f soft wax carefully palmed in
his left hand, he succeeded in gaining an impression of the lock on
the flimsy door. From this he had a key made in anticipation of orders
from his chief, requiring a thorough search of the little shop--orders
which for the first time in his career, he shrank from.

He made no effort to scrape an acquaintance with Brunell himself, but
frequently encountered, as if by accident, the daughter Emily, on her
way to and from the subway station. If she recognized in him the young
lodger across the street, she made no sign, and as the days passed,
Morrow, the man, despaired of gaining her friendship, save through her
father, whom Morrow--the operative--had received orders not to
approach personally.

Before he had seen her, had he known that the old forger possessed a
daughter, he would have laid his plans to worm himself into the
confidence of the little family through the girl, but having once laid
eyes upon her face in all its gentle, trusting purity, every manly
instinct in him revolted at the thought of making her a tool of her
father's probable downfall.

There was a third member of the Brunell household whom Morrow had
observed frequently seated upon the doorstep, or on one of the lower
window sills--a small, scraggly black kitten, with stiff outstanding
fur, and an absurdly belligerent attitude whenever a dog chanced to
pass through the lane. It waited in the doorway each night for the
return of its mistress, and in the soft glow of the lamplight which
streamed from within, he had seen her catch the little creature up
affectionately and cuddle it up against her neck before the door
closed upon them.

One afternoon in the early November twilight, as Morrow was returning
to his own door after shadowing Brunell on an aimless and chilly walk,
he saw the kitten lying curled up just outside its own gate, and an
inspiration sprang to his ingenious mind. He seated himself upon the
steps of Mrs. Quinlan's front porch and waited until the darkness had
deepened sufficiently to cloak his nefarious scheme. Then, with soft
beguiling tone--and a few _sotto voce_ remarks, for he hated
cats--Morrow began a deliberate attempt to entice the kitten across to
him.

"Come here, kitty, kitty," he called softly. "Come, pussy dear! Come
here, you mangy, rat-tailed little beast! Come cattykins."

At his first words the kitten raised its head and regarded him with
yellow eyes gleaming through the dusk, in un