“Well, she deserved to be. She shouldn’t have tried to buy stolen property.”
“Let me look on the underside of the canvas,” Amy suggested. “Sometimes that will give a clue as to the age of a painting.”
They pulled the picture out from the wall and peered behind it. Directly in the center of the canvas was a strange, complicated symbol and beneath it the initials, “G. D.” Both had been inscribed in India ink.
“What’s that for?” Penny questioned.
“I wonder myself,” Amy replied.
“Then it isn’t customary to put symbols or initials on the back of a painting?”
“Decidedly not.”
The girls studied the marking for a minute. They could make nothing of it.
“I can’t explain the symbol,” Amy said, “but I’m convinced this painting is a fraud.”
Penny had expected such a verdict as it confirmed her own observations, but for her friend’s sake she was sorry that the painting had not turned out to be the original Rembrandt. Had they actually located the stolen picture it would be a simple matter to lay their evidence before the police and demand that Mrs. Dillon be forced to reveal the dealer from whom she purchased the property.
“Everything is in a queer muddle now,” Penny commented thoughtfully. “Mrs. Dillon really isn’t guilty of any crime at all, for she didn’t buy a stolen picture. We can’t very well cause her arrest.”
“Mrs. Dillon should complain to the police that she was cheated.”
“She doesn’t know it yet,” Penny chuckled. “When she finds out about it, I imagine she’ll never report the dealer. Her own part in the affair would be too humiliating. Even if she didn’t buy stolen property, that was her intention.”
“I suppose the real crooks counted upon just such a reaction,” Amy said. “When they sold her that fake painting they knew they were safe.”
“And in the meantime the genuine Rembrandt is still missing,” Penny replied musingly. “I have a suspicion this dishonest dealer, who sold Mrs. Dillon the fake picture, might be able to throw a little light upon the subject.”
“But how will we ever trace him unless we notify the police?”
“I am afraid that would be a sure way of losing his trail completely,” Penny replied. “Mrs. Dillon’s arrest would be the signal for the dishonest dealer to get out of town.”
“That’s probably true.”
“We must work this thing out cautiously,” Penny declared. “Perhaps if we went to Mrs. Dillon and talked with her—”
She broke off as they heard approaching footsteps in the hall.
“The maid!” Amy whispered.
“Quick!” Penny exclaimed in an undertone. “Help me get this picture back into place before she comes!”
CHAPTER IX
The Robbery
The girls hastily jerked the velvet curtains over the painting and closed the secret panel. When the maid entered the room a moment later they were gazing with rapt interest at the picture which served to disguise the Rembrandt.
“We must be going,” Penny said casually for the benefit of the servant. “Thank you for permitting us to see the canvas.”
Now that she and Amy had viewed Mrs. Dillon’s purchase they were eager to leave the house before their identity was discovered.
“I’ll tell Mrs. Dillon you were here,” the maid said, escorting the girls to the front door. “I don’t believe you mentioned your names.”
Penny and Amy pretended not to hear. They went out the door before the servant could question them further.
Safe on the street, the girls congratulated themselves upon the success of their scheme.
“Mrs. Dillon is almost certain to learn what we did,” Amy declared uneasily.
“Oh, she’ll hear about it all right when she comes home,” Penny agreed, “but she’ll have no idea who called.”
“The maid may describe us.”
“Possibly, but you’re safe, for Mrs. Dillon never met you, did she?”
“No, I doubt that I would even recognize the woman if I met her on the street. I’ve seen her pictures in the paper though.”
“Even if Mrs. Dillon suspects that I came to her house she won’t be sure I saw the Rembrandt,” Penny commented thoughtfully. “She has no suspicion that I know about the picture.”
“What will you do now that you know it’s a fake?” Amy questioned.
“I haven’t decided yet. I’d like to find out where Mrs. Dillon bought the painting—that might give us a clue as to the real thief. But before I question her I think perhaps I should talk the matter over with Father.”
