The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

  “No, I’ll walk,” Penny replied. “I’ve been gaining weight lately and need the exercise.”

  Mr. Nichols smiled, for Penny barely tipped the scales at a hundred pounds. They left the building together and separated.

  “I should be home early for dinner tonight unless something unforeseen comes up,” Mr. Nichols mentioned in parting.

  Penny found Mrs. Gallup ironing in the kitchen. She paused to display the Black Imp, but the housekeeper was not greatly impressed.

  “And you call that a work of art!” she scoffed. “It’s just an old lump of clay.”

  “This is only a copy of Amy Coulter’s fine piece, Mrs. Gallup. Not a very good copy either. But don’t you think the design is clever?”

  “I can’t say I do. That Imp has such a sinister look on his face—as if he were guarding a wicked secret!”

  “Now that’s an idea!” Penny laughed. “Maybe he is. At least he frightened a crook out of Dad’s office this afternoon.”

  “What was that?” Mrs. Gallup demanded quickly.

  Penny did not repeat for she had no desire to alarm the housekeeper. After all she could not be certain that the Black Imp had been the cause of Max Lynch’s sudden leave taking.

  “Oh, I was just talking,” she murmured, and departed before Mrs. Gallup could question her further.

  Penny took the little statue to her room, and after trying it in several locations, decided that it looked best on the maple desk. She then sat down to write a few lines in her diary, but whenever she glanced up the Black Imp seemed to be staring down at her with an inquiring scrutiny.

  “You are a wicked little beast!” Penny chuckled. “Are you trying to learn what I’m writing about the jewelry theft?”

  She turned the Black Imp so that he faced the wall and finished the notation in her diary.

  It was a few minutes after five when Penny heard the front door bell ring. Thinking that one of her school chums had come to call, she darted down the stairs to answer. The visitor was Mrs. Dillon.

  “Why, how do you do,” Penny stammered. “Won’t you come in?”

  She wondered what had brought the woman to the house at such a late hour of the afternoon. A conviction dawned upon her that Mrs. Dillon had learned of the hoax she and Amy had perpetrated in order to see the Rembrandt. She steeled herself for an unpleasant interview.

  “Is your father here?” Mrs. Dillon inquired.

  “No, Mrs. Dillon. He hasn’t returned from the office.”

  “It’s very important that I see him—about my stolen necklace, you know.”

  A feeling of relief surged over Penny. “Father should be arriving any moment now. Would you care to wait?”

  “Yes, I believe I will.”

  Mrs. Dillon sank wearily into the chair which the girl offered. “I’ve had such a dreadful day. My beautiful necklace was stolen and the police haven’t been able to find a trace of the thief. But then, you know all about it, for you were there.”

  “Perhaps the pearls will still be recovered,” Penny said politely.

  “That’s what Mr. Cron tells me. He says it’s foolish of me to worry. The police are certain to find them within a few days.”

  “Your loss was covered by insurance?” Penny inquired innocently.

  “Oh, no! That’s the dreadful part.”

  Penny looked sharply at Mrs. Dillon. The woman seemed so earnest that it was difficult to believe she was deliberately telling a falsehood. Yet the incident of the painting already had given the girl a clue as to Mrs. Dillon’s character. If the woman knowingly would purchase a stolen picture was it not reasonable to suppose that she would feel no qualms at cheating an insurance company?

  In the hope of gaining a little information, Penny casually brought up the subject of the Rembrandt, but Mrs. Dillon immediately became secretive. She would not talk of the picture even in a general way.

  “I’ll never learn anything except by making a direct accusation,” Penny thought. “I don’t dare do that—yet.”

  She was relieved when her father came a few minutes later.

  “I’m sorry to bother you at your home,” Mrs. Dillon began nervously, “but I had to see you at once. My pearl necklace was stolen this afternoon.”

  “Yes, so I heard,” Mr. Nichols replied.

  “I want you to take the case. You must help me recover my pearls.”

  “I am afraid I can’t take the case, Mrs. Dillon.”

