A few minutes later as she was driving home with her father, Penny repeated to him the conversation which she had overheard between Hanley Cron and Mrs. Dillon. The detective smiled at the slighting reference made by the art critic but looked disturbed when he learned of the luncheon engagement.
"Before she gets through, Mrs. Dillon will have informed everyone that she is taking the necklace to the vault tomorrow," he said impatiently. "If she ends up by losing the pearls then perhaps she'll know better next time."
Mr. Nichols stopped at the police station for a few minutes to leave the revolver and the bullet which he had retrieved from the ballroom wall. When he returned to the car Penny questioned him regarding the holdup men.
"Have they been captured?"
"No," he replied in disgust, "they got away."
It was long after midnight when they reached home. Penny would have liked to remain up awhile to discuss the exciting events of the evening but Mr. Nichols was too sleepy to be in a talkative mood. He hurried his daughter off to bed.
"I think I'll visit Amy Coulter sometime to-day," Penny remarked the next morning at breakfast. "What I saw last night convinced me that she could have no part in the theft of the painting."
"The picture in Mrs. Dillon's possession doesn't prove anything," Mr. Nichols replied as he pushed aside his coffee cup. "The painting may be a fake. Or if it's genuine this girl may have been one of a gang who negotiated the deal with Mrs. Dillon."
"If you met Amy you'd understand that she isn't the criminal type, Dad."
"And just what is the criminal type? Give me a definition."
Penny threw down her napkin impatiently. "Oh, there's no use arguing with you! You always win!"
"I'm not suggesting that your friend Amy is a crook," the detective smiled. "I'm merely trying to teach you to think and not to arrive at conclusions through impulse or emotion."
After the morning's work was done, Penny telephoned Susan Altman to tell her about the Dillon party. Susan was not at home so she walked to Amy Coulter's rooming house where she was admitted by the landlady.
"I'm so glad you came," Amy cried joyfully as she admitted the girl. "I took your advice and shut myself up here in my castle, but it's been dreadfully lonesome."
The young sculptress had been working on a small statue. After Penny had admired it, she covered the figure with a cloth and set it away.
"I'm worried about my Black Imp," she confessed, offering Penny a chair. "This morning a notice appeared in the paper that all contestants for the Huddleson prize should call within twenty-four hours at the Gage Galleries for their entries. I'm afraid to go for fear I'll be arrested."
"It wouldn't be safe," Penny agreed, "but if we're patient for a few days longer I believe the mystery may begin to clear up. In fact, I have an important clue already."
She then told Amy how she had discovered the Rembrandt in Mrs. Dillon's library. The girl was overjoyed to learn the news for she felt that the recovery of the painting would exonerate her. However, her face clouded as Penny mentioned that the picture might be a fake.
"If I were certain the picture was stolen from the museum, I'd go directly to the police," Penny declared, "but until I am sure I must move cautiously."
"I wish I could see the painting. I feel confident I could tell if it's a fake."
"I wish you could examine it," Penny said, frowning thoughtfully. "Unfortunately, I don't see how it can be arranged—unless——"
"What?" Amy demanded quickly.
"Mrs. Dillon would never permit us to see the painting if she could prevent it. We'd have to get into the house without her knowing it."
"How could we ever do that?"
"I have an idea, but there would be a certain amount of risk to it. Are you willing to take a chance?"
"If it isn't too great a one. I couldn't get into a much worse situation than I am now. The police probably will arrest me upon sight anyway."
"This is the plan," Penny explained. "I happen to know that Mrs. Dillon will be away from the house at one o'clock today for she's lunching with Hanley Cron. While she's gone we'll look at the picture."
"But the servants will be there," Amy protested.
"I think I can arrange it so they won't be suspicious. Do you want to try it?"
Amy hesitated only an instant before nodding her head. "I've nothing to lose and a great deal to gain," she said.
Penny glanced at the little ivory clock on the dresser. It was nearly noon. By the time the girls reached Mrs. Dillon's home the woman should be away.
"It will be wise to go in a taxi, I think," she remarked. "There should be less danger of anyone recognizing you that way."
While Amy changed her clothes, Penny went downstairs to call a cab. It came twenty minutes later and the two drove directly to Mrs. Dillon's residence.
"The coast should be clear," Penny remarked as they alighted at the door. "It's a quarter to one but Mrs. Dillon surely is on her way to meet Cron by this time."
Penny boldly rang the doorbell. Presently a maid answered the summons. Smiling graciously, the girls stepped inside without waiting for an invitation to do so.
