Max Lynch smiled disarmingly as he seated himself in a chair opposite the detective.
"You have an abrupt way with your clients, Nichols."
"You're no client of mine," the detective retorted. "You never have been and you never will be!"
The gambler continued to smile blandly, refusing to take offense. "I admit I've never hired you on a job of my own," he said. "But many a time a guy has said to me 'Who is the best private dick in town?' and I says 'Chris Nichols,' just like that. It has brought you some nice jobs."
"I don't believe I've ever taken any case through your influence, Max Lynch. But that's neither here nor there. What's on your mind?"
The gambler moved forward in his chair.
"Well, Nichols, it's like this. Dutch O'Neil is in the jug for pasting a dude customer of mine over at my casino last night. Dutch is one of my bouncers and this fellow started upsetting the faro tables after he had lost his roll. Dutch bounced him out so hard the fellow is in the hospital with a broken jaw."
"And you want me to send the man some flowers?" the detective asked sarcastically.
Max Lynch ignored the thrust. "It's this way," he explained. "The guy turned out to be a big shot of the town—a broker or something. And he has turned so much heat on the judge the poor old fossil is afraid to let Dutch go. Now it happens this broker is an old friend and client of yours—George Kirby. Know him?"
"Yes, I know him very well."
"All right, you go and see George and soften him up. If you can get him to drop his charges and have the case nolled there's half a grand in it for you."
"I'll have nothing to do with it."
"I'll raise the ante," the gambler offered. "Seven hundred and fifty."
"There's not enough of your kind of money in this town to employ me on a crooked case like this."
"A real good guy, ain't you?" Lynch sneered.
"No, not good. Just sanitary."
The gambler's face flushed with anger as he arose and edged toward the door.
"O.K., chief," he said mockingly. "And don't worry about that 'sanitary' stuff. Just wait till our clean-up gang hears about this!"
He slammed the door after him and Penny could hear his heels clicking angrily as he walked rapidly down the long corridor to the elevator. She quickly came out of hiding.
"Dad, that was Max Lynch—the one they call 'Diamond Max,' wasn't it?" she inquired anxiously.
"Yes," the detective responded soberly. "I guess I shouldn't have permitted you to listen to the conversation."
"I'm glad you did. Only it made the chills run down my spine to hear that man talk. He seemed so sinister."
"Max isn't a very pleasant character, Penny."
"What did he mean by that last remark? It sounded like a threat."
"I imagine it was a threat, Penny."
"Why don't you turn the man over to the police, Dad, for attempted bribery?"
"I wish I could," her father answered. "Max is a slippery eel to catch. The police have been trying for years to get evidence against him—they always fail."
"But he deliberately tried to bribe you, Dad. Surely that ought to be enough to land him in jail."
Mr. Nichols shook his head as he thoughtfully toyed with a penknife.
"Max surrounds himself with highly paid, crooked lawyers and hired witnesses. He is clever and cagey. Several times he has been brought to trial but always he escapes."
"Why do they call him 'Diamond Max'?" Penny questioned curiously.
"He's been known by that name ever since I can remember. Perhaps you noticed that the man wore a number of diamonds?"
"He was loaded with them. Were they genuine?"
"Oh, yes. Max has always had a passion for jewels, especially diamonds."
"I suppose he came by them dishonestly."
"Possibly, although he could easily afford to buy fine jewels with the profit derived from his casino."
"The place is called the Red Rose, isn't it?" Penny remarked.
"Yes, it's a disgrace to the community."
"Then why hasn't it been closed?"
Mr. Nichols smiled tolerantly at his daughter. "The Red Rose is located just over the county line," he explained. "It happens that the sheriff has a very charitable attitude toward Lynch's gambling enterprises."
"Then there's nothing to be done?"
"Not very much I fear. What we need is a new sheriff."
"Promise me you'll be careful," Penny urged anxiously. "I'm afraid of what Max may attempt to do."
Mr. Nichols smiled confidently as he locked his desk.
"His threat was an idle one I think. Don't give it a moment's thought. Your old Dad can take care of himself."
Penny sighed as she followed her father to the elevator. She knew that she should dismiss the matter from her mind yet that was exactly what she could not do. Ever since she could remember Mr. Nichols had lived a dangerous life. He had trailed and captured daring criminals and during his lengthy career, first as a police officer and later as a private detective, had received many threats. Several times he had escaped violence by a narrow margin. Usually Penny did not worry, but Max Lynch had impressed her as a man who would seek retaliation.
The girl was so preoccupied as they drove toward the Nichols' home that the detective commented upon her silence.
"Forget it," he advised kindly. "I know how to deal with Max's strong-arm squad."
Penny halted the car on the driveway and the detective alighted to open the garage doors. She drove in and snapped off the ignition. Together she and her father walked up the stepping-stone path to the rear entrance of the house.
The Nichols' residence was not imposing in appearance but the well-shrubbed grounds gave it a home-like air. A grass tennis court occupied one part of the lot while the opposite side was devoted to Mrs. Gallup's flowers. Since the death of Penny's mother, the kindly woman had served as a faithful housekeeper.
Mrs. Gallup, her plump arms covered with flour, was making biscuits when Penny and her father entered the neat kitchen.
"I'm slow tonight," she apologized. "All afternoon agents and peddlers have been coming to the door. It was enough to drive a body crazy. But I'll have dinner ready in about fifteen minutes."
"We're in no hurry," Penny assured her. "Has the evening paper come yet?"
"Yes, I heard the boy drop it in the mailbox a few minutes ago."
Usually Penny had scant interest in the newspaper but she was curious to learn what had been published concerning the stolen Rembrandt. She ran to the mailbox and soon had the sheet spread out on the floor. As she had expected, the story appeared on the front page. And there was a slightly blurred picture of the painting which had been stolen. Penny studied it carefully and read the story several times before relinquishing the paper to her father.