  “But why not? You’ve helped others. Everyone says you are the best detective in the city. And I’ll pay you well.”

  “It isn’t a matter of money, Mrs. Dillon. To tell you the truth, the Reliance Insurance Company also requested me to work on the case.”

  “The Reliance Insurance Company? I don’t understand. What have they to do with it?”

  “Your necklace was insured with them, I believe,” Mr. Nichols said evenly.

  “Oh, no!”

  “For fifteen thousand dollars.”

  “Certainly not,” Mrs. Dillon replied indignantly. “Are you suggesting that I would lie about the matter?”

  “I thought you might have forgotten.”

  “This is too ridiculous!” Mrs. Dillon snapped. “I didn’t come here to be insulted.”

  “Please don’t consider my remarks in that light, Mrs. Dillon. I was merely explaining why I can’t take the case. I expect to serve the Reliance Company.”

  “They have absolutely nothing to do with the necklace.” Mrs. Dillon angrily arose. “I am sorry I wasted my time coming here!”

  Haughtily, she left the house, and Penny, who watched from the window, saw her drive away with her chauffeur.

  “Do you really intend to take the case for the Reliance people?” she questioned eagerly.

  “Oh, I suppose I shall.”

  “What do you think of Mrs. Dillon, Dad?”

  “She bores me,” Mr. Nichols yawned. “Without a background of money and social position she would be nothing but a noisy phonograph record.”

  “I meant about her claim regarding the necklace. Were the pearls actually insured?”

  “Oh, of course,” Mr. Nichols returned, a trifle impatiently. He laughed. “I can’t imagine the Reliance people turning over a cold fifteen thousand dollars if they didn’t owe it.”

  “But if Mrs. Dillon expects to collect the money why should she lie?”

  The detective shrugged. “Some women are funny.”

  Mrs. Gallup came to announce dinner and at the table the subject was not resumed. Penny sighed as she stole a glance at her father’s immobile face. She could never tell what he was thinking and his reluctance to discuss any case upon which he happened to be working was at times irritating.

  The next morning after helping Mrs. Gallup wash windows, Penny went down town to have luncheon with her father. She felt rather important as she entered the office for it was not often that he extended such an invitation.

  The door of the inner room was ajar and Miss Arrow was nowhere in sight, so Penny entered. To her surprise the private office was in great confusion. Papers had been tossed over the floor and the filing cabinet rifled. Mr. Nichols and his secretary were occupied examining the contents of the safe.

  “What’s the matter?” Penny questioned. “Are you house cleaning or did a cyclone strike the place?”

  “Someone broke in here last night and went through everything,” Mr. Nichols answered.

  “Anything valuable taken?”

  “No, not so far as we’ve discovered. Only a little cash that was in the safe—nothing of consequence.”

  “Who do you suppose did it?” Penny asked. She leaned carelessly against the desk but her father pulled her away.

  “Be careful where you park yourself,” he ordered. “I haven’t finished taking finger prints yet.”

  Penny waited while Miss Arrow and her father made a systematic inventory of the contents of the room. They were both too busy to talk. At one o’clock Penny grew discouraged.

&nb
sp; “How much longer before you’ll be ready to go to lunch, Dad?”

  “Oh, an hour at least.”

  “Then I guess I’ll go by myself. I’m dreadfully hungry.”

  “Good idea,” the detective approved. “You might have some sandwiches and coffee sent in for Miss Arrow and myself.” He tossed her a bill and went on with his work.

  At a nearby restaurant Penny ordered luncheon for herself and had a package of cold food and a large thermos bottle of coffee dispatched to her father’s office.

  She ate somewhat mechanically as she reflected upon the audacity of the person who had dared to rifle her father’s office. A few years before she recalled that a thief had broken into the safe, but he had been captured within forty-eight hours.

  As Penny left the restaurant she purchased a newspaper and glanced at the headlines. The story of the Dillon robbery appeared in column one but the details were not given very accurately.