"Tell Mrs. Dillon, please, that we have come to see the picture," Penny directed confidently.
"Mrs. Dillon isn't in, Miss."
"Not in?" Penny exclaimed, and turned to Amy in pretended chagrin. "Do you suppose she forgot our appointment?"
"I am afraid so," Amy murmured.
"Mrs. Dillon went away in a great hurry," the maid said apologetically. "She didn't mention that she was expecting guests."
"She failed to say that she invited us here to view the painting?"
"It was an oversight, of course. Mrs. Dillon will be sorry I know to have missed you. Your names—"
"It will be some time before we can come back I fear," Penny interrupted quickly. "And we did so want to see the picture. I don't suppose you could show it to us?"
"I am afraid not. I don't even know what picture she meant."
"Oh, the one hanging in the library," Penny informed. "It would only take us a minute to look at it."
"Why, I guess I could show you that picture."
Forgetting that she had neglected to learn the names of the callers, the maid led them to the library. The girls pretended to study the ugly painting which hung over the mantel.
"Is this Mrs. Dillon's last purchase?" Penny inquired.
"It's the only picture she's bought recently."
The girls shrewdly concluded that the maid was unaware of the hidden panel and were at a loss to know how they could manage to view the Rembrandt.
"I could study a beautiful painting for hours and hours," Amy remarked, sinking down into a chair opposite the mantel.
"So could I," Penny agreed, gazing with a rapt expression at the hideous picture. As an apparent afterthought she turned to the maid who stood waiting. "If you don't mind, we'll just sit here for a few minutes and admire it."
"Certainly, Miss. If you'll excuse me I'll go on with my dusting."
The instant the maid had gone from the library, Penny pulled on the silken rope and the hidden panel was revealed. She jerked aside the velvet curtain to disclose the Rembrandt.
"You'll have to make a quick examination," she warned. "That maid may come back any minute."
Amy studied the painting critically. When she did not speak, Penny impatiently asked for her opinion.
"I believe it's merely a copy of the original, although a rather clever copy. Rembrandt was very skillful in his method of handling light and shade—in this picture it is all lost."
"Then I was right!" Penny cried triumphantly.
"My opinion may not be right, Penny. If I could see the painting in a better light—"
With an anxious glance toward the library door, Penny hastened to the window and pulled aside the heavy draperies. A beam of sunlight fell across the picture.
"Yes, I'm sure it's a fake," Amy decided firmly. "If Mrs. Dillon bought this for the original Rembrandt she was cheated."
"Well, she deserved to be. She shouldn't have tried to buy stolen property."
"Let me look on the underside of the canvas," Amy suggested. "Sometimes that will give a clue as to the age of a painting."
They pulled the picture out from the wall and peered behind it. Directly in the center of the canvas was a strange, complicated symbol and beneath it the initials, "G. D." Both had been inscribed in India ink.
"What's that for?" Penny questioned.
"I wonder myself," Amy replied.
"Then it isn't customary to put symbols or initials on the back of a painting?"
"Decidedly not."
The girls studied the marking for a minute. They could make nothing of it.
"I can't explain the symbol," Amy said, "but I'm convinced this painting is a fraud."
Penny had expected such a verdict as it confirmed her own observations, but for her friend's sake she was sorry that the painting had not turned out to be the original Rembrandt. Had they actually located the stolen picture it would be a simple matter to lay their evidence before the police and demand that Mrs. Dillon be forced to reveal the dealer from whom she purchased the property.
"Everything is in a queer muddle now," Penny commented thoughtfully. "Mrs. Dillon really isn't guilty of any crime at all, for she didn't buy a stolen picture. We can't very well cause her arrest."
"Mrs. Dillon should complain to the police that she was cheated."
"She doesn't know it yet," Penny chuckled. "When she finds out about it, I imagine she'll never report the dealer. Her own part in the affair would be too humiliating. Even if she didn't buy stolen property, that was her intention."
"I suppose the real crooks counted upon just such a reaction," Amy said. "When they sold her that fake painting they knew they were safe."
"And in the meantime the genuine Rembrandt is still missing," Penny replied musingly. "I have a suspicion this dishonest dealer, who sold Mrs. Dillon the fake picture, might be able to throw a little light upon the subject."
"But how will we ever trace him unless we notify the police?"
"I am afraid that would be a sure way of losing his trail completely," Penny replied. "Mrs. Dillon's arrest would be the signal for the dishonest dealer to get out of town."
