"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—"
"Precisely about him, sir, that I came to see you," Mr. Cullen interrupted. "I am bound to admit that a few weeks ago there was no man in the world I would have laid my hands on so readily. That day at the Ritz, however, changed my views completely. I feel," he added, with a dry smile, "that I got more than level with Mr. Bundercombe when I sent for his wife."
"So it was you who sent the cables that brought her over!" I remarked.
"But please remember, sir," he begged apologetically, "that I had never seen the lady. I sent the cables, confidently anticipating that she would disclaim all knowledge of Mr. Bundercombe. When she arrived, and I realized that she was actually his wife, I forgave him freely for all the small annoyances he had caused me: my visit to you this morning, in fact, is entirely in his interests."
"What has Mr. Bundercombe been up to now?" I asked nervously.