A Fascinating Traitor

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

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Love thrilled in the young man's vacant heart, sounding the chords
of the Harp of Life. He had been in a glittering Indian exile long
enough to be very susceptible. "I spent two weeks up there with
the expectant Sir Hugh Johnstone," lightly rattled on the aid. "I
verified the fact that the young woman is his acknowledged daughter.
He has no other lineal heir to the title, for an old, dry-as-dust,
retired Edinburgh professor, a brother, childless and eccentric, is
living near St. Helier's, in Jersey, in a beautiful Norman chateau
farm mansion, where old Hugh proposed once to end his days. It seems
to be all square enough. I was as delicate as I could be about it,
and the matter is apparently all right. The papers have all gone
on, and, in due time, Hugh Fraser will be Sir Hugh Johnstone!"

Anstruther quaffed a beaker with guileful ideas of detaining his
fair neighbor, now ruffling her plumage for departure, for only a
sporadic knot of diners here and there lingered at the long table.
"The girl herself?" asked Hawke, with a strange desire to know
more.

"Report has duly magnified her hidden charms," replied Anstruther.
"She is called "The Veiled Rose of Delhi," and no manner of man may
lift that mystic veil. I was treated en prince, but held at arm's
length."

Hawke smiled softly, and said in a low voice, "I hardly see how all
this brings you over here. The Rose blooms by the far-away Jumna."

"Then know, my friend," laughed Anstruther, "such a rose as the
peerless Nadine Johnstone must have a duenna." He deftly caught an
impassioned glance from the softly shining brown eyes, and hastily
went on. "She was educated right here in this emporium of watches,
musical boxes, correct principles, and scientific research. Mesdames
Justine and Euphrosyne Delande, No. 122 Rue du Rhone, conduct an
institute (justly renowned) where calisthenics, a view of the lake,
a little music, a great deal of bad French, and the Conversations
Lexicon, with some surface womanly graces, may all be had for
some two hundred pounds a year. Miss Justine Delande, a sedately
gray-tinted spinster, has been tempted to remain on guard for
a year out in India, having safely conducted this Pearl of Jeunes
Personnes Bien Elevees out to the old Qui Hai. I have been charged
with some few necessary explanations and negotiations, the delivery of
some presents, and, when I have visited this first-class institute,
enjoying all the attractions of the Jardm Anglais and the Promenade
du Lac, I shall flee these tranquil slopes of the Pennine Alps.
Incidentally, the records of Mademoiselle Euphrosyne will confirm
the very natural story of the would-be Sir Hugh, whose vanished
wife no Anglo-Indian has ever seen. She is supposably dead. A last
official note after I have run on to Paris will close up the whole
awkward matter. I will call there tomorrow and then take the early
train, as I am on for a lot of family visits and sporting events
before I can settle down to have my bit of a fling."

"It's a very strange story," murmured Alan Hawke. "No man ever
suspected Hugh Fraser of family honors."

"And 'the Rose of Delhi!' will probably marry some lucky fellow
out there, as old Johnstone has lacs and lacs of rupees," said
Anstruther, "for he cannot keep her in his great gardens forever,
guarded by the stony-eyed Swiss spinster, or let her run around as
the Turks do their priceless pet sheep with a silver bell around
her neck. There was some old marital unhappiness, I suppose, for
the girl is evidently born in wedlock, and the story is straight
enough."

"Have you seen her?" eagerly inquired Hawke.

"Just a few stolen glimpses," hastily replied Anstruther, politely
rising and bowing as the fair unknown suddenly left her seat, in
evident confusion.

The two men strolled out of the salle & manger together, Major Alan
Hawke critically observing the heightened color and evident elan
of his aristocratic friend.

"Oh! I say, Hawke," cried Anstruther, "they'll show you up to my
rooms in a few moments. I'll go and see the maitre d'hotel here!
The service is beastly--beastly!" and the youth fled quickly away.

