"Then if you want him to attend the ceremony, sir," Mr. Cullen advised earnestly, "you'll get him out of London. He's restless. You may have noticed that yourself. He's spoiling for an adventure, and Dagger Rodwell is just the man to make use of him and then leave him high and dry--the booby for us to save our bacon with. I don't wish any harm to Mr. Bundercombe, sir--and that's straight! Until the day I met Mrs. Bundercombe at Liverpool I am free to confess that I was feeling sore against him. To-day that's all wiped out. We had a pleasant little time at the Ritz that afternoon, and my opinion of the gentleman is that he's the right sort, I'm here to give you the office, sir, to get him away from London--and get him away quick. I may know a trifle more than I've told you, or I may not; but you'll take my advice if you want to escape trouble." "I'll do what I can," I assured him a little blankly. "To tell you the truth I have been fearing something of this sort. During the last few days especially his daughter tells me he has been making all sorts of excuses to get away. I'll do what I can--and many thanks, Mr. Cullen. Let me offer you something." Mr. Cullen declined anything except a cigar and went on his way. I called a taxi and drove round to the very delightful house the Bundercombes had taken in Prince's Gardens. 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. "Mr. Bundercombe!" she exclaimed portentously, taking no notice whatever of me. "My dear?" he replied.