An Amiable Charlatan by Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"Eve," I asked, "how about Mrs. Samuelson's jewels?"

"They were returned to her from 'a repentant criminal,'" Eve murmured.

"And the forged banknotes made by the young man in the Adelphi?"

"They were all destroyed as fast as father could buy them," she explained. "He has found the boy a post now with some printer in America."

"And the two thousand pounds at the gaming club--that first night?"

"Daddy made it three and sent it to a hospital. He thought it would do them more good."

"You know, you're a shocking pair!" I said severely.

"Paul," she sighed, "you never can know how dull it was at Okata."

"I'm jolly glad it was!" I told her. "It gives me a better chance--doesn't it?"

"And we'll give daddy a good time whenever we can?" she pleaded.

"Always," I promised. "He's one of the best!"

"He's so clever, too!"

"Clever, without a doubt," I admitted, "only I think perhaps we might get him to use his talents in a more orthodox way. By the by," I added, putting my head out of the window, "I think it's getting a little chilly."

I ordered the taxi closed and we returned to the hotel. The hall porter drew me on one side confidentially.

"Mr. Bundercombe and the other gentleman, sir," he announced, "are waiting for you in the bar."

CHAPTER X--A BROKEN PARTNERSHIP

By what certainly seemed to be, at the time, a stroke of evil fortune, I invited Mrs. Bundercombe and Eve to lunch with me at Prince's restaurant a few days after our return from the country. Mrs. Bundercombe was graciously pleased to accept my invitation; but she did not think it necessary to alter in any way her usual style of dress for the occasion.

We sailed into Prince's, therefore--Eve charming in a lemon-colored foulard dress and a black toque; Mrs. Bundercombe in an Okata dressmaker's conception of a tailor-made gown in some hard, steel-ray material, and a hat whose imperfections were perhaps mercifully hidden by a veil, which, instead of providing a really reasonable excuse for its existence by concealing some portion of Mrs. Bundercombe's features, streamed down behind her nearly to her feet.

The _maitre d'hotel_ who welcomed me and showed to our table found his little flow of small talk arrested by that first glimpse of our companion. He accepted my orders in a chastened manner, and I noticed his eyes straying every now and then, as though in fearsome fascination, to Mrs. Bundercombe, who was sitting very upright at the table, with her bony fingers stretched out and a good deal of gold showing in her teeth as she talked with Eve in a high nasal voice concerning the absurd food invariably offered in English restaurants.

Then suddenly her flow of language ceased--the bomb-shell fell! Mrs. Bundercombe's face became unlike anything I have ever seen or dreamed of. Even Eve's eyes were round and her expression dubious. I turned my head.

Some three tables away Mr. Bundercombe was lunching with a young lady--a stranger to us all She was not only a stranger to us all but, though she was remarkably good looking, there were indications that she scarcely belonged to our world.

All three of us remained silent for a moment. Then I coughed and took up the wine list.

"What should you like to drink, Mrs. Bundercombe?" I asked in attempted unconcern.