The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

  The muffled roar of an automobile engine caused Penny to gaze toward the street. A dark blue car had pulled up to the curbing. Three men in civilian garb climbed out, and after briefly surveying the rooming house, walked toward it.

  “Plain-clothes men from police headquarters,” Penny appraised instantly. “I can spot them a mile away. I wonder if they’re on the trail of Amy Coulter too?”

  CHAPTER IV

  Following Amy’s Trail

  The detectives glanced curiously at Penny as they came up the steps to the rooming house but failed to notice that she lingered by the street curbing to learn what had brought them to the scene. They rang the bell and the door was opened almost instantly by the landlady.

  “You may as well go away,” she began irately, then paused in confusion. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought it was someone else.”

  The plain clothes men flashed their badges and then inquired if Amy Coulter resided at the house.

  “You’re not the first that’s asked for her,” the woman informed. “Someone from the Gage Galleries has been telephoning all morning until it’s enough to drive a body wild. And just a minute ago a girl came to bother me.”

  “I take it then that Amy Coulter is not here?” one of the detectives interrupted.

  “No, she packed up her luggage and cleared out last night without leaving an address. What has she done now?”

  “We’re not certain that she has done anything, but we wish to question her.”

  “I thought something was wrong when she cleared out so fast,” the landlady declared. “She paid her rent all right, but she was a queer one. I was suspicious of her from the first.”

  The detectives talked with the landlady a few minutes longer before returning to their car.

  Penny had heard the entire conversation. The visit of the plain clothes men to the rooming house made it clear to her that the order definitely had gone out for Amy Coulter’s apprehension as a suspect in the Gage Galleries theft. It seemed likely that the young sculptress was aware of the situation, for otherwise why would she disappear without leaving a forwarding address?

  “Anyway, there’s nothing I can do,” Penny thought. “I may as well give up the search and go shopping.”

  Since Pearl Street was not far from the business section of Belton City, she left her automobile parked at the curbing and walked to the nearest department store.

  Penny had a long list of items to purchase, for Mrs. Gallup had mentioned a number of articles which were needed for the house. It was well after the noon hour when she finished the task. She dropped in at the store tearoom for a sandwich and cup of chocolate, then gathered up her packages and started back to her car.

  Turning the first corner, she was startled to notice a familiar figure across the street. A girl in a shabby blue serge suit was staring into the window of a candy shop.

  “That looks like Amy Coulter!” Penny thought excitedly.

  She hurried across the street to accost the girl. Upon hearing her name called Amy turned swiftly and her face lighted with pleasure.

  “Why, how nice to meet you again, Miss Nichols.”

  For an instant Penny felt embarrassed. Amy looked so genuinely glad to see her that it was difficult to believe the girl could know of the accusation against her. It would be awkward to bring up the subject.

  “I was hoping I might see you,” Penny declared after a brief silence. “In fact, I called at your rooming house only a little while ago. The landlady told me you had moved.”

  “Yes, I didn’t like the place very well. And it was too expensive for me.”

  “Where are you staying now?” Penny questioned, and then as the other girl hesitated for an answer, said quickly: “Don’t tell me unless you wish.”

  “Of course I want you to know, Miss Nichols. I have a room on Fulton Avenue only a few blocks from here. If you have time I’d like to have you visit me. I am on my way home now.”

  “I’d like to accompany you,” Penny said quickly. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  Amy Coulter looked surprised at such a response, but offered no comment. The girls devoted their conversation to casual subjects as they walked toward the rooming house.

  Presently they paused before a drab looking building in a quiet street. Amy offered no apology as she led Penny up four flights of stairs to a tiny room on the top floor.

  Penny noticed that Amy had arranged the cheap furniture to the best advantage. The gay home-made curtains at the window, bright pillows and an India cloth thrown over a battered old table, showed a nice appreciation of color values. The walls were attractive with fine paintings and etchings and in one corner of the room stood a box of statues and ceramics.

  “You have some lovely things,” Penny remarked admiringly.

  “The paintings were done by my father. You may have heard his name—Eli Coulter.”

  “Why, he was famous as an artist and sculptor!” Penny exclaimed. “You are his daughter?”

  “Yes, but few persons are aware of it. A name is forgotten so soon.” Unknowingly, Amy sighed. “My father was quite noted at the time of his death. That was only four years ago. It seems a century.”

  “Your father’s paintings will never be forgotten,” Penny assured her earnestly. “They will always be treasured.”

  “I hope so. Father really sacrificed himself to his art. He died in poverty.”

  “You have had a difficult time since then?” Penny asked kindly.

  “Yes, but I have no complaint. I shall manage to get along and I derive a real joy from my sculpting.”

  “Your father taught you, I suppose?”

  “All that I know I learned from him. But I can never equal his work.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Penny smiled. “You are only starting your career.”

  “I haven’t been able to sell any of my work. I am getting very discouraged. I had hoped to win the five thousand dollar Huddleson prize, but I failed.”

  “You should have won,” Penny declared loyally. “Your entry was by far the best.”

  “The judge didn’t think so.”

  “Who is Hanley Cron anyhow?” Penny scoffed. “Just a newspaper art critic! Do you consider him an authority?”