“I imagine it would be wise,” Amy agreed.
The girls were passing a restaurant and Penny suddenly remembered that neither of them had lunched. At her suggestion they entered and sat down at a table for two near the front window.
“Hanley Cron has his studio in that building across the street,” Amy remarked as they waited for the waitress to serve them.
“Does he really?” Penny asked with interest. “Do you know Mr. Cron personally.”
“Oh, no, only by sight. And the less I see of him from now on the better I shall like it!”
“I don’t blame you, Amy. He didn’t give you a fair deal in the contest at all. I dislike the man myself.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t take the competition so seriously. I admit I was terribly disappointed. It wasn’t just the money—although goodness knows I need it.”
“Everyone said your statue should have won.”
“Oh, well, it’s no use thinking about it now,” Amy smiled. “I don’t even dare go back to the museum to get the Black Imp.”
“I’ll stop in for it if you wish.”
“No, the authorities would never give it to you without asking a lot of questions. I’ll just wait until the trouble blows over. It will be soon, don’t you think?”
“I’m sure of it, Amy. It’s ridiculous that you were ever charged with the theft.”
The girls finished their luncheon and Penny succeeded in capturing both checks. She was very glad of the opportunity for she suspected that her friend was low in funds. They emerged from the restaurant just as a large gray automobile pulled up to the curbing on the opposite side of the street.
“It’s Mrs. Dillon!” Penny exclaimed, pausing to stare. “She must be late for her appointment with Hanley Cron.”
The woman who was garbed in an elaborate afternoon gown, alighted from the car. She held a beaded bag clutched tightly in her hand.
Mrs. Dillon spoke for a moment with her chauffeur, then walked toward the building which housed Hanley Cron’s studio.
Penny and Amy noticed a man in ragged clothing and with cap pulled low over his eyes, who stood lounging in the doorway. He had been watching Mrs. Dillon narrowly. Suddenly, he moved forward, blocking her path.
Before either of the girls were aware of the man’s intention, he snatched the woman’s purse and darted away, disappearing into the nearest alley.
“Help! Help!” Mrs. Dillon screamed frantically. “Police!”
With one accord, Penny and Amy ran across the street.
“My pearls!” Mrs. Dillon moaned. “They were in my handbag! I’ve lost a fortune!”
Penny and Amy reached the entrance of the alley in time to see the thief stealthily climbing a fire escape.
“Quick! Maybe we can head him off!” Penny cried.
While Amy ran into the building to give the alarm, Penny daringly ascended the fire escape. She saw the man climb hastily through an open window on the upper floor and disappear.
“If Amy guards the lower exits we’ll capture him yet!” Penny thought.
Without stopping to consider that she might be endangering her life, the girl stepped through the open window. The room in which she found herself was an artist’s studio and apparently it was deserted.
Penny glanced quickly about. There was no sign of the thief. She darted across the room to the hall door. To her astonishment, it
was locked from the inside.
“May I ask what you are doing in my apartment?” a cold, masculine voice demanded.
Penny whirled around to face Hanley Cron. He had entered the studio from an adjoining kitchenette.
“Oh, Mr. Cron, did you see him in here?” she gasped.
“Did I see whom?” the man asked with provoking calmness.
“A thief just entered your studio by means of the fire escape,” Penny informed. “I saw him come in here.”
Hanley Cron shook his head and a slight sneer played over his lips. “No one has been in my studio during the past hour except yourself.”
“But I’m positive I saw him. He entered through the open window.”
“I’ve been in the studio all the time. As you see, the outside door is locked. The man couldn’t have escaped.”
Penny was baffled. Although several other windows opened off the fire escape, it was difficult to make herself believe that she had been mistaken. However, a careful glance about the room assured her that the thief was not hiding there.
“Will you leave?” Cron asked impatiently. “Your story about a thief running up the fire escape doesn’t ring true. You probably used it as an excuse to get in here and spy!”
