The art critic rapped three times on the door. It opened instantly and closed after him as he vanished inside.
After waiting a few minutes, Penny tiptoed back down the hall. Her suspicions had been aroused and she was determined to learn what was going on inside the room.
She paused at the door and listened again. She could hear voices but this time it was impossible to catch even a word.
Penny moved on to the next door. She gently turned the knob. The door was locked. So were all the others along the corridor until she came to the last one.
To Penny's surprise, it opened. Cautiously, she peeped inside. The room appeared to be empty. She entered.
It was only a small office, empty of furniture. A few papers were scattered over the bare floor, but upon examination Penny found them of no significance. It was clear that if she were to learn anything of value, she must find a means of entering the room where Hanley Cron, the ex-museum worker and the others were talking.
An inside door opened into an adjoining room. Penny was elated to find it unlocked. But her satisfaction was of short duration, for the next office likewise was empty and devoid of any clues.
By placing her ear against the north wall, she was able to hear the three men talking. It was provoking to be so close and yet unable to learn what they were saying. She felt convinced that if only she could hear their conversation, a great many puzzling matters might be cleared up.
Presently, Penny heard a door slam. She peeped out into the hallway in time to see Cron, Hoges and another man disappearing down the stairway.
"The coast is clear now!" she thought. "If I can just find some way to enter that room while they're away!"
She made another tour of the hall, trying the door. As she had anticipated it was locked.
Returning to the room she had just left, she went to the window and looked out. A wide ledge of stone extended along the wall of the building, connecting the windows. At best it offered a dangerous footing. Yet Penny was tempted to try to reach the adjoining room by means of it, for there was no other way to gain admittance.
She raised the window and looked down. Her courage nearly failed her. While the ledge was wide, it meant a long fall and instant death should she become dizzy and lose her balance.
"I can do it—easy," Penny told herself grimly.
Climbing out on the ledge, she clutched an overhanging telephone wire for support and cautiously eased herself along, an inch at a time. She kept her gaze ahead, resisting the temptation to glance toward the deserted street.
She reached the next window which was open an inch at the bottom. The gap provided a finger-hold and enabled her to raise the window. With a sigh of intense relief, she dropped lightly to the floor.
She found herself in a large, studio room, well illuminated by two sky lights. Obviously, several artists had been working there, for the place was cluttered with easels, palettes, and discarded paintings. A number of pictures of uniform size stood in a little pile, face downward.
Curiously, Penny lifted one to gaze at it.
"The stolen Rembrandt!" she gasped.
Then she knew better. It was only a copy, identical with the one she had viewed at Mrs. Dillon's home.
She lifted the other pictures and looked at them. They were all the same.
"So this is where Mrs. Dillon's fake came from!" she thought. "The men who rented this place apparently are manufacturing Rembrandts in wholesale quantities!"
At the other side of the room she noticed a picture which was only half finished, and beside it a canvas covered easel. She crossed over to lift the protecting cloth.
Still another Rembrandt was revealed.
"Just a copy," Penny told herself, and started to replace the canvas.
Then she looked at the picture again. It did not look exactly like the others. The detail was the same, yet this painting seemed to have a depth and quality which the others lacked. Penny wondered if it could be the original Rembrandt, the priceless painting which had been stolen from the Gage Galleries.
"I believe it is!" she decided.
As Penny stood gazing at the picture, she was dismayed to hear footsteps in the hallway. Frantically, she looked about for a hiding place.
It was too late to escape through the window. The only refuge available was a clothes closet.
Penny darted inside and softly shut the door. Scarcely had she secreted herself when three men entered the room. Peering out through the keyhole, she distinguished Cron, Hoges, and the man in gray whom she had once followed to the Franklyn Street address. Apparently, the men had returned for something they had forgotten. Hanley Cron searched in a table drawer.
"Say, who left that window open?" he demanded unexpectedly.
"I didn't," Hoges said.
"You can't blame me for it," the other man growled. "Probably you opened it yourself."
"I did not," Cron retorted. He crossed the room and slammed down the window. "Be careful about things like that. If we're not more cautious we'll have the cops on us."
"If you ask me, I think it's about time we blow," Hoges commented. "This town is getting pretty hot for us."
"Maybe you're right," Cron muttered. "I had a disagreeable hour with that simple minded Mrs. Dillon. She's still afraid to notify the police, but that Nichols girl has been talking with her, and she may make us trouble."
