CHAPTER V.

A DIPLOMATIC TIFFIN.





Major Alan Hawke had designedly breakfasted in the stately seclusion
of his rooms, and as he came gravely sauntering into the Club
ordinary, was at once beset by a friendly chorus, as he carelessly
glanced over the morning letters which attested his progress toward
the social zenith. He, however, gazed impatiently at the club-house
door, where a neat pair of ponies awaited him, with servants deftly
purveyed by the subtle Ram Lal. His two body servants were also
afrites of the same sly Aladdin. His swelling port duly impressed
his old friends.

The man "who had dropped into a good thing" gently put aside sundry
hospitable proffers, politely laughed away several tempting bargains
as to horses, carriages, furnished bungalows, and offers of racing
engagements, hunting bouts, and "private" dinners. "Waiting orders,
d'ye see!" he gently murmured. "Not worth while to set up anything!"
And then, with the air of a martyr, he disappeared, the ponies
springing briskly away, leaving all baffled conjecture behind.
The curious men who were left discussing a flying rumor that Major
Hawke was authorized to raise a Regiment of Irregular Horse for