by Joan Clark
CHAPTER III
The Threat
Max Lynch smiled disarmingly as he seated himself in a chair oppositethe detective.
"You have an abrupt way with your clients, Nichols."
"You're no client of mine," the detective retorted. "You never havebeen and you never will be!"
The gambler continued to smile blandly, refusing to take offense. "Iadmit I've never hired you on a job of my own," he said. "But many atime a guy has said to me 'Who is the best private dick in town?' and Isays 'Chris Nichols,' just like that. It has brought you some nicejobs."
"I don't believe I've ever taken any case through your influence, MaxLynch. 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 pastinga dude customer of mine over at my casino last night. Dutch is one ofmy bouncers and this fellow started upsetting the faro tables after hehad lost his roll. Dutch bounced him out so hard the fellow is in thehospital with a broken jaw."
"And you want me to send the man some flowers?" the detective askedsarcastically.
Max Lynch ignored the thrust. "It's this way," he explained. "The guyturned out to be a big shot of the town--a broker or something. And hehas turned so much heat on the judge the poor old fossil is afraid tolet Dutch go. Now it happens this broker is an old friend and clientof 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 gethim to drop his charges and have the case nolled there's half a grandin 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 ona 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 thedoor.
"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 clickingangrily 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 havepermitted you to listen to the conversation."
"I'm glad you did. Only it made the chills run down my spine to hearthat 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 attemptedbribery?"
"I wish I could," her father answered. "Max is a slippery eel tocatch. The police have been trying for years to get evidence againsthim--they always fail."
"But he deliberately tried to bribe you, Dad. Surely that ought to beenough 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 hiredwitnesses. He is clever and cagey. Several times he has been broughtto 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 younoticed 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, especiallydiamonds."
"I suppose he came by them dishonestly."
"Possibly, although he could easily afford to buy fine jewels with theprofit 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 islocated just over the county line," he explained. "It happens that thesheriff has a very charitable attitude toward Lynch's gamblingenterprises."
"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 ofwhat 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 thatshe should dismiss the matter from her mind yet that was exactly whatshe could not do. Ever since she could remember Mr. Nichols had liveda dangerous life. He had trailed and captured daring criminals andduring his lengthy career, first as a police officer and later as aprivate detective, had received many threats. Several times he hadescaped violence by a narrow margin. Usually Penny did not worry, butMax Lynch had impressed her as a man who would seek retaliation.
The girl was so preoccupied as they drove toward the Nichols' home thatthe detective commented upon her silence.
"Forget it," he advised kindly. "I know how to deal with Max'sstrong-arm squad."
Penny halted the car on the driveway and the detective alighted to openthe garage doors. She drove in and snapped off the ignition. Togethershe and her father walked up the stepping-stone path to the rearentrance of the house.
The Nichols' residence was not imposing in appearance but thewell-shrubbed grounds gave it a home-like air. A grass tennis courtoccupied one part of the lot while the opposite side was devoted toMrs. Gallup's flowers. Since the death of Penny's mother, the kindlywoman had served as a faithful housekeeper.
Mrs. Gallup, her plump arms covered with flour, was making biscuitswhen Penny and her father entered the neat kitchen.
"I'm slow tonight," she apologized. "All afternoon agents and peddlershave 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 comeyet?"
"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 curiousto learn what had been published concerning the stolen Rembrandt. Sheran to the mailbox and soon had the sheet spread out on the floor. Asshe had expected, the story appeared on the front page. And there wasa slightly blurred picture of the painting which had been stolen.Penny studied it carefully and read the story several times beforerelinquishing 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 expectto 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 policeexpecting to make an arrest."
"It's probably just some reporter's idea," Mr. Nichols answeredcarelessly.
"I certainly hope so. Of course, it's possible the police have tracedthe real culprit by this time. I hate to think Amy Coulter is undersuspicion."
After Mr. Nichols had read the newspaper, Penny carefully cut out thestory which concerned the theft at the Gage Galleries, including thereproduction of the missing painting and a map of the various rooms ofthe museum.
"Do you intend to do a little private work on the case?" the detectiveinquired, slightly amused.
Penny laughed and shook her head. "No, I was just interested because Ihappened to be at the Galleries when the painting disappeared."
In an inside section of the paper she found an article which had beenwritten by the art critic, Hanle
y Cron. He discussed at length hisselection of the prize winning statue, but while he listed a number offigures 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 othercritics have to say about it," Penny announced. "You should have seenthe 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 thestreet corner to purchase two other evening papers. She turned to theart sections and was gratified to discover that Hanley Cron's selectionof the statue, "Winged Night," was severely criticized by variousauthorities. Amy Coulter's entry was highly praised and one writerventured to say that it should have been awarded thefive-thousand-dollar prize.
Penny showed the papers to Mrs. Gallup and her father, feeling that herjudgment had been confirmed. However, she was deeply troubled by thesimilarity of the news stories regarding the theft of the painting.Each account mentioned that the police expected to make an arrest soonand one said that officials of the museum were of the opinion thepainting had been stolen by a disgruntled contestant for the Huddlesonprize.
"They must mean Amy," Penny declared. "I wonder if she has any ideashe 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 detectiveannounced as he returned to the living room after answering thesummons. "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 thestolen painting," Penny urged, helping her father into his coat. "Findout 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, Pennywas waiting up for him when he entered the house.
"What did you learn?" she demanded instantly. "Is Amy Coulter undersuspicion?"
"Oh, I didn't consider it a good policy to ask questions about a matterwhich was none of my concern."
"Then you found out nothing," Penny cried in disappointment. "And I'vebeen sitting up waiting for you too!"
"I didn't say what I learned," Mr. Nichols smiled. "I merely mentionedthat I did not make any inquiries."
"You did learn something then! Tell me!"
"Nothing very encouraging, Penny. The police are after this girl--atleast 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 arooming 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 detectivereturned. "If you land in jail for assisting a criminal I suppose Ican always arrange to bail you out!"
They both knew that Penny would never feel comfortable in her minduntil she had warned Amy Coulter of the accusation against her.
Directly after breakfast the next morning Penny took the car and droveto Pearl Street. She did not have Amy's exact address but she was ofthe opinion that it would not be difficult to locate the right house.Therefore, she was dismayed to discover that the street seemed toconsist of uniform looking dwelling places, nearly all with "room forrent" 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 eachlikely looking house, inquiring if anyone by the name of Amy Coulterroomed there. She had covered nearly half the street and was growingvery discouraged when she halted at a place which looked cleaner andslightly 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 askedmechanically, 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 tookher 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 wasdisappointed at not finding Amy, and a little troubled to learn thatthe youthful sculptress had departed from the rooming house withoutleaving an address. Her disappearance looked almost like flight.
The muffled roar of an automobile engine caused Penny to gaze towardthe street. A dark blue car had pulled up to the curbing. Three menin civilian garb climbed out, and after briefly surveying the roominghouse, walked toward it.
"Plain-clothes men from police headquarters," Penny appraisedinstantly. "I can spot them a mile away. I wonder if they're on thetrail of Amy Coulter too?"