Major Alan Hawke nodded affably, and slowly mounted the staircase
to his room, wondering if the aid-de-camp was destined by the gods
to furnish forth his purse for the return to India. "He's pretty
well set up now, and he evidently has his eye upon this brown-eyed
nixie. Dare I rush my luck? The boy's a bit stupid at cards." With
downcast eyes the anxious adventurer wandered along the corridor
in the dimly-lighted second story. It was the turning point of his
career.

There was the rapid rustle of silk, the patter of gliding feet,
a warm, trembling hand seized his own, and in the darkness of a
window recess he was aware that he was suddenly made the prize of
the fair corsair ci la Houbigant. "Quick, quick, tell me! Do you
go with him?" the strange enchantress said, in excited tones, using
the English tongue as if to the manner born.

"Madame! I hardly understand," cautiously said the astounded Major.

"I want you to help me! You must help me! I must see him! I must
find out all." The sound of a servant's steps arrested her incoherent
remarks. "Wait here!" the excited woman whispered, as she walked
back down the hall. There was a whispered colloquy, and Alan Hawke
caught the gleam of the silver neck chain of the maitre d'hotel.
The sound of an opening door was heard, and, in a few moments the
flying Camilla returned to her hidden prey.

"Tell me truly," she panted, "what will you do with him? He wishes
me to ride with him; my answer depends on you. You are in trouble;
I can see it in your haggard eyes. Help me now, and--and I will
help you!" And then Alan Hawke spoke truly to the waif of Destiny,
whom chance had thrown in his way.

"I only wish to play with him for a couple of hours; if luck turns
my way, that will be time enough!"

"Ah! you would have money! Let him go away in peace! Help me
to-morrow, here, and I will give you money!"

"What is your own scheme?" the doubting vaurien demanded.

"I must know all of this Hugh Johnstone, all about this girl," she
whispered, her lips almost touching his cheek.

"Let me play with him to-night; I am yours as soon as he departs!"
sullenly said Hawke.

"Then, finish in two hours," the woman said, gathering her draperies
to flee away, "for I will ride with him to-night!"

"Just a bit unconventional," murmured Alan Hawke. "Who the devil can
this French-English woman be anyway." He realized that some subtle
game depended upon the memories of the past strangely evoked by the
artless Anstruther's babble. As he strolled back to the smoking-room,
he saw the maitre d'hotel slyly deliver a twisted bit of paper to
the all too unconcerned looking young Adonis, and the gleam of a
napoleon shone out in the grave faced Figaro's hand. "Now for our
cafe noir, a good pousse cafe--and--a dash at the painted beauties.
I can't play very long," was Anstruther's salutation, as he
complacently twisted his mustache en hussar. Major Hawke bowed in
a silent delight.

And so it fell out that both wolf and panther--hungry vulpine prowler
and sleek feminine soft-footed enemy--gathered closely, around the
young British Lion, whose easy self-complacency led him into the
snare, hoodwinked by the fair unknown Delilah.

Alan Hawke strode to the windows of Anstruther's rooms and standing
there, watched the drifting moonbeams mantling on the spectral
blue lake, while his chance-met friend rang for a waiter. There was
the murmur of confidential orders, and then Anson Anstruther with
a bright smile dropped easily into the role of host. The young
staff officer was so elated by the apparently flattering selection
of the fair anonyma that he never considered the idea of possible
foul play. It was evident that Major Hawke had not noticed the
little by-play which was the delightful undercurrent of the table
d'hotel dinner. There was no time lost in the preliminaries of the
card duel.

Through curling blue wreaths of aromatic incense, over the
brandy-dashed coffee, the two men sententiously struggled for the
smiles of Fortune, with impassive faces, in a rapid duel of wits
as the fleeting moments sped along.

