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 sculptoring."
"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 postoffice 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."