, over their glasses, while wetting his new uniform.
"A man must not tell all he knows!" patiently replied Major Hawke,
with the sad, sweet smile of a man who had dropped into a good
thing.

As he rolled along toward Delhi, he seriously cogitated "playing
fair" in his new capacity. "Perhaps it will pay!" he mused. "But I
will even up with that old hog, Johnstone!" He dared not contemplate
now any substantial treason to Madame Alixe Delavigne. "She is
a witch woman! She seems to have an untold backing! The Bankers,
even, the Viceroy, and the French Consul-General, too. She could
crush me! I must serve My Lady Disdain, and I will fight and die
in her army!" Arriving at Delhi, Major Alan Hawke's first visit was
to Ram Lal Singh, as he prepared to "report forthwith," in "full
rig," to the local Commander. There was a strange preoccupation
in the old jeweler which baffled Hawke. Ram Lal only humbly begged
to have all his lengthened accounts with Madame Berthe Louison
arranged, and Alan Hawke, with a few words, calmed the Mussulman's
fears.

"I'll have it all attended to, to-morrow, when I look it over,"
said the Major, hastening away to the Club. "Ram has been at
the hashish, or bhang, or the betel nut, or some of his recondite
dissipations--perhaps he has enjoyed an opium bout in the Zenana,"
mused the new appointee, as he gayly "begged off" from a cloud of
eager congratulations by promising to "blow off" the whole Delhi
Club. "Business first, pleasure afterwards" said the resplendent
Major Hawke, as he clattered away, a handsome son of Mars, to report
to General Willoughby.

Major Hawke was secretly delighted with his cordial reception.
"Come to me to-morrow at ten, Major," said the Commander, "I will
have your first instructions, but remember absolute secrecy. This
is a very grave affair to both of us--your coming employment."

"The tide of life is bearing me on, with a devilish rapidity, with
favoring gales," the Major reflected. But beyond the clouds veiling
the future he saw no farther shore.

In the dim watches of the night for a week past, Simpson, secretly
busied with preparing Hugh Johnstone's flitting, was perplexed at
the sound of shuffling feet and whispered voices in the master's
rooms opening into the splendid gardens. "Who the devil has
he there? Some woman!" mused the old veteran servant. Simpson had
his own little "private life" to wind up, and so he was charitably
inclined. It was his custom when all was still to slip away "to
the quarter" where some lingering cords were now slowly snapping
one by one. The old servant noted with surprise a dark form gliding
on his trail in several of these goings and comings. Being of a
practical nature, the man who had faced the mad rebels at Lucknow
only belted on a heavy Adams revolver, and concluded at last that
some others of the household were busied in secret dissipation or
nocturnal lovemaking. "No one man has a controlling patent on being
a fool," mused Simpson. "Black and white, we're all of a muchness."
And as he knew they might now leave at any moment he sped away to
his last delightful nights in Delhi.

On the night when Alan Hawke returned from Calcutta, the inky blackness
of an approaching storm wrapped dreaming Delhi in an impenetrable
mantle. Under the huge camphor tree where the cobra had risen in
its horrid menace before the frightened girl, a dark figure waited
till a man glided to his side. His head was bent as the spy reported
"Simpson is gone to the quarter. Two of our men have followed him,
and, if he returns, he will be stopped on the way." The only answer
was an outstretched arm, and the whispered words, "Go, then, and
watch."

"It is the very night--the night of all nights!" muttered the watcher
under the tree, and then, stealing forward, he tapped three times
at the window where Hugh Johnstone stood with his heart beating
high in all the pride of a coming triumph ready to open to the man
who was settling hisprivate affairs.

"No one shall know that I have stolen away," he mused. "Forever
and in the night."

A light foot pressed the floor as the expected one glided over the
low window sill. There was a night lamp burning dimly in a shaded
corner. "Put out the light. I must tell you something. We are both
watched and spied on!" whispered a well-known voice.

As Hugh Johnstone turned from the corner, in the darkness, there was
a gurgling cry--a half-smothered groan--as Mirzah Shah's poisoned
dagger was driven to the hilt between his shoulders. His accounts
were settled, at last!

An hour later, a dark form crept through the gardens toward the
gate where Harry Hardwicke had rode in to the rescue. There was a
silent struggle as two men wrestled in the darkness, and one fled
away into the shadows of the night. It was the chance meeting of
a spy and a murderer.

And then Major Alan Hawke stooped and picked up a heavy dagger
lying at his feet. "I have the beggar's knife," he growled. And,
with a sudden intention, he vanished toward the Club, for the knife
of Mirzah Shah was reeking, and Hugh Johnstone had gone out on his
darkened path alone. He had left Delhi--forever.

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