"Christopher Nichols has been assigned to the jewel case too," Hoges added. "He's no sloth when it comes to action!"
"Our game has just about played out," Cron agreed. "But I have one more good customer lined up. I told him to come here at one-thirty to see the picture."
"Maybe we could pull this last job," Hoges agreed. "Does he know much about painting?"
"Very little. We ought to nip him for three thousand at least."
Hoges glanced at his watch.
"If your customer is coming at one-thirty we'd better get the stage set."
"All right," Cron nodded. "Let's clean up the joint."
Uncovering the genuine Rembrandt, he took one of the copies, and deftly inserted it in the picture frame behind the original painting, but in such a manner that only the back of the canvas was visible. When the frame was replaced only a person with keen eyesight could detect the trickery.
"We'll pull the usual gag about identifying the picture with a signature or a symbol," Cron muttered. "That always goes big."
By this time Penny had seen enough to understand how Mrs. Dillon and other gullible customers had been duped. They had been shown the original stolen Rembrandt, but when invited to place an identifying mark on the back of the canvas to insure that they received the same picture, actually signed the fake copy. It was then a simple matter to remove the two paintings from the frame and send the customer the worthless one which bore his mark.
"Cron and his confederates have worked a fairly safe racket too," Penny thought. "Even if a customer learns he has been cheated, he's afraid to go to the police for fear he'll expose himself as a person willing to buy stolen property!"
She was not greatly surprised to learn that Cron was a party to the dishonest scheme, notwithstanding that Mrs. Dillon had denied the art critic was the mysterious agent who had visited her. Now Penny knew that the woman had not spoken the truth. Doubtlessly, she had feared to accuse Cron, lest he in turn expose her to the police.
A knock sounded on the door. Cron and his confederates froze into tense attitudes, then relaxed.
"It must be our customer," Cron whispered. "Open the door."
As it swung back, Max Lynch stepped into the room. He smiled blandly.
"Hello, boys. You don't look as if you were expecting me."
"We weren't—exactly," Cron muttered. "What do you want, Max? You know I've warned you not to come here."
The gambler had been making a quick survey of the room. His eyes came to rest on the Rembrandt. He smiled again, unpleasantly.
"Say, who are you anyway?" Hoges demanded angrily. "What business do you have with us?"
"My business is with your pal, Hanley Cron. We're partners."
"Partners?" Hoges echoed, his eyes narrowing. He wheeled toward Cron. "If you've been double crossing me——"
"Oh, calm down," Cron said sharply. "Lynch and I had a little private business together but it has nothing to do with the picture racket."
"I'm not so sure about that," the other retorted. "You've been collecting all the money. Maybe you've stuck some of it into your pocket."
"I didn't come here to start an argument," Lynch interposed. "But I'll not stand for any monkey business either. Hand over the pearls, Cron!"
"I don't have them. I told you once that girl——"
"Yes, you've told me a good many things, Cron. But I happen to know you have the necklace. Hand it over or——"
The threat was left unsaid for at that unfortunate moment Penny felt an overpowering impulse to sneeze. She buried her face in her handkerchief but succeeded in only partially muffling the sound.
Immediately, the closet door was flung open and she was found cowering there. Cron dragged her from her hiding place.
"So you've been listening!" he sneered.
"Yes," said Penny boldly. "And I've heard enough to confirm what I've always believed. You are the person who stole the Rembrandt from the Gage Galleries! You're a cheap trickster who pawns himself off as a gentleman!"
As she uttered the tirade, the girl made a quick dive for the door, but Max Lynch caught her by the arm and flung her back.
"Not so fast, Miss Nichols," he muttered. "This is once when you won't go tattling to the police or to that father of yours!"
The discovery of Penny hiding in the closet had brought an abrupt end to the quarrel. In the face of the new emergency, the four crooks laid differences aside to consider what must be done.
"Tie her up!" Cron ordered harshly.
Penny's arms and legs were securely bound with stout cord, a gag was drawn over her mouth, and she was unceremoniously thrown back into the closet. But she could still hear the men talking.
"This changes all our plans," Cron said. "If this girl knew enough to follow us here, the police may soon be on our trail. We must get out of town."
"Not without dividing on that necklace job we planned together," Lynch interposed angrily. "You'll never leave town until you cough up."
Hoges and his unnamed companion were regarding Cron with open suspicion.
