Amiable Charlatan (version 2) — Chapter XI - Mr. Bundercombe's Wink

"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.

"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.

"Nothing serious--at any rate, that I know of," Mr. Cullen assured me.

"For the last fortnight--ever since Mrs. Bundercombe's arrival, in fact-- Mr. Bundercombe has somehow or other managed to keep away from all his old associates and out of any sort of mischief.

Last night, however, I was out on duty--I haven't had time to go home and change my clothes yet--in a pretty bad part, shadowing one of the most dangerous swell mobsmen in Europe--a man you may have heard of, sir.

He is commonly known as Dagger Rodwell."

I hastily disclaimed any acquaintance with the person in question.

"Tell me, though," I begged, "what this has to do with Mr. Bundercombe?"

"Just this," Mr. Cullen explained: "I ran my man to ground in a place where I wouldn't be seen except professionally--and with him was Mr. Bundercombe."

"They were not engaged," I asked quickly, "in any lawbreaking escapade at the time, I trust!"

Mr. Cullen shook his head reassuringly.

"Rodwell only goes in for the very big coups," he said.

"Two or three in a lifetime, if he brought them off, would be enough for him.

All the same there's something planning now and he's fairly got hold of Mr. Bundercombe.

He's a smooth-tongued rascal--absolutely a gentleman to look at and speak to.

What I want you to do, sir, if you're sufficiently interested, is to take Mr. Bundercombe away for a time."

"Interested!"

I groaned.

"He'll be my father-in-law in a couple of months."

"Then if you want him to attend the ceremony, sir," Mr. Cullen advised earnestly, "you'll get him out of London.

He's restless.

You may have noticed that yourself.

He's spoiling for an adventure, and Dagger Rodwell is just the man to make use of him and then leave him high and dry--the booby for us to save our bacon with.

I don't wish any harm to Mr. Bundercombe, sir--and that's straight!

Until the day I met Mrs. Bundercombe at Liverpool I am free to confess that I was feeling sore against him.

To-day that's all wiped out.

We had a pleasant little time at the Ritz that afternoon, and my opinion of the gentleman is that he's the right sort, I'm here to give you the office, sir, to get him away from London--and get him away quick.

I may know a trifle more than I've told you, or I may not; but you'll take my advice if you want to escape trouble."

"I'll do what I can," I assured him a little blankly.

"To tell you the truth I have been fearing something of this sort.

During the last few days especially his daughter tells me he has been making all sorts of excuses to get away.

I'll do what I can--and many thanks, Mr. Cullen.

Let me offer you something."

Mr. Cullen declined anything except a cigar and went on his way.

I called a taxi and drove round to the very delightful house the Bundercombes had taken in Prince's Gardens.

I caught Mr. Bundercombe on the threshold.

He would have hurried off, but I laid a detaining hand on his arm.

"Come back with me, if you please," I begged.

"I have some news.

I need to consult you all."

Mr. Bundercombe glanced at his watch.

His manner was a little furtive.

He was not dressed as usual--in frock coat, white waistcoat and silk hat, a costume that seemed to render more noticeable his great girth and smooth pink-and-white face--but in a blue serge, double-breasted suit, a bowler hat, and a style of neckgear a little reminiscent of the Bowery.

Something in his very appearance seemed to me a confirmation of Mr. Cullen's warning.

He looked at his watch and muttered something about an appointment.

"I promise not to keep you more than a very few minutes," I assured him.

"Come along!"

I kept my arm on his and led him back into the house.

"Eve is in the morning room," he whispered.

"Let's go in quietly and perhaps we shan't be heard."

We crossed the hall on tiptoe in the manner of conspirators.

Before we could enter the room, however, our progress was arrested by a somewhat metallic cough.

Mrs. Bundercombe, in a gray tweed coat and skirt of homely design, a black hat and black gloves, with a satchel in her hand, from which were protruding various forms of pamphlet literature, appeared suddenly on the threshold of the room she had insisted upon having allotted for her private use, and which she was pleased to call her study.

