Penny Nichols and the Black Imp

by Joan Clark

  Produced by Al Haines

  [Transcriber's note: Extensive research found no evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

  Penny Nichols

  and the

  Black Imp

  By

  JOAN CLARK

  The Goldsmith Publishing Company

  CHICAGO ------ NEW YORK

  COPYRIGHT MCMXXXVI BY

  THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY

  MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I. THE BLACK IMP II. A MYSTERIOUS PACKAGE III. THE THREAT IV. FOLLOWING AMY'S TRAIL V. BEHIND THE PANEL VI. A HOLDUP VII. AN INVITATION TO LUNCH VIII. A BOLD MOVE IX. THE ROBBERY X. HANLEY CRON'S STUDIO XI. A VISITOR XII. THE MISSING WORKMAN XIII. AN EMBARRASSING INTERVIEW XIV. THE MYSTERIOUS AGENT XV. A PUZZLING LETTER XVI. WATCHFUL WAITING XVII. "PRIVATE--KEEP OUT" XVIII. CAPTURED XIX. FIRE! XX. THE SECRET REVEALED

  The Black Imp

  CHAPTER I

  The Black Imp

  A slightly decrepit roadster lurched to an abrupt halt in front of theAltman residence, and the blond, blue-eyed driver hailed a plump,dark-haired girl who stood on the front porch.

  "Hello, Susan. Been waiting long?"

  "Only about ten minutes, Penny."

  "I'm terribly sorry to be late, but I think we can still make it ontime if we hurry."

  Before replying, Susan Altman slid into the front seat beside her chum,Penelope Nichols. Then she said frankly:

  "If we miss the affair altogether I shan't be broken hearted. I'mgoing solely to please you."

  Penny laughed as she steered the car smoothly through traffic.

  "I know you are, Sue. But I don't think we'll have such a dull time asyou imagine. It isn't every day that one has an opportunity to see afive thousand dollar statue unveiled."

  "Will the winner of the Huddleson prize get that much money?" Susanasked in awe.

  "Yes, and they say the competition this year has been very keen. Theshowing today at the Gage Galleries is a private one--the generalpublic won't be allowed to see the statues for a week or so."

  "Then how do we get in?"

  Penny displayed two printed cards. "Dad," she announced laconically.

  Penny's father, Christopher Nichols, a noted detective, was well knownin Belton City and had many influential friends. The tickets to thespecial showing of the prize statuary at the Gage Galleries had beenpresented to him and since he had no interest in the affair he hadpassed them on to his daughter.

  "The winning statue is to be unveiled at three o'clock," Pennydeclared. "What time is it now, Sue?"

  "Then we'll never make it," Penny groaned, stepping harder on thegasoline pedal.

  "Say, you slow down or I'll get out and walk," Susan protested. "Idon't intend to risk my life--not for any old statue!"

  Penny obediently slackened speed. Although she drove well and had thecar under perfect control she had been traveling a trifle fast."That's better," Susan approved. "At this speed there's absolutely nodanger----"

  Her words broke off abruptly as Penny slammed on the foot brake so hardthat she was flung forward in the seat. From a side street, a longgray sedan unexpectedly had entered the main boulevard, the driverutterly disregarding the stop sign.

  Penny swerved in time to avoid a crash, but the fenders of the two carsjarred together.

  The girls sprang out to see how much damage had been done. The driverof the gray sedan likewise drew up to the curbing and alighted. He wasa tall, thin man with a black moustache, immaculately dressed in graytweeds. He wore a gardenia in the lapel of his well-tailored coat.

  "See what you've done!" he accused angrily before either Penny or Susancould speak. "Just look at that."

  He pointed to the rear fender which had been badly dented and bent.Penny cast an appraising glance at her own car and was relieved to notethat save for a few minor scratches it had not been damaged.

  "It's too bad," she acknowledged with a polite show of sympathy."Didn't you see the boulevard stop?"

  The man turned upon her wrathfully. "Of course I saw it. And I madethe required stop too."

  "Oh, no you didn't," Susan interposed heatedly. "You just barged rightin without looking in either direction."

  "What do you intend to do about my fender?" the man demanded testily ofPenny, ignoring Susan entirely.

  "Nothing. The fault was entirely yours. You're lucky the accidentwasn't any worse."

  "We'll see about this," the driver snapped. He made a great ado ofcopying down the license number of Penny's car.

