No sooner had Max Lynch banged out of the office than Penny came hurrying in.
"What happened?" she questioned her father.
"Nothing. Max just decided to leave."
"You must have said something to him," Penny insisted. "When he went out he looked actually frightened. His face was as white as if he'd seen a ghost."
"I don't know what made Max change his mind about wanting to talk with me," the detective said, frowning thoughtfully. "He seemed to be startled when he saw that statue of yours."
"The Black Imp?" Penny asked in surprise.
"Yes, he took one look at it and started off without a word of explanation."
Curiously, the detective picked up the figure and carefully examined it.
"I can't see anything wrong with it," he admitted. "You say this statue came from Hanley Cron's studio?"
"Yes, he was angry when Amy tried to take it away from him. Then the policeman came in and he seemed afraid to protest."
The detective made no reply. He sat lost in thought for a moment, then arose.
"Well, I guess I'll amble over to the police station."
"Then I may as well be going home," Penny said. She picked up the Black Imp from the desk and carefully wrapped it.
"I'll take you in the car if you like."
"No, I'll walk," Penny replied. "I've been gaining weight lately and need the exercise."
Mr. Nichols smiled, for Penny barely tipped the scales at a hundred pounds. They left the building together and separated.
"I should be home early for dinner tonight unless something unforeseen comes up," Mr. Nichols mentioned in parting.
Penny found Mrs. Gallup ironing in the kitchen. She paused to display the Black Imp, but the housekeeper was not greatly impressed.
"And you call that a work of art!" she scoffed. "It's just an old lump of clay."
"This is only a copy of Amy Coulter's fine piece, Mrs. Gallup. Not a very good copy either. But don't you think the design is clever?"
"I can't say I do. That Imp has such a sinister look on his face—as if he were guarding a wicked secret!"
"Now that's an idea!" Penny laughed. "Maybe he is. At least he frightened a crook out of Dad's office this afternoon."
"What was that?" Mrs. Gallup demanded quickly.
Penny did not repeat for she had no desire to alarm the housekeeper. After all she could not be certain that the Black Imp had been the cause of Max Lynch's sudden leave taking.
"Oh, I was just talking," she murmured, and departed before Mrs. Gallup could question her further.
Penny took the little statue to her room, and after trying it in several locations, decided that it looked best on the maple desk. She then sat down to write a few lines in her diary, but whenever she glanced up the Black Imp seemed to be staring down at her with an inquiring scrutiny.
"You are a wicked little beast!" Penny chuckled. "Are you trying to learn what I'm writing about the jewelry theft?"
She turned the Black Imp so that he faced the wall and finished the notation in her diary.
It was a few minutes after five when Penny heard the front door bell ring. Thinking that one of her school chums had come to call, she darted down the stairs to answer. The visitor was Mrs. Dillon.
"Why, how do you do," Penny stammered. "Won't you come in?"
She wondered what had brought the woman to the house at such a late hour of the afternoon. A conviction dawned upon her that Mrs. Dillon had learned of the hoax she and Amy had perpetrated in order to see the Rembrandt. She steeled herself for an unpleasant interview.
"Is your father here?" Mrs. Dillon inquired.
"No, Mrs. Dillon. He hasn't returned from the office."
"It's very important that I see him—about my stolen necklace, you know."
A feeling of relief surged over Penny. "Father should be arriving any moment now. Would you care to wait?"
"Yes, I believe I will."
Mrs. Dillon sank wearily into the chair which the girl offered. "I've had such a dreadful day. My beautiful necklace was stolen and the police haven't been able to find a trace of the thief. But then, you know all about it, for you were there."
"Perhaps the pearls will still be recovered," Penny said politely.
"That's what Mr. Cron tells me. He says it's foolish of me to worry. The police are certain to find them within a few days."
"Your loss was covered by insurance?" Penny inquired innocently.
"Oh, no! That's the dreadful part."
Penny looked sharply at Mrs. Dillon. The woman seemed so earnest that it was difficult to believe she was deliberately telling a falsehood. Yet the incident of the painting already had given the girl a clue as to Mrs. Dillon's character. If the woman knowingly would purchase a stolen picture was it not reasonable to suppose that she would feel no qualms at cheating an insurance company?
In the hope of gaining a little information, Penny casually brought up the subject of the Rembrandt, but Mrs. Dillon immediately became secretive. She would not talk of the picture even in a general way.
"I'll never learn anything except by making a direct accusation," Penny thought. "I don't dare do that—yet."
She was relieved when her father came a few minutes later.
"I'm sorry to bother you at your home," Mrs. Dillon began nervously, "but I had to see you at once. My pearl necklace was stolen this afternoon."
"Yes, so I heard," Mr. Nichols replied.
"I want you to take the case. You must help me recover my pearls."