"That's probably true."
"We must work this thing out cautiously," Penny declared. "Perhaps if we went to Mrs. Dillon and talked with her—"
She broke off as they heard approaching footsteps in the hall.
"The maid!" Amy whispered.
"Quick!" Penny exclaimed in an undertone. "Help me get this picture back into place before she comes!"
The girls hastily jerked the velvet curtains over the painting and closed the secret panel. When the maid entered the room a moment later they were gazing with rapt interest at the picture which served to disguise the Rembrandt.
"We must be going," Penny said casually for the benefit of the servant. "Thank you for permitting us to see the canvas."
Now that she and Amy had viewed Mrs. Dillon's purchase they were eager to leave the house before their identity was discovered.
"I'll tell Mrs. Dillon you were here," the maid said, escorting the girls to the front door. "I don't believe you mentioned your names."
Penny and Amy pretended not to hear. They went out the door before the servant could question them further.
Safe on the street, the girls congratulated themselves upon the success of their scheme.
"Mrs. Dillon is almost certain to learn what we did," Amy declared uneasily.
"Oh, she'll hear about it all right when she comes home," Penny agreed, "but she'll have no idea who called."
"The maid may describe us."
"Possibly, but you're safe, for Mrs. Dillon never met you, did she?"
"No, I doubt that I would even recognize the woman if I met her on the street. I've seen her pictures in the paper though."
"Even if Mrs. Dillon suspects that I came to her house she won't be sure I saw the Rembrandt," Penny commented thoughtfully. "She has no suspicion that I know about the picture."
"What will you do now that you know it's a fake?" Amy questioned.
"I haven't decided yet. I'd like to find out where Mrs. Dillon bought the painting—that might give us a clue as to the real thief. But before I question her I think perhaps I should talk the matter over with Father."
"I imagine it would be wise," Amy agreed.
The girls were passing a restaurant and Penny suddenly remembered that neither of them had lunched. At her suggestion they entered and sat down at a table for two near the front window.
"Hanley Cron has his studio in that building across the street," Amy remarked as they waited for the waitress to serve them.
"Does he really?" Penny asked with interest. "Do you know Mr. Cron personally."
"Oh, no, only by sight. And the less I see of him from now on the better I shall like it!"
"I don't blame you, Amy. He didn't give you a fair deal in the contest at all. I dislike the man myself."
"I suppose I shouldn't take the competition so seriously. I admit I was terribly disappointed. It wasn't just the money—although goodness knows I need it."
"Everyone said your statue should have won."
"Oh, well, it's no use thinking about it now," Amy smiled. "I don't even dare go back to the museum to get the Black Imp."
"I'll stop in for it if you wish."
"No, the authorities would never give it to you without asking a lot of questions. I'll just wait until the trouble blows over. It will be soon, don't you think?"
"I'm sure of it, Amy. It's ridiculous that you were ever charged with the theft."
The girls finished their luncheon and Penny succeeded in capturing both checks. She was very glad of the opportunity for she suspected that her friend was low in funds. They emerged from the restaurant just as a large gray automobile pulled up to the curbing on the opposite side of the street.
"It's Mrs. Dillon!" Penny exclaimed, pausing to stare. "She must be late for her appointment with Hanley Cron."
The woman who was garbed in an elaborate afternoon gown, alighted from the car. She held a beaded bag clutched tightly in her hand.
Mrs. Dillon spoke for a moment with her chauffeur, then walked toward the building which housed Hanley Cron's studio.
Penny and Amy noticed a man in ragged clothing and with cap pulled low over his eyes, who stood lounging in the doorway. He had been watching Mrs. Dillon narrowly. Suddenly, he moved forward, blocking her path.
Before either of the girls were aware of the man's intention, he snatched the woman's purse and darted away, disappearing into the nearest alley.
"Help! Help!" Mrs. Dillon screamed frantically. "Police!"
With one accord, Penny and Amy ran across the street.
"My pearls!" Mrs. Dillon moaned. "They were in my handbag! I've lost a fortune!"
Penny and Amy reached the entrance of the alley in time to see the thief stealthily climbing a fire escape.
"Quick! Maybe we can head him off!" Penny cried.
While Amy ran into the building to give the alarm, Penny daringly ascended the fire escape. She saw the man climb hastily through an open window on the upper floor and disappear.
"If Amy guards the lower exits we'll capture him yet!" Penny thought.
