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Updated: May 24, 2025
You've lived clean more'n seven years, an' you're free from the bulls. They can't hold you." "I haven't any warrant yet for you, Mrs. Pennold," observed Morrow, imperturbably. "I admit that it's more than seven years since every department-store detective was on the look-out for Left-handed Mame. I believe you specialized in furs and laces, didn't you?" "What's it to you?
If he does not do so now, kindly hold these securities for Jimmy Brunell until called for, and in the meantime see Walter Pennold of Brooklyn. With the package and letter came a request from Henry Blaine which those in power at the Brooklyn & Queens Bank were only too glad to accede to, in order to ingratiate themselves with the great investigator.
If this place was indeed the rendezvous of the gang of minor criminals with which Charley Pennold had allied himself, he had obviously come at the wrong time to obtain any information concerning him, unless the voluble bartender could be made to talk, and that would be a difficult matter. "Look here!"
Pennold seated himself again in his old position, significantly half-turned, so that when he glanced slyly at his visitor it was over his shoulder, in the furtive fashion of one on guard. "Ain't back with the Brooklyn and Queens, are you?" he asked. "No. It got too slow for me there. I found something bigger to do."
Blaine cleaned up that case eventually, you know recovered the plate and caught the butler in Southampton, under the noses of the Scotland Yard men. I want to know what you can tell me about Brunell and about your nephew, Charley Pennold." Walter opened his lips, but closed them without speech, and his wife replied for him. "We're no snitchers," she said coldly. "There's nothin' we can tell.
"I don't know who he is I'm such a newcomer in the neighborhood, you know; but I happened to see him from my window across the way a short, dapper-looking young chap with a small, dark mustache." "Oh! that man." Her lip curled disdainfully. "That's Charley Pennold. He's no friend of mine. He just comes to see Father now and again on business. I don't bother to talk to him.
Jimmy Brunell's run straight for near twenty years, so far as we know." "And Charley?" persisted Morrow. "It's no use, Mame," Walter Pennold repeated, dully. "If I go up again, it means the end for me. Charley's got to take his chance, same as the rest of us. God knows I tried to do the right thing by the boy, same as Jimmy did by his daughter, but Charley's got the blood in him.
If you've been square, an' told me all you know, you won't be bothered about that matter of the Mortimer Chase silver plate. If you've kept anything back, Blaine will find it out, and then it's good-night to you." "I ain't!" returned Pennold, with tremendous eagerness. "I've told you everything you asked, an' I don't savvy what you're gettin' at, anyway.
It was true that there had been no connection between them in years, but he remembered Jimmy's attitude toward the "snitcher," as well as toward the man who "held out" on his pals; and behind his cupidity was a lurking caution which was made manifest when he walked into the kitchen and found Mrs. Pennold with her shriveled arms immersed in the washtub.
I wish I'd taken the consequences Paddington threatened me with, through Charley Pennold curse them both! "For it wasn't because of the money I did it, sir, although what they offered me was a small fortune, and would have been a mighty hard temptation in the old days. It was because if I refused they were going to strike at me through my little girl, the one thing on earth I've got left to love!
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