"I wish I knew what dad was up to!" she murmured. At that moment we met him. He came strolling along, his silk hat a little on the back of his head, a cigar in his mouth, his hands grasping his cane behind his back. "Bundercombe or Parker?" I inquired as we came to a standstill on the pavement. He grinned. "Nasty business, that!" he remarked cheerfully. "Why don't you keep to the Ritz or the Berkeley? Anyway," he added, his tone changing, "I'm glad I met you, Paul. I want your help in a little matter." I shook my head. "Quite out of the question!" I declared emphatically. "Don't forget that Paul is an M.P., dad!" Eve said severely. "You mustn't attempt to bring him into any of your little affairs." "On this occasion," Mr. Bundercombe expostulated, "I am on the side of the law. Mr. Cullen, whom I am probably going to see presently, will be my brother-in-arms." "What do you need me for, then?" I asked. "As to absolutely needing you, perhaps I don't," Mr. Bundercombe admitted. "On the other hand, it's a very interesting little affair, and one in which you could take a hand without compromising yourself." "What about Eve?" I inquired. "Not this time!" Mr. Bundercombe replied. "The only risk there is about the affair," he explained, "is that it is just possible there may be a bit of a scrap." "What's the program?" I asked. "To-night, at home, at ten o'clock. Can you manage it?" "Rather," I answered; "if Eve doesn't mind. This is the night you promised to go with your mother to a lecture somewhere, isn't it?" I reminded her. She nodded. "Very well," she consented resignedly, "so long as you don't let him get hurt, dad." "No fear of that!" Mr. Bundercombe declared cheerfully. "If they go for any one they'll go for me. So long, young people! At ten o'clock, Paul!" At precisely the hour agreed upon that evening I presented myself at Mr. Bundercombe's house in Prince's Gardens. I noticed that the manner of the servant who admitted me was subdued and there was a peculiar gloom about the place. Very few lights were lit and the farther portion of the house, of which one could catch a glimpse from the little circular hall, seemed entirely deserted. I was shown at once into Mr. Bundercombe's study upon the ground floor. Mr. Bundercombe was seated at a writing table, with his face toward the door. He greeted me with a friendly nod and pointed to a little table upon which stood an abundant display of cigars and cigarettes of all brands. I helped myself and lit a cigarette. "May I know something of this evening's program?" I asked. "Spoil the whole show?" Mr. Bundercombe objected earnestly. "Just play the part of assistant audience and stick this into your pocket, will you?" He threw toward me a very small revolver that he had produced from a drawer.