by Joan Clark
CHAPTER VI
A Holdup
"Well, what do you think of it, my dear?" Mrs. Dillon questionedeagerly.
"Beautiful!" the guest praised, stepping back a pace that she mightview the painting to better advantage. "How fortunate you are to ownsuch a picture."
"I've always craved to possess a genuine masterpiece," Mrs. Dillondeclared enthusiastically. "It gives one prestige."
"And you say this is a Rembrandt, Mrs. Dillon?" the other asked. "Itmust have cost you a pretty penny."
"It did, but at that I consider the painting a great bargain. Thedealer assured me that if I wished to dispose of it at any time hewould promise to find an immediate purchaser."
"Undoubtedly, you made a fine deal," Mrs. Dillon's friend acknowledged."From whom did you buy the picture?"
"I can't tell you that. I pledged myself not to reveal his identity."
"Oh, I see. But you are quite sure you can depend upon the dealer'sword?"
"Yes, indeed. I hope you don't think I'd allow myself to be takenin----"
"Oh, no, certainly not. Only I've heard it said that unscrupulousdealers sometimes resort to tricks."
"I pride myself upon having a streak of Yankee shrewdness," Mrs. Dillonsaid, "and I do know art. When I saw this picture I recognized itinstantly as one I had seen at the Gage Galleries. Of course, thedealer didn't claim it was the genuine Rembrandt--quite the contrary."
"Then aren't you afraid----?"
"Not in the least," Mrs. Dillon interrupted. "Naturally, the dealerwouldn't subject himself to arrest by acknowledging that he was sellingstolen property."
"The painting is a very fine one," the other woman declared, "but Ican't say I should care to own it myself. You'll never be able todisplay it openly."
"Perhaps not, but I can show it privately to my friends and I'll derivesatisfaction just from knowing I own it."
"But if the police should suspect----"
"They won't, unless someone reports me. So far you are the only personwho knows that I have the painting."
"Oh, you may trust me, Mrs. Dillon. I'll never give you away."
"If the picture should ever be traced to me I can always claim that Iwas an innocent purchaser," Mrs. Dillon chuckled. "In fact, I don'tknow that this is the same picture that was taken from the GageGalleries. The dealer didn't tell me that it was an original."
"You're very shrewd," the other woman praised.
Mrs. Dillon carefully drew the velvet curtain over the painting andclosed the panel. As the two women moved toward the door they passedclose to Penny's chair. The girl held her breath, fearing detection.
She had not meant to be an eavesdropper, but the nature of Mrs.Dillon's conversation had made it impossible to reveal her presence inthe room without creating a difficult scene. However, should she bediscovered now, crouching behind the back of the chair, the situationwould prove even more embarrassing.
"We must return to the others before we're missed," Mrs. Dillon said,unlocking the door.
The two women went out, and Penny heard a slight metallic click whichat the moment did not strike her as having any significance. As thedoor closed she quickly arose from her chair.
Penny was dismayed at what she had seen and heard. It was difficultfor her to believe that Mrs. Dillon owned the painting which had beenstolen from the Gage Galleries. From the conversation she felt quitesure that the society woman had purchased the picture from a dishonestdealer who undoubtedly had received it from the original thief. YetMrs. Dillon had knowingly purchased stolen property and so in effectwas an accessory to the crime.
"She must be crazy to involve herself in a deal like that," Pennythought. "If the police learn she has the painting they'll confiscateit and arrest her."
Penny realized that she had it within her power to expose Mrs. Dillon.Even though she were a guest in the society woman's home, it was reallyher duty to reveal her findings to the police.
From her hiding place behind the chair, Penny had not been able tosecure a very good view of the painting. She was eager to examine itat close range.
Did she dare open the panel? She decided to take the chance. Jerkingat the long silken rope as she had seen Mrs. Dillon do, the girl wasgratified to observe the sham picture above the mantel swing slowlyback to reveal the hidden panel.
Penny quickly drew aside the velvet curtain which protected the stolenRembrandt.
The painting was one of the lesser known works of the famous artist, apicture of a child. Penny snapped on the electric light that she mightview it to better advantage.
At first glance the painting was very impressive, but as the girlstudied it more critically, she was assailed with doubt. The picturedid not seem to have the character or strength commonly associated withgreat works of art. The draftmanship seemed mechanical, the colorlacked depth.
"I wonder if it really is a genuine Rembrandt?" Penny thought.
The longer she gazed at it the more convinced she became that thepicture was merely a clever imitation. She wished that Amy Coulterwere there to offer an opinion. Penny did not trust her own judgment.Her knowledge of art was so slight that she might be mistaken inconsidering the Rembrandt a fraud.
Closing the panel, Penny sat down for an instant to think. She knewshe had made an important discovery, one which easily could cause Mrs.Dillon serious trouble should she report her findings to the police.Upon the other hand, the society woman was an important personage ofBelton City with many influential friends, and should she be falselyarrested the trouble would descend like an avalanche upon the head ofPenny Nichols.
"I'll have to move cautiously," the girl reflected. "It's no crime toown a copy of a stolen painting. If this picture is a fake, the policewould have no case against Mrs. Dillon."
The problem was too deep for Penny. She decided to reveal to no onethe discovery she had made until after she had discussed the matterwith her father. Quickly, she arose and went to the door.
To her surprise it did not open when she turned the knob. It took aninstant for the truth to dawn upon her. The door was locked!
"Mrs. Dillon must have turned the key when she went out," Pennythought, recalling that she had heard a slight metallic click. "Now Iam in it!"