Without stopping to consider that she might be endangering her life, the girl stepped through the open window. The room in which she found herself was an artist's studio and apparently it was deserted.
Penny glanced quickly about. There was no sign of the thief. She darted across the room to the hall door. To her astonishment, it was locked from the inside.
"May I ask what you are doing in my apartment?" a cold, masculine voice demanded.
Penny whirled around to face Hanley Cron. He had entered the studio from an adjoining kitchenette.
"Oh, Mr. Cron, did you see him in here?" she gasped.
"Did I see whom?" the man asked with provoking calmness.
"A thief just entered your studio by means of the fire escape," Penny informed. "I saw him come in here."
Hanley Cron shook his head and a slight sneer played over his lips. "No one has been in my studio during the past hour except yourself."
"But I'm positive I saw him. He entered through the open window."
"I've been in the studio all the time. As you see, the outside door is locked. The man couldn't have escaped."
Penny was baffled. Although several other windows opened off the fire escape, it was difficult to make herself believe that she had been mistaken. However, a careful glance about the room assured her that the thief was not hiding there.
"Will you leave?" Cron asked impatiently. "Your story about a thief running up the fire escape doesn't ring true. You probably used it as an excuse to get in here and spy!"
"You'll soon learn that it's the truth," Penny exclaimed with rising anger. "Just wait until your friend Mrs. Dillon arrives."
"What has she to do with it?"
"Her pearls were stolen. And it was partly your fault too, Mr. Cron, because you invited her to call at your studio on the way to the bank! You must have known she ran a great risk in carrying that necklace unguarded."
"Are you meaning to imply—?"
"I'm not hinting anything," Penny returned shortly. She was provoked at herself for wasting to much time in idle talk. It had given the thief an opportunity to escape from the building.
She turned to go, but just then her attention was drawn to a small statue upon which Cron evidently had been working. His smock was splattered with wet clay and the little figure which rested on a nearby pedestal had not yet fully dried.
As the girl's gaze wandered to the statue, Cron became slightly confused. Picking up a dark cloth from the floor he covered the mass of clay, endeavoring to make the action appear casual.
Penny was not to be deceived. She instantly divined that the art critic did not wish her to see his work. But she had caught a glimpse of the statue. She had seen enough to know that Hanley Cron was making a copy of the Black Imp—Amy Coulter's entry in the Huddleson prize contest!
Penny wondered why Hanley Cron should wish to duplicate the Black Imp. He had not thought highly enough of it even to award Amy honorable mention in the Huddleson contest.
She had no time to consider the matter, for her chief thought was to capture the jewel thief before he escaped from the building. Already she feared that she had lost him.
"Why do you keep your studio door locked from the inside?" she demanded, turning the key to open it.
"Because I don't care to be interrupted while I am working," Cron retorted significantly. "As a rule, visitors don't have the effrontery to come in the windows!"
Penny did not reply to the gibe. She opened the door just as Amy came running up the corridor, holding something in her hand. She stopped short when she saw Hanley Cron.
"Amy Coulter, I believe," he said sharply. "Wanted by the police."
"I've done nothing wrong," the girl retorted.
"You are under suspicion for the theft of a valuable painting from the Gage Galleries."
"I don't know anything about the picture."
"The charge is silly," Penny added.
"You seem to have an unlucky faculty of being present whenever valuables are stolen," Cron commented coldly. "Isn't that Mrs. Dillon's bag you have in your hand?"
"Yes, it is. I picked it up by the elevator. It was lying on the floor."
"The thief must have dropped it," Penny declared. "Are the pearls gone?"
"I haven't even looked yet," Amy admitted.
She offered the beaded bag to Penny who promptly turned it inside out. Save for a compact and a handkerchief the purse was empty.
"The pearls are missing all right," Cron commented, looking half-accusingly at Amy.
"Don't you dare suggest I had anything to do with it!" the girl cried furiously. "Mrs. Dillon will tell you that Penny and I were only trying to help!"
"I don't know anything about the pearls," Cron replied cuttingly, "but I intend to turn you over to the police for questioning in regard to the stolen painting."
Penny turned blazing eyes upon the art critic.
"Before you do that, Mr. Cron, you might explain to Miss Coulter why you are copying her statue!"
Darting across the room, she snatched off the cloth which covered the sculptor's work.
"Why, it's my Black Imp!" Amy cried in surprise. "You've reproduced it in every detail!"
Hanley Cron was taken aback at the unexpected exposure, but he quickly regained his usual nonchalance.
