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

CHAPTER XI--MR. BUNDERCOMBE'S WINK

I scarcely recognized Mr. Cullen when he first accosted me in the courtyard of the Milan. At no time of distinguished appearance, a certain carelessness of dress and gait had brought him now almost on a level with the loafer in the street. His clothes needed brushing, he was unshaved, and he looked altogether very much in need of a bath and a new outfit.

"May I have a word with you, Mr. Walmsley?" he asked, standing in the middle of the pavement in front of me and blocking my progress toward the Strand.

I hesitated for a moment. His identity was only just then beginning to dawn upon me.

"Mr. Cullen!" I exclaimed.

"At your service, sir."

I turned round and led the way back into the court.

"This is not a professional visit, I trust?" I said as we passed into the smoke room.

"Not entirely, sir," Mr. Cullen admitted. "At the same time--" He paused and looked out the window steadily for a moment, as though in search of inspiration.

"I trust," I began hastily, "that Mr. Bundercombe has not--"

"Precisely about him, sir, that I came to see you," Mr. Cullen interrupted. "I am bound to admit that a few weeks ago there was no man in the world I would have laid my hands on so readily. That day at the Ritz, however, changed my views completely. I feel," he added, with a dry smile, "that I got more than level with Mr. Bundercombe when I sent for his wife."

"So it was you who sent the cables that brought her over!" I remarked.

"But please remember, sir," he begged apologetically, "that I had never seen the lady. I sent the cables, confidently anticipating that she would disclaim all knowledge of Mr. Bundercombe. When she arrived, and I realized that she was actually his wife, I forgave him freely for all the small annoyances he had caused me: my visit to you this morning, in fact, is entirely in his interests."

"What has Mr. Bundercombe been up to now?" I asked nervously.

"Nothing serious--at any rate, that I know of," Mr. Cullen assured me. "For the last fortnight--ever since Mrs. Bundercombe's arrival, in fact-- Mr. Bundercombe has somehow or other managed to keep away from all his old associates and out of any sort of mischief. Last night, however, I was out on duty--I haven't had time to go home and change my clothes yet--in a pretty bad part, shadowing one of the most dangerous swell mobsmen in Europe--a man you may have heard of, sir. He is commonly known as Dagger Rodwell."

I hastily disclaimed any acquaintance with the person in question.

"Tell me, though," I begged, "what this has to do with Mr. Bundercombe?"

"Just this," Mr. Cullen explained: "I ran my man to ground in a place where I wouldn't be seen except professionally--and with him was Mr. Bundercombe."

"They were not engaged," I asked quickly, "in any lawbreaking escapade at the time, I trust!"

Mr. Cullen shook his head reassuringly.