"I've been expecting this," he remarked pleasantly. "Eve's been setting you on to pump me, eh?"
I nodded.
"That's exactly it," I admitted. "We are due to be married in ten days. We are neither of us anxious for anything in the way of an unfortunate incident."
Mr. Bundercombe appeared to view with surprise the advent of a second tumbler. He reconciled himself to its arrival, however, and handed money to the attendant.
"I realize the position entirely, my dear fellow," he assured me. "I am glad you have opened the subject up. I have been bursting to tell you all about it; but I have hesitated for fear of being misunderstood."
I glanced at his nails.
"Of course," I observed slowly, "the position of an elderly gentleman with a marriageable daughter and a wife," I went on bravely, "who finances a young lady interested in manicuring in an establishment in Bond Street is liable to misinterpretation."
Mr. Bundercombe was a little taken aback. He hid his face for a moment behind the newly arrived tumbler.
"Kind of observant, aren't you?" he remarked.
"I saw you in Bond Street this morning," I told him, "you and a paper parcel. You were entering the establishment, I believe, of Mademoiselle Blanche, whoever she is."