An Amiable Charlatan Part 42

I expected an irritable outburst, but to my surprise he turned and preceded me toward the door. We entered the room and found Mr. Bundercombe there alone. Lord Porthoning looked from one to the other of us. His heavy gray eyebrows were drawn together; his face was the embodiment of a snarl.

"Now what in the name of all that's reasonable," he began in his hard, rasping voice, "made you bring me in here? I don't want to better my acquaintance with that old man, your father-in-law! I'd a good deal rather he'd stayed in his own country. I don't like the looks of him--I hate fat men! Don't keep me waiting here, Paul. If you want my advice I'll give it to you. If you want anything else you won't get it."

Mr. Bundercombe had moved softly round until he was standing with his back to the door. His manner was the one he had a.s.sumed so successfully in church--dignified, almost solemn.

"Paul," he said, "I asked you to invite this person in here because, now that you are Eve's husband, I felt that the interests of your family must be considered before my own inclinations. In my country we treat all men alike, and I am bound to say that if you'd been married to Eve out in Okata, and I'd seen any old skunk, whether he'd been an earl or what he looks like--a secondhand clothes dealer--sneaking Eve's presents, I'd have had him in prison before you'd reached the station."

"Mr. Bundercombe!" I exclaimed, horrified; it seemed to me that my father- in-law was carrying this affair too far.

Lord Porthoning, from whom I had expected a torrent of fierce abuse, stood looking at us both with an expression no written words could portray. His cheeks were ashen. His hands, which were crossed upon the k.n.o.b of his cane, were shaking. Mr. Bundercombe extended his right hand.

"Sir," he concluded sternly, "for the sake of the conventions of the country in which I find myself, and bearing in mind your connection with my son-in-law, I have kept the police out of this interview. Be so good as to hand over to Paul the emerald brooch you have secreted in your coat pocket!"

The pall of silence seemed suddenly removed. Lord Porthoning leaned forward. Then he began to talk. Any sympathy I might have felt for him, any feeling I may have had that my father-in-law's retributive scheme was of too drastic a nature, vanished before he had finished the first three sentences. Mr. Bundercombe, upon whom he heaped abuse of the most virulent character, remained unmoved. When at last Lord Porthoning paused for breath, I turned toward my father-in-law.

"What does this mean?" I asked.

"It means," Mr. Bundercombe explained, "that this gentleman, who finds my daughter's presents so inadequate, was actually leaving your house with an emerald brooch belonging to Eve in the righthand pocket of his coat!"

Lord Porthoning was once more incoherent. This time, however, I stopped him. I was already heartily sick of the affair, but at this stage I could not back out.

"Lord Porthoning," I said, "there is no necessity for such vigorous denials. The matter is easily arranged. You had better permit me to examine the pocket in question."

"I'll see you and your common bully of a father-in-law in h.e.l.l before I allow either of you to touch me or my clothing!" my pleasant connection declared fiercely. "Get out of my way, both of you! And be thankful if you don't have to answer for this outrage in a police court!"

He swaggered toward the door. Mr. Bundercombe, who had appeared to stand on one side, suddenly caught him by the shoulders.

"Feel in his right-hand pocket, Paul!" he bade me.

I did so and promptly produced the brooch. Lord Porthoning's eyes seemed almost to start from his head. I could see that he suddenly became limp in Mr. Bundercombe's grasp. His eyes were fixed on the jewels and his amazement was undeniable. Mr. Bundercombe winked at me over his head.

"What is the meaning of this, Lord Porthoning?" I demanded as sternly as I could.

My courage was failing me. I felt that the joke, after all, had been a severe one. Lord Porthoning seemed almost on the point of collapse. His eyes never once left the brooch which I was holding.

"I didn't take it!" he gasped. "I swear I didn't take it!"

I was anxious now to finish the affair.

"Lord Porthoning," I said, "I will take your word. You say you never took the brooch. Very well; we will a.s.sume, for the sake of the family, that it found its way into your pocket by accident."

Lord Porthoning felt his forehead. There were big drops of sweat standing out there. There was something in his extreme agitation that was, in a way, incomprehensible. He edged toward the door.

