The detectives glanced curiously at Penny as they came up the steps to the rooming house but failed to notice that she lingered by the street curbing to learn what had brought them to the scene. They rang the bell and the door was opened almost instantly by the landlady.
"You may as well go away," she began irately, then paused in confusion. "Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought it was someone else."
The plain clothes men flashed their badges and then inquired if Amy Coulter resided at the house.
"You're not the first that's asked for her," the woman informed. "Someone from the Gage Galleries has been telephoning all morning until it's enough to drive a body wild. And just a minute ago a girl came to bother me."
"I take it then that Amy Coulter is not here?" one of the detectives interrupted.
"No, she packed up her luggage and cleared out last night without leaving an address. What has she done now?"
"We're not certain that she has done anything, but we wish to question her."
"I thought something was wrong when she cleared out so fast," the landlady declared. "She paid her rent all right, but she was a queer one. I was suspicious of her from the first."
The detectives talked with the landlady a few minutes longer before returning to their car.
Penny had heard the entire conversation. The visit of the plain clothes men to the rooming house made it clear to her that the order definitely had gone out for Amy Coulter's apprehension as a suspect in the Gage Galleries theft. It seemed likely that the young sculptress was aware of the situation, for otherwise why would she disappear without leaving a forwarding address?
"Anyway, there's nothing I can do," Penny thought. "I may as well give up the search and go shopping."
Since Pearl Street was not far from the business section of Belton City, she left her automobile parked at the curbing and walked to the nearest department store.
Penny had a long list of items to purchase, for Mrs. Gallup had mentioned a number of articles which were needed for the house. It was well after the noon hour when she finished the task. She dropped in at the store tearoom for a sandwich and cup of chocolate, then gathered up her packages and started back to her car.
Turning the first corner, she was startled to notice a familiar figure across the street. A girl in a shabby blue serge suit was staring into the window of a candy shop.
"That looks like Amy Coulter!" Penny thought excitedly.
She hurried across the street to accost the girl. Upon hearing her name called Amy turned swiftly and her face lighted with pleasure.
"Why, how nice to meet you again, Miss Nichols."
For an instant Penny felt embarrassed. Amy looked so genuinely glad to see her that it was difficult to believe the girl could know of the accusation against her. It would be awkward to bring up the subject.
"I was hoping I might see you," Penny declared after a brief silence. "In fact, I called at your rooming house only a little while ago. The landlady told me you had moved."
"Yes, I didn't like the place very well. And it was too expensive for me."
"Where are you staying now?" Penny questioned, and then as the other girl hesitated for an answer, said quickly: "Don't tell me unless you wish."
"Of course I want you to know, Miss Nichols. I have a room on Fulton Avenue only a few blocks from here. If you have time I'd like to have you visit me. I am on my way home now."
"I'd like to accompany you," Penny said quickly. "There's something I want to talk to you about."
Amy Coulter looked surprised at such a response, but offered no comment. The girls devoted their conversation to casual subjects as they walked toward the rooming house.
Presently they paused before a drab looking building in a quiet street. Amy offered no apology as she led Penny up four flights of stairs to a tiny room on the top floor.
Penny noticed that Amy had arranged the cheap furniture to the best advantage. The gay home-made curtains at the window, bright pillows and an India cloth thrown over a battered old table, showed a nice appreciation of color values. The walls were attractive with fine paintings and etchings and in one corner of the room stood a box of statues and ceramics.
"You have some lovely things," Penny remarked admiringly.
"The paintings were done by my father. You may have heard his name—Eli Coulter."
"Why, he was famous as an artist and sculptor!" Penny exclaimed. "You are his daughter?"
"Yes, but few persons are aware of it. A name is forgotten so soon." Unknowingly, Amy sighed. "My father was quite noted at the time of his death. That was only four years ago. It seems a century."
"Your father's paintings will never be forgotten," Penny assured her earnestly. "They will always be treasured."
"I hope so. Father really sacrificed himself to his art. He died in poverty."
"You have had a difficult time since then?" Penny asked kindly.
"Yes, but I have no complaint. I shall manage to get along and I derive a real joy from my sculptoring."
"Your father taught you, I suppose?"
"All that I know I learned from him. But I can never equal his work."
"That remains to be seen," Penny smiled. "You are only starting your career."
"I haven't been able to sell any of my work. I am getting very discouraged. I had hoped to win the five thousand dollar Huddleson prize, but I failed."
"You should have won," Penny declared loyally. "Your entry was by far the best."
"The judge didn't think so."
"Who is Hanley Cron anyhow?" Penny scoffed. "Just a newspaper art critic! Do you consider him an authority?"