"Mr. Bundercombe!"

she exclaimed portentously, taking no notice whatever of me.

"My dear?"

he replied.

"May I ask the meaning of your leaving the house like a truant schoolboy at this hour of the morning, and in such garb!"

demanded Mrs. Bundercombe, eying him severely through her pince-nez.

"Is your memory failing you, Joseph Henry?

Did you or did you not arrange to accompany me this morning to a meeting at the offices of the Women's Social Federation?"

"I fear I--er--I had forgotten the matter," Mr. Bundercombe stammered.

"An affair of business--I was rung up on the telephone."

Mrs. Bundercombe stared at him.

She said nothing; expression was sufficient.

She turned to me.

"Eve is in the morning room, Mr. Walmsley," she said.

"I presume your visit at this hour of the morning was intended for her."

"Precisely," I admitted.

"I will go in and see her."

I opened the door and Mr. Bundercombe rather precipitately preceded me.

If he had contemplated escape, however, he was doomed to disappointment.

Mrs. Bundercombe followed us in.

She reminded us of her presence by a hard cough as Eve saluted me in a somewhat light-hearted fashion.

"Mind, there's mother!"

Eve whispered, with a little grimace.

"Tell me why you have come so early, Paul.

Are you going to take me out motoring all day?

Or are you going to the dressmaker's with me?

I really ought to have a chaperon of some sort, you know, and mother is much too busy making friends with the leaders of the Cause over here."

She made a face at me from behind a vase of flowers.

Mrs. Bundercombe apparently thought it well to explain her position.

"I find it," she said, "absolutely incumbent upon me, while on a visit to this metropolis, to cultivate the acquaintance of the women of this country who are in sympathy with the great movement in the States with which I am associated.

It is expected of me that I should make my presence over here known."

"Naturally," I agreed; "naturally, Mrs. Bundercombe.

I see by the papers that you were speaking at a meeting last night.

That reminds me," I went on, "that I really did come down this morning on rather an important matter, and perhaps it is as well that you are all here, as I should like your advice.

I have received an invitation to stand for the division of the county in which I live."

They all looked puzzled.

"To stand for Parliament, I mean," I hastily explained to them.

"It seems really rather a good opportunity--as, of course, I am fairly well known in the district, and the majority against us was only seventy or eighty at the last election."

"Say, that's interesting!"

Mr. Bundercombe declared, putting down his hat, "I didn't know you were by way of being a professional man, though."

"I'm not," I replied.

"You wouldn't call politics a profession exactly."

Mr. Bundercombe was more puzzled than ever.

His hand caressed his chin in familiar fashion.

"Well, it's one way of making a living, isn't it?"

he asked.

"We call it a profession on our side."

"It isn't a way of making a living at all!"

I assured him.

"It costs one a great deal more than can be made out of it."

Mr. Bundercombe stopped scratching his chin.

Mrs. Bundercombe sat down opposite me and I was perfectly certain that she would presently have a few remarks to offer.

Eve was looking delightfully interested.

"Say, I'm not quite sure I follow you," Mr. Bundercombe observed.

"I am with you all right when you say that the direct pecuniary payment for being in Parliament doesn't amount to anything; but what's your pull worth, eh?"

"My what?"

I inquired.

"Dash it all!"

Mr. Bundercombe continued a little testily.

"I only want to get at the common sense of the matter.

You are thinking of trying for a seat in Parliament, and you say the four hundred a year you get for it is nothing.

Well, of course, it's nothing.

What I want to know is just what you get out of it indirectly?

You get the handling of so much patronage, I suppose?

What is it worth to you, and how much is there?"

I spent the next five minutes in an eloquent attempt to explain the difference between English and American politics.

Mr. Bundercombe was partly convinced, but more than ever sure that he had found his way into a country of half-witted people.

Eve, however, was much quicker at grasping the situation.

