Produced by Al Haines
[Transcriber's note: Extensive research found no evidence
that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Penny Nichols
and the
Black Imp
By
JOAN CLARK
The Goldsmith Publishing Company
CHICAGO ------ NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT MCMXXXVI BY
THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE BLACK IMP
II. A MYSTERIOUS PACKAGE
III. THE THREAT
IV. FOLLOWING AMY'S TRAIL
V. BEHIND THE PANEL
VI. A HOLDUP
VII. AN INVITATION TO LUNCH
VIII. A BOLD MOVE
IX. THE ROBBERY
X. HANLEY CRON'S STUDIO
XI. A VISITOR
XII. THE MISSING WORKMAN
XIII. AN EMBARRASSING INTERVIEW
XIV. THE MYSTERIOUS AGENT
XV. A PUZZLING LETTER
XVI. WATCHFUL WAITING
XVII. "PRIVATE--KEEP OUT"
XVIII. CAPTURED
XIX. FIRE!
XX. THE SECRET REVEALED
The Black Imp
CHAPTER I
The Black Imp
A slightly decrepit roadster lurched to an abrupt halt in front of the
Altman residence, and the blond, blue-eyed driver hailed a plump,
dark-haired girl who stood on the front porch.
"Hello, Susan. Been waiting long?"
"Only about ten minutes, Penny."
"I'm terribly sorry to be late, but I think we can still make it on
time if we hurry."
Before replying, Susan Altman slid into the front seat beside her chum,
Penelope Nichols. Then she said frankly:
"If we miss the affair altogether I shan't be broken hearted. I'm
going solely to please you."
Penny laughed as she steered the car smoothly through traffic.
"I know you are, Sue. But I don't think we'll have such a dull time as
you imagine. It isn't every day that one has an opportunity to see a
five thousand dollar statue unveiled."
"Will the winner of the Huddleson prize get that much money?" Susan
asked in awe.
"Yes, and they say the competition this year has been very keen. The
showing today at the Gage Galleries is a private one--the general
public won't be allowed to see the statues for a week or so."
"Then how do we get in?"
Penny displayed two printed cards. "Dad," she announced laconically.
Penny's father, Christopher Nichols, a noted detective, was well known
in Belton City and had many influential friends. The tickets to the
special showing of the prize statuary at the Gage Galleries had been
presented to him and since he had no interest in the affair he had
passed them on to his daughter.
"The winning statue is to be unveiled at three o'clock," Penny
declared. "What time is it now, Sue?"
"Then we'll never make it," Penny groaned, stepping harder on the
gasoline pedal.
"Say, you slow down or I'll get out and walk," Susan protested. "I
don't intend to risk my life--not for any old statue!"
Penny obediently slackened speed. Although she drove well and had the
car under perfect control she had been traveling a trifle fast.
"That's better," Susan approved. "At this speed there's absolutely no
danger----"
Her words broke off abruptly as Penny slammed on the foot brake so hard
that she was flung forward in the seat. From a side street, a long
gray sedan unexpectedly had entered the main boulevard, the driver
utterly disregarding the stop sign.
Penny swerved in time to avoid a crash, but the fenders of the two cars
jarred together.
The girls sprang out to see how much damage had been done. The driver
of the gray sedan likewise drew up to the curbing and alighted. He was
a tall, thin man with a black moustache, immaculately dressed in gray
tweeds. He wore a gardenia in the lapel of his well-tailored coat.
"See what you've done!" he accused angrily before either Penny or Susan
could speak. "Just look at that."
He pointed to the rear fender which had been badly dented and bent.
Penny cast an appraising glance at her own car and was relieved to note
that save for a few minor scratches it had not been damaged.
"It's too bad," she acknowledged with a polite show of sympathy.
"Didn't you see the boulevard stop?"
The man turned upon her wrathfully. "Of course I saw it. And I made
the required stop too."
"Oh, no you didn't," Susan interposed heatedly. "You just barged right
in without looking in either direction."
"What do you intend to do about my fender?" the man demanded testily of
Penny, ignoring Susan entirely.
"Nothing. The fault was entirely yours. You're lucky the accident
wasn't any worse."
"We'll see about this," the driver snapped. He made a great ado of
copying down the license number of Penny's car.