"I rather liked the figure," he said inadequately. "That was why I copied it. I had no other reason."
"You didn't like the Black Imp well enough to award it a prize," Amy cried indignantly. "You have a very good reason for reproducing the statue—perhaps you intend to put it to commercial use!"
"You flatter yourself, Miss Coulter. The statue has no value commercially or otherwise."
"You have no right to copy it," Amy insisted, with increasing anger. "The Black Imp is solely my work."
Before either Hanley Cron or Penny guessed the girl's intention, she darted across the room and snatched the little figure from the pedestal.
"What are you doing?" the sculptor demanded harshly.
"I'm going to take the Black Imp with me. You've no right to it!"
"Drop that!"
Furiously, Cron caught the girl by the wrist, giving it a cruel wrench. Amy would not relinquish the mass of wet clay and Penny hastened to assist her. In the midst of the struggle, the door opened and a policeman looked in.
"What's going on here?"
Hanley Cron's hand fell from Amy's arm. The girls expected him to make a direct charge against them but he seemed confused by the appearance of the policeman.
"We're not having any trouble, officer," he muttered. "Just a little friendly argument about some of my work."
"Friendly, eh?" the policeman questioned. He gazed inquiringly at Penny and Amy.
"It was really nothing," the latter said hurriedly. "We merely disagreed about a statue."
The girls edged toward the door, Amy still clutching the Black Imp in her hands. They both confidently expected that Cron would bring up the matter of the stolen painting, but for some reason which they could not fathom, he stood mute.
The policeman, however, blocked the exit.
"Just a minute," he said. "What's this bag doing here?" He picked up the beaded purse which had been dropped on the table.
Penny explained where Amy had found it and told of her own attempt to capture the jewel thief.
"The man didn't come into my studio," Cron interposed. "These girls are so excited they don't know what they saw."
"The thief came up the fire escape," Penny insisted. "I admit I may have been mistaken as to the window he entered."
"You were," Cron said shortly.
"I guess it doesn't matter greatly now," Penny returned. "By this time the thief is probably blocks away."
It was Mrs. Dillon who had called the policeman. She had noticed him at the corner and had screamed for help. He had mounted the stairs so swiftly that she had been unable to keep pace with him. Now she hurried up, breathless from exertion. The corridor was rapidly filling with excited occupants of the building who had learned of the theft.
"Oh, thank goodness you've recovered my bag!" Mrs. Dillon cried joyfully, as she entered the studio room.
"Your pearls are gone," the policeman told her, handing over the purse. "The thief dropped the bag in the hallway after he had rifled it."
Mrs. Dillon sank weakly down in the nearest chair. Her face was white and Penny could not help feeling sorry for her.
"Can you describe the thief?" the officer questioned.
"Oh, I'm afraid not," Mrs. Dillon murmured. "I really didn't notice him at all until he came up to me. He asked me for fifty cents. When I refused he snatched my bag."
"It was a planned robbery, I think," Penny interposed. "I noticed that the man was waiting when Mrs. Dillon drove up. He seemed to be watching for her car."
The policeman directed his questions toward Penny who answered them to the best of her ability. However, she was unable to furnish a very good description of the thief.
"Officer, you must find that man," Mrs. Dillon said urgently. "I'll pay a liberal reward for the return of my jewels. I must have them back! They represent a fortune!"
"I'll do the best I can, Madam."
"The pearls will be recovered, Mrs. Dillon," Hanley Cron said soothingly. "Our police force is very efficient."
"I shouldn't have carried the pearls in my purse," Mrs. Dillon moaned. "Christopher Nichols warned me. I should have heeded his words."
"Where were you when the bag was snatched?" the officer questioned.
"I had just left my car. I was coming here to meet Mr. Cron. We were taking luncheon together."
"Had you told anyone that you were carrying the pearls in the purse?"
"Only Mr. Cron. Of course Christopher Nichols was aware of my intention."
"I knew you were taking the jewels to the bank vault," Penny informed. "I overheard you talking at the ball, and I believe others must have listened to the conversation too."
"No guest of mine could be guilty of the theft," Mrs. Dillon replied in a shocked voice. "The man who snatched the bag was a stranger."
"He may have been employed by another," Penny suggested.
Amy was decidedly uneasy in the presence of Hanley Cron and the policeman, fearing that at any moment some reference might be made to the stolen painting. She could not understand why the art critic remained silent since he had threatened to expose her.
