The operative started to speak, but checked himself, and listened while Henry Blaine went on slowly but steadily. "Each letter gained helps us to others, you see, Guy. For instance _-o-ey_ must be _money_; the character following _yo_ three times in different places must be _u_; the word _---r-day_ can only be _Thursday_; _-all_ is _call_; _a-_ is _at_; and _-o-r_ is _four_. That gives us eight more letters, and makes the message read like this." Blaine wrote it down and handed the result to Morrow, who read: _Dear Old Boy._ _B-- money com-n- to you from old score left un-a-d -hat -s my share for collect-n- for you? No ris- --ll call on you Thursday at four. -en._ "It looks easy, now," admitted Morrow. "But I never should have thought of going about it that way. I suppose the sixth word is _coming_. That gives us _i_ and _g_." "Right you are," Blaine chuckled. "Knowing, too, that the message came from Walter Pennold, we can safely assume that _-en_ is _Pen_. Use your common sense alone, now, and you will find that the message reads: 'Dear old boy. Big money coming to you from old score left unpaid. What is my share for collecting for you? No risk. Will call on you Thursday at four. Pen.' "The word _risk_ was misspelled _risl_. Evidently Pennold was a little bit rusty in the use of the old code. Our bait landed the fish all right, Guy. The money we planted in the bank of Brooklyn and Queens certainly brought results. No wonder poor old Jimmy Brunell was all broken up when he received such a message. More crafty than Pennold, he realized that it was a trap, and we were on his trail at last. We've got him cinched now, but he's only a tool, possibly a helpless one, in the hands of the master workmen. We'll go after them, tooth and nail, for the happiness and stainless name of two innocent young girls, who trust in us, and we'll get them, Guy, we'll get them if there is any justice and honor and truth left in the world!" CHAPTER XIII THE EMPTY HOUSE "Don't spare them now. Get the truth at all costs." With the last instructions of his chief ringing in his ears, the following morning Guy Morrow set out for Brooklyn, to interview his erstwhile friends, the Pennolds, in his true colors. Mame Pennold, who was cleaning the dingy front room, heard the click of the gate, and peered with habitual caution from behind the frayed curtains of the window. The unexpected reappearance of their young banking acquaintance sent her scurrying as fast as her palsied legs could carry her back to the kitchen, where her husband sat luxuriously smoking and toasting his feet at the roaring little stove. "Wally, who d'you think's comin' up the walk? That young feller, Alfred Hicks, who skipped from the Brooklyn and Queens Bank!" "Good Lord!" Walter Pennold took his pipe from his lips and stared at her. "What d'you s'pose brought him back? Think he's broke, an' wants a touch?"