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He rose blusteringly and advanced toward Morrow with upraised fist, but the other, with the table between them, drew from his pocket a folded paper. "Not so fast, Pennold. I have a warrant here for your arrest!" "Don't you believe him, Wally!" shrilled Mame. "It's a fake! Don't you talk to him! Put him out." "The warrant was issued this morning, and I am empowered to arrest you.
Pennold, evidently did not know my father, had never even seen him before, from the way he greeted him, but when Father first caught sight of his face, his own went deathly white and he gripped the porch railing for a moment, as if for support. "'You wished to see me? he said, and his voice sounded queer and hollow and dazed, like a person awaking from sleep. 'What can I do for you?
Blaine, I can understand your point of view in regard to that young criminal, Charles Pennold, when at the time of the trial you used your influence to have him paroled in your custody, instead of being sent to prison, where he belonged." "Exactly." Blaine's tone was dry.
They said little that evening, but when his absence continued the second day, Pennold himself ambled down to the Brooklyn & Queens Bank and reluctantly deposited twenty dollars, merely for the pleasure of a chat with young Hicks.
With obvious reluctance, Mame shuffled through the hall and obeyed. "Hello, Mrs. Pennold!" Guy greeted her heartily, but without offering his hand. He brushed past her half-defensive figure with scant ceremony, and entered the kitchen. "Hello, Pennold. Thought I might find you home this cold morning. How goes it?" "Same as usual."
Before Walter Pennold could reach the bank, however, an unimpeachably official letter arrived from that institution, confirming the news imparted by the bank-clerk concerning the securities left for James Brunell.
"But let me tell you, Wally, I don't like the look of that 'See Walter Pennold of Brooklyn, on the note in the bank. S'pose they was trying to trace him through us?" "You're talkin' like a blame' fool, Mame. Them securities has been there for years, forgotten. Everybody knows that me and Brunell was pals in the old days, but no one's got nothin' on us now, and he give up the game years ago."
He smiled that frank, winning smile which had helped to land more men behind the bars than the astuteness of many of his seniors and said: "I'm a clerk in the Brooklyn & Queens Bank, Mr. Pennold, and we have a box of securities there evidently belonging to one Jimmy Brunell. No one knows anything about it and no note came with it except a line which read: 'Hold for Jim Brunell.
He stepped quickly out, shutting the door behind him, and for a short space the two stood talking in low tones Pennold eagerly, insistently, the other man evasively, slowly, as if choosing his words with care.
I never heard of him turnin' a real trick himself, an' he never got caught at nothin' again, but he chummed in with the gang, an' he always seemed to have coin enough. I ain't seen him in more'n a year. The last I heard of him, he was workin' as a stool-pigeon an' snitcher for the worst scoundrel of the lot." "Who was that?" asked Morrow. Pennold hesitated and then replied with dogged reluctance.
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