Hearing the whining whistle of a squad car arriving from police headquarters, the girls quietly slipped away. Cron made no move to detain them, even though Amy retained possession of the Black Imp.
"Why do you suppose Hanley Cron didn't try to make trouble?" Penny asked as they walked swiftly along the street toward Amy's rooming house. "I felt certain he would."
"So did I. I guess he knew he had no right to copy the Black Imp."
"He was probably afraid he might get himself into trouble," Penny chuckled. "Either that, or he didn't want to make a scene in front of Mrs. Dillon."
"It's queer about the statue," Amy said musingly. "I can't understand what he intended to do with it."
She took the Black Imp from her pocket and examined it critically. The damp clay was slightly misshapen from rough handling. They sat down on a park bench while Amy deftly moulded it back into its original form.
"It should make a fairly nice figure when it dries," she remarked.
"Why don't you try to sell the Black Imp to some commercial firm?" Penny asked abruptly. "It seems to me it has possibilities. It's such a cute little figure."
"Perhaps I will try later on," Amy agreed. "But until my name is cleared I haven't much chance to do anything."
"That's true," Penny acknowledged. "What are you going to do with this copy of the statue?"
"Oh, I don't know. Would you like it?"
"Would I? Rather! But don't you want it yourself?"
"No, I have the original if ever I muster the courage to go to the museum and claim it."
"I'd love to have the reproduction," Penny declared enthusiastically. "Only I wish you had made it instead of Hanley Cron."
"I'll make you a nicer piece later on," Amy promised as she wrapped up the figure in her handkerchief and gave it to Penny.
Presently, after discussing at some length the exciting events of the afternoon, they arose and walked on down the street. They were nearing the downtown business section when Penny halted and pretended to gaze into the plate glass window of a large department store.
"Amy, I think we're being followed!" she announced in a low tone. "Don't look around."
"What makes you think so?" Amy inquired skeptically.
"Ever since we left the park a man has been trailing us."
"Are you sure?"
"Every time we stop he does too. I can see his reflection now in the plate glass. He's pretending to be looking into that jewelry store window but he's really watching us."
"You mean the man in the gray topcoat?"
"Yes."
"Maybe he's a plain-clothes man who is after me," Amy said uneasily.
"We can soon find out. Come on!"
Catching Amy's arm, Penny steered her into the department store. They sauntered leisurely through the aisles, frequently pausing to examine merchandise. Unobtrusively, they kept watch of the main entrance.
"Here he comes, just as I knew he would!" Penny exclaimed in an undertone as she caught a glimpse of the man entering the store. "We must shake him quickly now."
They walked swiftly down the aisle and took a crowded elevator to the top floor.
"Now we'll walk down three flights of stairs," Penny commanded.
Already they had lost sight of the man, but to make certain that he would not catch them again, they crossed to the opposite side of the building and took a down-going elevator to the main floor. Mingling with the crowd they emerged upon the street.
"We certainly gave him the slip," Amy laughed.
"My father taught me that trick. Even a trained detective finds it difficult to follow a person who is aware he is being shadowed."
"I guess I'll say goodbye to you here," Amy said regretfully. "I hope I'll see you again soon."
"Yes, indeed. I intend to talk with Mrs. Dillon about that painting she bought. I'll let you know what she says."
The girls parted company but Penny did not leave the scene. Instead, she walked across the street, establishing herself in a doorway where she could keep watch of the department store entrance.
"Two can play at this game of shadowing," she chuckled.
It was nearly twenty minutes before the man who had been following Penny and Amy emerged from the store. She noted him instantly. He was a tall, thin man dressed entirely in gray.
"I don't believe I've ever seen him before," Penny thought.
When the man moved off down the street, she crossed the street and trailed him. He walked swiftly and did not once glance backward, apparently having no suspicion that he was being followed.
Once the man paused to glance into the window of a pawnshop. He turned down East Franklyn Street which led through a dirty, poverty-stricken district to the river. Presently, Penny saw him enter a run-down, dilapidated brick building.
In the doorway he met another man, evidently the janitor who caught him roughly by the arm as he endeavored to pass.
"Just a minute, you," he said. "I've been trying to find you for a week. How about that rent you owe?"
"Try and get it!"
"I'll get it all right," the janitor returned threateningly. "If I don't I may make it my business to find out why you rented the entire top floor."
A strange look came over the other man's face. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a large roll of bills.
"How much?"
"Fifty dollars."
"Here it is. And a five for yourself. Now don't bother me again."