"No, I don't," Amy returned. "It was rather odd that he was named judge of such an important contest."
"You see, it doesn't mean a thing."
"The five thousand dollars would have meant something," Amy smiled ruefully. "I could use it to pay my rent and buy new clothes. To say nothing of taking lessons in art. I'm desperate for money."
"Can't I loan you a little?" Penny offered.
"Oh, no! I have enough to keep going for some time. I only meant that I could use that prize money very advantageously."
"By the way, have you read the morning papers?" Penny inquired abruptly.
"No, I was so busy getting moved that I haven't glanced at a paper for days. I suppose the critics made fun of my poor entry."
"Upon the contrary, the Black Imp was highly praised. However, I was referring to the theft of the painting."
"Theft?" Amy asked blankly. "What painting do you mean?"
"Then you haven't heard the news," Penny said, watching her closely.
"I haven't heard about any painting being stolen. Surely you don't mean from the Gage Galleries?"
"Yes, a Rembrandt was taken yesterday afternoon from the exhibition room. The police believe that one of the contestants for the Huddleson prize may have stolen it in spite—the theory sounds silly to me."
"But how was the picture smuggled from the museum?"
"The police aren't sure, but they think a girl carried it out as a package. She was seen by one of the guards entering a taxi cab."
Amy's face flamed with color. "Miss Nichols, are you trying to tell me that I am under suspicion?" she demanded.
Penny nodded. "Yes, that's why I wanted to talk with you. The police are looking for you now."
"The police! But I've done nothing wrong. I didn't take the painting! How can anyone accuse me of such a thing?"
"It's unjust of course. They suspect you because you left the Galleries only a few minutes before the theft of the painting was discovered."
"But that doesn't prove I took the picture! I had a right to leave."
"No one would have thought anything of it, Amy, but the guard reported he saw you board a taxi cab with a flat package under your arm. Probably he was mistaken."
"I did take a package from the museum," the girl acknowledged, "and it was a painting. However, it was my own—one which I had exhibited there for several months."
"You didn't show the package to the guard who is stationed by the door?"
"No, when I left the building he was not at his usual post. As I entered the taxi cab I heard someone call after me but I was upset and I didn't want to go back. So I just pretended I didn't hear."
"It's too bad you didn't return and show the picture," Penny commented slowly. "That would have cleared you of all suspicion. As it is, you're in an awkward position."
"Don't you think the police will believe my story?"
"If you can prove it—yes. I suppose someone at the Gage Galleries will have a record that the picture you took was your own."
Amy looked frightened. "I'm afraid not," she admitted. "You see, the painting was wrapped up for me to carry home weeks ago. I didn't want to bother with it so I kept it in my locker in the basement. Then yesterday I decided to take it with me."
"No one saw you go to your locker?"
"Not to my knowledge." Amy crossed the room and lifted out a small picture from her trunk. "See, this is the painting. A vase of flowers. It's very poor work—certainly about a million miles removed from a genuine Rembrandt."
In silence Penny studied the painting. She really was not thinking of it at all. However, she noticed absently that it was similar in size to the dimensions which the evening papers had given for the stolen Rembrandt.
"You don't think the police will try to send me to jail?" Amy questioned tensely. "The accusation is utterly silly!"
Penny did not know how to advise the girl. While she was inclined to believe Amy's story, she was afraid that others might not.
"Does anyone know of your present address?" she asked Amy.
"Only you. I haven't even had time to inform the postoffice of the change."
"Then why not remain in hiding for a few days until this trouble blows over?" Penny proposed after a moment's thought. "I shouldn't suggest it only I feel confident the real thief will be traced soon. Or at least new evidence will be uncovered."
"I shouldn't like to appear a sneak or a coward. If I were sure the police would believe me, I'd be glad to go to them and give myself up."
"That's just the point, Amy. You can't tell what they're likely to do. And the story is almost certain to come out in the papers."
"I shouldn't like publicity," Amy declared. "Perhaps you're right about hiding."
"I'd stay off the street if possible," Penny advised, arising to leave. "And it might be a good idea to take all your meals in."
"I shall," Amy promised. "Thank you for bringing me the warning. I appreciate it more than I can say."
"If there are any new developments I'll keep you posted," Penny said as they parted at the door. "The truth surely will come out within a few days."
She walked back to Pearl Street for her automobile, but did not drive home. Instead she turned toward the Gage Galleries.
"It seems to me the police and museum authorities have overlooked one important clue," she reflected. "I can't help thinking that the guard Susan and I met in the corridor may know something about the case. At least he should be questioned."
While it was true that a museum official had vouched for the honesty of the employee, Penny could not forget that the man had seemed greatly embarrassed at the encounter in the dark hall.
