An Amiable Charlatan Part 37

The man I had never seen before. He appeared to be of about medium height; slim, with a sallow skin; dark, sleepy eyes, which suggested the foreigner; a mouth that, straight and firm though it was, turned up a little at the corners, as though in contradiction of his somewhat indolent general appearance. He was exceedingly well-dressed and carried himself with the quiet a.s.surance of a man accustomed to moving in the world.

"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 Bundercombe murmured, having with an effort withdrawn his eyes from the pair.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. Stanley did not leave this country for South Africa with a hundred pounds in his pocket."

"And the man?" I asked.

Mr. Bundercombe was thoroughly enjoying himself. He drew his chair a little closer to mine and waited until he was quite sure that no one was within earshot.

"The man," he replied, "is one of the world's most famous criminals."

"He doesn't look it," I remarked, glancing across the room with some interest.

Mr. Bundercombe smiled.

"Great criminals are not all of the same type," he reminded me reprovingly. "That is where you people who don't understand the cult of criminology make your foolish mistakes. Our friend opposite is, without a doubt, of gentle though not of aristocratic birth. I know nothing of his bringing up, but his instincts do all that is necessary for him. The first time I saw him was in one of the criminal courts in New York. He was being tried for his life for an attempted robbery in Fifth Avenue and the murder of a policeman. He defended himself and did it brilliantly. In the end he got off. There is scarcely a person, however, who doubts but that he was guilty."

I looked across at the subject of our discussion with renewed interest.

"He shot him, I suppose?" I asked.

"On the contrary," Mr. Bundercombe replied, "he throttled him. The man has the sinews of an ox. The second time I saw him was at a dancing-hall in New York. He was there with a very gay party indeed; but one of them, the wealthiest, mysteriously disappeared. Rodwell--Dagger Rodwell was his nickname--came to England. I saw him once or twice just before I visited you down in Bedfordshire. Cullen warned me off him, however; wouldn't let me have a word to say to him."

"He doesn't sound the best companion in the world for your little typist friend," I remarked.

Mr. Bundercombe glanced across the room and at that moment the girl noticed him. She bowed and waved her hand. Mr. Bundercombe responded gallantly.

"I fancy," he murmured, "that she can take care of herself. Come, I really feel that I am in an interesting atmosphere once more."

Mr. Bundercombe's deportment was certainly more cheerful. For the last week or two he had been depressed. He had paid visits with Eve and myself, and devoted a reasonable amount of time to his wife. The demands on his complete respectability, however, had been irksome. He was too obviously finding no savor in life.

I really was not altogether sorry at first to notice the improvement in his spirits, though my sentiments changed when, a little later in the evening, the girl opposite left her place and came over to us. She greeted Mr. Bundercombe with the most brilliant of smiles and he held her hand quite as long as was necessary. He presented me and I learned that her name was Miss Blanche Spencer.

"I must not stay long," she said, laughing. "The gentleman I am with is a sort of cousin of mine and we don't get on very well; but I mustn't be rude."

Mr. Bundercombe and she seemed to have a good deal to say to each other and presently I noticed that their heads were drawing closer together. The girl dropped her voice. She was proposing something to which Mr.

Bundercombe was listening with keen interest. I heard him sigh.

"If it weren't for certain changes," he explained regretfully, "I guess I wouldn't hesitate a moment. But--"

I heard a whispered reference to myself as his daughter's fiance and an allusion to the continued presence of his wife in London. She nodded sympathetically.

"Now if there were any other way," Mr. Bundercombe concluded, "in which I could still further show my grat.i.tude to you personally for a certain little matter, why I'm all for hearing about it. I consider the balance is still on my side."

She laughed.

"You're really rather a dear!" she declared. "Do you know I am thinking of starting in business for myself?"

"Where, and what as?" Mr. Bundercombe inquired.

I shook open an evening paper and heard no more. The girl's leavetaking, however, a few minutes later, was both reluctant and impressive. I felt it my duty to allude to the matter as soon as we were alone.

"You know, sir," I said, "this helping young women to set up in business is a proceeding that's very likely to be misunderstood over here. I am not in the least sure that even Eve would quite approve."

Mr. Bundercombe smiled the smile of a man of the world.

"One can't tell one's womenkind everything!" he declared grandiloquently.

I was a little puzzled. I felt convinced that Mr. Bundercombe was concealing something from me.

"Furthermore," I continued, feeling it my duty to speak frankly to my future father-in-law, "a man of your position needs to be very careful when he has financial transactions with a good-looking young woman like Miss Blanche. The young lady herself might take advantage of it."

Mr. Bundercombe appeared to be giving my words full consideration.

"Well, well!" he said, a little vaguely. "We shall see. I don't mind telling you, though, Paul, that I would have nothing to say to her first suggestion--on your account, my boy. There's a scheme on foot in which her interesting companion is concerned, which needs financing. I haven't the least doubt that it is something entirely interesting--probably a mammoth jewel robbery or something of the sort."

I looked across at the man, who seemed to be reproaching the girl for her long absence. Almost at that moment he looked up and our eyes met for a brief instant. There seemed to be nothing in his gaze beyond a measure of polite and not too pointed interest. Nevertheless, when I looked away I begged Mr. Bundercombe to call for the bill.

"I have had enough of this place!" I declared, a little abruptly. "Next time Eve goes to bed with a headache I shall take you to the club."

I was walking down Bond Street with Eve one morning when my suspicions as to Mr. Bundercombe and a certain matter were first roused. As we neared the Piccadilly end I distinctly saw him vanish through a doorway on the lefthand side. He was most carefully dressed and carried in his hand a long paper parcel that could contain nothing but flowers. Upon some excuse I prevailed upon Eve to cross the road. There was one small bra.s.s plate only on the side of the entrance through which Mr. Bundercombe had disappeared. It was scarcely larger than my hand and on it was engraved in very elegant characters: BLANCHE MANICURE.

I made no comment at the time, but curiously enough that afternoon, as we sat out under the trees at Ranelagh, Eve referred to the subject of her parent. "Do you notice, Paul," she asked, "how much less we see of dad lately?"

"He does seem to have been out a good deal," I admitted.

She glanced at me.

"You haven't any idea, I suppose--"

The glance and her tone were quite sufficient for me. I hastened to disclaim all responsibility for Mr. Bundercombe.

"Your father," I a.s.sured her, "has never treated me with less confidence.

Whatever he may be doing at present, he is doing, let me a.s.sure you, entirely on his own responsibility."

"Then I think, if you don't mind, please," she begged, "you must try and get him to take you into his confidence. Of course," she went on, watching idly a polo team canter into the field, "I do not wish you to feel that he is in any way a responsibility. On the other hand, it does seem so queer, Paul! He has taken to dressing most carefully and he leaves the house regularly every morning at ten o'clock."

"You've no clew at all as to what he does with himself?" I asked.

"None," she replied, "except that I never saw any one with such overmanicured nails as his. I never knew him to go to a manicurist in my life, but he is obviously going to one nearly every day now or he couldn't keep the polish on. If that helps in any way--"

"It might," I admitted with a sigh.

"There he is!" Eve exclaimed suddenly. "Coming toward us, too! Do please take this opportunity, Paul, and see if you can find out anything. You see, a week ago he seemed bored to tears, and now he has just that happy, contented expression which he wears all the time when he is really engaged in something outrageous. I will go and talk to your sister. I think she is over there with Captain Green."

Mr. 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! That's because I don't spend three parts of my time in milliners'