She turned round and left the room amid a stricken silence. Mr. Bundercombe came back to his place. "Gentlemen," he said, "I will be brief with you. It has given me the utmost pleasure to arrange this little meeting on behalf of my friend, Mr. Stanley. In the room on the other side of the passage is waiting my lawyer, who will draw up a renewal of your partnership deed with Mr. Stanley upon terms that we can discuss amicably. In the room behind this is waiting a particular friend of mine--Mr. Cullen, a detective. "Remember," Mr. Bundercombe added, his voice suddenly very stern and threatening, "that through all the years that man--your rightful partner-- has been in prison, through all the agony of his trial, the humiliation of his sentence, the name of neither one of you has passed his lips! Is it your wish that the truth shall now be told?" They shrank back. Harding was pale to the lips. Densmore was shivering. "Very well, gentlemen," Mr. Bundercombe concluded. "If I send for the lawyer Mr. Cullen can go. If you choose Mr. Cullen the lawyer can go." Mr. Harding moistened his lips with his tongue. "We will make an arrangement," he said. "We have been wrong. Now that I see you here, Stanley," he continued, looking up with the first show of courage either of them had exhibited, "I am ashamed! It was a dirty trick! Forget it! After you were lagged we decided to turn over a new leaf and be honest. We've been honest--inside the law, at any rate--and we've made money. Come and take your share of it and forgive!" "We were brutes!" Densmore agreed. They were both bending over Stanley. Somehow or other his hands stole out to them. 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. "I trust," I began hastily, "that Mr. Bundercombe has not--"