"I didn't take it!" he muttered. "Let me go! Let me get away!"

Mr. Bundercombe stood on one side. My hand was on the handle of the door.

I looked at my father-in-law questioningly. My sympathies were now almost with the enemy, but I felt bound to see the affair through.

"It was you who discovered this little accident," I remarked. "I think you will agree with me that it is best to say nothing more about it."

Mr. Bundercombe once more winked at me solemnly over the head of my stricken connection.

"I quite agree with you, Paul," he said. "Under the circ.u.mstances we will let nothing happen to disturb the festivities and harmony of the day. Lord Porthoning certainly will not object if we just satisfy ourselves that the brooch was the only instance of--momentary aberration; shall we call it?"

If Lord Porthoning's att.i.tude had been a little mysterious before it was absolutely incomprehensible now. He stood suddenly upright and brandished his cane over his head.

"If either of you touch me," he shouted fiercely, "I'll break your skulls!

This is blackmail! I'll send for the police! Let me go!"

His sudden fit of anger, justifiable though it certainly seemed on the face of it, nevertheless took both Mr. Bundercombe and myself by surprise.

The former, indeed, was in the act of opening the door, when he paused.

Once more he caught my connection by the collar and thrust his hand into the other coat pocket. When he withdrew it it was filled with rings, a bracelet and a pendant.

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 j.a.panese 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. Lord Porthoning had staggered to a chair and was sitting there with his face buried in his hands. He was a stricken man. I turned to my father-in-law.

"This is too much of a good thing, sir," I whispered angrily. "The brooch was all right enough, so far as it went, and he deserved a lesson; but these other things----"

A look in Mr. Bundercombe's face suddenly froze the words upon my lips. He leaned over toward me.

"Paul," he declared earnestly, "on my honor I put nothing into his pocket except the brooch. I knew no more of those things," he added, pointing to the table, "than you did!"

I was speechless. Lord Porthoning looked up. I had never seen a face quite like his in my life. One side of it seemed drawn with pain. He checked a sob. His fingers gripped at the air as he spoke.

"Paul," he begged hysterically, "don't give me away! I give you my word of honor--I give you my word as a Porthoning--I can't help it! You know what they call the d.a.m.ned thing when women have it--kleptomania, isn't it? I tell you I can't see these things without that same horrible, fascinating, cruel instinct! My hands are on them before I know it. But----" he broke off. "It's sending me mad, Paul; for, as I live, I never put hands on that brooch!"

"How long has this been going on?" I asked, almost mechanically. "Perhaps you are the reason that it has become the fashion to send detectives to guard wedding presents."

"I am the reason!" Lord Porthoning confessed, his voice shaking. "Paul, somehow I believe--I believe this has stopped it. You'll kill the instinct. Listen! You are off directly. Let this gentleman, your father- in-law, come round to my house. I will restore to him, I swear, every article I have ever taken in this fashion. He can find out the owners by degrees, and I promise that I will never again attend a wedding reception so long as I live!"

Outside I could hear them calling for me. I glanced at the clock. It was within a few minutes of the time fixed for our departure. Mr. Bundercombe nodded to me.

"Very well," I agreed. "It shall be as you say."

"I'll wait here," Lord Porthoning said in a trembling tone. "Mr.

Bundercombe can come back for me after he has seen you off. He can go home with me in the motor. Take--take care of those things."

Mr. Bundercombe covered them over with an antimaca.s.sar. We left Lord Porthoning sitting there and went out into the hall, where Eve was already waiting. Mr. Bundercombe was a little unnerved, but he pulled himself together.

"Word of honor, Paul!" he declared; "I never saw the old rat take a thing!

I simply landed him with the brooch. It was not until he was going out that I caught a glimpse of those other things in his pocket."

We drove off ten minutes later. I looked out of the motor as we swung round into the main thoroughfare. Behind the window of the little sitting room I saw the pale, almost ghastly face of Lord Porthoning. He caught my eye and waved his hand weakly.

On the pavement in front of the striped awning stood Mr. Bundercombe-- large, beaming, both hands outstretched. Eve waved her handkerchief. As we finally disappeared she glanced toward me.