  Penny folded the paper and walked slowly down the street. Having no destination in mind she wandered toward the park. Seating herself on a bench she idly watched the passersby.

  Presently her attention was drawn to a man who had paused near a large tree not far away. He appeared strangely familiar, but at first glance Penny did not recognize him. She scrutinized him closely. He wore dark horn-rimmed glasses and kept the brim of his broad hat pulled low.

  “Why, it’s Mr. Hoges!” Penny thought. “The museum workman!”

  She felt certain that the man had not worn dark glasses when she had seen him at the Gage Galleries. He was well dressed, even expensively, yet she knew the salary he had received from the museum could not be a large one.

  “Mr. Hoges was supposed to be out of the city on vacation too,” she reflected. “I think I’ll go over and talk with him.”

  Before she could move from the bench she saw the man take out his watch and stare at it. Then he gazed impatiently up and down the walk as if he were expecting someone. Penny kept her head bent and he did not bestow a second glance in her direction.

  She thought: “I’ll just wait and see for whom he’s waiting. I may learn more that way.”

  Ten minutes passed. Mr. Hoges grew more impatient. He paced back and forth in front of the tree. Then abruptly he halted, and his face lighted up.

  From the other side of the park a girl in a blue coat rapidly approached. As she hurried up to the waiting Mr. Hoges, her face was slightly averted.

  “I’m sorry to be late,” she murmured.

  The voice was musical and low. Penny recognized it instantly, yet found it difficult to believe her own ears. If only the girl would turn her head—

  Just then she did, and Penny could no longer hope that she had been mistaken. The newcomer was Amy Coulter.

  CHAPTER XIII

  An Embarrassing Interview

  At sight of her friend talking with the museum workman, a confusion of thoughts raced through Penny’s mind. Why had Amy made an appointment with him in the park? She could not believe that the meeting was casual for the girl’s own words had revealed otherwise. She was even more startled by Amy’s next remark which, carried by the wind, came to her very clearly.

  “You brought the money?”

  “Yes. I will pay you now if you wish.”

  The workman drew from his inner pocket a fat wallet, removing a large roll of bills. Penny was so bewildered that for a moment she forgot to shield her face with the newspaper she pretended to read. However, Amy and the man were so engrossed in their conversation, neither of them glanced toward the park bench.

  Mr. Hoges stripped off two of the bills, handing them to the girl.

  “There,” he said in a gruff voice, “that ought to be enough for a start. Stick by me, sister, and you’ll earn plenty more like it.”

  Amy made no response, but pocketed the money. She was moving away when the workman detained her.

  “You understand what’s expected? You’ll keep quiet if anyone asks you how you make your money?”

  “I haven’t made much yet.”

  “You will, never fear, if my little plan goes through. Do I have your promise to keep silent?”

  “Yes,” Amy answered shortly. She jerked away from Mr. Hoges and hurried off through the park.

  Penny was so absorbed in the little scene that she did not hear footsteps behind her. “Hello, Penny,” a teasing voice greeted. “What are you doing here?”

  Penny sprang up from the park bench, then laughed ruefully as she saw that it was Susan Altman who had spoken to her so unexpectedly.

  “My! You surely startled me, Susan.”

  “What are you doing here all by yourself?”

  “Oh, just watching the birds and squirrels and things.”

  “Human squirrels, I suppose,” Susan smiled. “When I came up you were craning your neck at that man over by the oak tree.”

  “What became of him?” Penny demanded anxiously, turning to look.

  She had talked with Susan scarcely a minute, yet the museum workman had disappeared. In vain she scanned the park. He was nowhere to be seen.

  “I thought you were interested in him!” Susan proclaimed triumphantly.

  “Of course I was!” Penny cried impatiently. “He was that same museum workman we met at the Gage Galleries.”

  “Not the one you suspected of stealing the Rembrandt?”

  “Yes, and he was talking with—” Penny suddenly checked herself.

  “What were you saying?”

  “He was talking with a girl,” Penny finished. “I intended to follow the man. Now it’s too late.”