"You've been holding out on us," they accused the art critic.
Cron realized that he had placed himself in an awkward position.
"All right, I'll admit I have the pearl necklace," he said shortly. "We'll split four ways, and then no one can kick."
Max Lynch did not like the decision, but after grumbling a little, he unwillingly agreed.
"Now let's get out of here!" Cron urged nervously. "The necklace is at my room. We'll have to go there."
"What about the Rembrandt?" Hoges asked, turning to look at it.
"Take my advice and leave it behind," Lynch spoke up. "That picture is as hot as a rivet. It's a bulky thing to tote around the country as luggage too."
"How about the girl?" Hoges demanded.
Cron hesitated only a fraction of an instant. "Leave her in the closet."
"Maybe she won't be found very soon," Lynch remarked.
"That's her hard luck," Cron retorted. "We have to look out for ourselves."
"Okay," Lynch agreed indifferently. "Let's go."
The men hastily gathered up a few possessions which if left behind might serve to identify them. Then they went out the door, locking it after them.
Penny heard the key turn in the lock, and her heart sank. With a gag over her mouth, she could not even call for help. She was indeed in a desperate plight.
Penny worked at her bonds, but the cords had been fastened securely and she could not free herself. Exhausted, she lay quiet, trying to think of some way to attract attention. She thumped with her feet on the floor of the closet, but minutes passed and no one came to her assistance.
It was useless, she thought miserably. There was scant chance that anyone would discover her until it was too late. How maddening it was to know that while she remained helpless, Cron and his confederates were escaping from the city!
Now that the knowledge was valueless to her, she comprehended the entire plot. Cron and Hoges had worked together, and the latter had smuggled the genuine Rembrandt from the Gage Galleries just as she had suspected. Then instead of trying to sell the stolen picture they made copies of it, disposing of the duplicate many times and at a handsome profit.
Penny was not certain as to Max Lynch's connection with the men, but mention of the pearls suggested to her that Cron and the gambler had relieved Mrs. Dillon of her necklace. She recalled that the art critic had made a point of learning the exact hour when the woman would carry the pearls to the bank vault. Was it not likely that he had proposed the meeting solely as a means of providing an opportunity for the robbery?
When Penny considered Amy Coulter's part in the affair, she was without a theory. She wondered if she would ever know whether or not the girl was involved with the gang.
Presently Penny became aware of a crackling noise in the building. At first she paid it slight heed, but as the strange sound became louder, she listened intently. She could hear timbers snapping and cracking and the interior of the closet was growing uncomfortably warm. Even then the horrible truth did not dawn upon her.
She heard excited shouts and running footsteps. Suddenly Penny distinguished a cry which struck terror to her heart.
"Fire! Fire!"
She was momentarily stunned. Then, realizing that she was trapped in a burning building, she struggled desperately to free herself. She kicked with all her strength against the floor and walls of the closet. Finally, she succeeded in loosening her gag.
"Help! Help!" she screamed.
Her voice sounded muffled and weak. The top floor was without tenants, and Penny knew that the chance of anyone hearing her was very slight. She was doomed to a horrible fate.
Her courage failed her for the moment and she sobbed in terror. But she soon had herself in check again and was struggling to free herself. It seemed to her that the cords which held her wrists were a trifle looser—she worked at the knots with her teeth.
From below she heard a loud clanging, and the shrill whistle of a fire siren. New hope surged over her. Perhaps the firemen who had arrived upon the scene would reach her in time!
"Even if they shoot a ladder up to the window they'll never think anyone could be tied up in the closet," she reasoned. "If I'm to escape, it will be from my own efforts."
Penny knew that the fire was rapidly spreading, for she could hear a steady roar which rapidly grew louder. The closet was so warm that she found difficulty in breathing. She could plainly smell smoke.
Then suddenly, almost when she had given up hope, she was free. Her wrists were bruised and bleeding but that was of no consequence. It required only an instant to untie the cords which bound her ankles.
A new fear assailed her. The closet door might be locked!
She turned the knob and laughed aloud in hysterical relief. It had not been locked. But as she darted out into the room she inhaled smoke-laden air and began to cough and choke. Covering her face with her dress, she groped her way to the door.
It did not give as she tried it. Then she remembered that Cron and his confederates had locked it from the outside.
She threw herself against the wooden panels with all her strength, but quickly comprehended that she could not break them. She ran to the window and looked down.