"I am afraid I can't take the case, Mrs. Dillon."
"But why not? You've helped others. Everyone says you are the best detective in the city. And I'll pay you well."
"It isn't a matter of money, Mrs. Dillon. To tell you the truth, the Reliance Insurance Company also requested me to work on the case."
"The Reliance Insurance Company? I don't understand. What have they to do with it?"
"Your necklace was insured with them, I believe," Mr. Nichols said evenly.
"Oh, no!"
"For fifteen thousand dollars."
"Certainly not," Mrs. Dillon replied indignantly. "Are you suggesting that I would lie about the matter?"
"I thought you might have forgotten."
"This is too ridiculous!" Mrs. Dillon snapped. "I didn't come here to be insulted."
"Please don't consider my remarks in that light, Mrs. Dillon. I was merely explaining why I can't take the case. I expect to serve the Reliance Company."
"They have absolutely nothing to do with the necklace." Mrs. Dillon angrily arose. "I am sorry I wasted my time coming here!"
Haughtily, she left the house, and Penny, who watched from the window, saw her drive away with her chauffeur.
"Do you really intend to take the case for the Reliance people?" she questioned eagerly.
"Oh, I suppose I shall."
"What do you think of Mrs. Dillon, Dad?"
"She bores me," Mr. Nichols yawned. "Without a background of money and social position she would be nothing but a noisy phonograph record."
"I meant about her claim regarding the necklace. Were the pearls actually insured?"
"Oh, of course," Mr. Nichols returned, a trifle impatiently. He laughed. "I can't imagine the Reliance people turning over a cold fifteen thousand dollars if they didn't owe it."
"But if Mrs. Dillon expects to collect the money why should she lie?"
The detective shrugged. "Some women are funny."
Mrs. Gallup came to announce dinner and at the table the subject was not resumed. Penny sighed as she stole a glance at her father's immobile face. She could never tell what he was thinking and his reluctance to discuss any case upon which he happened to be working was at times irritating.
The next morning after helping Mrs. Gallup wash windows, Penny went down town to have luncheon with her father. She felt rather important as she entered the office for it was not often that he extended such an invitation.
The door of the inner room was ajar and Miss Arrow was nowhere in sight, so Penny entered. To her surprise the private office was in great confusion. Papers had been tossed over the floor and the filing cabinet rifled. Mr. Nichols and his secretary were occupied examining the contents of the safe.
"What's the matter?" Penny questioned. "Are you house cleaning or did a cyclone strike the place?"
"Someone broke in here last night and went through everything," Mr. Nichols answered.
"Anything valuable taken?"
"No, not so far as we've discovered. Only a little cash that was in the safe—nothing of consequence."
"Who do you suppose did it?" Penny asked. She leaned carelessly against the desk but her father pulled her away.
"Be careful where you park yourself," he ordered. "I haven't finished taking finger prints yet."
Penny waited while Miss Arrow and her father made a systematic inventory of the contents of the room. They were both too busy to talk. At one o'clock Penny grew discouraged.
"How much longer before you'll be ready to go to lunch, Dad?"
"Oh, an hour at least."
"Then I guess I'll go by myself. I'm dreadfully hungry."
"Good idea," the detective approved. "You might have some sandwiches and coffee sent in for Miss Arrow and myself." He tossed her a bill and went on with his work.
At a nearby restaurant Penny ordered luncheon for herself and had a package of cold food and a large thermos bottle of coffee dispatched to her father's office.
She ate somewhat mechanically as she reflected upon the audacity of the person who had dared to rifle her father's office. A few years before she recalled that a thief had broken into the safe, but he had been captured within forty-eight hours.
As Penny left the restaurant she purchased a newspaper and glanced at the headlines. The story of the Dillon robbery appeared in column one but the details were not given very accurately.
Penny folded the paper and walked slowly down the street. Having no destination in mind she wandered toward the park. Seating herself on a bench she idly watched the passersby.
Presently her attention was drawn to a man who had paused near a large tree not far away. He appeared strangely familiar, but at first glance Penny did not recognize him. She scrutinized him closely. He wore dark horn-rimmed glasses and kept the brim of his broad hat pulled low.
"Why, it's Mr. Hoges!" Penny thought. "The museum workman!"
She felt certain that the man had not worn dark glasses when she had seen him at the Gage Galleries. He was well dressed, even expensively, yet she knew the salary he had received from the museum could not be a large one.
"Mr. Hoges was supposed to be out of the city on vacation too," she reflected. "I think I'll go over and talk with him."
Before she could move from the bench she saw the man take out his watch and stare at it. Then he gazed impatiently up and down the walk as if he were expecting someone. Penny kept her head bent and he did not bestow a second glance in her direction.
She thought: "I'll just wait and see for whom he's waiting. I may learn more that way."
