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Updated: September 15, 2025
The hour was approaching when Emily Brunell usually made her appearance, and he trusted to luck to keep the little animal quiet until she had entered her home and discovered its loss, but the fickle goddess failed him.
A moment later, there entered a tall, dark young man, strong and muscular in build, but not apparently heavy, with a smooth face and firm-set jaw. "I haven't finished my report yet, sir " "The report can wait. You remember James Brunell, the forger?" "James Brunell?" Morrow repeated. "He was before my time, of course, but I've heard of him and his exploits. Pretty slick article, wasn't he!
While I looked, he turned in the Brunells' yard an' instead of knocking on the door, he began throwin' pebbles up at the old man's bedroom winder. Pretty soon it opened and Mr. Brunell looked out. Then he come down quick an' met the man at the front door. They talked a minute, an' the feller handed over somethin' that showed white in the light of the street lamp, like a piece of paper. Mr.
You may be sure the man I have in mind will have no sentimental scruples against pushing the matter to the end, without regard for the cost to either Jimmy Brunell or his daughter. Naturally, being in love with the girl, her interests are paramount with you. I, too, desire heartily to do nothing to cause her anxiety or grief. Remember that I have daughters of my own.
There was a third member of the Brunell household whom Morrow had observed frequently seated upon the doorstep, or on one of the lower window sills a small, scraggly black kitten, with stiff outstanding fur, and an absurdly belligerent attitude whenever a dog chanced to pass through the lane.
A light sprang up in the front room on the ground floor, but after a few moments it was suddenly extinguished, and Brunell appeared again on the porch. He closed the door softly behind him, and strode quickly down the street. There was a marked change in his bearing, a furtiveness and eager haste which ill accorded with his manner of a short time before.
Whether it concerned Brunell or their nephew Charley mattered little, at the moment. He had achieved the object of his visit; he knew that Pennold himself had no connection with the Lawton forgeries, nor knowledge of them, and at the same time he had learned of Charley's affiliation with Paddington.
I don't know where you can find this man Brunell, haven't heard of him in years, but I understand he went wrong. Ain't that so, Mame?" The hatchet-faced woman nodded her head in slow and non-committal thought. Pennold edged a little nearer his unknown guest and asked in a tone of would-be heartiness. "And what might your name be?
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 fancied that the old man turned his head quickly and glanced in his direction, and never had the operative felt guiltier. Brunell, however, retired within, closing the door after him, and the kitten's struggles gradually grew weaker and finally ceased. Morrow felt a horrible fear surging up within him that he had strangled the little beast, and his grasp gradually relaxed.
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