“You’ll soon learn that it’s the truth,” Penny exclaimed with rising anger. “Just wait until your friend Mrs. Dillon arrives.”
“What has she to do with it?”
“Her pearls were stolen. And it was partly your fault too, Mr. Cron, because you invited her to call at your studio on the way to the bank! You must have known she ran a great risk in carrying that necklace unguarded.”
“Are you meaning to imply—?”
“I’m not hinting anything,” Penny returned shortly. She was provoked at herself for wasting to much time in idle talk. It had given the thief an opportunity to escape from the building.
She turned to go, but just then her attention was drawn to a small statue upon which Cron evidently had been working. His smock was splattered with wet clay and the little figure which rested on a nearby pedestal had not yet fully dried.
As the girl’s gaze wandered to the statue, Cron became slightly confused. Picking up a dark cloth from the floor he covered the mass of clay, endeavoring to make the action appear casual.
Penny was not to be deceived. She instantly divined that the art critic did not wish her to see his work. But she had caught a glimpse of the statue. She had seen enough to know that Hanley Cron was making a copy of the Black Imp—Amy Coulter’s entry in the Huddleson prize contest!
CHAPTER X
Hanley Cron’s Studio
Penny wondered why Hanley Cron should wish to duplicate the Black Imp. He had not thought highly enough of it even to award Amy honorable mention in the Huddleson contest.
She had no time to consider the matter, for her chief thought was to capture the jewel thief before he escaped from the building. Already she feared that she had lost him.
“Why do you keep your studio door locked from the inside?” she demanded, turning the key to open it.
“Because I don’t care to be interrupted while I am working,” Cron retorted significantly. “As a rule, visitors don’t have the effrontery to come in the windows!”
Penny did not reply to the gibe. She opened the door just as Amy came running up the corridor, holding something in her hand. She stopped short when she saw Hanley Cron.
“Amy Coulter, I believe,” he said sharply. “Wanted by the police.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” the girl retorted.
“You are under suspicion for the theft of a valuable painting from the Gage Galleries.”
“I don’t know anything about the picture.”
“The charge is silly,” Penny added.
“You seem to have an unlucky faculty of being present whenever valuables are stolen,” Cron commented coldly. “Isn’t that Mrs. Dillon’s bag you have in your hand?”
“Yes, it is. I picked it up by the elevator. It was lying on the floor.”
“The thief must have dropped it,” Penny declared. “Are the pearls gone?”
“I haven’t even looked yet,” Amy admitted.
She offered the beaded bag to Penny who promptly turned it inside out. Save for a compact and a handkerchief the purse was empty.
“The pearls are missing all right,” Cron commented, looking half-accusingly at Amy.
“Don’t you dare suggest I had anything to do with it!” the girl cried furiously. “Mrs. Dillon will tell you that Penny and I were only trying to help!”
“I don’t know anything about the pearls,” Cron replied cuttingly, “but I intend to turn you over to the police for questioning in regard to the stolen painting.”
Penny turned blazing eyes upon the art critic.
“Before you do that, Mr. Cron, you might explain to Miss Coulter why you are copying her statue!”
Darting across the room, she snatched off the cloth which covered the sculptor’s work.
“Why, it’s my Black Imp!” Amy cried in surprise. “You’ve reproduced it in every detail!”
Hanley Cron was taken aback at the unexpected exposure, but he quickly regained his usual nonchalance.
“I rather liked the figure,” he said inadequately. “That was why I copied it. I had no other reason.”
“You didn’t like the Black Imp well enough to award it a prize,” Amy cried indignantly. “You have a very good reason for reproducing the statue—perhaps you intend to put it to commercial use!”
“You flatter yourself, Miss Coulter. The statue has no value commercially or otherwise.”
“You have no right to copy it,” Amy insisted, with increasing anger. “The Black Imp is solely my work.”
Before either Hanley Cron or Penny guessed the girl’s intention, she darted across the room and snatched the little figure from the pedestal.