She was quite aware that the loss of the valuable painting really was none of her affair. Nor would she have taken such a personal interest in the case had it not been for her acquaintance with Amy Coulter. She felt that if the girl were to be cleared of suspicion, someone would have to work in her behalf.
Penny entered the Gage Galleries by the main front door and spoke to a guard whom she knew by sight.
"Have you heard anything new regarding the missing Rembrandt?"
"No, Miss," the man responded politely. "The theft of the painting was a severe loss to the museum. So far the police have made no progress in tracing the crook."
"Can you tell me where I can locate a man by the name of Hoges who is employed here?" Penny next inquired.
"You will not find him at the Galleries, Miss."
"You mean he's off duty for the day?" Penny asked in disappointment.
The guard's response came as a distinct blow.
"No, Miss. Mr. Hoges is away on a month's vacation. He left the city yesterday to travel in the South."
Penny was disheartened at the information. With the museum attendant out of the city, she could not hope to be of assistance to Amy Coulter. The situation looked very dark for the young sculptress unless other clues regarding the identity of the art thief were discovered soon.
"I wonder if this man Hoges really did go away on a vacation?" Penny mused. "He certainly vanished at the psychological moment!"
Giving no hint of what was in her mind, she politely thanked the guard for the information and returned home. After leaving her packages she called upon Susan to relate the adventures of the day.
"I think you were wise to tell Amy to hide," Susan approved. "We know her story is true, but it doesn't sound that way."
Penny was not certain that her father would take a similar viewpoint. She intended to tell him about Amy that evening and ask his advice regarding the situation, but directly after dinner Mr. Nichols isolated himself in his study, devoting himself to a new case upon which he was working.
In the morning at breakfast Penny did manage to bring up the subject, but Mr. Nichols listened inattentively as he sipped his coffee.
"I don't believe you heard a word I said," Penny complained finally.
"What was that? Oh, yes, I did. You were saying something about Amy Coulter."
"Never mind," Penny sighed. "I can tell your mind is a million miles away tracking down a wicked criminal."
"I hope the villain hasn't gone that far," Mr. Nichols chuckled. "Oh, by the way, you might tell Mrs. Gallup I'll not be home for dinner."
Penny regarded her father severely.
"Dad, have you forgotten what day this is."
"Tuesday the twentieth."
"This is the night of Mrs. Archibald Dillon's big reception."
The detective looked disconcerted. "I forgot all about it," he admitted. "How I hate those affairs unless I'm there on a salary watching for gem thieves! Mrs. Dillon is the worst social climber in Belton City."
"Just the same we accepted this invitation and we'll have to go," Penny said sternly.
"I can't make it. I have important work to do."
"But Dad——"
"You go alone, Penny, and do the honors for the family. Tell Mrs. Dillon that I came down with croup most unexpectedly. Tell her anything you like, only count me out."
"She'll never forgive you if you don't go. Can't you possibly make it?"
Mr. Nichols frowned in annoyance. "I suppose I might be able to drop around late in the evening. Possibly in time to take you home."
"That would be better than not attending at all."
"All right, we'll leave it that way then. I'll meet you about eleven o'clock tonight at Mrs. Dillon's."
The detective hastily kissed his daughter goodbye and hurried away to the office.
Penny did not look forward to the coming party. While Mrs. Dillon's receptions were always elaborate, usually they were boring. Susan had not been invited and she doubted that many young people would attend.
Penny sighed as she reflected that she might have spent a pleasant evening with a book. But she brightened a trifle as it occurred to her that the party would give her an opportunity to wear her new blue evening gown and silver slippers.
Eight o'clock found her en route to the Dillon residence in a taxi. The car swung into a curving drive and halted in front of an imposing, white colonial house. A liveried servant opened the automobile door for her and Penny joined several other guests who were entering the marble hallway.
"Miss Penelope Nichols," announced a servant.
It was all very formal and made Penny feel slightly ill at ease. She paused dutifully to greet her hostess.
Mrs. Archibald Dillon, a plump woman, well past middle age, was gowned in an elegant beaded dress, low-cut and far too conspicuous for the occasion. She had acquired wealth through marriage, but while she was active in many clubs and various types of charity work, she had never been able to achieve her social ambitions.
"My dear, didn't your father come with you?" she inquired, giving Penny's hand a slight pressure.
"No, Mrs. Dillon, he was detained at the office on an important case. However, he will surely drop in before the evening is over."
Penny selected a chair in a quiet corner of the reception room and surveyed the throng. She saw few persons she actually knew although many she recognized from having seen their photographs in the newspapers. A long line of chairs along the north wall was completely unoccupied. Apparently, Mrs. Dillon had expected far more guests than had arrived.