And with that the man strode angrily into the building and mounted a long flight of stairs which led to the top floor.
Penny watched the janitor closely after the man in gray had vanished into the building. From his inside coat pocket he removed a billfold and carefully deposited the fifty dollars in it. The five dollar bill he shoved into his trousers pocket, a possessive smirk on his face.
Penny moved forward to accost the man.
"How do you do," she greeted. "Are you the custodian of this building?"
"Yes, I am," he replied surlily. "If you have anything to sell, get out!"
"Oh, I'm not a saleswoman. I am looking for a place to rent."
"Is that so? Well, you've come to the wrong place. We are filled up."
Penny was aware that the janitor regarded her suspiciously. She did not believe that he was speaking the truth for she had noticed many apparently unoccupied rooms in the building.
"But you may have vacancies in the future, I suppose," she commented. "You see, I like the outlook a person would get from your top floor."
"That top floor is rented."
"Could you tell me the name of the party——?"
"No, I couldn't," the janitor interrupted irritably. "Run along now. I'm not interested in your chatter."
"All right, I'll go," Penny replied, "but you may hear from me again. And when I return, I'll bring a mate to that five dollar bill you just slipped into your pocket!"
Before the man had recovered from his surprise she turned and walked briskly down the street in the direction of her father's office. She deeply regretted her last remark for she realized that the janitor might repeat it to the man who occupied the top floor. She had not intended to reveal how much she had seen.
Penny entered her father's office just as he was leaving on a business errand.
"Hello, Dad," she called out. "I seem to have caught the bird on the wing."
Mr. Nichols smiled at his young daughter and obligingly hung his hat back on the rack.
"My flight is off now that the fledgling has returned to the nest. What's on your mind now, Penny?"
"This little ornament, for one thing." Penny unwrapped the model of the Black Imp which Amy Coulter had given her and set it down on her father's desk. "Doesn't he look kind of lonesome and, well—mysterious?"
"He does at that," Mr. Nichols said as he picked up the little art piece and turned it over and over. "I should say the fellow has a wicked glint to his eye."
"Be careful how you handle him," Penny warned. "The clay is still damp."
Mr. Nichols placed the figure back on the desk. "It's a very clever design. I don't suppose this is that Black Imp you were telling me about?"
"It's a copy of the original."
"How did you get it?"
"I guess you might say I swiped it," Penny smiled, "or rather, Amy and I did together."
"You don't make yourself very clear."
Penny related her experience in Hanley Cron's studio, but at mention of the jewelry theft, Mr. Nichols lost all interest in the Black Imp. He insisted upon hearing every detail of the theft.
"It doesn't surprise me a bit," he declared when Penny finished the story. "I warned Mrs. Dillon that necklace would be stolen if she didn't get it locked up."
"She lost it on the way to the bank, Dad. Perhaps she thinks now that if she hadn't attempted to follow your advice, the pearls would still be safe."
"Nonsense!" Mr. Nichols exclaimed impatiently. "That necklace was stolen by someone who was lying in wait for her. Possibly by one of the same thieves who attempted to hold up the Dillon ball the other evening."
"Mrs. Dillon did make a grave mistake to carry the pearls unguarded," Penny admitted. "But it seems to me the thief must have been someone who was in the house after the holdup."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because otherwise how would the thief have known that Mrs. Dillon intended to take her necklace to the bank today? You remember she spoke of the matter openly before her guests."
"I remember," Mr. Nichols smiled.
"And Mrs. Dillon made an appointment to meet Hanley Cron at his studio before she went to the bank. The thief apparently was waiting for her in front of the building. It was no casual snatch. I'm sure of that."
"Your reasoning is very good," Mr. Nichols praised. "Tell me, who overheard this conversation between Mrs. Dillon and Hanley Cron?"
"Why, I did. There were some other people standing not far away, but I doubt that they heard. At least they did not appear to be listening."
"So you're the only person who knew of the appointment," Mr. Nichols said jokingly.
"Don't look at me like that," Penny laughed. "I swear I didn't take the necklace even if I was on the scene."
"I'll not turn you over to the police without more evidence," the detective promised. "I was just on my way to the station when you dropped in."
"I didn't mean to detain you."
"The matter was of no great importance. I merely wanted to inquire if the police had made any progress tracing the Dillon holdup men. It's queer how they made such a neat get-away."
"I don't think the police are very alert," Penny grumbled. "After Mrs. Dillon's handbag was snatched they were on the scene within ten minutes, but I imagine the thief will never be captured."
