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If things turn out as I expect there will be a gray touring motor car outside Tarteran's shop in the course of a few minutes. From that car will descend Dagger Rodwell. He will enter Tarteran's. Watch, then, as though your very life depended upon it!" I squeezed myself against the wall and looked down upon the never-ending procession.
Bundercombe began, as he carefully closed the door behind him, "I told you a few minutes ago I was neither on your side nor on the side of the law. I am about to prove it. I have returned the jewels to Tarteran's, no questions to be asked, and I've got the reward. There you are, young lady!" he added, placing the roll of notes and a handful of gold in her hand.
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.
"Perfectly." "You see where we are then," Mr. Bundercombe continued. "Has any reason occurred to you for the young lady's unalterable decision that no other spot in the whole of London would do for her manicure parlor?" I looked out the window. "We are next door to Tarteran's," I observed. Mr. Bundercombe smiled approvingly.
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