The tide of luck was set dead against Anstruther, who strangely seemed
to be now possessed of a merry devil. He made perilous excursions
into the land of brandy and soda, gayly faced his bad fortune, and
feverishly chattered over the well-worn Anglo-Indian gossip adroitly
introduced by the now nerve-steadied Hawke. General Renwick's
loss of his faded and feeble spouse, the far-famed "Poor Thing" of
much polite apology for her socially aristocratic ailments; Vane
Tempest's singular elopement with the beautiful wife of a green
subaltern; Harry Chillingly's untoward end while potting tigers;
Count Platen's enormous winnings at Baccarat; Fitzgerald Law's
falling into a peerage; and Mrs. Claire Atterbury, the wealthy widow's
purchase of a handsome boy-husband fresh from Sandhurst. All this
with Jack Blunt's long expected ruin, and a spicy court-martial or
two, furnished a running accompaniment to Anstruther's expensive
"personally conducted tour" into the intricacies of ecarte, led
on by the coolest safety player who ever fleeced a griffin. Truly
these were golden moments. The Major's cool steady eyes were sternly
fixed on his cards.

The self-imposed sentence of suicide of the afternoon was indefinitely
postponed when Alan Hawke amiably nodded as Anstruther at last
apologized for glancing at his watch. "I've a bit to do to get
ready for to-morrow, and we'll try one more hand and then I'll say
good-night."

"Well, I'll give you your revenge at any time, Anstruther! By
the way, what's your London address?" Hawke was complacently good
humored as he glanced at a visiting card whereon sundry comfortable
figures were roughly totted up.

"Junior United Service, always," carelessly said Anstruther. "They
keep run of me, for I'm off for the woods as soon as the shooting
season opens. Where will you be this winter?"

Major Hawke assumed a mysterious air, "That depends upon the Russian
and Chinese game--the Persian and Afghan intrigues! You see, I am
awaiting some ripening affairs in the F. O. I was called back on
account of my familiarity with the Pamirs, and there's a good bit
of Blue Book work that my knowledge of Penj Deh, and the whole
Himalayan line has helped out." The captain was a bit agnostic now.

"You were---" began Anson Anstruther, timidly, the old vague gossip
returning to haunt him. His ardor was cooling in view of the very
neat sum of his losses in three figures.

"On Major Montgomerie's escort as a raw boy when I came out," promptly
interrupted Hawke. "I went all over Thibet in '75 with Nana Singh
as a youngster. He was a wonderful chap and besides executing the
secret survey of Thibet, he ran all over Cashmere, Nepaul, Sikkim,
and Bhootan, secretly charged with securing authentic details
of the death of Nana Sahib." The cool assurance of the adventurer
disarmed the now serious Anstruther, for both the sagacious
English officer and his disguised assistant, Nana Singh, were both
dead these many years. "Morley's is my regular address; I keep up
no home club memberships now," coolly said Hawke, as at last they
threw the cards down.

Anstruther picked up his marker card as he glanced at Hawke's ready
money upon the table. There was a ten-pound note folded under the
Major's neat pocket case and a plethoric fold of Bank of England
notes bulged the neat Russia leather. He never knew that only thirteen
one-pound notes made up this brave financial show of his adversary.
Alan Hawke was a past master of keeping up a brave exterior and
he blessed the Cook's Tourists who had that day left these small
bills with the hotel cashier.

"Now, here you are," hastily said Anstruther. "Do you make the
same total as I do?" The spoiled partrician boy carelessly shoved
out sixty pounds in notes and rummaging over his portmanteau produced
a check book. "There, I think that's right. Check on Grindlay,
11 and 12 Parliament Street, for four hundred and twenty-eight."
Hawke bowed gravely with the air of a satisfied duelist, and then
carelessly swept the check and notes into his breast pocket.

"Tell me, what sort of a girl is this Nadine Johnstone," the wanderer
said, by way of a diversion.