"I think it's perfectly delightful, Paul!"

she declared.

"I have read no end of stories of English electioneering, and they sound such fun!

I want to come down and help.

I have tons of new dresses--and I can read up all about politics going down on the train."

"That brings me," I went on, "to the real object of my visit.

I want you and your father--I want you all," I added heroically--"to come down with me to Bedfordshire and help.

You were coming anyway next week for a little time, you know.

I want to carry you off at once."

Mrs. Bundercombe, who had been only waiting for her opportunity, broke in at this juncture.

"Young man," she said impressively; "Mr. Walmsley, before I consent to attend one of your meetings or to associate myself in any way with your cause, I must ask you one plain and simple question, and insist upon a plain and simple answer: What are your views as to Woman Suffrage?"

"The views of my party," I answered, with futile diplomacy.

"Enunciate as briefly as possible, but clearly, what the views of your party are," Mrs. Bundercombe bade me.

"I won't have him heckled!"

Eve protested, coming over to my side.

I coughed.

"We are entirely in sympathy," I explained, "with the enfranchisement of women up to a certain point.

We think that unmarried women who own property and pay taxes should have the vote."

"Rubbish!"

Mrs. Bundercombe exclaimed firmly.

"We want universal suffrage.

We want men and women placed on exactly the same footing, politically and socially."

"That," I said, "I am afraid no political party would be prepared to grant at present."

"Then, save as an opponent, I can attend no political meetings in this country," Mrs. Bundercombe declared, rising to her feet with a fearsome air of finality.

I sighed.

"In that case," I confessed, "I am afraid it is useless for me to appeal to you for help.

Perhaps you and your father----" I added, turning to Eve.

"Let them go down to you in the country by all means!"

Mrs. Bundercombe interrupted.

"For my part, though my visit to Europe was wholly undesired --was forced upon me, in fact, by dire circumstances," she added emphatically, glaring at Mr. Bundercombe--"since I am here I find so much work ready to my hand, so much appalling ignorance, so much prejudice, that I conceive it to be my duty to take up during my stay the work which presents itself here.

I accordingly shall not leave London."

Mr. Bundercombe cheered up perceptibly at these words.

"I am rather busy myself," he said; "but perhaps a day or two----" I thrust my arm through his.

"I rely upon you to help me canvass," I told him.

"A lot is done by personal persuasion."

"Canvass!"

Mr. Bundercombe repeated reflectively.

"Say, just what do you mean by that?"

"It is very simple," I assured him.

"You go and talk to the farmers and voters generally, and put a few plain issues before them--we'll post you up all right as to what to say.

Then you wind up by asking for their votes and interest on my behalf."

"I do that--do I?"

Mr. Bundercombe murmured.

"Talk to them in a plain, straightforward way, eh?"

"That's it," I agreed.

"A man with sound common sense like yourself could do me a lot of good."

Mr. Bundercombe was thoughtful, I am convinced that at that moment the germs of certain ideas which bore fruit a little later on were born in his mind.

I saw him blink several times as he gazed up at the ceiling.

I saw a faint smile gradually expand over his face.

A premonition of trouble, even at that moment, forced itself on me.

"You'll have to be careful, you know," I explained, a little apprehensively.

"You'll have to keep friends with the fellows all the time.

They wouldn't appreciate practical jokes down there and the law as to bribery and corruption is very strict."

Mr. Bundercombe nodded solemnly.

"If I take the job on," he said, "you can trust me.

It seems as though there might be something in it."

"You'll come down with me, then," I begged, "both of you?

Come this afternoon!

The dressmakers can follow you, Eve.

It isn't far--an hour in the train and twenty minutes in the motor.

We may have to picnic a little just to start with, but I know that the most important of the servants are there, ready and waiting."

"Pray do not let me stand in your way," Mrs. Bundercombe declared, rising.

"My time will be fully occupied.

I wish you good morning, Mr. Walmsley.

I

have an appointment at a quarter to twelve.