Ten minutes passed. Mr. Hoges grew more impatient. He paced back and forth in front of the tree. Then abruptly he halted, and his face lighted up.
From the other side of the park a girl in a blue coat rapidly approached. As she hurried up to the waiting Mr. Hoges, her face was slightly averted.
"I'm sorry to be late," she murmured.
The voice was musical and low. Penny recognized it instantly, yet found it difficult to believe her own ears. If only the girl would turn her head——
Just then she did, and Penny could no longer hope that she had been mistaken. The newcomer was Amy Coulter.
At sight of her friend talking with the museum workman, a confusion of thoughts raced through Penny's mind. Why had Amy made an appointment with him in the park? She could not believe that the meeting was casual for the girl's own words had revealed otherwise. She was even more startled by Amy's next remark which, carried by the wind, came to her very clearly.
"You brought the money?"
"Yes. I will pay you now if you wish."
The workman drew from his inner pocket a fat wallet, removing a large roll of bills. Penny was so bewildered that for a moment she forgot to shield her face with the newspaper she pretended to read. However, Amy and the man were so engrossed in their conversation, neither of them glanced toward the park bench.
Mr. Hoges stripped off two of the bills, handing them to the girl.
"There," he said in a gruff voice, "that ought to be enough for a start. Stick by me, sister, and you'll earn plenty more like it."
Amy made no response, but pocketed the money. She was moving away when the workman detained her.
"You understand what's expected? You'll keep quiet if anyone asks you how you make your money?"
"I haven't made much yet."
"You will, never fear, if my little plan goes through. Do I have your promise to keep silent?"
"Yes," Amy answered shortly. She jerked away from Mr. Hoges and hurried off through the park.
Penny was so absorbed in the little scene that she did not hear footsteps behind her. "Hello, Penny," a teasing voice greeted. "What are you doing here?"
Penny sprang up from the park bench, then laughed ruefully as she saw that it was Susan Altman who had spoken to her so unexpectedly.
"My! You surely startled me, Susan."
"What are you doing here all by yourself?"
"Oh, just watching the birds and squirrels and things."
"Human squirrels, I suppose," Susan smiled. "When I came up you were craning your neck at that man over by the oak tree."
"What became of him?" Penny demanded anxiously, turning to look.
She had talked with Susan scarcely a minute, yet the museum workman had disappeared. In vain she scanned the park. He was nowhere to be seen.
"I thought you were interested in him!" Susan proclaimed triumphantly.
"Of course I was!" Penny cried impatiently. "He was that same museum workman we met at the Gage Galleries."
"Not the one you suspected of stealing the Rembrandt?"
"Yes, and he was talking with—" Penny suddenly checked herself.
"What were you saying?"
"He was talking with a girl," Penny finished. "I intended to follow the man. Now it's too late."
"I guess it was my fault. But I didn't suppose you were really shadowing anyone. I'm sorry if I ruined everything."
"Oh, you didn't," Penny smiled good-naturedly, taking her chum's arm as they walked across the park together. "If I want to question Mr. Hoges I probably can find him at the museum. No doubt he just returned from his vacation."
The girls dropped in at a corner drug store for ice cream, but Penny refrained from telling Susan the details of her recent adventures. She realized that if it became generally known that the stolen Rembrandt or even a reproduction of the famous picture were in Mrs. Dillon's possession, considerable trouble would result. Penny did not intend to tell anyone about it until she had interviewed the woman.
It was after three o'clock when the girls left the drug store. At Penny's suggestion they walked to the Gage Galleries to inquire for Mr. Hoges.
"He will not return here after his vacation," came the disappointing response to their question. "Mr. Hoges has resigned his position."
This information left Penny in more of a maze than ever regarding Amy Coulter. She could not help believing in the girl's integrity, and, despite Amy's rendezvous with Hoges, she still felt there must be a rational explanation for her actions.
As Susan and Penny left the museum together, the former cast a panic-stricken glance at her watch.
"It's nearly four o'clock and I promised to meet my mother at the library then. I forgot all about it. I have just ten minutes to get there."
"Twenty blocks in ten minutes! You'll never make it, Susan."
The excited girl looked up and down the street as if she were seeking some miraculous means of quick transportation. Just then a taxicab whirled around the corner. Susan held up her hand as a signal for it to stop.
"You don't mind, do you Penny? Mother will be so exasperated if I don't come. Hop in with me and I'll drop you off downtown."
"No thanks, Susan," Penny excused herself. "I just thought of a place I want to stop and it isn't on your route. See you tomorrow."
The cab door slammed and Susan was whisked away to her appointment. Penny walked rapidly toward the poorer section of the business district. She finally stopped at the entrance of the building where the previous day she had encountered the mysterious man in gray and the arrogant janitor.
