An Amiable Charlatan | Page 2

Sit tight and you will
never regret it. My name, so far as you are concerned, is Joseph H.
Parker. Tell me, you are facing the door, some one has just entered.
Who is it?"
"A stranger," I replied; "a stranger to this place, I am sure. He is tall
and dark; he is a little lantern-jawed--a hatchet-shaped face, I should
call it."
"My man, right enough," Mr. Joseph H. Parker muttered. "Don't seem
to notice him particularly," he added, "but tell me what he is doing."
"He seems to have entered in a hurry," I announced, "and is now taking
off his overcoat. He is wearing, I perceive, a bowler hat, a dinner jacket,
the wrong-shaped collar; and he appears to have forgotten to change his
boots."
"That's Cullen, all right," Mr. Joseph H. Parker groaned. "You're a
person of observation, sir. Well, I've been in tighter corners than
this--thanks to you!"
"Who is Mr. Cullen and what does he want?" I asked.
"Mr. Cullen," my guest declared, sampling the fresh bottle of wine
which had just been brought to him, "is one of those misguided
individuals whose lack of faith in his fellows will bring him some time
or other to a bad end. My young friend, sip that wine

thoughtfully--don't hurry over it--and tell me whether my choice is not
better than yours?"
"Possibly," I remarked, with a glance at the yellow seal, "your pocket is
longer. By the by, your friend is coming toward us."
"It is not a question of pocket," Mr. Parker continued, disregarding my
remark, "it is a question of taste and judgment; discrimination is
perhaps the word I should use. Now in my younger days--Eh? What's
that?"
The person named Cullen had paused at my table. His hand was resting
gently upon the shoulder of my self-invited guest. Mr. Parker looked up
and appeared to recognize him with much surprise.
"You, my dear fellow!" he exclaimed. "Say, I'm delighted to see you--I
am sure! But would you mind--just a little lower with your fingers! Too
professional a touch altogether!"
Mr. Cullen smiled, and from that moment I took a dislike to him--a
dislike that did much toward determining the point of view from which
I was inclined to consider various succeeding incidents. He was by no
means a person of prepossessing appearance. His cheeks were colorless
save for a sort of yellowish tinge. His mouth reminded me of the mouth
of a horse; his teeth were irregular and poor.
Yet there was about the man a certain sense of power. His eyes were
clear and bright. His manner was imbued with the reserve strength of a
man who knows his own mind and does not fear to speak it.
"I am sorry to interrupt you at your dinner, Mr. Parker," he said, his
eyes traveling all over the table as though taking in its appointments
and condition.
"Of no consequence at all," Mr. Parker assured him; "in fact I have
nearly finished. If you are thinking of dining here let me recommend
this chicken en casserole. I have tasted nothing so good for days!"

Mr. Cullen thanked him mechanically. His mind, however, was
obviously filled with other things. He was puzzled.
"You must have a double about this evening, I fancy," he remarked. "I
could have sworn I saw you coming out of a certain little house in
Adam Street not a couple of minutes ago. You know the little house I
mean?"
Mr. Parker smiled.
"Seems as though that double were all right," he said. "I am halfway
through my dinner, as you can see, and I'm a slow eater--especially in
pleasant company. Shake hands with my friend--Mr. Paul Walmsley,
Mr. Cullen."
My surprise at hearing my own name correctly given was only equaled
by the admiration I also felt for my companion's complete and absolute
assurance. Mr. Cullen and I exchanged a perfunctory handshake, which
left me without any change in my feelings toward him.
"Another of my mistakes, I suppose," Mr. Cullen said quietly. "I am
afraid on this occasion, however, that I must trouble you, Mr. Parker.
An affair of a few moments only. I won't even suggest Bow Street--at
present. If you could take a stroll with me--even into Luigi's office
would do."
Mr. Parker put down his knife and fork with a little gesture of irritation.
His broad, good-natured face was for the moment clouded. "Say,
Cullen," he remonstrated, "don't you think you're carrying this a bit too
far, you know? There isn't a man I enjoy a half-hour's chat with more
than you; but in the middle of dinner--dinner with a friend too--"
"I try to do my duty," Mr. Cullen interrupted, "and I am afraid that I am
not at liberty to study your comfort."
Mr.