"Well, has the thief been apprehended?" Mr. Nichols asked with a smile.
"No, the story just says the police are working on the case and expect to make an arrest within a few days."
"Your young friend's name isn't mentioned?"
"Amy Coulter? No, but I don't like that statement about the police expecting to make an arrest."
"It's probably just some reporter's idea," Mr. Nichols answered carelessly.
"I certainly hope so. Of course, it's possible the police have traced the real culprit by this time. I hate to think Amy Coulter is under suspicion."
After Mr. Nichols had read the newspaper, Penny carefully cut out the story which concerned the theft at the Gage Galleries, including the reproduction of the missing painting and a map of the various rooms of the museum.
"Do you intend to do a little private work on the case?" the detective inquired, slightly amused.
Penny laughed and shook her head. "No, I was just interested because I happened to be at the Galleries when the painting disappeared."
In an inside section of the paper she found an article which had been written by the art critic, Hanley Cron. He discussed at length his selection of the prize winning statue, but while he listed a number of figures which were deserving of high praise, nothing was said regarding "The Black Imp," Amy Coulter's entry in the contest.
"After dinner I'm going to get another paper and learn what other critics have to say about it," Penny announced. "You should have seen the prize winning piece, Dad. It was terrible!"
"I fear you may be prejudiced in this Coulter girl's favor, my dear."
"I'm not. Others said the same thing."
Directly after the dinner dishes were wiped, Penny slipped out to the street corner to purchase two other evening papers. She turned to the art sections and was gratified to discover that Hanley Cron's selection of the statue, "Winged Night," was severely criticized by various authorities. Amy Coulter's entry was highly praised and one writer ventured to say that it should have been awarded the five-thousand-dollar prize.
Penny showed the papers to Mrs. Gallup and her father, feeling that her judgment had been confirmed. However, she was deeply troubled by the similarity of the news stories regarding the theft of the painting. Each account mentioned that the police expected to make an arrest soon and one said that officials of the museum were of the opinion the painting had been stolen by a disgruntled contestant for the Huddleson prize.
"They must mean Amy," Penny declared. "I wonder if she has any idea she is under suspicion."
The telephone rang. It was a call from police headquarters for Mr. Nichols.
"I'll have to run down to the station for a few minutes," the detective announced as he returned to the living room after answering the summons. "The chief wants to talk with me about an important case."
"While you're there see if you can't get a little information about the stolen painting," Penny urged, helping her father into his coat. "Find out if they really are looking for Amy Coulter."
"So you can tip her off I suppose?" Mr. Nichols inquired dryly.
"I hadn't thought of it particularly, but it's an excellent idea," Penny twinkled.
Mr. Nichols was gone nearly two hours, but as he had expected, Penny was waiting up for him when he entered the house.
"What did you learn?" she demanded instantly. "Is Amy Coulter under suspicion?"
"Oh, I didn't consider it a good policy to ask questions about a matter which was none of my concern."
"Then you found out nothing," Penny cried in disappointment. "And I've been sitting up waiting for you too!"
"I didn't say what I learned," Mr. Nichols smiled. "I merely mentioned that I did not make any inquiries."
"You did learn something then! Tell me!"
"Nothing very encouraging, Penny. The police are after this girl—at least they intend to apprehend her for questioning."
"She's not been arrested yet?"
"No, it seems they haven't located her yet."
"I heard someone at the Gage Galleries say Miss Coulter lived at a rooming house on Pearl Street. I wonder if she's still there."
"If she is, my advice to you is to keep away from the place," Mr. Nichols said severely. "Don't get mixed up in the affair."
"But it seems so unfair for the police to annoy an innocent person, Dad."
"All right, go ahead and involve yourself if you must," the detective returned. "If you land in jail for assisting a criminal I suppose I can always arrange to bail you out!"
They both knew that Penny would never feel comfortable in her mind until she had warned Amy Coulter of the accusation against her.
Directly after breakfast the next morning Penny took the car and drove to Pearl Street. She did not have Amy's exact address but she was of the opinion that it would not be difficult to locate the right house. Therefore, she was dismayed to discover that the street seemed to consist of uniform looking dwelling places, nearly all with "room for rent" signs in the front windows.
"This will be like hunting for the proverbial needle in the haystack," Penny thought.
Beginning at one end of the street, she rang the doorbell of each likely looking house, inquiring if anyone by the name of Amy Coulter roomed there. She had covered nearly half the street and was growing very discouraged when she halted at a place which looked cleaner and slightly more inviting than its crowded neighbors.
In response to Penny's rap, a woman in a blue wrapper came to the door.
"Can you tell me if a girl named Amy Coulter lives here?" Penny asked mechanically, for she had asked the question many times.
"Amy Coulter?" the woman repeated. "No, not any more."
"Then she did live here at one time?" Penny inquired eagerly.
"Yes, until last night. She didn't give me any notice. She just took her luggage and went."
"Did Miss Coulter leave a forwarding address?"
"No, she didn't. I can't tell you anything more about her."
Impolitely, the woman closed the door in Penny's face.
The girl walked slowly down the steps to the street. She was disappointed at not finding Amy, and a little troubled to learn that the youthful sculptress had departed from the rooming house without leaving an address. Her disappearance looked almost like flight.
The muffled roar of an automobile engine caused Penny to gaze toward the street. A dark blue car had pulled up to the curbing. Three men in civilian garb climbed out, and after briefly surveying the rooming house, walked toward it.
"Plain-clothes men from police headquarters," Penny appraised instantly. "I can spot them a mile away. I wonder if they're on the trail of Amy Coulter too?"
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."
"Please don'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.