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.
"What do you want?" Penny gasped. She felt certain the man intended to arrest her for aiding Amy Coulter to escape.
The detective stared down at her face.
"I beg your pardon," he apologized. "When you came out of that rooming house I mistook you for another."
He released his grip on her arm and continued to offer excuses as Penny walked away. She chuckled to herself, realizing that the plainclothes man had taken her for Amy Coulter. But the smile quickly left her face, for she did not feel very proud of the trick she had played on the police. If it should turn out that the girl was guilty, then indeed she would be sorry.
Dinner was over when Penny reached home, and Mrs. Gallup reported that Mr. Nichols had returned to his office to work on a case.
"Your food is in the oven, Penny," she told the girl a trifle irritably. "I declare, I can't see why you had to run off just when I was setting things on the table. Your father is the same way!"
"We're a dreadful pair," Penny agreed amiably as she dished herself up a generous helping of meat and potatoes. "Any gravy, Mrs. Gallup?"
"No, your father ate it all and I don't feel like making any more."
"Of course not. I have a big plate of food now. Just leave that pan of dishes, Mrs. Gallup, and I'll do them for you."
The housekeeper immediately softened. "You may wipe them if you like," she said. "I am tired tonight. I don't mean to be cross, only it's annoying to have folks late for meals. I like food to be eaten when it's good and hot."
"You're a dear," Penny laughed, giving her a squeeze. "I'll try not be late again."
After the dishes were stacked in the cupboard, Penny spent a half hour reading, then she went to bed although it was only a little after eight o'clock. She could not remember when she had been so tired.
"You're not sick?" Mrs. Gallup inquired anxiously, for usually Penny was the last one in the house to retire.
"No, I'm all right. Just sleepy."
Penny might have added that she was likewise blue and discouraged. It seemed to her that she had made no progress at all in trying to solve the mystery which surrounded Amy Coulter.
As she slowly mounted the stairs, Penny's attention was attracted by someone standing by the garage door. She paused, thinking that it might be her father. To her astonishment, the man darted back behind a group of tall bushes which banked the building.
Penny snapped out the light and watched. The man did not reappear.
"What are you doing?" Mrs. Gallup questioned.
"I think someone is watching the house. I just saw a man by the garage."
"Oh! I'll call the police!"
"No, wait!" Penny commanded. "I may have been mistaken." She said it to reassure the housekeeper.
Mrs. Gallup came to the window and peered out. There was no sign of anyone about the grounds.
"I'll take a flashlight and investigate," Penny proposed.
Mrs. Gallup caught her firmly by the arm. "You'll do nothing of the kind. We'll lock all the doors and not stir from the house until your father returns!"
The housekeeper insisted upon drawing all the blinds and fastening the doors and windows. It seemed an unnecessary precaution to Penny who believed that the prowler had gone.
An hour slipped by and the man was not seen again. Penny went wearily to bed, but Mrs. Gallup was so nervous that she declared her intention of remaining up until Mr. Nichols arrived home.
The detective drove in shortly after ten o'clock and Penny could hear the two talking in the living room. She dropped off to sleep before her father came upstairs.
In the morning Penny awoke feeling refreshed and cheerful again. After breakfast she walked to the post office, stationing herself near the General Delivery window. For an hour she watched men and women come and go, claiming their mail at the little window. George Hoges did not appear, but Penny had scarcely dared to hope that he would come so soon.
Presently, she walked over to the window and questioned the clerk who was in charge.
"Can you tell me if a man by the name of George Hoges gets his mail here?"
The clerk thumbed through a stack of letters before answering. "I don't remember the man but he'll probably call here sooner or later for he has two letters."
Penny retreated to her post near the door. It was tedious waiting.
"When I get to be a taxpayer I'll vote for chairs in every post office!" she thought.
Penny spent nearly the entire day waiting for George Hoges to appear. By nightfall she was so weary she could scarcely stumble home. She felt certain she would not have the fortitude to resume her watch the following day.
Mr. Nichols was amused when she told him of her unpleasant experience.
"A detective must learn to spend half of his time just waiting," he declared. "Why, I've handled cases where we assign men to watch a certain street corner. Perhaps they'll be required to keep it up for six months."
"That's a long time."
"Not if the man you're after comes along in the end."
"If I keep up my vigil even six days I'll have corns on the bottom of my feet," Penny sighed. "Everything considered, I don't believe I'm cut out to be a lady detective."
However, the following day found her again at her station in the post office. The task of waiting and watching seemed even more tiresome than before. When she came home late in the afternoon Mrs. Gallup offered scant sympathy.