"If you're determined to make a fuss, I should advise you to see my
father--his name is Christopher Nichols."
"Nichols, the detective?"
Penny could not restrain a smile for it was easy to see that the name
had startled the belligerent driver.
"Yes," she admitted.
With a scowl, the man returned paper and pencil to his pocket, not
bothering to copy down the entire license number.
"Why didn't you tell me that before?" he muttered, climbing back into
his car.
"You didn't ask me."
The man drove away, while Penny and Susan, after making a careful
examination of the roadster, continued toward the Gage Galleries.
"I guess it was lucky I had slowed down before we met that fellow,"
Penny remarked. "Otherwise I couldn't have stopped in time to avert a
crash."
"Do you think he'll try to cause trouble?"
"I doubt it. Legally he hasn't any grounds for complaint. He probably
thought he could bluff me into paying for a new fender, but when he
discovered I had a detective for a father he changed his mind."
Penny chuckled softly and drew up at the rear entrance of the Gage
Galleries. The street was crowded with fine limousines, but after
searching for a minute or two the girls found a parking place.
"We're late," Penny announced. "Let's go in the back way. It will
save time."
They entered the rear door. Hurrying along the dark corridor, intent
only upon finding the main exhibition room, they did not observe a
uniformed attendant who was approaching from the opposite direction
bearing a canvas covered painting. The girls ran into him.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," Penny apologized. "I didn't see you at all."
The man muttered something which the girls did not catch.
"Can you tell us the way to the exhibition room where the Huddleson
prize ceramics are being displayed?" Susan requested.
The attendant did not answer. Instead he moved swiftly on down the
corridor with his burden.
"Real sociable, isn't he?" Penny commented. "But come on, Sue, we'll
find the place without his help."
They followed the corridor until it branched off in several directions.
As they paused uncertainly, another attendant approached them to
inquire if he might be of assistance. In response to their question,
he directed them to a room on the upper floor.
The girls heard a hum of voices as they entered the exhibition hall.
After all they were not late. Artists, sculptors, society women and
art critics were moving about the room in stately groups, peering
curiously at the various statues which were displayed along the walls.
Penny and Susan felt slightly ill at ease in such company. Save for
one other girl who appeared to be about their own age, they were the
only young people present.
After showing their cards of admission, Penny and Susan joined the
milling throng. They peered at first one statue and then another, but
were not really enthusiastic until they came to a tiny figure which
seemed to be attracting more than its share of attention.
It was an unusual piece; a small, dejected imp of clay who sat hunched
over a woodland log. The work had rhythm and grace.
The girls studied the placard beneath the figure and Penny read aloud:
"The Black Imp by Amy Coulter."
"Sort of cute, isn't it?" Susan commented.
From the conversation which flowed about them they quickly gathered
that the Black Imp was considered by artists and critics to be one of
the most promising entries in the contest. They heard several
distinguished appearing persons say that they expected the figure to
win first prize.
"I am not so sure of that," another gentleman disagreed. "The work
deserves to win--but judges have strange opinions sometimes."
"Especially a judge such as Hanley Cron," the other added dryly. As he
spoke, he jerked his head in the direction of a tall, thin man who
stood at the opposite side of the room.
Until that moment, Penny and Susan had not noticed him. It was the
same driver who had caused them so much annoyance.
"Gracious!" Penny exclaimed in an undertone as she made the
disconcerting discovery. "Do you suppose _he_ is Hanley Cron, the
contest judge?"
"That's what those two men just said," Susan returned. "Let's get away
from here before he sees us."
She tugged at her chum's hand but Penny would not budge.
"Why should we run away, Sue? The accident was all his fault. Anyway,
I'm curious to see the statue he'll select as the prize winner."
"I hope he knows more about art than he does of driving automobiles."
"Hanley Cron," Penny repeated thoughtfully to herself. "I've heard
that name before. Let me think--oh, now I remember. He's an art
critic for the _Belton City Star_."
"I don't believe a man with his disposition could have a speck of
judgment," Susan said irritably.
A soft, musical laugh caused them both to turn quickly. Directly
behind stood the same girl they had noticed upon first entering the
exhibition hall. She was slender and dark and wore her shining black
hair in a becoming coil at the back of her neck.