"I can't tell you! Only old General Willoughby has pierced the veil.
Of course, Johnstone could not refuse a visit from the Commander of
Her Majesty's forces. In fact, Harry Hardwicke, of the Engineers,
accompanied Willoughby. The old chief treats Hardwicke as a son
since he bore the body of the dear old fellow's son out of fire in
the Khyber Pass, and won a promotion and the V. C. Harry says the
girl is a modern Noor-Mahal! But, she is as speechless and timid
as a startled fawn! Now, Major, you will excuse me. I have to leave
you!" There was a fretful haste in the passionate boy's manner.
The hour was already near midnight.

"Shall I not see you to-morrow?" politely resumed Hawke. "You will
not spend your whole morning with the stern damsel in spectacles
and steel-like armor of indurated poplin?"

"Do you know I'm afraid I shall miss you," earnestly said the aide.
"Hugh Johnstone wishes me to urge Mademoiselle Euphrosyne to allow
her sister to remain in India, in charge of the Rose of Delhi until
the old eccentric returns. Of course, the girl left alone would
be an easy prey to every fortune hunter in India, should anything
happen!" There was a ferocious, wild gleam in Alan Hawke's eyes
as the aide grasped his hat and stick. "I wish to probe the family
records and find out what I can of the 'distaff side of the line,'
as Mr. Guy Livingstone would say. I have some really valuable
presents, and I am on honor to the Viceroy in this, for, of course,
a baronetcy must not be given into sullied hands. Johnstone will
probably hermetically seal the girl up till the Kaisar-I-Hind has
spoken officially. Then, if this delicate matter of the hidden
booty of the King of Oude is settled, the old fellow intends to
return to the home place he has bought. I'm told it's the finest
old feudal remnant in the Channel Islands, and magnificently
modernized. The government does not want to press him. You see
they can't! The things went out of the hands of the hostile traitor
princes, and Hugh Fraser, as he was, cajoled them from the custody
of the go-betweens. We have never gone back on the plighted word of
a previous Governor-General! The Queen's word must not be broken.
I have a bit of persuading to do, and some other little matters to
settle!"

"Well, then, Anstruther, we may meet again on the line of the
Indus," said Hawke, with his lofty air. "I have always preferred
the secret service to mere routine campaigning, for, really, the
waiting spoils the fighting! Poor Louis Cavagnari! He confirmed
my taste for silent and outside work! I was sent out from Cabul by
him as private messenger just before that cruel massacre, a faux
pas, which I vainly predicted. He taught me to play ecarte, by the
way!"

"Then he was a good teacher, and you--a devilish apt scholar!"
laughed Anstruther, as he politely held the door open for the man
who had coldly fleeced him.

Alan Hawke's pulses were now bounding with the thrill of his unlooked-for
harvest! He experienced a certain pride in his marvelous skill,
and, restraining himself, he soberly paced along the corridor. The
excited aid-de-camp stood for a moment with his foot on the stair,
and then slowly descended. "He suspects nothing!" the amatory youth
murmured, as he passed out upon the broad Quai du Leman.

He walked swiftly along, gayly whistling "Donna e Mobile,"
with certain private variations of his own, until he reached the
splendid monument erected to the miserly old Duke of Brunswick,
who showered his scraped-up millions upon an alien city, to spite
his own fat-witted Brunswickers, and so escaped the blood-fleshed
talons of the hungry-Prussian eagle.

Duke Charles I hovered amiably in the air, over a comfortable
carriage wherein the "other little matters" were most temptingly
materialized in the person of a lovely woman waiting there with
burning eyes, her splendid face veiled in a black Spanish lace
scarf. It was the old fate--"Unlucky at cards, lucky in love!" The
staff officer's abrupt command to "drive everywhere, anywhere,"
until "further orders," was implicitly obeyed by the stolid cabby,
who set off at once for a long round of the mild "lions" of fair
Geneva, nestling there by the shimmering lake.

