"Why, yes, I think so. I will look and see. If I have do you wish me to send it around to you?" "No, thank you. A messenger boy will call for it in a few minutes." Wondering, Ramon Hamilton shuffled hastily through the paper in the pigeon-holes of his desk until he came to a letter from Pennington Lawton. He carefully tore off the signature, and when the messenger boy appeared, gave it to him. He would not have been so puzzled, had he seen the great Henry Blaine, when a few minutes had elapsed, seated before the desk in his office, comparing the signature of the torn slip which he had sent with that affixed to the duplicate mortgage. A long, close, breathless scrutiny, with the most powerful magnifying glasses, and the detective jumped to his feet. "That's no signature of Pennington Lawton," he exulted to himself. "I thought I knew that fine hand, perfectly as the forgery has been done. That's the work of James Brunell, by the Lord!" CHAPTER IV THE SEARCH Henry Blaine, the man of decision, wasted no time in vain thought. Instantly, upon his discovery that the signature of Pennington Lawton had been forged, and that it had been done by an old and well-known offender, he touched the bell on his desk, which brought his confidential secretary. "Has Guy Morrow returned yet from that blackmail case in Denver?" "Yes, sir. He's in his private office now, making out his report to you." A moment later, there entered a tall, dark young man, strong and muscular in build, but not apparently heavy, with a smooth face and firm-set jaw. "I haven't finished my report yet, sir--" "The report can wait. You remember James Brunell, the forger?" "James Brunell?" Morrow repeated. "He was before my time, of course, but I've heard of him and his exploits. Pretty slick article, wasn't he! I understand he has been dead for years--at least nothing has been heard of his activities since I have been in the sleuth game." "Did you ever hear of any of his associates?" "I can't say that I have, sir, except Crimmins and Dolan; Crimmins died in San Quentin before his time was up; Dolan after his release went to Japan." "I want to find Brunell. His closest associate was Walter Pennold. I think Pennold is living somewhere in Brooklyn, and through him you may be able to locate Brunell--" Morrow shrugged his shoulders. "A retired crook in the suburbs. That's going to take time." "Not the way we'll work it. Listen." The next morning, a tall, dark young man, strong and muscular in build, with a smooth face and firm-set jaw, appeared at the Bank of Brooklyn & Queens, and was immediately installed as a clerk, after a private interview with the vice-president. His fellow clerks looked at him askance at first, for they knew there had been no vacancy, and there was a long waiting list ahead of him, but the young man bore himself with such a quiet, modest air of _camaraderie_ about him that by the noon hour they had quite accepted him as one of themselves.