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.