for him to go further. He had found what he sought. Emily
Brunell's father was a forger indeed!

CHAPTER IX

GONE!

Guy Morrow, after a sleepless night, presented himself at Henry
Blaine's office the next morning. The great detective, observing his
young subordinate with shrewd, kindly eyes, noted in one swift glance
his changed demeanor: his pallor, and the new lines graven about the
firm mouth, which added strength and maturity to his face. If he
guessed the reason for the metamorphosis, Blaine gave no sign, but
listened without comment until Morrow had completed his report.

"You obeyed my instructions?" he asked at length. "When you discovered
the forgery outfit in the cellar of Brunell's shop, you left
everything just as it had been--left no possible trace of your
presence?"

"Yes, sir. There's not a sign left to show any one had disturbed the
place. I am sure of that."

"Not a foot-print in the earth of the cellar steps?"

"No, sir."

"And the outfit--was there any evidence it had been used lately?"

"No--everything was dust-covered, and even rusty, as if it had not
even been touched in months, perhaps years. The whole thing might be
merely a relic of Jimmy Brunell's past performances, in the life he
gave up long ago."

Morrow spoke almost eagerly, as if momentarily off his guard, but
Blaine shook his head.

"Rather too dangerous a relic to keep in one's possession, Guy, simply
as a souvenir--a reminder of things the man is trying to forget, to
live down. You can depend on it: the outfit was there for some more
practical purpose. You say Paddington has not appeared in the
neighborhood, but another man has--a man Brunell's daughter seems to
dislike and fear?"

"Yes, sir. There's one significant fact about him, too--his name. He's
Charley Pennold. It didn't occur to me for some time after Miss
Brunell let that slip, that the name is the same as that of the
precious pair of old crooks over in Brooklyn, the ones Suraci and I
traced Brunell by."

"Charley Pennold!" Blaine repeated thoughtfully. "I hadn't thought of
him. He's old Walter Pennold's nephew. The boy was running straight
the last I heard of him, but you never can tell. Guy, I'm going to
take you off the Brunell trail for a while, and put you on this man
Paddington. I'll have Suraci look up Charley Pennold and get a line on
him. In the meantime, leave your key to the map-making shop with me. I
may want to have a look at that forger