Johnstone entered the reception-room, a study in gray and white,
with only the three priceless pigeon-blood rubies lending a color
to his snowy linen. "Upon my word, Sir Hugh, you are looking younger
than I ever saw you," said the visitor gracefully advancing.

"You're a bit premature, are you not, Hawke?" dryly said the civilian,
opening a silver cheroot box, once the property of a Royal Prince
of Oude. Hugh Johnstone motioned his visitor to be seated, and
keenly watched the younger man.

"I am on the inside of the matter," soberly said Alan Hawke. "It
was an open secret when I left London, and I've heard more since.
A brief delay only,--a matter of a few months--no more."

"Take a weed! They serve in half an hour!" abruptly said Hugh
Johnstone, as if anxious to change the subject. The old man then
strode forward and closed the door. Then, turning sharply upon his
visitor, frankly demanded, "Now, tell me why you are here?"

"That depends partly upon your affairs," said Hawke, meeting his
questioner's gaze unflinchingly. "I may have something to say to
you about the Baronetcy, by and bye." He paused to notice the keen
old Scotchman wince under the thrust, "but, in the mean time, I am
merely waiting orders here, and I want you to post me about the
condition of affairs up there." He vaguely indicated with his thumb
the far-distant battlement of the Roof of the World. Hugh Johnstone
rang a silver bell, and muttered a few words in Hindostanee to an
attendant. "I must know more from Calcutta before I can explain
just where I stand," said the renegade soldier, with caution.