A listless orchestra played for dancing, but only a few couples were moving about the floor. There were no young people present. The only interesting feature of the party was the expensive costumes of the guests. Many of the women wore elaborate evening gowns of velvet and bright silk, adorning themselves with glittering diamonds, which however, could not compete with a string of matched pearls proudly displayed by the hostess.
"This party resembles a style show," Penny thought. "As far as I'm concerned it's going to be a big flop."
Mrs. Dillon presently left her post near the door and circulated among her guests, trying to create a false air of conviviality. Noticing that Penny sat alone, she came over to her.
"My dear, aren't you dancing? I shall find a nice partner for you."
Before Penny could protest, the woman hurried away, returning almost immediately accompanied by a man in evening dress. Penny was dismayed to recognize Hanley Cron. Upon seeing her, he paused, and a look of keen displeasure crossed his face.
Unaware that she was creating an awkward situation, Mrs. Dillon gushingly introduced the two. Hanley Cron bowed coldly.
"We've met before," Penny said.
"Oh! Then you're old friends."
Penny politely refrained from comment, but Hanley Cron said coldly, in a tone which made his meaning very clear:
"Hardly that."
"Acquaintances I should have said," Mrs. Dillon murmured in embarrassment.
"You will pardon me I hope," Hanley Cron observed aloofly. Turning his back upon Penny he walked away.
"Oh, my dear, I'm terribly sorry," Mrs. Dillon fluttered. "I'll find you another partner."
"Pleasedon't," Penny pleaded. "I really have no wish to dance at all."
"Of course, if that's the way you feel——"
"It is, Mrs. Dillon. I really am enjoying myself just watching the others."
Penny's statement was not quite true, for she had derived no pleasure from the party, and the rebuff she had received was quite enough to make her wish that she had remained at home. However, the reply served to satisfy the woman and she mercifully moved on to talk with another guest.
"Hanley Cron is the most ill-mannered man I ever met," Penny thought indignantly. "I wish Dad would come, then I could go home."
Her eyes smoldered wrathfully as she watched the art critic talking with a group of people near the refreshment table. She knew it was silly to allow herself to become annoyed because of his insulting manner, yet it was quite impossible to dismiss the man from her mind.
Not wishing to even see him again that evening, she arose and explored the veranda. It was crowded so she came indoors again and wandered through the rooms adjoining the reception hall. The library was entirely deserted.
Penny peered with interest at the books which lined the wall cases. Most of them did not appear to have ever been used. Selecting one at random she curled herself comfortably in an upholstered chair, sitting with her back to the door.
"I'll just stay in here for an hour or so and read," she decided. "No one will miss me."
The book was interesting and when Penny glanced at the little clock on the table she was surprised to see that it was nearly eleven o'clock.
"Dad should be coming along soon," she told herself. "He'll be wondering what became of me."
Reluctantly she closed the book. Before she could leave her chair to put it away she heard voices just outside the library door.
Mrs. Dillon and a feminine guest entered the room. They were talking in low tones.
"I haven't told a soul except you," Mrs. Dillon declared. "Before I show you my treasure, you must promise never to reveal my secret. I shouldn't care to be arrested."
"Of course I promise," the other agreed.
Neither of the women was aware of Penny's presence in the library for she was concealed behind the high back of the chair. The girl hesitated to reveal herself, for already she had heard enough to cause Mrs. Dillon embarrassment. She decided to remain where she was and keep quiet.
Mrs. Dillon carefully closed the library door and to Penny's amazement, locked it.
"I don't want to risk having anyone come in," she explained to her companion. "As it is, my husband is quite provoked at me for making the purchase. It was such a wonderful bargain I couldn't resist. But he is afraid someone will learn of it."
"You did take a chance in buying it," the other woman remarked.
"Oh, the trouble will soon blow over and if I should be caught I can always plead innocence. The dealer assured me I could sell it at any time for twice what I paid."
The floor creaked beneath Mrs. Dillon's weight as she crossed the room. The woman halted in front of a large picture which hung over the mantel. By this time Penny was overcome with curiosity. Risking detection, she peeped out from behind her chair.
Mrs. Dillon reached up and jerked a long silken rope which was suspended from the picture. Immediately it swung aside, revealing a hidden opening in the wall.
Mrs. Dillon drew back a blue velvet curtain and waited expectantly for her friend's praise. Exposed to view was a small oil painting.
Penny recognized it as the stolen Rembrandt.
"Well, what do you think of it, my dear?" Mrs. Dillon questioned eagerly.