The click of the horses' feet upon the deserted roadway kept time
to the murmurs of a most coy Delilah, who molded as wax in her
slender hands the ardent military Samson, who was all unmindful
of his flowing locks! And the silent moon shimmered down upon the
waste of waters!

Alan Hawke was seated for an hour alone in his room, enjoying the
cigars offered up by the "Universal Provider," who had yielded up
so liberally. The strong brandy and soda had at last restored his
shaken nerves, for he had played with his life staked upon the
outcome! He then grimly counted up his winnings. "Four-hundred and
eighty-eight good pounds! That will take me back to Delhi in very
good shape," he soliloquized. "I wonder if there is anyway to get
at that girl? If I mistake not, she will have a half a million!
The old Commissioner always liked me, too. By God! If I could only
get in between him and this baronetcy I might creep in on the girl's
friendship! But the old curmudgeon keeps her locked up! Rather
risky in India!" He leaned back, enjoying memories of the women with
pulses of flame and hearts of glowing coal whom he had met in the
days when he was "dead square." This strange woman! Who is she?
What does she know?

He dozed off until the clattering return of the Misses Phemie and
Genie Forbes, of Chicago, aroused him. His broad grin accentuated
the easily overheard strident remark: "Say, Genie, I wish we had
had those two English Lords at our opera supper. They are just
jim-dandies, that's what!"

"As long as the world is full of such fools, I can afford to live,"
he pleasantly remarked, as he turned in. A new campaign was opening
to him. Far away, up the shores of the moon-transfigured lake, a
hot-headed young fool was showering kisses on the hand of a woman,
who sweetly said: "Remember my conditions! Prove yourself my friend,
and I will meet you in Paris! Now, take me home." Samson was shorn
of his locks, and the delighted Alan Hawke found a little note
slipped under his door in the morning.

CHAPTER II.

AN OFFENSIVE AND DEFENSIVE ALLIANCE.

When the now buoyant Major Alan Hawke was awakened by the golden
lances of morning which shivered gayly upon the Pennine Alps he
proceeded to a most leisurely toilet, having first satisfied himself
that his winnings of the night before were not the baseless fabric
of a dream. He smiled as he fingered the crisp, clean notes, and
gazed lovingly upon the dingy-looking but potent check drawn on
the old army bankers.

"No nonsense about that signature," he cheerfully said. "Anstruther
is no welsher," and, as he rang for his hot water and a morning
refresher, he picked up the little note with an eager curiosity.

"By Gad! she is a cool one! This is no vulgar darned occasion!
I need all my wits to-day!" He was studying over the brief words
when the ready waiter took his order for a cosy breakfast. He had
deliberately moved out all his lines to an easy comfort, throwing
out a line of pickets against any appearance of social shabbiness.
"She said that she had money," he murmured, as he read the note
again. "What the devil does she want, then, if she has all the
money she needs! Perhaps some discarded mistress! Bah! The old
man's heart is as hollow as a sentrybox, and, besides, he has not
been in Europe for nearly twenty years. Ah, I see! Perhaps a bit of
blackmail--some early indiscretion! She did speak about the girl!
Then I must be the silent partner of her future harvest! She probably
needs a man's arm to reach the wary old Baronet in future. My lady
writes in no uncertain tone."

He carefully folded the note and bestowed it safely with the spoil
of the young patrician. "Of course I must show up," he said as he
betook himself to his tub whence he emerged shapely as an Adonis
with the corded torso of an athlete. The appetizing breakfast put
the Major in excellent humor, and he drew forth his "sailing orders"
as he lit his first cheroot. Seated in a window recess, he watched
the hotel frontage, while he read the imperative lines again. They
were explicit enough and had been dictated en reine. "Meet me at
the Musee Rath, in the vestibule at two o'clock. He leaves here at
one-thirty. Keep away from the hotel and avoid us both. Go up to
Ferney and come back on the one o'clock boat."

There was a neat carte de visite in the inclosure.

"Now, I will wager that is not her name," he smiled as he read the
Italian script.

