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Updated: June 9, 2025
Bundercombe added, his voice suddenly very stern and threatening, "that through all the years that man your rightful partner has been in prison, through all the agony of his trial, the humiliation of his sentence, the name of neither one of you has passed his lips! Is it your wish that the truth shall now be told?" They shrank back. Harding was pale to the lips. Densmore was shivering.
Two people had entered the restaurant and were in conversation now with Luigi about a table. Mr. Bundercombe, who in the affairs of every-day life had no idea of concealing his feelings, was regarding them with every appearance of lively interest. "Paul," he whispered, "you must notice these two people. Watch them there's a good fellow!" They took their places at a table almost opposite ours.
"Who's the wizened-up little insect, with a snarl on his face?" he inquired of me earnestly. My slight impulse of irritation at such a description applied to one of my wedding guests passed when I looked up and saw the person to whom Mr. Bundercombe had directed my attention. I recognized the adequacy of the wording." "That," I replied, "is the Earl of Porthoning." "Kind of connection, isn't he?"
I'll tell you only this: You remember Bone Stanley, as he was called in those days the man who was sent to prison for fifteen years for bank robbery and for shooting the manager? Down Hammersmith way it was. The fellow was an American." "I remember it quite well," I assented. "He was tried for murder and convicted of manslaughter." Mr. Bundercombe nodded. "He was released this afternoon.
So far from hurrying over his luncheon, he seemed inclined to prolong it. There was no lack of conversation between him and his companion. They even lingered over their coffee and they were still at the table when Eve and I had finished and Mrs. Bundercombe was sipping the hot water, the only thing that passed her lips during the entire meal. I paid the bill and rose. Mrs.
"If you will give me a seat and a pen," he said, "I will write you a check for the amount." Captain Bannister stared at the checkbook. He glanced at Mr. Cheape and Mr. Cheape very vigorously shook his head. "I am sorry," he objected; "but my clients cannot think of accepting a check in settlement of this matter." Mr. Bundercombe began to show symptoms of annoyance. "Bless my soul!" he exclaimed.
Rotten little hole somewhere near the Haymarket! I've never been in since. I'll resign, with pleasure!" "And write a confession of your misdemeanor, sir?" Captain Bannister persisted. Mr. Bundercombe scratched his chin. "I'll write an account of the whole affair," he remarked dryly. Captain Bannister took up his hat. "I regret," he declared, "that Mr.
We went into the office; Giatron himself placed three glasses upon the desk and produced from a cupboard a bottle of what appeared to be very superior brandy. Mr. Bundercombe sipped his with relish. Then he glanced at the closed door. "Mr. Giatron," he began, "I have been having a chat with Louis.
Bundercombe was thoughtful. "It's a long time to hold them!" he murmured. "To hold whom?" I demanded. Mr. Bundercombe started slightly. "Nothing! Nothing! By the by, do you know a chap called Jonas Henry Jonas, of Milton Farm?" "I should think I do!" I groaned. "He's the backbone of the Opposition, the best speaker they've got and the most popular man." Mr. Bundercombe smiled sweetly.
Bundercombe rang me up on the morning of the last day appointed for his decision. "We've got a conference on, Paul," he announced dejectedly. "Will you come round here for me at a quarter to eleven?" I assented, and arrived at the house in Prince's Gardens a few minutes before that time. Eve met me in the hall.
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