A Visitor
Penny watched the janitor closely after the man in gray had vanished
into the building. From his inside coat pocket he removed a billfold
and carefully deposited the fifty dollars in it. The five dollar bill
he shoved into his trousers pocket, a possessive smirk on his face.
Penny moved forward to accost the man.
"How do you do," she greeted. "Are you the custodian of this building?"
"Yes, I am," he replied surlily. "If you have anything to sell, get
out!"
"Oh, I'm not a saleswoman. I am looking for a place to rent."
"Is that so? Well, you've come to the wrong place. We are filled up."
Penny was aware that the janitor regarded her suspiciously. She did
not believe that he was speaking the truth for she had noticed many
apparently unoccupied rooms in the building.
"But you may have vacancies in the future, I suppose," she commented.
"You see, I like the outlook a person would get from your top floor."
"That top floor is rented."
"Could you tell me the name of the party----?"
"No, I couldn't," the janitor interrupted irritably. "Run along now.
I'm not interested in your chatter."
"All right, I'll go," Penny replied, "but you may hear from me again.
And when I return, I'll bring a mate to that five dollar bill you just
slipped into your pocket!"
Before the man had recovered from his surprise she turned and walked
briskly down the street in the direction of her father's office. She
deeply regretted her last remark for she realized that the janitor
might repeat it to the man who occupied the top floor. She had not
intended to reveal how much she had seen.
Penny entered her father's office just as he was leaving on a business
errand.
"Hello, Dad," she called out. "I seem to have caught the bird on the
wing."
Mr. Nichols smiled at his young daughter and obligingly hung his hat
back on the rack.
"My flight is off now that the fledgling has returned to the nest.
What's on your mind now, Penny?"
"This little ornament, for one thing." Penny unwrapped the model of
the Black Imp which Amy Coulter had given her and set it down on her
father's desk. "Doesn't he look kind of lonesome and,
well--mysterious?"
"He does at that," Mr. Nichols said as he picked up the little art
piece and turned it over and over. "I should say the fellow has a
wicked glint to his eye."
"Be careful how you handle him," Penny warned. "The clay is still
damp."
Mr. Nichols placed the figure back on the desk. "It's a very clever
design. I don't suppose this is that Black Imp you were telling me
about?"
"It's a copy of the original."
"How did you get it?"
"I guess you might say I swiped it," Penny smiled, "or rather, Amy and
I did together."
"You don't make yourself very clear."
Penny related her experience in Hanley Cron's studio, but at mention of
the jewelry theft, Mr. Nichols lost all interest in the Black Imp. He
insisted upon hearing every detail of the theft.
"It doesn't surprise me a bit," he declared when Penny finished the
story. "I warned Mrs. Dillon that necklace would be stolen if she
didn't get it locked up."
"She lost it on the way to the bank, Dad. Perhaps she thinks now that
if she hadn't attempted to follow your advice, the pearls would still
be safe."
"Nonsense!" Mr. Nichols exclaimed impatiently. "That necklace was
stolen by someone who was lying in wait for her. Possibly by one of
the same thieves who attempted to hold up the Dillon ball the other
evening."
"Mrs. Dillon did make a grave mistake to carry the pearls unguarded,"
Penny admitted. "But it seems to me the thief must have been someone
who was in the house after the holdup."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because otherwise how would the thief have known that Mrs. Dillon
intended to take her necklace to the bank today? You remember she
spoke of the matter openly before her guests."
"I remember," Mr. Nichols smiled.
"And Mrs. Dillon made an appointment to meet Hanley Cron at his studio
before she went to the bank. The thief apparently was waiting for her
in front of the building. It was no casual snatch. I'm sure of that."
"Your reasoning is very good," Mr. Nichols praised. "Tell me, who
overheard this conversation between Mrs. Dillon and Hanley Cron?"
"Why, I did. There were some other people standing not far away, but I
doubt that they heard. At least they did not appear to be listening."
"So you're the only person who knew of the appointment," Mr. Nichols
said jokingly.
"Don't look at me like that," Penny laughed. "I swear I didn't take
the necklace even if I was on the scene."
"I'll not turn you over to the police without more evidence," the
detective promised. "I was just on my way to the station when you
dropped in."
"I didn't mean to detain you."
"The matter was of no great importance. I merely wanted to inquire if
the police had made any progress tracing the Dillon holdup men. It's
queer how they made such a neat get-away."
"I don't think the police are very alert," Penny grumbled. "After Mrs.
Dillon's handbag was snatched they were on the scene within ten
minutes, but I imagine the thief will never be captured."