Penny walked into the stuffy little lobby at the foot of a steep stairway. She consulted a dilapidated office directory which hung haphazardly against the wall. The building was tenanted by small factories, printers, and agents. About half the spaces in the directory were blank, indicating the place was only partially occupied. She was interested to see that the top floor showed no tenants whatsoever.
"I think I'll just slip up there and see for myself," she resolved. With her foot on the first step, she looked quickly about. There was no one nearby to witness her actions. All was quiet except for the rhythmical thumping of small job presses in the scattered printing shops.
Penny thought there could hardly be so many steep steps in all the world as she climbed flight after flight, hoping each to be the last. Finally she reached the top landing. She tiptoed to the nearest door and listened. Hearing nothing, she opened it a crack and looked in.
The place was empty.
"That's queer," she thought. "I'm sure this top floor was rented yesterday. I saw the man pay the rent."
Walking as noiselessly as she could, Penny explored the large room. Here and there on the bare floor were colored splotches, as if someone had spilled paint. In one corner was a dirty piece of tarpaulin such as tradesmen use to protect floors and furniture.
Disappointed, Penny retreated to the hallway. She could not understand why the place was empty when she had been told by the janitor only the day before that it was occupied.
She walked slowly down the first flight of stairs and as she turned on the landing to continue her descent, she noticed the name, "James Wilson, Printer," on a glass door directly in front of her.
The name seemed strangely familiar. Then she remembered. It must be the shop of Jimmy Wilson, who did some of her father's printing.
Penny opened the door and there was Jimmy himself feeding envelopes into a small job press. He looked up from his work when he saw her, stopping his machine to say: "Well, if it isn't Miss Nichols. Rush order from your father, I'll bet."
"Not this time, Mr. Wilson. But I do wonder if you could give me a little information."
"I'll tell you anything but my lodge secrets," Jimmy replied.
"I want to know what became of the tenants on the floor above."
If the printer was surprised at such a direct question his expression did not disclose it.
"Oh, the janitor was telling me about that, Miss Nichols. He said they moved out, bag and baggage during the night."
"Last night?" Penny inquired quickly.
"Yes, seems their rent was paid up a week ahead too."
"What sort of place did they run?"
"Well, they claimed to be sign painters, but I couldn't tell you about that. In an old building like this a lot of strange specimens come and go."
"Did you notice the man who rented the floor?"
"Not particularly. There seemed to be three of them, a tall, rather well dressed man, and two kind of long-haired looking foreigners. Sometimes when I worked late in my shop, I could hear them up there messing around long into the night."
Further questioning failed to bring out any vital information, and not wishing to arouse the printer's suspicions, Penny thanked him and descended to the street.
She was disappointed at her failure to find the upper floor of the building occupied and it occurred to her that possibly her own actions had caused the sudden departure.
"The janitor may have mentioned to that man in gray that I came here yesterday," she reflected, "but why should it make any difference?"
Penny was certain that the man she had followed to the building had previously made a business of shadowing her. She had never seen him before in her life and could not understand why her movements should interest him.
"The riddle is too involved for me," she told herself. "I guess one mystery at a time is enough to worry about."
It was still fairly early in the afternoon and Penny did not wish to waste the day. She decided to make a bold move and call upon Mrs. Dillon. Yet she dreaded the interview.
Taking a bus, she soon arrived at the society woman's home. When she rang the doorbell, the maid who answered, recognized her immediately. Her glance was not friendly.
"Is Mrs. Dillon in?" Penny inquired.
"Yes, but I'm not sure she'll see you," the maid answered shortly. "When I told her you were here the other day to see the picture, she didn't know anything about it."
"Did you tell her my name?"
"How could I when you wouldn't give it?"
Penny smiled. "Please tell Mrs. Dillon that Miss Nichols would like to speak with her. You might add that the matter is important."
"I'll tell her," the maid said reluctantly.
Penny waited several minutes, but when the servant came back she was more cordial. "Mrs. Dillon will see you in the drawing room."
The woman arose as Penny entered.
"I am very glad you came this afternoon," she said pleasantly. "I intended to telephone your father but now you may give him my message."
"I'll be glad to, Mrs. Dillon."
"I owe your father an apology about the way I talked to him. You see, I didn't know that my pearl necklace was insured."
"And you have since learned differently?" Penny asked politely.
"Yes, my husband told me last night. He insured the pearls without telling me anything about it. Wasn't that fortunate?"
"Very," Penny agreed. "I suppose you feel greatly relieved."
"Oh, yes, but I still wish your father would take the case. You'll give him my apology?"
"Yes, indeed."
There was a little awkward silence as Mrs. Dillon waited for Penny to explain why she had called. The girl scarcely knew how to begin. She had been disarmed, as it were, by the society woman's manner.