"Beautiful!" the guest praised, stepping back a pace that she might view the painting to better advantage. "How fortunate you are to own such a picture."
"I've always craved to possess a genuine masterpiece," Mrs. Dillon declared enthusiastically. "It gives one prestige."
"And you say this is a Rembrandt, Mrs. Dillon?" the other asked. "It must have cost you a pretty penny."
"It did, but at that I consider the painting a great bargain. The dealer assured me that if I wished to dispose of it at any time he would promise to find an immediate purchaser."
"Undoubtedly, you made a fine deal," Mrs. Dillon's friend acknowledged. "From whom did you buy the picture?"
"I can't tell you that. I pledged myself not to reveal his identity."
"Oh, I see. But you are quite sure you can depend upon the dealer's word?"
"Yes, indeed. I hope you don't think I'd allow myself to be taken in——"
"Oh, no, certainly not. Only I've heard it said that unscrupulous dealers sometimes resort to tricks."
"I pride myself upon having a streak of Yankee shrewdness," Mrs. Dillon said, "and I do know art. When I saw this picture I recognized it instantly as one I had seen at the Gage Galleries. Of course, the dealer didn't claim it was the genuine Rembrandt—quite the contrary."
"Then aren't you afraid——?"
"Not in the least," Mrs. Dillon interrupted. "Naturally, the dealer wouldn't subject himself to arrest by acknowledging that he was selling stolen property."
"The painting is a very fine one," the other woman declared, "but I can't say I should care to own it myself. You'll never be able to display it openly."
"Perhaps not, but I can show it privately to my friends and I'll derive satisfaction just from knowing I own it."
"But if the police should suspect——"
"They won't, unless someone reports me. So far you are the only person who knows that I have the painting."
"Oh, you may trust me, Mrs. Dillon. I'll never give you away."
"If the picture should ever be traced to me I can always claim that I was an innocent purchaser," Mrs. Dillon chuckled. "In fact, I don't know that this is the same picture that was taken from the Gage Galleries. The dealer didn't tell me that it was an original."
"You're very shrewd," the other woman praised.
Mrs. Dillon carefully drew the velvet curtain over the painting and closed the panel. As the two women moved toward the door they passed close to Penny's chair. The girl held her breath, fearing detection.
She had not meant to be an eavesdropper, but the nature of Mrs. Dillon's conversation had made it impossible to reveal her presence in the room without creating a difficult scene. However, should she be discovered now, crouching behind the back of the chair, the situation would prove even more embarrassing.
"We must return to the others before we're missed," Mrs. Dillon said, unlocking the door.
The two women went out, and Penny heard a slight metallic click which at the moment did not strike her as having any significance. As the door closed she quickly arose from her chair.
Penny was dismayed at what she had seen and heard. It was difficult for her to believe that Mrs. Dillon owned the painting which had been stolen from the Gage Galleries. From the conversation she felt quite sure that the society woman had purchased the picture from a dishonest dealer who undoubtedly had received it from the original thief. Yet Mrs. Dillon had knowingly purchased stolen property and so in effect was an accessory to the crime.
"She must be crazy to involve herself in a deal like that," Penny thought. "If the police learn she has the painting they'll confiscate it and arrest her."
Penny realized that she had it within her power to expose Mrs. Dillon. Even though she were a guest in the society woman's home, it was really her duty to reveal her findings to the police.
From her hiding place behind the chair, Penny had not been able to secure a very good view of the painting. She was eager to examine it at close range.
Did she dare open the panel? She decided to take the chance. Jerking at the long silken rope as she had seen Mrs. Dillon do, the girl was gratified to observe the sham picture above the mantel swing slowly back to reveal the hidden panel.
Penny quickly drew aside the velvet curtain which protected the stolen Rembrandt.
The painting was one of the lesser known works of the famous artist, a picture of a child. Penny snapped on the electric light that she might view it to better advantage.
At first glance the painting was very impressive, but as the girl studied it more critically, she was assailed with doubt. The picture did not seem to have the character or strength commonly associated with great works of art. The draftmanship seemed mechanical, the color lacked depth.
"I wonder if it really is a genuine Rembrandt?" Penny thought.
The longer she gazed at it the more convinced she became that the picture was merely a clever imitation. She wished that Amy Coulter were there to offer an opinion. Penny did not trust her own judgment. Her knowledge of art was so slight that she might be mistaken in considering the Rembrandt a fraud.
Closing the panel, Penny sat down for an instant to think. She knew she had made an important discovery, one which easily could cause Mrs. Dillon serious trouble should she report her findings to the police. Upon the other hand, the society woman was an important personage of Belton City with many influential friends, and should she be falsely arrested the trouble would descend like an avalanche upon the head of Penny Nichols.