Smoke was swirling upward in such large black clouds that she caught only an indistinct view of the street below. The big red fire engine had pulled up beside the building and rubber-coated men were squirting streams of water on the roaring blaze.
Penny lifted the window sill and climbed out on the ledge. She clung there, waving one hand to attract attention to her plight.
Below, when the smoke cleared a little, she could see a solid bank of spectators, edged off neatly by a cordon of police. Others were trying to push their way through the crowd. A great clanging of bells announced the arrival of another fire company. It pulled in alongside the one already on the job.
With the precision of a war machine, the newcomers drove into action. A hydrant was quickly tapped and a long reel of hose swiftly unwound and connected. A water tower arose from the ground as if by magic, and soon a great stream was pouring from its peak into the blazing building.
Penny shouted for help, although she knew her voice would not carry above the roar of the flames. Then as she was beginning to despair, she was seen.
With quick discipline, the firemen placed a ladder directly beneath the window. Slowly it arose, section on section.
Now that rescue was in sight, Penny suddenly vanished through the window back into the room from which she had escaped. The crowd below groaned in unison, fearing that the girl had lost her courage and was afraid to descend the ladder from such a height.
But Penny quickly reappeared at the window, bearing two bulky objects in her arms. She had determined to save the stolen Rembrandt and one of the copies which would serve as damaging evidence against Cron and his confederates.
A fireman swiftly mounted the ladder to help the girl descend.
"You'll have to leave those pictures," he said tersely. "This wall is about ready to fall and we have to work fast."
"I can't leave them behind," Penny wailed. "This one painting is worth thousands of dollars!"
"Then give them to me," the fireman ordered tersely.
He helped Penny step from the ledge to the ladder.
"Don't look down," he commanded.
Penny gripped the sides of the ladder, descending very slowly, with the fireman just below to steady her should she grow dizzy. She was not afraid although the ladder weaved under her weight. Even when a cloud of dense smoke caused her to choke and cough, she did not falter.
As the ground loomed up, she glanced back at the window ledge where she had clung only a moment before. Flames were shooting out, licking greedily at the top rungs of the ladder.
A great shout went up from the crowd as Penny stepped to the ground uninjured.
"Here you are, Miss, safe and sound," the fireman said grimly. "And just in time too!"
Scarcely had the ladders been removed from the building when the wall fell inward. Penny did not speak for a minute. Now that it was all over, she felt weak and shaken. Her escape had been such a narrow one.
"Are you all right?" the fireman asked, taking her arm.
"Quite," Penny smiled. "You needn't hold me. I'll not faint."
"You have pluck, Miss. And your wrists are cut too. I'll call the doctor."
"No, don't bother. It's nothing," Penny protested. "Where are my pictures?"
"Here." The fireman handed them over to her. "It was foolish going back after them. You might have lost your life."
"I realize that now," Penny responded soberly, "but I just had to get those pictures. Thank you for helping me save them."
Before she could add that she felt deeply grateful for her own rescue as well, the fireman was called to another post.
With a policeman as a bodyguard, Penny pushed her way through the crowd, the precious Rembrandt and the duplicate clutched under her arm.
"I'll send you to the hospital where you can have those wrists properly dressed," the policeman said. "How did you cut them?"
"Trying to get out of the closet," Penny answered. "I was bound and gagged and locked in."
Tersely, in response to the officer's questions, she related her terrifying experience in the studio, and displayed the paintings as evidence of the plot in which Cron and his friends were involved.
"If the police go to Cron's studio right away they may be able to capture the entire gang," she finished. "But there's not a second to lose!"
"Leave it to me," the policeman assured her grimly.
He communicated with headquarters and in an incredibly short time a squad car picked up Penny and the officer, driving with all speed toward the studio of Hanley Cron.
When Hanley Cron and his three companions abandoned Penny to her fate, they hurriedly left the building. But in passing down the hallway, Hoges carelessly snubbed out a cigarette and dropped it on the floor.
The cigarette smoldered and did not go out. Soon a tiny flame leaped up, igniting the dirty old carpet which stretched the length of the hall. The fire spread rapidly, fed by wood that was very dry and brittle.
Unaware that they had started a disastrous blaze, the four men fled to Hanley Cron's studio apartment to make plans for a hasty departure.
"The game's up," Cron said to his companions. "It Christopher Nichols ever finds his daughter, he'll put the heat on us right. We can't get out of this town soon enough."