You can let me know your final decision at luncheon-time."

She left the room.

Mr. Bundercombe, Eve, and I exchanged glances.

"How far away did you say your place was, Paul?"

Mr. Bundercombe asked.

"Right in the country," I told him--"takes you about an hour and a half to get there."

"I think we'll come," Mr. Bundercombe decided, looking absently out the window and watching his wife eloquently admonish a taxicab driver, who had driven up with a cigarette in his mouth.

"Yes, I'm all for it!"

My little party at Walmsley Hall was in most respects a complete success.

My sister was able to come and play hostess, and Eve was charmed with my house and its surroundings.

Mr. Bundercombe, however, was a source of some little anxiety.

On the first morning, when we were all preparing to go out, he drew me on one side.

"Paul," he said--he had, with some difficulty, got into the way of calling me by my Christian name occasionally --"I want to get wise to this thing.

Where does your political boss hang out?"

"We haven't such a person," I told him.

He seemed troubled.

The more he inquired into our electioneering habits, the less he seemed to understand them.

"What's your platform, anyway?"

he asked.

I handed him a copy of my election address, which he read carefully through, with a large cigar in the corner of his mouth.

He handed it back to me with a somewhat depressed air.

"Seems to kind of lack grit," he remarked, a little doubtfully.

"Why don't you go for the other side a bit more?"

"Look here!"

I suggested, mindful that Eve was waiting for me.

"You run down and have a chat with my agent.

You'll find him just opposite the town hall in Bildborough.

There's a car going down now."

"I'm on!"

he agreed.

"Anyway I must get to understand this business."

He departed presently and returned to luncheon with a distinctly crestfallen air.

He beckoned me mysteriously into the library and laid his hand upon my shoulder in friendly fashion.

"Look here, Paul," he said, "is it too late to change your ticket?"

"Change my what?"

I asked him.

"Change your platform--or whatever you call it!

You're on the wrong horse, Paul, my boy.

Even your own agent admits it--though I never mentioned your name at first or told him who I was.

All the people round here with votes are farmers, agricultural laborers and small shopkeepers.

Your platform's of no use to them."

"Well, that's what we've got to find out!"

I protested.

"Personally, I am convinced that it is."

"Now look here!"

Mr. Bundercombe argued; "these chaps, though they seem stupid enough, are all out for themselves.

They want to vote for what's going to make life easier for them.

What's the good of sticking it into 'em about the Empire!

Between you and me I don't think they care a fig for it.

Then all this talk about military service----Gee!

They ain't big enough for it!

Disestablishment too--what do they care about that!

You let me write your address for you.

Promise 'em a land bill.

Promise them the food on their tables at a bit less.

Stick something in about a reduction in the price of beer.

I've seen the other chap's address and it's a corker!

Mostly lies, but thundering good ones.

You let me touch yours up a bit."

"Where have you been?"

I asked, a strange misgiving stealing into my mind.

"Have you been talking to Mr. Ansell like this?"

"Ansell?

No!

Who's he?"

Mr. Bundercombe inquired.

"My agent."

Mr. Bundercombe shook his head.

"Chap I palled up with was called Harrison."

I groaned.

"You've been to the other fellow's agent," I told him; "the agent for the Radical candidate."

Mr. Bundercombe whistled.

"You don't say!"

he murmured.

"Well, I'll tell you what it is, Paul, there are no flies on that chap!

He's a real nippy little worker--that's what he is!

If you take my advice," he went on persuasively, "you'll swap.

We'll make it worth his while to come over.

I've seen your Mr. Ansell--if that's his name.

I saw the name on a brass plate and I saw him come out of his office--stiff, starched sort of chap, with a thin face and gray side whiskers!"

"That's the man," I admitted.

"He and his father before him, and his grandfather, have been solicitors to my people for I don't know how many years!"

"He looked it!"

Mr. Bundercombe declared.

"A withered old skunk, if ever there was one!