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See Walter Pennold of Brooklyn. Now you're the only Walter Pennold who banks with the B. & Q. and I thought you might like to know about it. There are over two hundred thousand dollars in securities and they have evidently been left there by somebody as conscience-money. You can go to the bank and see the people about it, of course.
If this Charley Pennold, whoever he might be, wished to see James Brunell on legitimate business, why did he not go to his shop openly and above-board in the day-time? Could he be an emissary from some one whom the old forger had reason to evade? If he were, did Emily know for what purpose he came, and was she annoyed at her own error in involuntarily disclosing his name?
"'Tain't likely, not after the way he left his boarding place, if that Lindsay woman didn't lie." Pennold laid aside his pipe and frowned thoughtfully, as steps echoed from the rickety porch and a knock sounded upon the door. "He's a lightweight, every way you take him he'd never stick anywhere." "Maybe he's come to try an' get you into somethin'," Mame suggested.
I think Pennold is living somewhere in Brooklyn, and through him you may be able to locate Brunell " Morrow shrugged his shoulders. "A retired crook in the suburbs. That's going to take time." "Not the way we'll work it. Listen."
This warrant only holds you as a suspicious character, Pennold, but we can dig up plenty of other things, if it's necessary; there's a forger named Griswold in the Tombs now awaiting trial, who will snitch about that Rochester check, for one thing." "Don't let him bluff you, Wally." Mame faced Morrow from her husband's side. "They can't rake up a thing that ain't outlawed by time.
"'This is Mr. James Brunell? the young man asked. 'You are a map-maker, I understand. I have come to ask for your estimate on a large contract for wall-maps for suburban schools. If you can spare a half-hour, we can talk it over now, sir, in private. I have a letter of introduction to you from an old acquaintance. My name is Pennold.
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.
What is my share for collecting for you?" quoted Morrow, adding: "I have a friend who is very much interested in ciphers, and he wanted me to ask you about the one you use, Pennold. His name is Blaine. Ever hear of him?" "Blaine!" Mame's voice shrank to a mere whisper, and her sallow face whitened. "Blaine! Henry Blaine? The guy they call the Master Mind?"
Pennold the young man whom you have observed when he called to see my father has something to do with the state of things, for it was with his very first appearance, more than two years ago, that my father became a changed man." "Tell me about it," Morrow urged, gently. "Can you remember, dear, when he first came?" "Oh, yes.
You can't lay a finger on me now!" the woman stormed, defiantly. "Not for shop-lifting or forgery but how about receiving stolen goods?" The shot found an instant target. Walter Pennold slumped and crumpled down into his chair, his arms outspread upon the table. He laid his head upon them, and a single dry, shuddering sob tore its way from his throat.
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