"I'll have to move cautiously," the girl reflected. "It's no crime to own a copy of a stolen painting. If this picture is a fake, the police would have no case against Mrs. Dillon."
The problem was too deep for Penny. She decided to reveal to no one the discovery she had made until after she had discussed the matter with her father. Quickly, she arose and went to the door.
To her surprise it did not open when she turned the knob. It took an instant for the truth to dawn upon her. The door was locked!
"Mrs. Dillon must have turned the key when she went out," Penny thought, recalling that she had heard a slight metallic click. "Now I am in it!"
She considered calling for help but immediately abandoned the idea. It would be difficult to explain how she had been locked in the library without revealing the true details. And Mrs. Dillon would instantly suspect that she had seen the hidden painting.
The room had two windows looking out upon the front lawn. Directly beneath was a cultivated bed of flowers which Penny decided must be sacrificed if necessary to the occasion. She switched out the electric lights, and raising one of the windows peered in both directions to see that the coast was clear.
Quickly she climbed over the sill, hung by her fingers tips for an instant, then dropped lightly down to the ground, crushing several choice plants underfoot.
Before she could turn she felt her arms pinioned behind her back in a grasp of steel.
"Not so fast, young lady!" said a gruff voice.
Penny whirled around to face the man who had captured her. She began to laugh.
"Dad!"
"Penny! I thought I had caught a young lady burglar. What are you trying to do?"
"Escape from the library."
"So I observe. But have you any objection to using a door? In polite society I believe that's the accepted method of leaving a house."
"The library door was locked," Penny explained hastily. "And I have good reason for wanting to get away without being seen by anyone."
"In that case, always close the window after you," Mr. Nichols chuckled. "Here, I'll boost you up and you can pull it down."
After Penny had lowered the sash, they hurriedly moved away from the window.
"Now tell me all about it," the detective invited. "Did you lose your bag of loot?"
"You know very well I wasn't doing anything I shouldn't," Penny countered, "but you nearly frightened me to death when you nabbed me."
"I just happened to see you climbing out of the window as I came up the path," the detective smiled. "I thought perhaps someone was escaping with the family jewels."
"Speaking of jewelry, there's plenty of it around tonight. The ballroom is fairly ablaze with it."
"Never mind the jewelry," Mr. Nichols said. "What were you doing in the library?"
Leading her father to a secluded stone bench in the garden, Penny related all that she had seen and heard.
"I wish you could see the picture," she ended. "I'm almost certain it's a fake. If I can smuggle you into the library, will you look at it?"
"No, Penny, I will not. You seem to forget that we're guests of Mrs. Dillon."
"Yes, but if she has the stolen Rembrandt in her possession, isn't it our duty to notify the police?"
"Do you know that she has the stolen painting?"
"No, in fact I rather suspect she's been cheated by a dishonest dealer."
"In that event, you'd only stir up a hornet's nest without doing a particle of good. In fact, exposing Mrs. Dillon might give the real thief a warning to lie low."
"How do you mean, Dad?"
"Why, the moment Mrs. Dillon is arrested, the dealer from whom she purchased the picture will disappear. Then there will be no way to trace the real thief."
"You're assuming that the dealer and the thief worked together even though the painting which Mrs. Dillon bought may have been a fake."
"It's quite possible, Penny. Some day when the time is more opportune, I'll explain to you how picture thieves work their racket. For the moment I wish you'd accept my opinion that this case is packed with dynamite. My advice to you is to be very sure of what you're doing before you start any action."
"I guess you're right," Penny agreed. "I'll not do anything rash."
"The case may shake down in a few days," Mr. Nichols went on. "In the meantime, Mrs. Dillon isn't going to dispose of her picture. She'll not find it as easy to sell as she anticipates."
The detective arose from the bench after glancing at his watch.
"We'll have to go inside now," he said, "or the party will be over."
They entered the house and after wandering about for a few minutes encountered Mrs. Dillon. She greeted the detective cordially and the smile she bestowed upon Penny disclosed that she had not even noticed the girl's long absence from the ballroom.
"How do you like her?" Penny whispered to her father as they sought the refreshment table.
The detective shrugged. "She serves very good punch."
Mr. Nichols knew nearly all of the guests, either personally or by reputation. Penny noticed that as he appeared to talk casually with one person after another, actually he was surveying the throng somewhat critically.
"You were right about the jewelry," he said in an undertone to his daughter. "That necklace Mrs. Dillon is wearing must be worth at least a cool ten thousand dollars."
"I should think she'd be afraid of losing it," Penny commented.