"You expect results too quickly, Penny," her father smiled. "From what you've told me I imagine this purse-snatcher is a member of an organized gang. The theft was no casual affair. Every detail was carefully planned."
"I wish you were on the case, Dad."
"I don't. I have enough troubles without wishing more upon myself. I really am not——"
He broke off as the telephone rang. "Hello," he said gruffly into the transmitter, then his face became sober as he silently listened. "Drop into my office tomorrow at nine," he terminated the conversation. "I'll give you my decision then."
"You sound like one of the judges of the Supreme Court," Penny chuckled as her father hung up the receiver. "What's this momentous decision you're to hand down?"
Mr. Nichols sat drumming his fingers against the edge of the desk.
"That was the Reliance Insurance Company. They want me to take the Dillon case."
"You don't mean in regard to Mrs. Dillon's lost necklace?"
"Yes, that's it."
"But Dad, how does the insurance company figure in the case? The pearls weren't insured."
"As it happens, they were. For fifteen thousand dollars."
"But I heard Mrs. Dillon say to you herself that the necklace had never been insured."
"Yes. Apparently, she didn't tell the truth."
"She acted dreadfully upset over the loss. What reason would she have for telling you a deliberate falsehood about the insurance?"
"I wonder myself."
"Are the pearls worth fifteen thousand?" Penny asked thoughtfully.
"No more than that certainly. It seems, too, that the policy was taken out from the insurance company only a few weeks ago."
"The company doesn't think that the robbery was planned surely?"
"It was planned all right—but whether by Mrs. Dillon I'm in no position to say."
"But why should she wish to resort to such a trick just to collect insurance?" Penny protested. "The Dillons are wealthy."
"Ostensibly so, at least. However, even to Mrs. Dillon, fifteen thousand might look attractive."
"I don't believe she's as honest as she should be," Penny admitted reluctantly. "At least that stolen picture isn't in her favor. She must have bought it with a full knowledge of what she was doing."
Christopher Nichols nodded thoughtfully.
"Will you take the case?" Penny questioned hopefully.
"I haven't decided yet. I admit I'm beginning to grow interested in it."
While the two were talking, Miss Arrow, the secretary, swiftly entered the room.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," she apologized, "but that dreadful man is here again."
"Which dreadful man?" the detective inquired, smiling.
"Max Lynch."
"Oh."
"Don't see him," Penny pleaded. "He might attempt to harm you, Dad."
Mr. Nichols paid no heed. He turned to Miss Arrow. "Is he carrying a gun?"
"I don't think so, Mr. Nichols. But I couldn't be certain."
"Please don't see him," Penny begged earnestly. "Max Lynch has a grudge against you."
"Now don't get yourself worked up, Penny," he chided, opening the top drawer of his desk to make certain that his own revolver was at hand for immediate use in an emergency. "I'll be in no danger, and Max may prove useful to me."
"Useful?"
"Yes, he's an expert on jewels and it's a well known fact he sometimes handles stolen gems."
"You think he may know something about Mrs. Dillon's necklace?"
"I don't suppose he had anything to do with the theft, Penny, but likely he has a pretty good idea who handled the job."
"Shall I tell him to come in?" Miss Arrow questioned.
"Yes, I'll see him."
"I suppose I'll have to go," Penny said reluctantly.
"Please," the detective requested.
Miss Arrow already had departed. As Penny reached the door she met Max Lynch coming in. He stood aside for her to pass, but there was no deference in the action. He eyed the girl insolently.
"Your daughter, Nichols?" he demanded.
"Yes," the detective answered shortly.
"Not bad looking."
"We'll leave her out of the conversation," Nichols said sharply. "What brought you here this time, Max?"
Without replying, Lynch leisurely sat down in a chair opposite the detective. He calmly helped himself to a cigar on the desk. But he never lighted it. For as he reached into his pocket after a match, he noticed an object directly in front of him. It was the Black Imp.
For an instant he stared at the figure, the expression of self-confidence completely washed from his face.
He hastily arose and his chair, as he pushed it back, made a harsh grating noise on the floor. Instinctively, Christopher Nichols' hand moved swiftly toward the top drawer of his desk. But there was no need for alarm. Max Lynch did not reach for his gun. Instead he made for the door.
"You're leaving?" Nichols asked.
Max did not reply. But as he went out the door, he glanced back over his shoulder, and for a fleeting moment his eyes rested in fascinated fear on the figure of the Black Imp.