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.