"Divide up the money, and we'll skip," Hoges answered gruffly.
Cron tore the cover from a day bed couch, and with a sharp knife slit open the mattress. He removed a neat, thick roll of bills.
"How much?" Max demanded.
"Forty thousand. Not a bad haul for a little over a week's work." Cron laughed triumphantly. "We sold that picture seven times, and not one of the suckers dared to squawk. If that Nichols girl hadn't horned in, the racket would have been good for another twenty thousand at least."
"We ought to have kept the picture," Hoges complained. "Then we could start up in another city and try the same thing over again."
Cron shook his head. "Too dangerous. If that Nichols girl should escape——"
"That's where we made a big mistake," Lynch cut in. "We shouldn't have left anything to chance."
"It's certain enough," Cron laughed harshly. "She may be a smart girl, but she's not smart enough to get out of that closet."
"Let's divide up the money and get out of here," Lynch said nervously. "Forty thousand dollars—that's ten grand apiece."
The men began to argue angrily over the proposed distribution, Hoges insisting that Lynch was not entitled to any part of the money received from the sale of the pictures.
"It was our racket, and you just horned in," he protested. "You took none of the risk."
"If I pass the word around, you'll never get out of town with any of the money," Lynch retorted sneeringly.
"We're willing to divide up," Hoges said hastily, "but in return we expect a split on the pearl necklace."
"That was a deal between Cron and me."
The argument waxed hotter, the men's voices rising until Hanley Cron feared they could be heard outside.
"Pipe down," he ordered. "Do you want to bring the police? The important thing now is to get away from here before we're caught. Why not split everything four ways and no hard feelings?"
"Okay," Lynch growled. "We divide even. Where are the pearls?"
"They're safe here," Cron answered. "I'll get them."
He started across the room, but just then a loud knock sounded on the door.
The four froze into tense attitudes.
"Better answer," Lynch whispered. "Maybe it's only your landlord."
"Who's there?" Cron demanded.
"Open up!" a voice shouted. "Open in the name of the law!"
"The police!" Cron muttered in an undertone. "Quick! Down the fire escape!"
"Open the door or we'll break it down!" came the shouted warning.
Cron and his companions ran to the window, there to halt in dismay as they faced three policemen who had crept up the iron stairway so quietly that they had not been heard. The four crooks were covered before they could reach for their guns.
"Hands up!" An officer ordered tersely, stepping through the window into the studio.
Cron and his confederates sullenly obeyed.
"What is the meaning of this outrage?" Cron asked with a show of indignation. "Do you realize who I am?"
"Maybe we'll be more sure of it after you've been finger-printed and mugged," the policeman retorted. "Keep your hands up."
"What's the charge against us?" Lynch questioned, with studied indifference, seating himself on the bed. It was not the first time he had ever been arrested. He frequently boasted that no jail would ever claim him.
"You're wanted on two counts," the policeman informed. "For theft of a pearl necklace belonging to Mrs. Dillon, and for stealing a valuable painting from the Gage Galleries."
"Anything else?" Cron inquired sarcastically.
"Yes, several other things, but I'll let the judge tell you about it."
"It takes evidence to make an arrest," Lynch said sneeringly. "Produce your proof."
"I'll introduce you to our star witness," the policeman retorted.
He crossed to the door and unlocked it. Penny Nichols and six policemen entered.
At sight of the girl the four crooks were taken aback. But they quickly covered their confusion.
"Can you identify these men?" Penny was asked.
"Yes, I can," she answered. "They are the ones who locked me in the closet and then set fire to the building."
"Set fire to the building?" Hoges echoed. "That's a lie."
"Shut up," Lynch growled.
"Here are the pictures which I saved as evidence," Penny continued, displaying the original Rembrandt and one of the copies.
"See here, this girl is stark crazy," Cron interposed. "I don't know where she obtained these pictures, but no one could be more delighted to have the Rembrandt recovered than myself. I am well connected at the museum and if you will only call the officials there they will assure you that this girl is making a most unjust accusation."
"You have pleasant companions," a policeman remarked, nodding in Lynch's direction.
The four men were lined up and searched. Only Cron was found to have a gun.
"You can't get me on that," he sneered. "I have a permit to carry a weapon."
The forty thousand dollars was brought to light.
"Quite a nice haul," a policeman commented, examining the roll of bills.