"I never heard of such a silly thing," she declared. "Standing all day in the post office! I don't know why your father permits you to play around at being a detective!"
"If you think it's play just try standing in one spot for eight hours!" Penny said indignantly.
"I'd have better sense," Mrs. Gallup retorted. Then she softened. "I know you're tired, Penny. Sit down and rest while I make you a cup of hot chocolate."
With a blissful sigh, Penny sank into an upholstered chair. She was looking at a magazine when the housekeeper returned with a pot of chocolate.
"Here is a letter for you," she mentioned, dropping it into the girl's lap. "It came this afternoon."
Noticing that it was postmarked Belton City, Penny quickly tore it open. The envelope contained a brief note from Amy Coulter, who had written to give her new address.
For a long time after she had finished reading the message, Penny sat staring down at it without being aware of her preoccupation.
"I hope it isn't bad news," Mrs. Gallup said anxiously.
"Oh, no." Penny folded the message and thrust it into her pocket. "I was only thinking."
Her thoughts had not been pleasant. She still liked Amy Coulter despite the girl's strange actions, yet she felt that she could not continue to help her without positive proof of her innocence. If only Amy had explained her connection with George Hoges!
"You haven't been a bit like your usual self, Penny," Mrs. Gallup said severely. "You're not sick, are you?"
"Of course not. I'm just tired."
"You've had too much excitement lately. It seems to me this household is always in turmoil. The past week all I've heard of is robberies, prowlers and more robberies!"
"At least we've had no murder yet," Penny chuckled. "By the way, what did Dad say last night when you told him about the man we saw hiding behind the garage?"
"He thought probably it was some crank. But I noticed he examined the ground for footprints."
"Perhaps the prowler was the same person who broke into Dad's office," Penny remarked. "Only that doesn't seem reasonable either, for what could anyone be after here at the house?"
"Silverware or possibly some of your father's papers."
"He doesn't keep anything of great value here as far as I know."
Before Mrs. Gallup could make a response the telephone rang and she went to answer it.
"Can you come, Penny?" she called a moment later. "It's for you."
The girl hurried to the adjoining room and was surprised as she took the receiver to hear Mrs. Dillon's voice. The woman was greatly agitated.
"Miss Nichols, you were right about the picture," she began abruptly. "I communicated with the museum authorities as I promised and they told me that the painting is a fake!"
"I thought it would turn out that way," Penny commented in satisfaction.
"I can't understand how I was duped," Mrs. Dillon went on excitedly. "I was so careful. I've been cheated out of four thousand dollars."
"Four thousand!" Penny exclaimed. "Why yesterday you told me you had paid only half that sum."
"Since then I've made the final payment."
"But I warned you, Mrs. Dillon," Penny cried in exasperation. "Why did you do it?"
"Because I couldn't help myself," the woman wailed. "My friend—the agent convinced me that if I didn't complete the payments I would get into serious trouble with the police—that we both would be disgraced."
"And you believed his story! He only cheated you!"
"No, he wouldn't do that," Mrs. Dillon replied firmly. "This gentleman's reputation is above reproach. He couldn't have known any more than I did that the Rembrandt was a fake."
"The only thing for you to do now is to reveal everything," Penny urged. "Tell me the name of this man."
"No, I can't. I have promised to keep silent."
"Mrs. Dillon, I am unable to understand your attitude. Don't you want to help capture the persons who tricked you?"
"Yes, I'll do anything I can except reveal this gentleman's identity. I'll learn from him the name of the firm where the picture was bought and notify the police."
Penny made a grimace which Mrs. Dillon could not see. After a moment's silence, she asked bluntly:
"Is it Hanley Cron whom you are protecting?"
"Certainly not," Mrs. Dillon retorted, and hung up the receiver.
"I wonder if she told the truth?" Penny thought, turning from the telephone. "At least she was afraid to answer any more questions."
It occurred to the girl that if Hanley Cron were not the mysterious agent who had visited Mrs. Dillon the previous afternoon, then the caller must have been the elderly gentleman with the black leather brief case. Recalling that she still had the license number of the man's car, Penny thought that it might be well to show it to her father and ask him to trace the owner for her. Mr. Nichols would soon be coming home for it was nearly dinner time.
Penny searched in her purse but the notebook was not there.
"Mrs. Gallup, have you seen a little green paper-covered book anywhere in the house?" she inquired anxiously.
"I saw it in your room this morning," the housekeeper informed. "I think it was on the dresser."
"Oh, yes, I remember now, that was where I left it!" Penny laughed in relief.
She raced up the stairs two at a time, forgetting that she had ever been tired. To her delight the little book was lying just where she had dropped it.