"I couldn't help hearing what you said about Mr. Cron," the girl
declared, regarding them with twinkling eyes, "and I do hope you're
wrong. How dreadful it would be if he should award the five thousand
dollar prize to some inferior piece of work--such as this silly Black
Imp, for instance."
"Why, we think it's the best figure here," Penny said in some surprise.
"Don't you consider Amy Coulter a good sculptress?"
"Only moderately so. The girl works hard and is pathetically
ambitious, but it takes more than that to win a prize."
"You seem to know Miss Coulter well," Penny remarked.
"Yes, indeed. I might call myself her best friend."
"Are you an artist?" Susan questioned. Before the other could respond,
a nicely dressed woman paused for a moment to admire the Black Imp.
"You are to be congratulated, Miss Coulter," she said, addressing the
girl. "Your work has power. It deserves to win the prize."
The woman moved on and Penny and Susan found themselves staring at
their new acquaintance in amazement.
"Are you Amy Coulter?" Penny gasped.
The girl smilingly admitted that she was. "I wanted to learn what you
really thought of my little figure," she declared.
Penny and Susan assured her again that they liked it better than any
piece they had seen.
"You don't look a bit like I imagined a famous sculptress would," Susan
said, slightly in awe.
"Perhaps that's because I'm not famous."
"You will be after the prize award is announced," Penny assured her.
"Everyone is saying your entry is the best."
"I do think the Black Imp is good," the girl admitted slowly. "Of
course I was only joking about it a moment ago. I've labored over it
for months and it's my best work. I'm hoping--almost praying that I'll
win the prize. The money would mean everything to me."
Before either Penny or Susan could speak, an elderly woman clapped her
hands sharply together to attract attention. Immediately the room
became quiet.
"If you will kindly find seats, the program will start," the woman
announced.
Susan and Penny secured chairs in the second row. When they looked
about for Amy Coulter they noticed that she was sitting at the rear of
the room, looking tense and worried.
"Miss Coulter was nice, wasn't she?" Susan whispered. "I hope her
entry wins."
"So do I. You can tell this contest means a lot to her."
When Hanley Cron was introduced to the audience he was greeted with a
mild round of applause in which Susan and Penny did not join. They
listened closely to his speech however, and were forced to acknowledge
that the man was a good public speaker. His manners before a crowd
could not be criticized for he was both pleasant and witty. He praised
in general terms all of the many fine entries in the contest, and
mentioned perfunctorily his regret that each contestant could not be
awarded the coveted prize.
Susan grew impatient. "Why doesn't he get to the point?" she fretted.
At length the man did. As he prepared to make the all important
announcement many leaned expectantly forward in their chairs. Susan
smiled confidently back at Amy.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Hanley Cron intoned, "I take great pleasure in
awarding the five thousand dollar Huddleson prize to James Comberton
for his truly remarkable creation, 'Winged Night.'"
A little buzz of excitement and obvious disappointment greeted the
announcement. Susan and Penny were aghast. While they did not pretend
to be art critics, the statue which had been selected seemed to them
far inferior to the Black Imp. Apparently, many other persons shared
the same opinion.
As Hanley Cron, a trifle defiantly, went on to explain the various
points of merit which had caused him to select the prize winning
statue, some openly shook their heads in disagreement. There was a
great deal of whispering.
"Poor Amy!" Penny commented regretfully to her chum. "She was so
hopeful of winning."
"And she should have too!" Susan whispered indignantly. "I told you
Hanley Cron couldn't know anything about judging a statue. He's just a
noisy talker!"
Penny smiled, knowing that her chum's opinion was decidedly biased.
The girls were tactful enough not to turn and stare at Amy, but when it
was possible to look back without appearing to do so, they glanced
toward the seat in the rear row which the young sculptress had
occupied. It was empty.
"I guess she slipped away as soon as she heard the bad news," Penny
said regretfully. "The announcement must have been a bitter
disappointment."
Hanley Cron ended his speech a few minutes later and a silent,
dissatisfied crowd arose to depart. Penny and Susan hurriedly started
toward the door, preferring to get away before the art critic
recognized them.
They did not reach the outside corridor, for a uniformed attendant came
swiftly into the room, closing the door firmly after him.
"No one must leave this room!" he commanded the startled group. "A
shocking thing has just occurred. Someone has stolen a priceless
Rembrandt painting from the adjoining exhibition hall!"