"You expect results too quickly, Penny," her father smiled. "From what
you've told me I imagine this purse-snatcher is a member of an
organized gang. The theft was no casual affair. Every detail was
carefully planned."
"I wish you were on the case, Dad."
"I don't. I have enough troubles without wishing more upon myself. I
really am not----"
He broke off as the telephone rang. "Hello," he said gruffly into the
transmitter, then his face became sober as he silently listened. "Drop
into my office tomorrow at nine," he terminated the conversation.
"I'll give you my decision then."
"You sound like one of the judges of the Supreme Court," Penny chuckled
as her father hung up the receiver. "What's this momentous decision
you're to hand down?"
Mr. Nichols sat drumming his fingers against the edge of the desk.
"That was the Reliance Insurance Company. They want me to take the
Dillon case."
"You don't mean in regard to Mrs. Dillon's lost necklace?"
"Yes, that's it."
"But Dad, how does the insurance company figure in the case? The
pearls weren't insured."
"As it happens, they were. For fifteen thousand dollars."
"But I heard Mrs. Dillon say to you herself that the necklace had never
been insured."
"Yes. Apparently, she didn't tell the truth."
"She acted dreadfully upset over the loss. What reason would she have
for telling you a deliberate falsehood about the insurance?"
"I wonder myself."
"Are the pearls worth fifteen thousand?" Penny asked thoughtfully.
"No more than that certainly. It seems, too, that the policy was taken
out from the insurance company only a few weeks ago."
"The company doesn't think that the robbery was planned surely?"
"It was planned all right--but whether by Mrs. Dillon I'm in no
position to say."
"But why should she wish to resort to such a trick just to collect
insurance?" Penny protested. "The Dillons are wealthy."
"Ostensibly so, at least. However, even to Mrs. Dillon, fifteen
thousand might look attractive."
"I don't believe she's as honest as she should be," Penny admitted
reluctantly. "At least that stolen picture isn't in her favor. She
must have bought it with a full knowledge of what she was doing."
Christopher Nichols nodded thoughtfully.
"Will you take the case?" Penny questioned hopefully.
"I haven't decided yet. I admit I'm beginning to grow interested in
it."
While the two were talking, Miss Arrow, the secretary, swiftly entered
the room.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," she apologized, "but that dreadful man is
here again."
"Which dreadful man?" the detective inquired, smiling.
"Max Lynch."
"Oh."
"Don't see him," Penny pleaded. "He might attempt to harm you, Dad."
Mr. Nichols paid no heed. He turned to Miss Arrow. "Is he carrying a
gun?"
"I don't think so, Mr. Nichols. But I couldn't be certain."
"Please don't see him," Penny begged earnestly. "Max Lynch has a
grudge against you."
"Now don't get yourself worked up, Penny," he chided, opening the top
drawer of his desk to make certain that his own revolver was at hand
for immediate use in an emergency. "I'll be in no danger, and Max may
prove useful to me."
"Useful?"
"Yes, he's an expert on jewels and it's a well known fact he sometimes
handles stolen gems."
"You think he may know something about Mrs. Dillon's necklace?"
"I don't suppose he had anything to do with the theft, Penny, but
likely he has a pretty good idea who handled the job."
"Shall I tell him to come in?" Miss Arrow questioned.
"Yes, I'll see him."
"I suppose I'll have to go," Penny said reluctantly.
"Please," the detective requested.
Miss Arrow already had departed. As Penny reached the door she met Max
Lynch coming in. He stood aside for her to pass, but there was no
deference in the action. He eyed the girl insolently.
"Your daughter, Nichols?" he demanded.
"Yes," the detective answered shortly.
"Not bad looking."
"We'll leave her out of the conversation," Nichols said sharply. "What
brought you here this time, Max?"
Without replying, Lynch leisurely sat down in a chair opposite the
detective. He calmly helped himself to a cigar on the desk. But he
never lighted it. For as he reached into his pocket after a match, he
noticed an object directly in front of him. It was the Black Imp.
For an instant he stared at the figure, the expression of
self-confidence completely washed from his face.
He hastily arose and his chair, as he pushed it back, made a harsh
grating noise on the floor. Instinctively, Christopher Nichols' hand
moved swiftly toward the top drawer of his desk. But there was no need
for alarm. Max Lynch did not reach for his gun. Instead he made for
the door.
"You're leaving?" Nichols asked.
Max did not reply. But as he went out the door, he glanced back over
his shoulder, and for a fleeting moment his eyes rested in fascinated
fear on the figure of the Black Imp.