  "If you're determined to make a fuss, I should advise you to see myfather--his name is Christopher Nichols."

  "Nichols, the detective?"

  Penny could not restrain a smile for it was easy to see that the namehad startled the belligerent driver.

  "Yes," she admitted.

  With a scowl, the man returned paper and pencil to his pocket, notbothering to copy down the entire license number.

  "Why didn't you tell me that before?" he muttered, climbing back intohis car.

  "You didn't ask me."

  The man drove away, while Penny and Susan, after making a carefulexamination of the roadster, continued toward the Gage Galleries.

  "I guess it was lucky I had slowed down before we met that fellow,"Penny remarked. "Otherwise I couldn't have stopped in time to avert acrash."

  "Do you think he'll try to cause trouble?"

  "I doubt it. Legally he hasn't any grounds for complaint. He probablythought he could bluff me into paying for a new fender, but when hediscovered I had a detective for a father he changed his mind."

  Penny chuckled softly and drew up at the rear entrance of the GageGalleries. The street was crowded with fine limousines, but aftersearching for a minute or two the girls found a parking place.

  "We're late," Penny announced. "Let's go in the back way. It willsave time."

  They entered the rear door. Hurrying along the dark corridor, intentonly upon finding the main exhibition room, they did not observe auniformed attendant who was approaching from the opposite directionbearing a canvas covered painting. The girls ran into him.

  "Oh, I beg your pardon," Penny apologized. "I didn't see you at all."

  The man muttered something which the girls did not catch.

  "Can you tell us the way to the exhibition room where the Huddlesonprize ceramics are being displayed?" Susan requested.

  The attendant did not answer. Instead he moved swiftly on down thecorridor with his burden.

  "Real sociable, isn't he?" Penny commented. "But come on, Sue, we'llfind the place without his help."

  They followed the corridor until it branched off in several directions.As they paused uncertainly, another attendant approached them toinquire if he might be of assistance. In response to their question,he directed them to a room on the upper floor.

  The girls heard a hum of voices as they entered the exhibition hall.After all they were not late. Artists, sculptors, society women andart critics were moving about the room in stately groups, peeringcuriously at the various statues which were displayed along the walls.Penny and Susan felt slightly ill at ease in such company. Save forone other girl who appeared to be about their own age, they were theonly young people present.

  After showing their cards of admission, Penny and Susan joined themilling throng. They peered at first one statue and then another, butwere not really enthusiastic until they came to a tiny figure whichseemed to be attracting more than its share of attention.

  It was an unusual piece; a small, dejected imp
of clay who sat hunchedover a woodland log. The work had rhythm and grace.

  The girls studied the placard beneath the figure and Penny read aloud:

  "The Black Imp by Amy Coulter."

  "Sort of cute, isn't it?" Susan commented.

  From the conversation which flowed about them they quickly gatheredthat the Black Imp was considered by artists and critics to be one ofthe most promising entries in the contest. They heard severaldistinguished appearing persons say that they expected the figure towin first prize.

  "I am not so sure of that," another gentleman disagreed. "The workdeserves to win--but judges have strange opinions sometimes."

  "Especially a judge such as Hanley Cron," the other added dryly. As hespoke, he jerked his head in the direction of a tall, thin man whostood at the opposite side of the room.

  Until that moment, Penny and Susan had not noticed him. It was thesame driver who had caused them so much annoyance.

  "Gracious!" Penny exclaimed in an undertone as she made thedisconcerting discovery. "Do you suppose _he_ is Hanley Cron, thecontest judge?"

  "That's what those two men just said," Susan returned. "Let's get awayfrom here before he sees us."

  She tugged at her chum's hand but Penny would not budge.

  "Why should we run away, Sue? The accident was all his fault. Anyway,I'm curious to see the statue he'll select as the prize winner."

  "I hope he knows more about art than he does of driving automobiles."

  "Hanley Cron," Penny repeated thoughtfully to herself. "I've heardthat name before. Let me think--oh, now I remember. He's an artcritic for the _Belton City Star_."

  "I don't believe a man with his disposition could have a speck ofjudgment," Susan said irritably.

  A soft, musical laugh caused them both to turn quickly. Directlybehind stood the same girl they had noticed upon first entering theexhibition hall. She was slender and dark and wore her shining blackhair in a becoming coil at the back of her neck.

