Let us join the Madame," said Hawke, with an uneasy feeling of a coming tropical storm, "I'm glad to be out of it," mused Hawke.

"If Abercromby stays a week, both parties will defer hostilities until he goes.

If that soft-hearted Swiss fool only telegraphs! By God, I would have liked to have had one final tete-a-tete.

She can make my fortune yet." The flying minutes glided easily away, with Hugh Johnstone's old-time gallantry artfully separating the two secret conspirators against his peace.

Alan Hawke lunched gayly, with but one lurking regret--a futile sorrow that he had not bent Justine Delande to his will.