"Oh, it's probably insured for all it's worth," Mr. Nichols returned casually.
The orchestra had struck up again and as other couples went out on the floor, Penny tugged at her father's sleeve.
"Come on, Dad. Let's dance."
"You know I hate it, Penny."
"Just one," she pleaded. "I've had no fun at all this evening."
"Oh, all right," he gave in. "But remember, one dance is the limit."
"That depends upon how many times you step on my feet," Penny laughed.
Actually, Christopher Nichols was a far better dancer than he imagined himself to be. His steps were introduced in a mechanical routine which sometimes annoyed Penny, but otherwise he made an excellent partner, gliding smoothly over the floor with the ease and grace of a young man.
"How am I doing?" he mumbled in his daughter's ear as he whirled her deftly about to avoid striking another couple.
"Not bad at all," Penny responded, smiling. "Consider yourself engaged for the next dance."
"Only one I said. I don't want to be laid up with rheumatism tomorrow."
"Rheumatism!" Penny scoffed.
She had spoken the word in an ordinary tone but it sounded as if she had shouted it for the music ended unexpectedly in the middle of a strain, trailing off into discordant tones. The amazed dancers halted, looking toward the orchestra to see what was wrong.
Penny felt the arm which her father held about her waist stiffen. A scream of terror rippled over the room.
Two men with white handkerchiefs pulled over their faces, had entered the ballroom through the double French doors opening into the garden. They trained their revolvers upon the dancers.
"This is a stick-up!" one announced grimly. "Put up your hands and stand against the north wall!"
Penny and her father were forced to line up with the other guests. They stood against the north wall, their hands held above their head. Members of the orchestra and servants were compelled to obey the order. While one of the holdup men covered the crowd with his revolver, the other moved swiftly from person to person collecting jewelry, watches and money.
Penny saw Mrs. Dillon, pale and frightened, trying to drop her pearl necklace into a flower pot, but she was not quick enough. The holdup man jerked the string from her hand.
"Oh, no you don't, lady," he snarled. He admired the pearls an instant before dropping them into a small cloth bag which he carried.
Penny stood next in line. She wore no jewelry save an inexpensive brooch which had belonged to her mother. Tears came into her eyes as the thief jerked it from her dress.
"Oh, please don't take that—" she began.
"Make no resistance," Mr. Nichols ordered curtly.
Penny relapsed into silence. She was a trifle puzzled at her father's attitude for she had always imagined that in such a situation he would be the first to fly into action.
The holdup man paused in front of the detective.
"Your money and valuables," he commanded.
"Help yourself," the detective invited cheerfully.
As the holdup man reached into an inside pocket, Mr. Nichols' fist shot out, catching him squarely under the jaw. The startled thief staggered back and dropped his bag of loot. Before he could recover from the blow, the detective wrenched the revolver from his grasp.
"Look out!" Penny screamed. From the opposite side of the room the other holdup man was taking careful aim at the detective.
Mr. Nichols whirled and fired. The shot buried itself in the wall, but it was close enough to the crook to warn him that the detective was no amateur at handling firearms.
"Scram!" he yelled warningly to his companion.
They fled into the garden with the detective in close pursuit. The two thieves were too hard pressed to give any thought to the lost bag of loot. Several shots were exchanged but the men succeeded in reaching their car which was parked in the driveway. The engine roared as they sped away. Springing into his own automobile, Nichols took up the pursuit but he soon abandoned it as useless, returning to the house.
There he telephoned the police, offering not only the license number of the fleeing automobile but a detailed description of the men.
"The radio cruiser ought to pick them up in a few minutes," he told Penny.
While a curious crowd gathered about he took a knife and extracted the bullet which had been fired into the wall.
"What will you do with that?" someone questioned.
"Keep it for evidence," he explained. "And this revolver as well, although now that I've used it, all fingermarks probably have been obliterated."
The women were clamoring for their lost jewelry, so with Penny's assistance, the detective distributed the articles.
"I feel just like Santa Claus taking presents out of my pack," he declared jokingly. "Here's your brooch, Penny. Did you think you were going to lose it?"
"Yes, I did, Dad. I saw red when that man tore it off my dress."
"So did I."
"You certainly didn't show it. You advised me to make no resistance."
"That was because I didn't want you to be shot."
"Then you turned right around a second later and took a big chance yourself. You might have been killed."
"I knew what I was about," the detective returned quietly.
Mrs. Dillon came up to Mr. Nichols, gripping his hand. Her own was trembling.
"You were marvelous, simply marvelous!" she said tremulously. "Never before in my life have I witnessed such a display of courage."
