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Updated: May 9, 2025
"Most interesting!" Mr. Bundercombe murmured, having with an effort withdrawn his eyes from the pair. "The girl you doubtless recognize. She was once a typist in the office of Messrs. Harding & Densmore. She was quite lately, as I dare say you remember, able to give me some very useful information; in fact it is through her that Mr.
How will you have the reward, sir?" Bundercombe replied. The manager went to his safe and counted over notes and gold to the amount of five hundred pounds, which Mr. Bundercombe buttoned up in his pockets. "I ask you now, sir," he said, "for your word of honor that you will not have us followed or make any further inquiries into this affair." "It is given freely given!" the manager promised.
And you asked me afterward about that last batch. You said to me: 'Louis, you are sure that they are all quite gone? Remember that there is trouble in the possession of them! And I told you a lie!" Mr. Bundercombe coughed and poured himself out a little more of the coffee. "Louis," he declared, "you are a fool! You are a blithering idiot! You are a jackass! It never occurred to me before.
This is the night you promised to go with your mother to a lecture somewhere, isn't it?" I reminded her. She nodded. "Very well," she consented resignedly, "so long as you don't let him get hurt, dad." "No fear of that!" Mr. Bundercombe declared cheerfully. "If they go for any one they'll go for me. So long, young people! At ten o'clock, Paul!"
Perhaps he'll tell you about it afterward." We heard a door slam and Mr. Bundercombe's voice. "He is asking for you," Eve whispered. "Hurry along and come back as soon as you've got this business over." I found Mr. Bundercombe exceedingly chastened, but in all other respects his usual self. "We are calling for Mr. Wymans," he said, "in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and afterward we are going round to Mrs.
Bundercombe greeted me heartily and at once directed my attention to a small tent where cool drinks were being served. I suffered him to lead me in that direction and placed myself in his hands as regards the selection of a suitable beverage. We found a small table and sat down. "Haven't seen much of you lately, sir," I began. "Huh!
Bundercombe had called Dagger Rodwell alighted from the motor and stood for a moment looking into the windows of Tarteran's shop before he entered. He was faultlessly dressed in morning clothes, smoking a cigarette and carrying a silver-headed cane. After some hesitation he entered the shop. Mr. Bundercombe drew a little breath. He had been looking at another part of the street.
On the roof was a dressing case made of some sort of compressed cane and covered with linen. Accompanying it was a black tin box, on which was painted, in white letters: "Hannah Bundercombe, President W.S.F." Standing by the door was a footman with an article in his hand that I believe is called a grip, which, in the present instance, I imagine took the place of a dressing case.
The life of an adventuress is, after all, just a little strenuous and I am tired of living on the thin edge of nothing." "Perhaps, before you know where you are," Mr. Bundercombe remarked gloomily, "you'll be living on the thin edge of a little less than nothing!" There was a knock at the door. We all looked at one another.
I promise you that Mr. Walmsley and I will return alone, and that I will give no intimation of your presence here to any person whatsoever." Rodwell was puzzled. He rose slowly to his feet, however, and walked toward the basin at the other end of the apartment. "All right!" he agreed sullenly. "I shall be here." Mr. Bundercombe and I descended into the street. I was feeling a little dazed. Mr.
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