"I can certainly now afford to throw a day or so away on her. At
any rate, I will let her make the game. I must wait a day or so to
send on the Grindlay check," the wanderer mused, smiling genially
upon the head porter. Major Alan Hawke casually inquired, upon his
leisurely descent, "My friend?"

"Ah, sir! Paid his bill and left. Luggage already sent to the station
labeled 'Paris.'" Alan Hawke most liberally tipped the functionary.
"I think I will take a run of a few days up to Lausanne or Chillon
myself; the weather is delightful." He strolled over to the local
Cook's Agency and sent his treasure-trove check on to London for
collection.

"I think that I will fight shy of this sleepy burgh," he ruminated,
as the little paddle-wheel steamer sped along toward Ferney, leaving
behind a huge triangular wake carved in the pellucid waters. "It
might be devilish awkward if Anstruther should find me here, hovering
around his fair enslaver. I may need this golden youth again, in
the days to come! He will be out of India for a couple of years,
but I will not trust Fate blindly. What the old Harry can she be
up to?" He suddenly burst into a merry peal of laughter, to the
astonishment of the crowd of passengers.

"Fool that I am! I see it all now! Anstruther cleared out early!
The proprieties of the home of Calvin must be respected! After he
has adroitly pumped the intellectual fountain of the past dry, then
a quiet little breakfast tete et tete will give Madame Louison the
time to fool him to the top of his bent! The sly minx! Evidently
she is cast for the 'ingenue' part in this little social drama! And
her trump card is to hide from me what she extracts from our Lovelace
by the coy use of those deuced fetching brown eyes and--other charms
too numerous to mention! But you shall tell me all yet, Miss Sly
Boots!" And the Major dreamed pleasant day dreams.

Life now seemed so different to the hopeful vaurien, with the
physical and moral backing of the four hundred and odd pounds! "I
was a fool--a damned fool, yesterday," he cheerfully ruminated. "If
I only handle this woman rightly, then I may get the hold I want
on this old recluse Johnstone, congested with the fat pickings of
forty-five years. A close-mouthed old rat is he, and yet it seems
that he is vulnerable after all. If he is playing fast and loose
with the government he will never get his honors before he gives
up the sleeping trust of the forgotten years."

Major Hawke vainly tried to follow the exuberant Anstruther in his
incursion into the placid temple of Minerva, where that watchful
spinster, Miss Euphrosyne Delande, eyed somewhat icily the handsome.
young "Greek bearing gifts." Professional prudence and the memory
of certain judiciously smothered escapades caused Miss Euphrosyne
at first to retire within her moral breast works and draw up the
sally-port bridge. For even in chilly Geneva, young hearts throb in
nature's flooding lava passions, jealously bodiced in school-girl
buckram and glacial swiss muslin. So it was very cool for a time
in the august cavern of conference where Anson Anstruther, a bright
Ithuriel, struggled with the cautious and covetous Swiss preceptress,
and the swift steamer Chilian was far up the lake before Captain
the victorious Honorable Anson Anstruther, sped away to the morning
meeting with the woman who had seemed to lean down from the moon-lit
skies upon her young Endymion in that starry night by the throbbing
lake.

Major Alan Hawke, proceeding on his voyage, found a certain bitterness in
the distant mental contemplation of Captain Anstruther's employment
of his leisure till train time, not knowing that the young soldier's
sense of duty led him first to dispatch several careful official
dispatches, one to London, and the two others to Calcutta and Delhi,
respectively. When Captain Anstruther finally deposited his mail
with the head porter of the Grand Hotel National he deftly questioned
that functionary. "My friend--Major Hawke?"

"Gone up the lake for two or three days, sir. Going to Lausanne
and Chillon. Keeps all his luggage here, though. Shall I give him
any message for you?" With a view to artfully veiling his coming
meeting with the beautiful Egeria a la Houbigant, the captain
deposited a card marked "P. P. C."

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