She considered calling for help but immediately abandoned the idea. Itwould be difficult to explain how she had been locked in the librarywithout revealing the true details. And Mrs. Dillon would instantlysuspect that she had seen the hidden painting.
The room had two windows looking out upon the front lawn. Directlybeneath was a cultivated bed of flowers which Penny decided must besacrificed if necessary to the occasion. She switched out the electriclights, and raising one of the windows peered in both directions to seethat the coast was clear.
Quickly she climbed over the sill, hung by her fingers tips for aninstant, then dropped lightly down to the ground, crushing severalchoice plants underfoot.
Before she could turn she felt her arms pinioned behind her back in agrasp of steel.
"Not so fast, young lady!" said a gruff voice.
Penny whirled around to face the man who had captured her. She beganto laugh.
"Dad!"
"Penny! I thought I had caught a young lady burglar. What are youtrying to do?"
"Escape from the library."
"So I observe. But have you any objection to using a door? In politesociety I believe that's the accepted method of leaving a house."
"The library door was locked," Penny explained hastily. "And I havegood reason for wanting to get away without being seen by anyone."
"In that case, always close the window after you," Mr. Nicholschuckled. "Here, I'll boost you up and you can pull it down."
After Penny had lowered the sash, they hurriedly moved away from thewindow.
"Now tell me all about it," the detective invited. "Did you lose yourbag of loot?"
"You know very well I wasn't doing anything I shouldn't," Pennycountered,
"but you nearly frightened me to death when you nabbed me."
"I just happened to see you climbing out of the window as I came up thepath," the detective smiled. "I thought perhaps someone was escapingwith the family jewels."
"Speaking of jewelry, there's plenty of it around tonight. Theballroom is fairly ablaze with it."
"Never mind the jewelry," Mr. Nichols said. "What were you doing inthe library?"
Leading her father to a secluded stone bench in the garden, Pennyrelated all that she had seen and heard.
"I wish you could see the picture," she ended. "I'm almost certainit's a fake. If I can smuggle you into the library, will you look atit?"
"No, Penny, I will not. You seem to forget that we're guests of Mrs.Dillon."
"Yes, but if she has the stolen Rembrandt in her possession, isn't itour duty to notify the police?"
"Do you know that she has the stolen painting?"
"No, in fact I rather suspect she's been cheated by a dishonest dealer."
"In that event, you'd only stir up a hornet's nest without doing aparticle of good. In fact, exposing Mrs. Dillon might give the realthief a warning to lie low."
"How do you mean, Dad?"
"Why, the moment Mrs. Dillon is arrested, the dealer from whom shepurchased the picture will disappear. Then there will be no way totrace the real thief."
"You're assuming that the dealer and the thief worked together eventhough the painting which Mrs. Dillon bought may have been a fake."
"It's quite possible, Penny. Some day when the time is more opportune,I'll explain to you how picture thieves work their racket. For themoment I wish you'd accept my opinion that this case is packed withdynamite. My advice to you is to be very sure of what you're doingbefore you start any action."
"I guess you're right," Penny agreed. "I'll not do anything rash."
"The case may shake down in a few days," Mr. Nichols went on. "In themeantime, Mrs. Dillon isn't going to dispose of her picture. She'llnot find it as easy to sell as she anticipates."
The detective arose from the bench after glancing at his watch.
"We'll have to go inside now," he said, "or the party will be over."
They entered the house and after wandering about for a few minutesencountered Mrs. Dillon. She greeted the detective cordially and thesmile she bestowed upon Penny disclosed that she had not even noticedthe girl's long absence from the ballroom.
"How do you like her?" Penny whispered to her father as they sought therefreshment table.
The detective shrugged. "She serves very good punch."
Mr. Nichols knew nearly all of the guests, either personally or byreputation. Penny noticed that as he appeared to talk casually withone person after another, actually he was surveying the throng somewhatcritically.
"You were right about the jewelry," he said in an undertone to hisdaughter. "That necklace Mrs. Dillon is wearing must be worth at leasta cool ten thousand dollars."
"I should think she'd be afraid of losing it," Penny commented.
"Oh, it's probably insured for all it's worth," Mr. Nichols returnedcasually.
The orchestra had struck up again and as other couples went out on thefloor, Penny tugged at her father's sleeve.
"Come on, Dad. Let's dance."
"You know I hate it, Penny."
"Just one," she pleaded. "I've had no fun at all this evening."
"Oh, all right," he gave in. "But remember, one dance is the limit."
"That depends upon how many times you step on my feet," Penny laughed.
Actually, Christopher Nichols was a far better dancer than he imaginedhimself to be. His steps were introduced in a mechanical routine whichsometimes annoyed Penny, but otherwise he made an excellent partner,gliding smoothly over the floor with the ease and grace of a young man.
"How am I doing?" he mumbled in his daughter's ear as he whirled herdeftly about to avoid striking another couple.
"Not bad at all," Penny responded, smiling. "Consider yourself engagedfor the next dance."
"Only one I said. I don't want to be laid up with rheumatism tomorrow."
"Rheumatism!" Penny scoffed.
She had spoken the word in an ordinary tone but it sounded as if shehad shouted it for the music ended unexpectedly in the middle of astrain, trailing off into discordant tones. The amazed dancers halted,looking toward the orchestra to see what was wrong.
Penny felt the arm which her father held about her waist stiffen. Ascream of terror rippled over the room.
Two men with white handkerchiefs pulled over their faces, had enteredthe ballroom through the double French doors opening into the garden.They trained their revolvers upon the dancers.
"This is a stick-up!" one announced grimly. "Put up your hands andstand against the north wall!"