  “I guess it was my fault. But I didn’t suppose you were really shadowing anyone. I’m sorry if I ruined everything.”

  “Oh, you didn’t,” Penny smiled good-naturedly, taking her chum’s arm as they walked across the park together. “If I want to question Mr. Hoges I probably can find him at the museum. No doubt he just returned from his vacation.”

  The girls dropped in at a corner drug store for ice cream, but Penny refrained from telling Susan the details of her recent adventures. She realized that if it became generally known that the stolen Rembrandt or even a reproduction of the famous picture were in Mrs. Dillon’s possession, considerable trouble would result. Penny did not intend to tell anyone about it until she had interviewed the woman.

  It was after three o’clock when the girls left the drug store. At Penny’s suggestion they walked to the Gage Galleries to inquire for Mr. Hoges.

  “He will not return here after his vacation,” came the disappointing response to their question. “Mr. Hoges has resigned his position.”

  This information left Penny in more of a maze than ever regarding Amy Coulter. She could not help believing in the girl’s integrity, and, despite Amy’s rendezvous with Hoges, she still felt there must be a rational explanation for her actions.

  As Susan and Penny left the museum together, the former cast a panic-stricken glance at her watch.

  “It’s nearly four o’clock and I promised to meet my mother at the library then. I forgot all about it. I have just ten minutes to get there.”

  “Twenty blocks in ten minutes! You’ll never make it, Susan.”

  The excited girl looked up and down the street as if she were seeking some miraculous means of quick transportation. Just then a taxicab whirled around the corner. Susan held up her hand as a signal for it to stop.

  “You don’t mind, do you Penny? Mother will be so exasperated if I don’t come. Hop in with me and I’ll drop you off downtown.”

  “No thanks, Susan,” Penny excused herself. “I just thought of a place I want to stop and it isn’t on your route. See you tomorrow.”

  The cab door slammed and Susan was whisked away to her appointment. Penny walked rapidly toward the poorer section of the business district. She finally stopped at the entrance of the building where the previous day she had encountered the mysterious man in gray and the arrogant janitor.

  Penny walked into the stuffy little lo
bby at the foot of a steep stairway. She consulted a dilapidated office directory which hung haphazardly against the wall. The building was tenanted by small factories, printers, and agents. About half the spaces in the directory were blank, indicating the place was only partially occupied. She was interested to see that the top floor showed no tenants whatsoever.

  “I think I’ll just slip up there and see for myself,” she resolved. With her foot on the first step, she looked quickly about. There was no one nearby to witness her actions. All was quiet except for the rhythmical thumping of small job presses in the scattered printing shops.

  Penny thought there could hardly be so many steep steps in all the world as she climbed flight after flight, hoping each to be the last. Finally she reached the top landing. She tiptoed to the nearest door and listened. Hearing nothing, she opened it a crack and looked in.

  The place was empty.

  “That’s queer,” she thought. “I’m sure this top floor was rented yesterday. I saw the man pay the rent.”

  Walking as noiselessly as she could, Penny explored the large room. Here and there on the bare floor were colored splotches, as if someone had spilled paint. In one corner was a dirty piece of tarpaulin such as tradesmen use to protect floors and furniture.

  Disappointed, Penny retreated to the hallway. She could not understand why the place was empty when she had been told by the janitor only the day before that it was occupied.

  She walked slowly down the first flight of stairs and as she turned on the landing to continue her descent, she noticed the name, “James Wilson, Printer,” on a glass door directly in front of her.

  The name seemed strangely familiar. Then she remembered. It must be the shop of Jimmy Wilson, who did some of her father’s printing.

  Penny opened the door and there was Jimmy himself feeding envelopes into a small job press. He looked up from his work when he saw her, stopping his machine to say: “Well, if it isn’t Miss Nichols. Rush order from your father, I’ll bet.”

  “Not this time, Mr. Wilson. But I do wonder if you could give me a little information.”

  “I’ll tell you anything but my lodge secrets,” Jimmy replied.

  “I want to know what became of the tenants on the floor above.”