"I wanted to talk to you about a picture which was taken from the Gage Galleries," she began hesitantly. "A Rembrandt."
A cold look came over Mrs. Dillon's face. "Yes?" she inquired.
Penny stirred uncomfortably. The interview was not to her liking. And when her father learned of it she was afraid it might not be to his liking either.
"It occurred to me, Mrs. Dillon, that possibly you could help in locating the stolen picture."
"I? You flatter me, my dear."
Penny saw the warning in Mrs. Dillon's dark eyes. But she dared to go on.
"Let's not pretend, Mrs. Dillon," she said quietly. "I know about that painting which you keep hidden behind the panel of the library."
Mrs. Dillon sprang to her feet, her face convulsed with anger.
"So you are the snooper who came here!" she cried. "Get out of my house and never, never come again! Go quickly or I'll call the police!"
Penny listened calmly to the woman's tirade, making no move to obey the impolite command.
"I am sorry, Mrs. Dillon," she said, "but I do not intend to leave this house until you have answered my questions."
"I shall call my servant. You are an insolent, impudent girl!"
"I should advise you not to call anyone until we have talked together," Penny said undisturbed. "After all, you know I have it in my power to cause your arrest."
Mrs. Dillon grew pale. "What do you mean?" she demanded.
"It is useless to pretend. I know that you bought the Rembrandt and have it secreted in your library. Unless you tell me where you purchased the painting, I shall feel it my duty to go to the police."
"And if I do tell you?"
"Perhaps I can help you. You should be able to escape arrest for the Rembrandt isn't genuine."
As she had anticipated, her words brought an astonished glint into Mrs. Dillon's eyes. Without thinking she exclaimed:
"The painting is genuine. I paid——"
"How much did you pay for it?" Penny questioned, smiling at Mrs. Dillon's confusion.
"Well, since you seem to be so familiar with my private affairs, I suppose I shall have to tell you all about it. The painting is genuine and I bought it with the sole intention of returning it to the museum."
Penny made no comment, although she did not believe a word of the story. Mrs. Dillon was only trying to build up a defense for herself.
"How much did you pay for the picture?" she repeated, determined to tie the woman to facts.
"Two thousand dollars," Mrs. Dillon answered grudgingly. "But that is only the first payment. The next installment will soon be due."
Penny thought exultingly: "If Mrs. Dillon will only cooperate, it should be possible to catch the dealer who cheated her." Aloud she said: "Then you will see the dealer again—the man from whom you purchased the picture?"
"Not the dealer. His agent."
"Tell me the name of the persons from whom you bought the painting."
"I can't."
"You are unwilling to do so, you mean?"
"I don't know the dealer's name. I never dealt with him personally."
"You bought the picture through a third party?"
"Yes, and the agent is very well known to me. A gentleman of high standing."
Penny could not restrain a smile. She had her own opinion of a man who would negotiate a deal for a stolen painting.
"Who is this agent, Mrs. Dillon?"
"That I cannot tell you. I promised never to reveal his name."
"But it is your duty to do so," Penny urged. "I have every reason to believe that this man has cheated you."
"I will not give his name," Mrs. Dillon repeated firmly.
"He is a special friend of yours?"
"Perhaps."
"I appreciate your motive in trying to shield him," Penny said, "but the matter is serious. This man has sold you a worthless picture, representing it to be a stolen Rembrandt."
"The painting is genuine," Mrs. Dillon insisted. "I have proof of it."
"What proof, may I ask?"
"The picture was viewed by an expert—a man whose judgment I trust implicitly. He assured me that it was genuine."
"This expert looked at your picture since it was delivered to the house?"
"No, at the studio."
"What studio?" Penny asked quickly.
"I will tell you if you promise not to betray me to the police."
"I came here today because I wanted to help you, Mrs. Dillon. I have no intention of going to the authorities if it can be avoided."
"The studio is on Franklyn Street," the woman informed. "On an upper floor."
"Do you have the exact number of the building?" Penny asked quickly.
"Yes, somewhere."
Mrs. Dillon went to her desk and after examining a number of papers found an old envelope upon which she had written the address. Penny glanced at it and a look of disappointment came over her face.
"Oh, this clue will do no good!" she exclaimed. "I know about this place. The men have gone. They moved out last night—secretly."
The address was the same building which Penny had investigated that afternoon.
"Can you describe the person or persons whom you met in the studio?"
Mrs. Dillon shook her head.
"I did not meet the men personally. My friend took me there and showed me the picture."
"This same expert to whom you referred?"
"Yes."
"And yet you feel that his judgment was unbiased?"
"I do," Mrs. Dillon maintained loyally, "but I did not depend entirely upon his opinion. I am a very good judge of pictures myself."
"Has it occurred to you that possibly you did not receive the same painting which you purchased? I understand that sometimes art thieves prey upon innocent buyers by showing them a genuine picture and then delivering into their hands only a cheap copy."