Others joined in the praise until Mr. Nichols was embarrassed. He hurriedly began to distribute the remainder of the stolen jewelry.
"Your necklace," he said to Mrs. Dillon, presenting it to her.
"Thank you, thank you," the woman murmured gratefully. "How can I ever repay you for saving my pearls?"
"By taking better care of them in the future," he responded grimly.
Mrs. Dillon looked slightly offended. "I have always taken excellent care of my pearls, Mr. Nichols," she replied.
"Perhaps your idea of excellent care does not agree with mine. The necklace is insured?"
"No, it isn't," Mrs. Dillon admitted reluctantly. "My husband spoke of attending to it several times but never did."
"You took a great risk wearing the pearls at a function such as this without even the precaution of having detectives on the premises to watch for gem thieves."
"You were here," Mrs. Dillon smiled. "I shall have my husband send you a check in the morning."
"Then I shall be compelled to return it," the detective replied. "May I ask if you have been in the habit of keeping the necklace in the house, Mrs. Dillon?"
"Why, yes, but I assure you I have an excellent hiding place."
Mr. Nichols could not restrain an amused smile.
"An experienced gem thief could probably find it in ten minutes' time. But that's neither here nor there. The point is, you should not keep the necklace in the house at all unless you do not care if you lose it."
"Of course I care," Mrs. Dillon retorted. "That string cost my husband fifteen thousand dollars."
"Then the necklace is even more valuable than I imagined. I should advise you to take it to the bank vault in the morning. Keep it there until you have it fully protected by insurance."
"I'll do it," Mrs. Dillon promised. "I really think your advice is worth following. I have been careless with the pearls."
In a few minutes the orchestra began to play again and the party went on, although many of the guests were still too nervous and excited to dance. They sat in groups discussing the hold-up. Christopher Nichols became the center of one admiring circle after another. He did not enjoy the attention.
"Let's go home," he suggested to Penny. "I've had enough."
"All right," she agreed instantly. "I left my wraps upstairs. I'll get them."
She crossed the ballroom and entered a hallway. As she paused to permit a couple to pass, she noticed that Hanley Cron and Mrs. Dillon were standing at the foot of the spiral stairway, their backs toward her, engaged in earnest talk. She could not help hearing a snatch of their conversation.
"Mrs. Dillon, why don't you take lunch with me tomorrow at my studio?" the art critic invited.
"I should enjoy it, Mr. Cron," the woman replied. "I might drop in after I take my necklace to the bank vault."
"I see you are determined to follow Christopher Nichols' advice."
"Yes, don't you think I should?"
"I believe he is not considered a very reliable detective," the man replied. "However, in this instance, his advice might be worth following."
"I'm glad you think so, Mr. Cron. I'll take the necklace to the bank in the morning."
"Why not come to my studio before going to the bank?" the art critic proposed. "Then I could serve as an escort. With such a valuable package in your possession you really need a guard."
"It is very kind of you to offer," Mrs. Dillon returned, flattered. "I will meet you at the studio at one o'clock and after luncheon we'll go to the bank together."
Penny had reached the foot of the stairs. The two were so engrossed in their conversation that they were unaware they were blocking the path.
"I beg your pardon," she murmured suggestively.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Mrs. Dillon exclaimed, moving hastily aside.
Penny gave no hint either by look or action that she had overheard the conversation, but inwardly she raged at Hanley Cron's cutting reference to her father's ability. She slowly climbed the stairs. At the first landing she glanced back over her shoulder and noticed that the art critic was staring after her. His expression startled her.
"How that man does hate me," she thought. "And all on account of a ruined fender. It's too ridiculous!"
Penny had observed during the evening that Mrs. Dillon and Hanley Cron danced frequently together. Apparently, the society woman was flattered by the man's attention, although Penny was at a loss to understand how anyone could consider him attractive. It seemed to her that the art critic deliberately was trying to ingratiate himself with Mrs. Dillon.
She considered the luncheon invitation which Cron had extended to his hostess. While it might have no significance, it tended to confirm her belief that the man was trying to gain the society woman's favor. She wondered, too, why he appeared so eager to accompany Mrs. Dillon to the bank.
"I don't believe it's because he wants to be generally helpful," she told herself shrewdly. "Hanley Cron simply isn't that sort of person!"
As she stood before the bedroom mirror Penny reflected upon what Cron had said about her father. Not reliable indeed! It was evident that the man deliberately was endeavoring to undermine Mr. Nichols' professional reputation.
Unexpectedly, Penny caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror and laughed because she looked so tense and worried.
"There's no use to take it so seriously," she advised herself. "I've merely learned that Hanley Cron may prove to be a dangerous enemy."