"You can't arrest a man for having money in his pocket," Lynch said harshly. "You don't find it marked do you?"
"The truth is, you have no case against us," Cron snapped. "It's only this silly girl's word against ours. No doubt she's been reading detective stories!"
"I can furnish an alibi for the entire day," Lynch added.
"Unless this ridiculous charge is dropped I warn you I'll sue for false arrest," Cron went on furiously.
The officers paid no heed to the talk, yet they knew that their case against the four was not water-tight. As Cron had said, it was a matter of Penny Nichols' testimony against the four. True, she had the Rembrandt as evidence, but it might be difficult to prove that the four men had been involved in the theft. They had painful recollections of other cases against Max Lynch which had dissolved like soap bubbles in a wind. The man had no equal at producing unexpected witnesses who for a sum of money would provide him with a complete alibi. His lawyer, employed at a yearly salary, was as clever as he was unscrupulous.
"Search the room," the police captain ordered. "The Dillon pearls must be here."
The men set about their task with system and thoroughness. They examined every inch of the mattress, they went through all of the clothing, even ripping out the linings of coats and jackets. The floor boards were tested to learn if any had been recently loosened.
"You'll not find the necklace here," Cron said harshly.
Penny watched the search with growing uneasiness. She had felt certain that the pearls would be found in the studio. The conversation she had overheard while tied in the closet had led her to believe that the necklace was in Cron's possession. It must be somewhere in the room.
She crossed over to a bookcase which the officers had not yet examined. Instantly, she noted that Hanley Cron was watching her intently. She lifted out the lower row of volumes. Nothing had been hidden behind them.
"Little Miss Detective!" Cron jeered.
Penny took out a few of the books on the second shelf. She uttered a little cry of surprise.
"My Black Imp!" she exclaimed, wheeling toward Cron. "So you were the one who entered my room and stole it."
Triumphantly, she caught up the little clay figure from its hiding place.
"Now I know you're crazy!" Cron snapped. "Someone sent that figure to me in the mail. And rightly it should have been returned to me too! You and that Coulter girl came here and robbed me of it."
Penny gazed thoughtfully down at the Black Imp. She recalled how startled Max Lynch had been when he had viewed it on her father's desk. Then later, either Cron or an agent of his, had risked capture to enter the Nichols house and recover the little statue. Why was it so valuable? What secret did it guard?
Suddenly, Penny knew. With a triumphant laugh, she raised the Black Imp and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a dozen pieces.
"Say, what's the idea?" a policeman demanded. Then he stared down at the floor.
Among the broken fragments of day lay Mrs. Dillon's pearl necklace.
"There's your evidence," Penny said calmly. "I think even Max Lynch may find it difficult to alibi this."
With a fatalistic shrug, the gambler turned to the policeman who guarded him.
"You win," he said. "Buckle on the cuffs and let's go."
"There's something I'd like to learn before you take these men away," Penny mentioned to the captain. "Mr. Hoges has a letter in his possession which I wish I might examine."
"Is this the one you mean?" the officer asked. The envelope he indicated had been taken from Hoges when he was searched a few minutes before.
"I think it is."
The policeman handed Penny the letter and he quickly examined it.
"This is the right one," she said in relief. "And it exonerates Amy Coulter of any wrong doing."
The brief message read:
"Mr. Hoges: I shall be unable to accept the work which you offered me. I am returning the money paid me as an advance fee."
Penny was jubilant at the way matters had ended. She had many questions to ask Cron and Max Lynch but she decided to postpone them, realizing that the men were not likely to reveal anything which could be used as evidence against them.
As the four crooks were led away, the captain waited to compliment Penny for her valuable assistance.
"Tell me, young lady," he commanded admiringly, "how did you know Mrs. Dillon's pearls were hidden inside that clay figure?"
"I wasn't absolutely certain," Penny admitted. "But a number of things made me suspicious. First, I recalled that the man who snatched the necklace from Mrs. Dillon ran into this studio."
"Could you identify that man?"
"I think you already have him under arrest. I don't know his name, but I feel certain he is the same person now that I have viewed him closely."
"He ran into this studio you say?"
"Yes, and when I entered I found Hanley Cron modeling the Black Imp. The possibility did not occur to me at the time, but now I know he must have received the pearls from the actual thief, and molded them into the wet clay."
"A very clever scheme."
