Mr. Bundercombe and I strolled outside.
"You might tell Mr. Cullen that we shall not require him this evening,"
Mr. Bundercombe instructed the butler. "Bring a bottle of champagne, and
tell the gentleman from Wymans & Wymans and his clerk that we shall be
ready for them in ten minutes."
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.
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