"It's your fault, you miserable little fool!" he muttered to Blanche. "I ought to have known better than to have let you into the thing. Fancy taking him for a mug!"
Mr. Bundercombe smiled a pleased smile.
"Come, come!" he said. "Things are not so bad. You might have been caught!"
"Aren't you going to give information?" Rodwell asked quickly.
"Not a thought of it!" Mr. Bundercombe assured him, catching the case Rodwell threw toward him. "I want, so far as possible, to see both sides happy. Here, Paul; put these in your pocket!" he added, turning to me. "If you take my advice, Rodwell," he concluded, "you'll stay where you are until I return. I promise you that Mr. Walmsley and I will return alone, and that I will give no intimation of your presence here to any person whatsoever."
Rodwell was puzzled. He rose slowly to his feet, however, and walked toward the basin at the other end of the apartment.
"All right!" he agreed sullenly. "I shall be here."
Mr. Bundercombe and I descended into the street. I was feeling a little dazed. Mr. Bundercombe led the way into the Tarteran establishment, which was still in a state of disorder. He asked to speak to the principal, who came forward, still looking very perturbed.
"Sorry to hear of this robbery!" Mr. Bundercombe said. "Have they caught the fellow?"
"They caught the man in the motor car," the manager groaned; "but he had no jewels on him and my people can't swear to him. He seems to have a very coherent story."