Morrow shook his head, not trusting himself to speak, and the loquacious bartender went on.
“It was Reddy brought the word for Charley to skip, and he dropped somethin’ about a raid on some plant up in the Bronx. Know anything about it?”
For a moment the rows of bottles on their shelves seemed to reel before Morrow’s eyes, and his heart stood still, but he forced himself to reply:
“Oh, that? I know all about it, of course. Wasn’t I in on the ground floor? But that’s only a fake steer; this Charley-boy hasn’t got anything to do with it, that I know of. Maybe the big guy thought he hadn’t got out of the way, and sent me to find out. No use my hanging round here any longer, anyhow. I’ll amble back and tell Pad he’s gone. Swell dame, that Annie––some 188 queen, eh? Let’s have one more drink and I’ll blow!”
With assurances of an early return, Morrow contrived to beat a retreat without arousing the suspicions of the bartender, but he went out into the pale, wintry, sunlight with his brain awhirl. To his apprehensive mind a raid on a plant in the Bronx could mean only one place––the little map-making shop of Jimmy Brunell. Something had happened in his absence; some one had betrayed the old forger. And Emily––what of her?
Morrow sped as fast as elevated and subway could carry him to the Bronx. Anxious as he was about the girl he loved, he did not go directly to the house on Meadow Lane, but made a detour to the little shop a few blocks away.
Morrow’s instinct had not misled him. Before he had approached within a hundred feet of the shop he knew that his fears had been justified.
The door swung idly open on its hinges, and the single window gave forth a vacant stare. Within everything was in the wildest disorder. The table which served as a counter, the racks of maps, the high stool, the printing apparatus, all were overturned. The trap door leading into the cellar was open, and Morrow flung himself wildly down the sanded steps. The forger’s outfit had disappeared.
What had become of Jimmy Brunell? His purpose served, had Paddington betrayed him to the police, or had some warning reached him to flee before it was too late?
With mingled emotions of fear and dread, Morrow emerged from the little dismantled shop and made the best of his way to Meadow Lane. The Brunell cottage 189 appeared much as usual as he neared it, and for an instant hope surged up within him. Emily would be at the club, of course. If her father had been arrested, or had succeeded in getting away safely alone, she would not know of it until she came back in the evening. He would wait for her, intercept her, and tell her the whole truth.