“What are you doing?” the sculptor demanded harshly.
“I’m going to take the Black Imp with me. You’ve no right to it!”
“Drop that!”
Furiously, Cron caught the girl by the wrist, giving it a cruel wrench. Amy would not relinquish the mass of wet clay and Penny hastened to assist her. In the midst of the struggle, the door opened and a policeman looked in.
“What’s going on here?”
Hanley Cron’s hand fell from Amy’s arm. The girls expected him to make a direct charge against them but he seemed confused by the appearance of the policeman.
“We’re not having any trouble, officer,” he muttered. “Just a little friendly argument about some of my work.”
“Friendly, eh?” the policeman questioned. He gazed inquiringly at Penny and Amy.
“It was really nothing,” the latter said hurriedly. “We merely disagreed about a statue.”
The girls edged toward the door, Amy still clutching the Black Imp in her hands. They both confidently expected that Cron would bring up the matter of the stolen painting, but for some reason which they could not fathom, he stood mute.
The policeman, however, blocked the exit.
“Just a minute,” he said. “What’s this bag doing here?” He picked up the beaded purse which had been dropped on the table.
Penny explained where Amy had found it and told of her own attempt to capture the jewel thief.
“The man didn’t come into my studio,” Cron interposed. “These girls are so excited they don’t know what they saw.”
“The thief came up the fire escape,” Penny insisted. “I admit I may have been mistaken as to the window he entered.”
“You were,” Cron said shortly.
“I guess it doesn’t matter greatly now,” Penny returned. “By this time the thief is probably blocks away.”
It was Mrs. Dillon who had called the policeman. She had noticed him at the corner and had screamed for help. He had mounted the stairs so swiftly that she had been unable to keep pace with him. Now she hurried up, breathless from exertion. The corridor was
rapidly filling with excited occupants of the building who had learned of the theft.
“Oh, thank goodness you’ve recovered my bag!” Mrs. Dillon cried joyfully, as she entered the studio room.
“Your pearls are gone,” the policeman told her, handing over the purse. “The thief dropped the bag in the hallway after he had rifled it.”
Mrs. Dillon sank weakly down in the nearest chair. Her face was white and Penny could not help feeling sorry for her.
“Can you describe the thief?” the officer questioned.
“Oh, I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Dillon murmured. “I really didn’t notice him at all until he came up to me. He asked me for fifty cents. When I refused he snatched my bag.”
“It was a planned robbery, I think,” Penny interposed. “I noticed that the man was waiting when Mrs. Dillon drove up. He seemed to be watching for her car.”
The policeman directed his questions toward Penny who answered them to the best of her ability. However, she was unable to furnish a very good description of the thief.
“Officer, you must find that man,” Mrs. Dillon said urgently. “I’ll pay a liberal reward for the return of my jewels. I must have them back! They represent a fortune!”
“I’ll do the best I can, Madam.”
“The pearls will be recovered, Mrs. Dillon,” Hanley Cron said soothingly. “Our police force is very efficient.”
“I shouldn’t have carried the pearls in my purse,” Mrs. Dillon moaned. “Christopher Nichols warned me. I should have heeded his words.”
“Where were you when the bag was snatched?” the officer questioned.
“I had just left my car. I was coming here to meet Mr. Cron. We were taking luncheon together.”
“Had you told anyone that you were carrying the pearls in the purse?”
“Only Mr. Cron. Of course Christopher Nichols was aware of my intention.”
“I knew you were taking the jewels to the bank vault,” Penny informed. “I overheard you talking at the ball, and I believe others must have listened to the conversation too.”
“No guest of mine could be guilty of the theft,” Mrs. Dillon replied in a shocked voice. “The man who snatched the bag was a stranger.”
“He may have been employed by another,” Penny suggested.
Amy was decidedly uneasy in the presence of Hanley Cron and the policeman, fearing that at any moment some reference might be made to the stolen painting. She could not understand why the art critic remained silent since he had threatened to expose her.
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