"I am too shrewd to be so easily duped," Mrs. Dillon retorted. "I don't mind telling you that I protected myself against just such trickery."
"How?"
"When I viewed the picture and satisfied myself as to its quality, I marked the back of the canvas with a tiny symbol. In that way you see, another painting could not be substituted, for the marking would be absent."
"The symbol might be duplicated."
"No, I would instantly detect the difference."
Penny sat lost in thought for a moment. She now understood the significance of the strange marking on the back of the Rembrandt which had puzzled Amy and herself. Was it possible that the Coulter girl had been mistaken in the quality of the painting?
"Mrs. Dillon," she said after a long silence, "you confidently believe that your painting is the same one which was stolen from the Gage Galleries?"
"All I know is that my picture is a genuine Rembrandt. I did not learn that a picture had been stolen from the museum until after I had made my purchase. I do not know even now that I have this same painting."
"In the event that it is the same, you wish to return it to the museum?"
Mrs. Dillon glared at Penny in frank dislike. She had been fairly trapped and knew it.
"Of course," she replied coldly. "I hope you do not think I would intentionally keep stolen property?"
"I thought you would see it that way," Penny declared, smiling. "And with your cooperation, the police should be able to capture the real culprits."
"What do you want me to do?"
"When will you see this agent with whom you dealt?"
"He is coming either today or tomorrow for the second payment."
"I don't need to advise you to refuse to give him any more money. But I wish you would try to learn from him the names of the original dealers who handled the picture."
"I'll try to find out."
"And another thing, Mrs. Dillon. You must notify the Gage Galleries immediately that you have the Rembrandt."
The woman made no response.
"You will do that?" Penny asked.
"Yes," Mrs. Dillon answered harshly.
"I'll see you again tomorrow," Penny said, arising to depart. "Until then you have my promise that I will not talk with the police."
"I have nothing to fear from them," Mrs. Dillon announced proudly.
"Not if you show a willingness to cooperate," Penny agreed. "When you think the matter over, I believe you will decide to reveal the name of your friend—the agent who negotiated the sale."
She waited an instant, hoping that Mrs. Dillon would reconsider. When the woman did not speak, she turned and walked from the living room, letting herself out the front door.
Emerging upon the street, Penny's first thought was to find a good hiding place where she could wait to view Mrs. Dillon's expected caller.
"I may have a tedious time of it," she reflected, "but if I learn the identity of the agent with whom she dealt it will be worth all the trouble."
A half block away she noticed a large truck parked along the curbing. The vehicle had been abandoned, a cracked-up front wheel giving mute evidence that it had been in an accident. The truck was of the closed cab type and it dawned upon Penny that if she could get inside, she would have a perfect observation post.
Luckily the cab of the truck had not been locked and she slipped into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut.
An hour passed. The job of watching Mrs. Dillon's house became irksome. No one had called except a peddler and a delivery boy from a laundry.
Penny tried to pass the time by examining the many gadgets with which the great truck was equipped. She imagined that it might be loads of fun to drive such a powerful machine.
Suddenly her attention was arrested by an automobile which with a shrill screeching of brakes came to a halt in front of the Dillon residence. A well-dressed middle-aged man, carrying a black leather brief case, got out of the car.
Penny was sure she had never seen him before. She observed him closely as he emerged from his automobile. He crossed the street with a quick, energetic stride as if he knew just where he was going and what he intended doing after he arrived. She saw him standing patiently at Mrs. Dillon's door, waiting for a servant to answer his ring.
Was the man the agent Mrs. Dillon had mentioned? The rogue who had sold the fake painting to the gullible woman? He certainly did not look like a crook, Penny thought, nor did he act like one. Just one more reason, she decided, why she must take nothing for granted. She produced a notebook and pencil from her purse and made a careful notation of the stranger's automobile license number as well as its make and model.
For perhaps forty-five minutes the man remained inside the house. When he crossed the street to his car he skipped along with an agility surprising in a man of his years. He smiled broadly as if his mission, whatever it may have been, was successful. Scarcely had he driven away when another automobile swung into the same parking space.
From her place of advantage, Penny fixed her attention on the newcomer, but before she could see his face, she was startled by a gruff voice, almost in her ear:
"Hey there! Come down out of that!"
A roughly dressed truck driver stood on the running board, gesturing angrily. "What do you think this truck is?" he demanded. "A free park seat?"
Penny hastily climbed out of the cab, making an offhand apology for her presence.
"Okay Miss," the truck driver said, "seein' as you're a gal. But if you had been a man, I would have taken a fall out of ya. It's a crime that a man can't go for help without having some strange sister cuddle down in his cab."
