He opened his lips a little wider and swore, softly but vindictively. Then the bell rang. Mr. Bundercombe hastened to push him out of sight. We heard the sound of strange voices in the hall. When the door was opened it was obvious that the whole house was lit up. From somewhere in the distance came the soft music of a piano. Mr. Harding and Mr. Densmore were announced. I looked at them curiously. They were both most correctly dressed in evening clothes. They both had somehow the hard expression of worldly men, tempered not altogether pleasantly by symptoms of good living. They greeted Mr. Bundercombe with bluff heartiness. He gave them each a hand. "Now, my friends," he said, "welcome to my house! Paul," he added, turning to me, "let me introduce my two friends, Mr. Harding and Mr. Densmore--Mr. Paul Walmsley. Mr. Walmsley has just been returned for the western division of Bedfordshire." They greeted me with more than affability. Mr. Harding assured me he had read my speeches. Mr. Densmore thought no one was more to be envied than a man who had the gifts that secured for him a seat in Parliament. "It's early yet," Mr. Bundercombe declared genially. "Let's sit down. Tell me a little about English business. It interests me. You bought those Chilean bonds all right, I see. They are up an eighth to-night." "A good purchase, Mr. Bundercombe," Mr. Harding assured him; "a very good purchase! After all, though, there's not much money to be made out of those government things. Now we've a little affair of our own--what do you say, Densmore?" he broke off, looking toward his partner. "We could afford to let Mr. Bundercombe come in a little way with us, I think?" Mr. Densmore nodded. "Not more than five," he said warningly. "Remember what you promised the Rothschild people." Mr. Harding nodded and crossed his knees. He lit a cigar from the box Mr. Bundercombe passed round. "This sounds interesting!" the latter remarked. "I dare say Mr. Walmsley, too, has a little spare money for investment." Mr. Densmore sighed, though his eyes were brightening. "It's too good a thing," he explained confidentially, "to let the world into. Between ourselves, there's a fortune in it, and we want to keep it among our friends." He drew a dummy prospectus from his vest pocket and began a long-winded recital of some figures in which I was not particularly interested. Mr. Bundercombe, however, appeared to be greatly impressed by what he heard.