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Updated: May 19, 2025
"Not a mouthful of food do I take in this place with that painted hussy sitting by Joseph's side a few feet away! Oh, I'll fix him when I get him home!" She drew a little breath between her teeth, but she was as good as her word. She refused all food and sat with her arms folded, glaring across at Mr. Bundercombe's table. My admiration for that man of genius was never greater than on that day.
"Bundercombe's Reapers," he said, as soon as he had disposed of it, "are the only reapers used by live farmers in the United States of America, Canada, Australia, or any other country worth a cent!" "That seems to hit us pretty hard," I remarked. "Have you got an agent over here?" "Sure!" Mr. Bundercombe replied.
Bundercombe's style was breezy and his jokes were frequent. He stood in an easy attitude and spoke with remarkable fluency. His first few remarks, which were mainly humorous, were cheered to the echo. The crowd was increasing all the time. Presently he took them into his confidence. "When I came down here a few days ago," we heard him say, "I came meaning to support my friend, Mr. Walmsley." Mr.
I infused a shade more civility into my leavetaking than Mr. Bundercombe's words invited. As soon as the door was closed behind the two men I returned to the study. Mr. Bundercombe was still standing upon the hearthrug, but the smile had faded from his lips. He looked at me a little anxiously. "Rotten lot of thieves!" he remarked. "I told you they were here for blackmail."
"Is that so!" he observed. "Well, well! He is a very intelligent man. I trust I'll be able to persuade him that any reaper he may be using at the present moment is a jay compared to Bundercombe's this season's model!" "I trust you may," I answered, a trifle tartly.
Bundercombe's obvious excitement. I, too, had the feeling that we were on the brink of an adventure. He made me stand up against the wall, by the side of the window, so that I could see down into the street. He himself was farther back in the room. "Follow my lead closely in everything, Paul!" he directed. "Meantime keep your eye glued on the pavement.
From where I was sitting I saw suddenly a strange thing. I saw Mr. Bundercombe's left arm shoot out from behind the curtain. In a moment he had the man by the throat. His other hand traveled over his clothes like lightning. It was all over almost before I could think. Rodwell was on his feet with a livid mark on his throat, and Mr.
At precisely the hour agreed upon that evening I presented myself at Mr. Bundercombe's house in Prince's Gardens. I noticed that the manner of the servant who admitted me was subdued and there was a peculiar gloom about the place. Very few lights were lit and the farther portion of the house, of which one could catch a glimpse from the little circular hall, seemed entirely deserted.
He threw them silently a glittering heap on the table. Without a word he thrust his hand in once more and brought out a little black ivory carving of a Japanese monk, which was perhaps one of the most valuable of my offerings. There was a blankness in Mr. Bundercombe's expression that I could not understand. I frowned. It seemed to me the affair had now gone much too far.
"I'll tell you in a very few sentences," Mr. Bundercombe promised. "Will you sit down?" "I prefer to stand," Stanley replied, "until I know exactly in whose house I am and what your interest in me is." "Very well!" Mr. Bundercombe agreed. "Here is my history: My name is Joseph H. Bundercombe. I am an American manufacturer. I have made a fortune in manufacturing Bundercombe's Reaping Machines.
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