She caught it up, rereading the notations which she had made the previous day. Hearing her father's car on the driveway, she slipped the notebook into her pocket and turned to leave. As she crossed to the door, her eye chanced to rove toward the desk. She stared in blank amazement.
The Black Imp was gone.
Penny's cry of alarm brought Mrs. Gallup hurrying up the stairs.
"What is the matter?" the housekeeper asked anxiously.
"The Black Imp is gone!" Penny exclaimed. "Did you do anything with it?"
"Why, no. It was on the desk the last time I saw it."
"It isn't there now. Someone has stolen it!"
"Nonsense!" Mrs. Gallup said impatiently. "Who would want that little statue? If a thief entered the house he would take things of greater value than that. You must have put it in a different place and forgotten about it."
"Oh, but I didn't, Mrs. Gallup. The Imp was on the desk this morning when I left the house."
"Well, I've not seen it." The housekeeper began to open bureau drawers, for despite Penny's words she was not entirely convinced that the girl had left the statue on the desk. Penny often misplaced cherished possessions only to spend an unhappy hour trying to recall where she had deposited them.
"It's no use to search, Mrs. Gallup," she wailed disconsolately. "The Black Imp is gone and will never be found."
"But no one has been in the house all day."
"The window is open," Penny observed. "I know I closed it this morning before I left the house."
The bedroom overlooked a porch against which stood a sturdy rose trellis. It would be a simple matter for a thief to reach the window by means of it. Once when Penny had found herself locked out of the house she had tested the trellis and discovered that it made an excellent ladder.
"I did go away for an hour this afternoon," Mrs. Gallup admitted. "I went to the grocery store."
"That would be long enough for a thief to enter the house."
"But I'm sure nothing else is missing," Mrs. Gallup maintained. "It doesn't seem reasonable that anyone would steal a little statue—an unfinished one at that."
Mr. Nichols had entered the house by the rear door. He called from below:
"Anyone home?"
"We're upstairs," Penny shouted down. "A thief has been in the house!"
The detective joined the two in the bedroom. "What's all the excitement?" he demanded.
"The Black Imp has been stolen!" Penny informed.
"It seems to be missing," Mrs. Gallup corrected, "but I can't believe anyone would want that lump of clay."
Mr. Nichols did not reply as he surveyed the room. Nothing appeared to be out of place. He noted the open window instantly and crossed over to it.
"The thief entered here," he said.
"That was what I was trying to tell Mrs. Gallup," Penny cried triumphantly.
The detective picked up something from the window ledge. It was a strand of gray wool which had caught on a rough board.
He then stepped out on the top of the porch and crossed over to the place where the rose trellis projected.
"Be careful," Mrs. Gallup warned anxiously as she saw that the detective intended to climb down the fragile wooden framework.
"The trellis is strong enough to hold a man much heavier than myself," Mr. Nichols replied. "And I see the thief came this way too!"
"How can you tell?" Penny questioned eagerly.
"The rose bush has been broken off in several places."
Mrs. Gallup was somewhat disconcerted by the discovery. Fearing that other things besides the Black Imp might have been stolen she hastened downstairs to make a thorough search. Penny joined her father outside the house.
"What do you make of it, Dad?" she inquired. "Why did the thief break in?"
"Obviously for the Black Imp."
"But who would be interested in it and for what reason?"
"I can't answer that one, Penny. But I'm wondering if this theft could have anything to do with Max Lynch's visit to my office."
"He appeared frightened when he saw the Imp on your desk!" Penny recalled.
"Yes, he turned and fled without revealing his mission."
"And directly after that your office was ransacked."
"Yes, but that may or may not have had any connection."
"Then I noticed a man prowling about the house," Penny continued. "He must have been the one who stole the Imp!"
"You weren't able to furnish a very good description of the man."
"No, I caught only a fleeting glimpse of his face."
"It wasn't Max Lynch?"
"I'm sure it wasn't, Dad. I'd have recognized him instantly, for his appearance is distinctive."
Mr. Nichols bent down to examine a footprint in the soft earth beneath the rose trellis. He measured it with his hand.
"The thief must wear about a size eleven shoe," he mentioned, "and a gray suit of excellent quality. Other than that, I'm afraid we have no clues."
"Why should anyone want my copy of the Black Imp?" Penny repeated in a bewildered tone. "Dad, you don't suppose Hanley Cron considered it his property and dared to take it?"
"That's a possibility," Mr. Nichols agreed after a moment of thought. "From the first his connection with the Imp has been odd to say the least. I'll have a talk with him tomorrow and see what I can learn."