  “No, I don’t,” Amy returned. “It was rather odd that he was named judge of such an important contest.”

  “You see, it doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “The five thousand dollars would have meant something,” Amy smiled ruefully. “I could use it to pay my rent and buy new clothes. To say nothing of taking lessons in art. I’m desperate for money.”

  “Can’t I loan you a little?” Penny offered.

  “Oh, no! I have enough to keep going for some time. I only meant that I could use that prize money very advantageously.”

  “By the way, have you read the morning papers?” Penny inquired abruptly.

  “No, I was so busy getting moved that I haven’t glanced at a paper for days. I suppose the critics made fun of my poor entry.”

  “Upon the contrary, the Black Imp was highly praised. However, I was referring to the theft of the painting.”

  “Theft?” Amy asked blankly. “What painting do you mean?”

  “Then you haven’t heard the news,” Penny said, watching her closely.

  “I haven’t heard about any painting being stolen. Surely you don’t mean from the Gage Galleries?”

  “Yes, a Rembrandt was taken yesterday afternoon from the exhibition room. The police believe that one of the contestants for the Huddleson prize may have stolen it in spite—the theory sounds silly to me.”

  “But how was the picture smuggled from the museum?”

  “The police aren’t sure, but they think a girl carried it out as a package. She was seen by one of the guards entering a taxi cab.”

  Amy’s face flamed with color. “Miss Nichols, are you trying to tell me that I am under suspicion?” she demanded.

  Penny nodded. “Yes, that�
��s why I wanted to talk with you. The police are looking for you now.”

  “The police! But I’ve done nothing wrong. I didn’t take the painting! How can anyone accuse me of such a thing?”

  “It’s unjust of course. They suspect you because you left the Galleries only a few minutes before the theft of the painting was discovered.”

  “But that doesn’t prove I took the picture! I had a right to leave.”

  “No one would have thought anything of it, Amy, but the guard reported he saw you board a taxi cab with a flat package under your arm. Probably he was mistaken.”

  “I did take a package from the museum,” the girl acknowledged, “and it was a painting. However, it was my own—one which I had exhibited there for several months.”

  “You didn’t show the package to the guard who is stationed by the door?”

  “No, when I left the building he was not at his usual post. As I entered the taxi cab I heard someone call after me but I was upset and I didn’t want to go back. So I just pretended I didn’t hear.”

  “It’s too bad you didn’t return and show the picture,” Penny commented slowly. “That would have cleared you of all suspicion. As it is, you’re in an awkward position.”

  “Don’t you think the police will believe my story?”

  “If you can prove it—yes. I suppose someone at the Gage Galleries will have a record that the picture you took was your own.”

  Amy looked frightened. “I’m afraid not,” she admitted. “You see, the painting was wrapped up for me to carry home weeks ago. I didn’t want to bother with it so I kept it in my locker in the basement. Then yesterday I decided to take it with me.”

  “No one saw you go to your locker?”

  “Not to my knowledge.” Amy crossed the room and lifted out a small picture from her trunk. “See, this is the painting. A vase of flowers. It’s very poor work—certainly about a million miles removed from a genuine Rembrandt.”

  In silence Penny studied the painting. She really was not thinking of it at all. However, she noticed absently that it was similar in size to the dimensions which the evening papers had given for the stolen Rembrandt.

  “You don’t think the police will try to send me to jail?” Amy questioned tensely. “The accusation is utterly silly!”

  Penny did not know how to advise the girl. While she was inclined to believe Amy’s story, she was afraid that others might not.

  “Does anyone know of your present address?” she asked Amy.

  “Only you. I haven’t even had time to inform the post office of the change.”

  “Then why not remain in hiding for a few days until this trouble blows over?” Penny proposed after a moment’s thought. “I shouldn’t suggest it only I feel confident the real thief will be traced soon. Or at least new evidence will be uncovered.”

  “I shouldn’t like to appear a sneak or a coward. If I were sure the police would believe me, I’d be glad to go to them and give myself up.”

  “That’s just the point, Amy. You can’t tell what they’re likely to do. And the story is almost certain to come out in the papers.”

  “I shouldn’t like publicity,” Amy declared. “Perhaps you’re right about hiding.”

  “I’d stay off the street if possible,” Penny advised, arising to leave. “And it might be a good idea to take all your meals in.”

  “I shall,” Amy promised. “Thank you for bringing me the warning. I appreciate it more than I can say.”

  “If there are any new developments I’ll keep you posted,” Penny said as they parted at the door. “The truth surely will come out within a few days.”

  She walked back to Pearl Street for her automobile, but did not drive home. Instead she turned toward the Gage Galleries.

  “It seems to me the police and museum authorities have overlooked one important clue,” she reflected. “I can’t help thinking that the guard Susan and I met in the corridor may know something about the case. At least he should be questioned.”

  While it was true that a museum official had vouched for the honesty of the employee, Penny could not forget that the man had seemed greatly embarrassed at the encounter in the dark hall.

  She was quite aware that the loss of the valuable painting really was none of her affair. Nor would she have taken such a personal interest in the case had it not been for her acquaintance with Amy Coulter. She felt that if the girl were to be cleared of suspicion, someone would have to work in her behalf.

