"You lucky young dog.

I suppose you are in the secret ?" But neither that night, nor two days later, at Major Hawke's superb dinner at the Delhi Club, did the jeunesse doree of the old capital extract an admission from that mysterious "secret service" man, Major Alan Hawke.

"You cannot deny, Hawke, that you dined at the marble house with the beauty whom we are all toasting," said a rallying roisterer.
"And--with the Veiled Rose of Delhi!" said another, still more eagerly.
"It is true, gentlemen" gravely said Major Hawke, "that I was invited to dinner at the marble house, but Madame Louison is a stranger to me, and I believe a tourist of some rank.

It was merely a formal affair.
I believe that she brought letters from Paris to Hugh Johnstone." Late that night Alan Hawke laughed, as he pocketed his winnings at baccarat.
"Three hundred pounds to the good! I'm a devil for luck!" And he sat down in his room to think over all the events of a day which had half turned his head.

Warned by Justine Delande that Madame Louison was bidden to dine with Hugh Johnstone, Alan Hawke closely interrogated her.
She evidently knew and suspected nothing.