"Yes, and it would have succeeded, save for one thing. Cron copied the statue of Amy Coulter's Black Imp. We thought he intended to put it to some commercial use, and took it from him."
"He permitted you to take it away?" the officer asked in surprise.
"It happened that a policeman came into the studio. I think he must have been afraid to make a fuss."
"Undoubtedly. Then what happened?"
"I took the statue to my father's office. Max Lynch came to talk with Dad and saw it. He hurried out of the office as if he had seen a ghost."
"Of course he knew the pearls were hidden inside the statue," the officer smiled. "He probably thought Mr. Nichols had discovered them and suspected the plot."
"That's the way I figured it out," Penny nodded.
"Our house was watched. Then one day the Black Imp mysteriously disappeared. I never saw it again until I entered this room."
"Either Cron or Lynch stole it."
"Cron I think, for the Black Imp was in his possession."
"Well, young lady, you've done a fine bit of work today," the captain said soberly. "It's evident that you're destined to follow in the footsteps of your illustrious father."
"Thank you, sir," Penny flushed.
With the four crooks on their way to jail, and the Rembrandt and the pearl necklace in the possession of the police, she felt that her responsibility was ended. Calling a taxicab, she drove to Amy Coulter's new rooming house.
"I have wonderful news for you!" she greeted the girl. "The painting has been recovered!"
"Then I'm exonerated?"
"Completely."
"Oh, Penny! It's your doing, I know. How can I thank you?" Tears of joy streamed down Amy's face.
She listened breathlessly to the story Penny related.
"So George Hoges turned out to be a thief!" she exclaimed. "When he asked me to copy a painting for him, I was suspicious that he had involved himself in something dishonest."
Penny spoke of the meeting she had witnessed in the park.
"Yes, Mr. Hoges gave me money," Amy acknowledged ruefully. "I needed it so badly or I shouldn't have listened to him."
"Then you knew you were to copy the Rembrandt?" Penny questioned quickly.
"Oh, no! He didn't tell me what painting I was to reproduce. I accepted the money because I needed it so badly. Later, when I thought the matter over more carefully, I realized that the scheme couldn't be an honest one. So I sent the money back."
"A fortunate thing that you did," Penny commented. "Had you kept the money you might have been accused of being one of the gang."
"I'm glad the painting has been recovered," Amy said. "And to think that my little Black Imp guarded the hiding place of Mrs. Dillon's jewels!"
Penny remembered that she had a taxicab waiting outside and hastily said goodbye. When she reached her father's office, he was talking on the telephone. He smiled broadly as he hung up the receiver.
"Well, I've heard all about it," he declared. "You'll be famous as soon as the evening papers are on the street. Reporters are on their way here now."
It developed that Mr. Nichols had not been informed of all the details of Penny's remarkable adventure. He was quite shaken when he learned of her narrow escape from death in the burning building. The warmth of his praise for her courage, brought the color rushing to the girl's cheeks.
"I only hope Cron and his friends receive the sentences they deserve," she commented.
"Don't worry, they will, Penny. You fairly snowed them under with damaging evidence."
Mr. Nichols was entirely correct in his opinion. Under police grilling, Hoges and Cron confessed to the crimes for which they were charged. Max Lynch refused to plead guilty but in the end a long legal battle availed him nothing. With his three companions he was sentenced to the state penitentiary.
Hanley Cron in his confession admitted that he had accepted a fee as a bribe for awarding the Huddleson prize to "Winged Night," a statue of inferior merit. The entire contest therefore was declared void. Months later a new competition was held, and to the delight of everyone Amy Coulter's Black Imp won the cherished prize.
Penny and her father were not to learn of these important developments for some time. But they were both elated at the outcome of the case.
"Well, you seem to have relieved your old Dad of a job," the detective smiled. "Now that Mrs. Dillon's necklace has been recovered, my work for the Insurance Company is over."
"I hope you haven't been cheated out of any fat fees on my account."
"The company will be pleased because its financial responsibility to Mrs. Dillon is over," the detective answered. "I may charge a double fee on the strength of your work!"
"And do I get half of it?" Penny countered.
Her father smiled broadly. "Perhaps, if you promise to lock it up in your bank account." He added with a chuckle: "I believe I could increase my profits by taking you into the firm. 'Nichols and Nichols.' How does that strike you?"
"I think it would look grand in print," Penny laughed. "Let's paint it on the door right now!"