  Penny entered the Gage Galleries by the main front door and spoke to a guard whom she knew by sight.

  “Have you heard anything new regarding the missing Rembrandt?”

  “No, Miss,” the man responded politely. “The theft of the painting was a severe loss to the museum. So far the police have made no progress in tracing the crook.”

  “Can you tell me where I can locate a man by the name of Hoges who is employed here?” Penny next inquired.

  “You will not find him at the Galleries, Miss.”

  “You mean he’s off duty for the day?” Penny asked in disappointment.

  The guard’s response came as a distinct blow.

  “No, Miss. Mr. Hoges is away on a month’s vacation. He left the city yesterday to travel in the South.”

  CHAPTER V

  Behind the Panel

  Penny was disheartened at the information. With the museum attendant out of the city, she could not hope to be of assistance to Amy Coulter. The situation looked very dark for the young sculptress unless other clues regarding the identity of the art thief were discovered soon.

  “I wonder if this man Hoges really did go away on a vacation?” Penny mused. “He certainly vanished at the psychological moment!”

  Giving no hint of what was in her mind, she politely thanked the guard for the information and returned home. After leaving her packages she called upon Susan to relate the adventures of the day.

  “I think you were wise to tell Amy to hide,” Susan approved. “We know her story is true, but it doesn’t sound that way.”

  Penny was not certain that her father would take a similar viewpoint. She intended to tell him about Amy that evening and ask his advice regarding the situation, but directly after dinner Mr. Nichols isolated himself in his study, devoting himself to a new case upon which he was working.

  In the morning at breakfast Penny did manage to bring up the subject, but Mr. Nichols listened inattentively as he sipped his coffee.

  “I don’t believe you heard a word I said,” Penny complained finally.

  “What was that? Oh, yes, I did. You were saying something about Amy Coulter.”

  “Never mind,” Penny sighed. “I can tell your mind is a million miles away tracking down a wicked criminal.”

  “I hope the villain hasn’t gone that far,” Mr. Nichols chuckled. “Oh, by the way, you might tell Mrs. Gallup I’ll not be home for dinner.”

  Penny regarded her father severely.

  “Dad, have you forgotten what day this is.”

  “Tuesday the twentieth.”

  “This is the night of Mrs. Archibald Dillon’s big reception.”

  The detective looked disconcerted. “I forgot all about it,” he admitted. “How I hate those affairs unless I’m there on a salary watching for gem thieves! Mrs. Dillon is the worst social climber in Belton City.”

  “Just the same we accepted this invitation and we’ll have to go,” Penny said sternly.

  “I can’t make it. I have important work to do.”

  “But Dad—”

  “You go alone, Penny, and do the honors for the family. Tell Mrs. Dillon that I came down with croup most unexpectedly. Tell her anything you like, only count me out.”

  “She’ll never forgive you if you don’t go. Can’t you possibly make it?”

  Mr. Nichols frowned in annoyance. “I suppose I might be able to drop around late in the evening. Possibly in time to take you home.”

  “That would be better than not attending at
all.”

  “All right, we’ll leave it that way then. I’ll meet you about eleven o’clock tonight at Mrs. Dillon’s.”

  The detective hastily kissed his daughter goodbye and hurried away to the office.

  Penny did not look forward to the coming party. While Mrs. Dillon’s receptions were always elaborate, usually they were boring. Susan had not been invited and she doubted that many young people would attend.

  Penny sighed as she reflected that she might have spent a pleasant evening with a book. But she brightened a trifle as it occurred to her that the party would give her an opportunity to wear her new blue evening gown and silver slippers.

  Eight o’clock found her en route to the Dillon residence in a taxi. The car swung into a curving drive and halted in front of an imposing, white colonial house. A liveried servant opened the automobile door for her and Penny joined several other guests who were entering the marble hallway.

  “Miss Penelope Nichols,” announced a servant.

  It was all very formal and made Penny feel slightly ill at ease. She paused dutifully to greet her hostess.

  Mrs. Archibald Dillon, a plump woman, well past middle age, was gowned in an elegant beaded dress, low-cut and far too conspicuous for the occasion. She had acquired wealth through marriage, but while she was active in many clubs and various types of charity work, she had never been able to achieve her social ambitions.

  “My dear, didn’t your father come with you?” she inquired, giving Penny’s hand a slight pressure.

  “No, Mrs. Dillon, he was detained at the office on an important case. However, he will surely drop in before the evening is over.”

  Penny selected a chair in a quiet corner of the reception room and surveyed the throng. She saw few persons she actually knew although many she recognized from having seen their photographs in the newspapers. A long line of chairs along the north wall was completely unoccupied. Apparently, Mrs. Dillon had expected far more guests than had arrived.

  A listless orchestra played for dancing, but only a few couples were moving about the floor. There were no young people present. The only interesting feature of the party was the expensive costumes of the guests. Many of the women wore elaborate evening gowns of velvet and bright silk, adorning themselves with glittering diamonds, which however, could not compete with a string of matched pearls proudly displayed by the hostess.