I caught Mr. Bundercombe on the threshold. He
would have hurried off, but I laid a detaining hand on his arm.
"Come back with me, if you please," I begged. "I have some news. I need to
consult you all."
Mr. Bundercombe glanced at his watch. His manner was a little furtive. He
was not dressed as usual--in frock coat, white waistcoat and silk hat, a
costume that seemed to render more noticeable his great girth and smooth
pink-and-white face--but in a blue serge, double-breasted suit, a bowler
hat, and a style of neckgear a little reminiscent of the Bowery. Something
in his very appearance seemed to me a confirmation of Mr. Cullen's
warning. He looked at his watch and muttered something about an
appointment.
"I promise not to keep you more than a very few minutes," I assured him.
"Come along!"
I kept my arm on his and led him back into the house.
"Eve is in the morning room," he whispered. "Let's go in quietly and
perhaps we shan't be heard."
We crossed the hall on tiptoe in the manner of conspirators. Before we
could enter the room, however, our progress was arrested by a somewhat
metallic cough. Mrs. Bundercombe, in a gray tweed coat and skirt of homely
design, a black hat and black gloves, with a satchel in her hand, from
which were protruding various forms of pamphlet literature, appeared
suddenly on the threshold of the room she had insisted upon having
allotted for her private use, and which she was pleased to call her study.
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