The trucker's loud, gruff voice had attracted the attention of the man in the parked automobile. He stepped from his car and came toward the couple.
"What's the idea of abusing a helpless young girl?" he asked.
Penny recognized the voice, and resisted an impulse to turn her head. She knew that the newcomer was Hanley Cron. He had come to call upon Mrs. Dillon. That was plain. She must not let him discover that she was watching the house. Quickly, before either of the men were aware of her intention, she darted behind the truck and fled down the street.
Rounding the corner at the end of the street, Penny paused to catch her breath. It had been foolish to run away. She realized that now. But she had acted impulsively, without thinking.
She thought hopefully that Hanley Cron might not have recognized her. She was certain he had not seen her face.
Penny walked slowly home. She was as bewildered as ever regarding the identity of the mysterious agent who had sold Mrs. Dillon the Rembrandt. It might have been the first caller—or perhaps Hanley Cron.
Yet Penny smiled as she considered the latter possibility. Cron held an enviable position with a newspaper, he was highly respected in art circles, and besides, was a special friend of Mrs. Dillon. It seemed far more likely that he had merely dropped in to pay a casual afternoon call.
Penny wondered if she had acted wisely in talking so frankly with the society woman. Mrs. Dillon, fearful of arrest, had agreed to communicate with the museum authorities, but would she keep her promise? Penny could only wait and hope that she had acted for the best.
It was nearing the dinner hour when she reached home. Mr. Nichols, whose hobby was gardening, rested on his hoe as his daughter came up the stepping stone path. She thought he looked worried and spoke of it.
"I am worried," the detective confessed. "Some confounded new fangled bug is eating up all my choice aster plants. Just look at this one. Riddled with holes as if it had been peppered with a machine gun!"
Penny laughed as she bent down to pick a bouquet of flowers for the dinner table.
"You ought to be able to solve a simple case like that," she teased.
"I've already sprayed the plants with everything I can think of. It's disgusting!"
Penny was not especially interested in insects, and began to question her father about the office robbery.
"Nothing valuable was stolen so far as Miss Arrow and I could determine," he informed. "The office was pretty thoroughly torn up, but apparently the thief didn't get the thing he was after."
"Have you any idea what that was, Dad?"
"Not the slightest. Papers of some sort, I suppose."
"Did you find any leading clues?"
"Nothing of consequence. The fingerprints were worthless for the thief wore gloves. Would you like to have the case, Penny?"
"No thanks. I've involved myself in enough trouble as it is. You may not like what I've done, Dad."
"And just what have you done?" the detective asked with twinkling eyes.
Penny gave a detailed account of her interview with Mrs. Dillon. Mr. Nichols frowned thoughtfully, but did not chide her.
"You made a bold attack, Penny," he commented, "but perhaps no harm has been done. However, after this I must ask you not to do anything about the matter without consulting me. You see, I've taken the jewel theft case for the Insurance Company and I can't afford to antagonize Mrs. Dillon until I learn whether she is involved in a plot to obtain fifteen thousand dollars under false pretenses."
"You and Mrs. Dillon didn't part upon such friendly terms the last time you met," Penny reminded him with a smile.
"No, that's true."
"By the way, Dad, Mrs. Dillon requested me to offer you her apology. It seems she has just learned that her husband did insure the pearl necklace with the Reliance Company. He neglected to tell her about it."
"Oh, I see," Mr. Nichols commented dryly. "Well, I'll talk with her tomorrow."
Penny had finished picking the bouquet of flowers and was walking toward the house, when the detective called her back.
"Just a minute. I learned something today which may interest you."
Penny halted, waiting expectantly.
"It's about that new friend of yours."
"Amy Coulter?" Penny inquired eagerly.
"Yes, the police have traced her to that new rooming house where you tell me she's staying. She'll probably be arrested sometime tonight."
"Oh, Dad! Amy has done nothing wrong. Why can't the police leave her alone?"
"It strikes me they are making a mistake in this case."
"Of course they are. Oh, Dad, can't I warn Amy?"
"It's probably too late now."
"Perhaps not. Let me try at least."
Mr. Nichols had anticipated such a request. He did not believe in assisting a fugitive from justice, yet unknown to Penny he had investigated Amy Coulter, and was inclined to feel that she was innocent of the charge against her.
"All right, if you like," he assented. "But if you see that the house is watched, have the good sense not to go in."
"I'll be careful," Penny promised. "Tell Mrs. Gallup not to wait dinner for me."
Mr. Nichols opened the garage doors for her and closed them again after she had backed the car to the street.
Penny parked a half block from Amy Coulter's rooming house. She walked slowly past the place, carefully glancing about. No one was in sight and she doubted that the building was being watched.
Entering, she ran up the stairway to her friend's room, rapping sharply on the door.
"Who is there?" Amy asked.
"It's I—Penny. Let me in."
