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!