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Updated: September 15, 2025
What could that slender, brown-haired, clear-eyed girl be to the man he had been sent to spy upon to Jimmy Brunell, the forger?
Blaine's slow smile was very kindly and sympathetic as he eyed the anxious young man before him. "No. You will go back, of course, and explain that you have obtained a clerkship which necessitates your moving downtown. Make your peace with Miss Brunell if you like, but remember, Guy, don't mix sentiment and business. It won't do.
Blaine won't give you away, if you'll answer my questions frankly and make a clean breast of it, and this is your only chance." Pennold licked his dry lips. "What do you want to know?" he asked, at last. "When did Jimmy Brunell turn his last trick?" "Years ago; I've forgotten how many. It's no harm speakin' of it now, for he did his seven years up the river for it his first and only conviction.
One afternoon in the early November twilight, as Morrow was returning to his own door after shadowing Brunell on an aimless and chilly walk, he saw the kitten lying curled up just outside its own gate, and an inspiration sprang to his ingenious mind. He seated himself upon the steps of Mrs. Quinlan's front porch and waited until the darkness had deepened sufficiently to cloak his nefarious scheme.
The kitten grew suddenly uneasy, as if some intuition warned it of treachery, and tried valiantly to escape from his grasp, and never did Spartan boy with wolf concealed beneath his tunic suffer more tortures than Morrow with the wretched little creature clawing at his hands. Would Emily Brunell never come? What could be keeping her to-night, of all nights?
Morrow, meanwhile, had slowly become aware that he had a problem of his own to face, the biggest of his life. Should he go on with his work? In the event that James Brunell proved, indeed, to be guilty of the forgeries of which he was suspected by the Master Mind, it would mean that he, Morrow, would have betrayed the father of the girl he felt himself beginning to care for.
Brunell was out when he called, but Emily led him into the little sitting-room, and for a time they talked in a desultory fashion. Morrow, who had brought so many malefactors to justice by the winning snare of his personality, felt for once at a loss as to how to commence his questioning.
What had become of Jimmy Brunell? His purpose served, had Paddington betrayed him to the police, or had some warning reached him to flee before it was too late? With mingled emotions of fear and dread, Morrow emerged from the little dismantled shop and made the best of his way to Meadow Lane. The Brunell cottage appeared much as usual as he neared it, and for an instant hope surged up within him.
I have always carried out the missions you entrusted to me to the best of my ability, no matter what the odds against me, and in this case I have gone ahead conscientiously up to the present moment, but I won't proceed with it any further." "What are you afraid of Jimmy Brunell?" asked the detective, significantly. The insult brought a deep flush to Morrow's cheek, but he controlled himself.
His hand traveled to his breast pocket, and at the gesture, Mame's gaunt body stiffened suddenly. "Didn't come to inquire about our health, did you?" she shot at him, acrimoniously. "I came to see you about another matter " "Not on the trail of old Jimmy Brunell still, on that business of the bonds found at the bank?" Walter's voice was suddenly shrill with simulated mirth.
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