the object-lesson. They were simply to be comrades--and nothing
more.

"I will obey you to the very letter," he said simply, for he was
well aware the woman was keenly watching him.

"Then that is all. There is nothing more," soberly concluded his
companion. "The letters at Suez and Aden are, of course, to be
mere billets de voyage. The correspondence at Allahabad may cover
all of moment. Can you not give me a safe letter and telegraph
address at Delhi?"

"Give me your notebook," said Alan Hawke, as he carefully wrote
down the needed information: "Ram Lal Singh, Jewel Merchant, 16
Chandnee Chouk, Delhi."

"There's the address of my native banker; and as trusty a Hindu as
ever sold a two-shilling strass imitation for a hundred-pound star
sapphire. But, in his way he is honest--as we all are." And then
Alan Hawke boldly said: "How shall I address you at Allahabad?"

The flashing brown eyes gleamed a moment with a brighter luster
than pleasure's glow. "You have my visiting card, Major," the woman
coldly said. "I travel with a French passport, always en regie."

"By God! she has the nerve!" mused Alan Hawke, as he hastily said:
"And now, as we have settled all our little preliminaries, when am
I to know whether you trust me or not?"

He was pressing his advantage, for her precipitate departure would