r hands upon her
husband's shoulders, until her bony knuckles showed white through the
drawn skin, betrayed the storm of emotion which swept over her, at the
memories evoked by the broken words.

"I'm not asking you to snitch, Pennold," Morrow said, not unkindly.
"We know all we want to about Brunell's life at present--his home in
the Bronx, and his little map-making shop--and we're not trying to
rake up anything from the past to hold over him now; it is only some
general information I want. As to your nephew, you've got to tell me
all you know about him, or it's all up with you. 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. That was the time old Cowperthwaite's name was forged to
five checks amounting to thirty thousand, all told, and Jimmy was
caught on the last."

"Where was his plant?"

"In a basement on Dye Street. The bulls never found it. He was running
a little printer's shop in front, as a blind--oh, he was clever, old
Jimmy, the sharpest in his line!"

"What became of his outfit, when he was sent up?"

"Dunno. It just disappeared. Some of his old pals cribbed it, I guess,
or Jimmy may have fixed it with them to remove it. He was always
close-mouthed, and he never would tell me. I knew where his plant was,
of course, and I went there myself, after he was sent up and the coast
was clear, to get the outfit, to--to take care of it for him until he
came out. Oh, I ain't afraid to tell now; it's so long ago! I could
take you to the place to-day, but the outfit's gone."

"And when he had served his term, what happened?"

"He came out to find that his wife was dead, and Emily, the little
girl that was born just after he went up, was none too well treated by
the people her mother'd had to leave her with. He'd learned in the
pen' to make maps, an' he opened a little shop an' made up his mind to
live straight, an'--an' so far as I know, he has." Pennold faltered,
as if from weakness, and for a moment his voice ceased. Then he went
on: "I ain't seen him for a long time, but we kept track of each
other, an' when you come with that cock-an'-bull story about th