  "I couldn't help hearing what you said about Mr. Cron," the girldeclared, regarding them with twinkling eyes, "and I do hope you'rewrong. How dreadful it would be if he should award the five thousanddollar prize to some inferior piece of work--such as this silly BlackImp, for instance."

  "Why, we think it's the best figure here," Penny said in some surprise."Don't you consider Amy Coulter a good sculptress?"

  "Only moderately so. The girl works hard and is patheticallyambitious, but it takes more than that to win a prize."

  "You seem to know Miss Coulter well," Penny remarked.

  "Yes, indeed. I might call myself her best friend."

  "Are you an artist?" Susan questioned. Before the other could respond,a nicely dressed woman paused for a moment to admire the Black Imp.

  "You are to be congratulated, Miss Coulter," she said, addressing thegirl. "Your work has power. It deserves to win the prize."

  The woman moved on and Penny and Susan found themselves staring attheir new acquaintance in amazement.

  "Are you Amy Coulter?" Penny gasped.

  The girl smilingly admitted that she was. "I wanted to learn what youreally thought of my little figure," she declared.

  Penny and Susan assured her again that they liked it better than anypiece they had seen.

  "You don't look a bit like I imagined a famous sculptress would," Susansaid, slightly in awe.

  "Perhaps that's because I'm not famous."

  "You will be after the prize award is announced," Penny assured her."Everyone is saying your entry is the best."

  "I do think the Black Imp is good," the girl admitted slowly. "Ofcourse I was only joking about it a moment ago. I've labored over itfor months and it's my best work. I'm hoping--almost praying that I'llwin the prize. The money would mean everything to me."

  Before either Penny or Susan could speak, an elderly woman clapped herhands sharply together to attract attention. Immediately the roombecame quiet.

  "If you will kindly find seats, the program will start," the womanannounced.

  Susan and Penny secured chairs in the second row. When they lookedabout for Amy Coulter they noticed that she was sitting at the rear ofthe room, looking tense and worried.

  "Miss Coulter was nice, wasn't she?" Susan whispered. "I hope herentry wins."

  "So do I. You can tell this contest means a lot to her."

  When Hanley Cron was introduced to the audience he was greeted with amild round of applause in which Susan and Penny did not join. Theylistened closely to his speech however, and were forced to acknowledgethat the man was a good public speaker. His manners before a crowdcould not be criticized for he was both pleasant and witty. He praisedin general terms all of the many fine entries in the contest, andmentioned perfunctorily his regret that each contestant could not beawarded the coveted prize.

  Susan grew impatient. "Why doesn't he get to the point?" she fretted.

  At length the man did. As he prepared to make the all importantannouncement many leaned expectantly forward in their chairs. Susansmiled confidently back at Amy.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," Hanley Cron intoned, "I take great pleasure inawarding the five thousand dollar Huddleson prize to James Combertonfor his truly remarkable creation, 'Winged Night.'"

  A little buzz of excitement and obvious disappointment greeted theannouncement. Susan and Penny were aghast. While they did not pretendto be art critics, the statue which had been selected seemed to themfar inferior to the Black Imp. Apparently, many other persons sharedthe same opinion.

  As Hanley Cron, a trifle defiantly, went on to explain the variouspoints of merit which had caused him to select the prize winningstatue, some openly shook their heads in disagreement. There was agreat deal of whispering.

  "Poor Amy!" Penny commented regretfully to her chum. "She was sohopeful of winning."

  "And she should have too!" Susan whispered indignantly. "I told youHanley Cron couldn't know anything about judging a statue. He's just anoisy talker!"

  Penny smiled, knowing that her chum's opinion was decidedly biased.The girls were tactful enough not to turn and stare at Amy, but when itwas possible to look back without appearing to do so, they glancedtoward the seat in the rear row which the young sculptress hadoccupied. It was empty.

  "I guess she slipped away as soon as she heard the bad news," Pennysaid regretfully. "The announcement must have been a bitterdisappointment."

  Hanley Cron ended his speech a few minutes later and a silent,dissatisfied crowd arose to depart. Penny and Susan hurriedly startedtoward the door, preferring to get away before the art criticrecognized them.

  They did not reach the outside corridor, for a uniformed attendant cameswiftly into the room, closing the door firmly after him.

  "No one must leave this room!" he commanded the startled group. "Ashocking thing has just occurred. Someone has stolen a pricelessRembrandt painting from the adjoining exhibition hall!"