"We shall offer one, of course."
"What amount are you prepared to go to?" Mr. Bundercombe asked.
The man looked at him eagerly.
"Do you mean, sir--" he began.
Mr. Bundercombe stretched out his hands.
"You may search me!" he interrupted. "I have nothing in the way of jewels
on me. My name is Joseph H. Bundercombe and I have a house in Prince's
Gardens. This is my son-in-law-to-be, Mr. Walmsley, M.P. for
Bedfordshire."
The manager bowed.
"I know you quite well, sir," he said, "and Mr. Walmsley, of course; both
he and many of his relatives are valued clients of ours. But about the
jewels?"
"What reward do you offer?"
"Five hundred pounds," was the prompt reply; "more, if necessary."
Mr. Bundercombe smiled approvingly.
"Circumstances," he explained, "of a peculiar nature, into which I am
quite sure it will suit your purpose not to inquire, have enabled me to
claim the reward and to restore to you the jewels."
The manager gripped him by the arm.
"Come into the office at once!" he begged.
We followed him into a little room at the back of the shop. He was
trembling all over.
"No questions asked?" Mr. Bundercombe insisted.
"Not the shadow of one!" the manager agreed.
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