When Penny and her father entered the house, Mrs. Gallup was still searching the lower floor.
"Anything more missing?" the detective asked.
"Not that I can discover. The silver is all here."
"Apparently only the Black Imp was taken," Mr. Nichols said musingly. "That little figure must guard some important secret."
"I never dreamed it could be valuable," Penny said. "I liked it only because it was a copy of Amy's statue. I thought the work rather crude."
"I doubt that the figure has any intrinsic value," Mr. Nichols answered slowly, "but for some unknown reason, it's highly important to the man who stole it."
That evening Penny accompanied her chum, Susan, to a moving picture show, but although the bill was an exceptionally good one, she found it difficult to center her attention upon the screen. She kept thinking of the Black Imp and wishing that she could recover it or at least solve the mystery of its strange disappearance.
"I'm afraid I'll just have to forget it," she thought gloomily, "but at least I'm making a little headway in tracing the persons who may know something about the stolen Rembrandt."
Penny was convinced that if only she could maintain a patient vigil at the Post Office, in time the ex-museum worker would appear there for his mail. The next morning found her at her usual station, determined not to become discouraged by failure.
For three long hours she kept faithful watch of the General Delivery window. A great many persons came and went but no one who remotely resembled Mr. Hoges. Penny became aware of a growing hunger although it was not yet noon. She noticed a restaurant directly across the street.
"I'll slip over there and have a sandwich," she decided. "It will only take a minute."
The restaurant was crowded. It was impossible for Penny to find a table near the window. She was forced to sit at the rear of the room and other diners blocked her view of the street.
She hastily ate her sandwich and returned to the post office. Scarcely had she taken her position near the door, when the clerk at the General Delivery window signalled her.
"Weren't you the girl who wanted to see George Hoges?"
"Yes, I am."
"He just called for his mail a few minutes ago."
Penny's heart sank. After waiting nearly two days she had missed the man. And it was entirely her own fault.
"You didn't see which direction he went?"
"No, I didn't," the clerk answered. "But he left only a minute or so before you came in."
"Then maybe I can still catch him," Penny said hopefully.
She ran from the building, pausing on the outside steps to survey the street. A man who from a distance resembled the ex-museum worker was just turning the corner.
"I believe it's Mr. Hoges!" she thought excitedly.
Penny raced to the corner. The man was only a little ways ahead, and as he paused for an instant to glance into a shop window, she caught a glimpse of his face. It was George Hoges.
Penny's original intention had been to question the man, but now she slightly altered her plan. She would follow him.
The ex-museum worker walked rapidly down the street with Penny in close pursuit. However, she took care not to draw too near, fearing that he might glance back and recognize her.
At first Hoges kept to the main streets, but presently he turned toward a section which was somewhat deserted. Penny was forced to drop farther behind. They came soon to a factory district with many vacant buildings, similar in many respects to the Franklyn Street section.
Hoges halted in front of an old building, and disappeared inside. When Penny drew near a minute later, he was nowhere to be seen.
The office directory was of no use, for not a single listed name was familiar to the girl. However, Penny had a suspicion that the man she sought might have engaged the top floor of the building. She was thinking of mounting the stairs when the janitor appeared.
"Looking for someone?" he inquired.
"Yes, but I don't know his name," Penny replied. "He is an artist I think."
"The top floor is rented to a firm of commercial artists," the man informed.
"That must be the place I'm looking for. Thank you."
Penny slowly mounted four long flights of stairs, pausing at the top landing to regain her breath.
She observed with keen interest that several doors opened off the hallway and each bore a freshly lettered sign:
"Private—Keep Out."
Penny glanced down the stairs to make certain that the janitor had not followed her. Then she tiptoed along the hall, pausing by the first door to listen. She could hear an indistinct murmur of voices. Now and then she caught a few words.
"The girl sent it back," she overheard. And then, a moment later: "We'll have to find someone to do her work. She may take it into her silly head to squeal too."
Could the men be speaking of Amy Coulter? Penny felt sure that the letter Hoges had received at General Delivery had come from her.
A loud creaking sound from the direction of the stairway caused Penny to straighten up and listen intently. Someone was coming! While it might be only the janitor she did not wish to be seen. Frantically, she glanced about for a hiding place.
At the end of the hall a broom closet stood with door slightly ajar. She darted to it and shut herself inside, leaving a wide crack through which she could look out.
The corridor was dark. At first she could not see the newcomer very plainly. She distinguished only a tall, shadowy form.
However, as he paused at the very door where Penny had stood listening only a moment before, she caught an excellent glimpse of his face. She saw then, with a start of recognition, that it was Hanley Cron.