on down the line. I
never heard of him turnin' a real trick himself, an' he never got
caught at nothin' again, but he chummed in with the gang, an' he
always seemed to have coin enough. I ain't seen him in more'n a year.
The last I heard of him, he was workin' as a stool-pigeon an' snitcher
for the worst scoundrel of the lot."

"Who was that?" asked Morrow.

Pennold hesitated and then replied with dogged reluctance.

"I dunno what that's got to do with it, but the feller's name is
Paddington, an' he's the worst kind of a crook--a 'tec gone wrong. At
least, that's what they say about him, but I ain't got nothin' on him;
I don't believe I ever seen the man, that I know of. He's worked on a
lot of shady cases; I know that much, an' he's clever. More'n a dozen
crooks are floatin' around town that would be up the river if he told
what he knew about 'em; so naturally, he owns 'em, body an' soul. Not
that Charley's one that'd go up--he's only in it for the coin--but I'd
rather see him get pinched an' do time for pullin' off somethin' on
his own account, than runnin' around doin' dirty work for a man who
ain't in his father's class, or mine. He's a disgrace; that's what
Charley is--a plain disgrace."

Pennold's voice rang out in highly virtuous indignation. Morrow
forbore to smile at the oblique moral viewpoint of the old crook.

"What does he look like?" he asked. "Short and slim, isn't he, with a
small dark mustache?"

"That's him!" ejaculated Pennold disgustedly. "Dresses like a dude,
an' chases after a bunch of skirts! Spreads himself like a ward
politician when he gets a chance! He's my nephew, all right, but as
long as he won't run straight, same as I'm doin' now, I'd rather he'd
crack a crib than play errand boy for a man I wouldn't trust on
look-out!"

"Where does Charley live?" asked Morrow.

"How should I know? He hangs out at Lafferty's saloon, down on Sand
Street, when he ain't off on some steer or other--leastways he used
to."

Morrow folded the warrant slowly, in the pause which ensued, and
returned it to his pocket while the couple watched him tensely.

"All right, Pennold," he said, at last. "I guess I won't have to use
this now. 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.