Instantly the door was flung open. "I was afraid it might be the police," Amy confessed, laughing nervously.
"That's why I came," Penny informed, closing the door behind her. "They have traced you here."
"The police?"
"Yes, you must leave at once."
"But where can I go? I have no friends and very little money."
It occurred to Penny to mention that she had seen Amy accept payment from the museum workman, Hoges, but she refrained from doing so. Instead, she examined the contents of her purse.
"I can't take money from you," Amy said.
"But you'll need it."
"I'll have enough to keep me for a few days. But I don't know where to go."
"You must find a new rooming house. I'll help you pack."
"But I can't leave tonight," Amy protested weakly.
"You must! Unless you do, the police will surely catch you."
"It's after six o'clock. How can I get my trunk moved?"
"You must abandon your trunk," Penny advised. "I'll help you pack your bags."
Amy gazed disconsolately about the room at the many art objects and trinkets that she loved.
"After the trouble blows over you can come back for your things," Penny said.
"But will it ever clear up?" Amy asked hopelessly. "It might be better to stay and face it."
"If you can prove your innocence——"
"I can't prove anything," Amy responded. "No, you're right. I must remain in hiding until the thief is captured."
Penny had begun to gather up clothing. "Where are your bags?" she asked. "There's no time to lose."
"Under the bed," Amy answered.
She ran to the closet and jerked her dresses from the hangers. Penny crossed the room to pick up a sweater which had been tossed into a chair. As she moved past the table which Amy used as a writing desk she noticed a stamped, sealed envelope lying there.
Unintentionally, Penny glanced at the name and address. It read:
"Mr. George Hoges, General Delivery, Belton City."
For a moment Penny stared at the letter. The scene which she had witnessed in the park came back to her. Why should Amy and the ex-museum worker have business together? The next instant she was heartily ashamed of her suspicion, yet she could not let the matter pass without speaking of it.
"Amy," she called.
"Yes." The girl emerged from the closet with a pile of dresses in her arms.
"I don't mean to be prying," Penny said awkwardly, "but I couldn't help seeing this letter."
A faint flush crept over Amy's face. She questioned defiantly: "What about it?"
"Nothing," Penny answered shortly. If Amy did not feel like explaining, she could not bring herself to ask.
In silence the girls continued their packing Presently Amy picked up the letter and thrust it into her pocketbook.
"I guess I'm ready," she announced.
They each took a bag and started down the stairway. But as they reached the lower landing, Penny abruptly halted, warning her companion to keep back.
"What is it?" Amy whispered.
Penny indicated a man who was standing on the opposite side of the street, loitering in the doorway of a bakery shop.
"A detective from police headquarters! I've seen him at the station."
Hastily the girls retreated back up the stairs to the bedroom. Amy flung herself into a chair.
"It's useless trying to escape," she murmured. "I may as well give myself up."
Penny went to the window and looked out. The bedroom opened over an alley and she was elated to see that it had a fire escape. No one was in sight.
"You still have a chance, Amy," she urged, "but you must hurry."
"Thank you for everything you have done to help me," the girl murmured gratefully, moving to the window which Penny had opened for her. "I'll never forget it."
"I've done nothing," Penny replied, assisting her to climb over the sill. "Can you manage both bags?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Will you let me know the address of your new rooming house, Amy?"
"Yes, of course. I have no idea now where I'll go. I may not escape at all."
"Keep to the alley," Penny advised. "Good-bye and good luck."
She stood watching from the window while Amy descended the fire escape to enter the alley. The girl waved her hand reassuringly and vanished.
Penny closed the window and straightened up the room so that there would be no appearance of sudden flight. She wondered if she had done right to help Amy escape the police.
She felt troubled because the girl had failed to explain why she had written to Mr. Hoges. Yet the letter provided Penny with a valuable clue.
"Undoubtedly, the man told Amy to address him in care of General Delivery," she thought. "That means he'll call there for his mail. If I keep watch I may locate him."
Since the day Penny had encountered the museum workman at the Gage Galleries, she had held to the theory that the man had something to do with the mysterious disappearance of the priceless Rembrandt. It had been her firm belief that if she apprehended Mr. Hoges for questioning, the establishment of his own guilt would result in Amy's exoneration. But now that she had learned the two were friends, she did not know what to think. Certainly Amy's association with the man did not tend to point to her own innocence.
"I'll not help the girl again unless she reveals everything concerning her connection with Hoges," Penny decided. "From now on matters must take their own course."
Leaving the bedroom, she went downstairs and out the front door. The watchful detective was still stationed across the street, but Penny was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she cast only a casual glance in his direction.
She had walked a short distance down the street, when she felt a firm pressure on her arm.
"Just a minute, young lady!"
Penny whirled around to find herself face to face with the police detective.