The Secret Revealed
When Hanley Cron and his three companions abandoned Penny to her fate,
they hurriedly left the building. But in passing down the hallway,
Hoges carelessly snubbed out a cigarette and dropped it on the floor.
The cigarette smoldered and did not go out. Soon a tiny flame leaped
up, igniting the dirty old carpet which stretched the length of the
hall. The fire spread rapidly, fed by wood that was very dry and
brittle.
Unaware that they had started a disastrous blaze, the four men fled to
Hanley Cron's studio apartment to make plans for a hasty departure.
"The game's up," Cron said to his companions. "It Christopher Nichols
ever finds his daughter, he'll put the heat on us right. We can't get
out of this town soon enough."
"Divide up the money, and we'll skip," Hoges answered gruffly.
Cron tore the cover from a day bed couch, and with a sharp knife slit
open the mattress. He removed a neat, thick roll of bills.
"How much?" Max demanded.
"Forty thousand. Not a bad haul for a little over a week's work."
Cron laughed triumphantly. "We sold that picture seven times, and not
one of the suckers dared to squawk. If that Nichols girl hadn't horned
in, the racket would have been good for another twenty thousand at
least."
"We ought to have kept the picture," Hoges complained. "Then we could
start up in another city and try the same thing over again."
Cron shook his head. "Too dangerous. If that Nichols girl should
escape----"
"That's where we made a big mistake," Lynch cut in. "We shouldn't have
left anything to chance."
"It's certain enough," Cron laughed harshly. "She may be a smart girl,
but she's not smart enough to get out of that closet."
"Let's divide up the money and get out of here," Lynch said nervously.
"Forty thousand dollars--that's ten grand apiece."
The men began to argue angrily over the proposed distribution, Hoges
insisting that Lynch was not entitled to any part of the money received
from the sale of the pictures.
"It was our racket, and you just horned in," he protested. "You took
none of the risk."
"If I pass the word around, you'll never get out of town with any of
the money," Lynch retorted sneeringly.
"We're willing to divide up," Hoges said hastily, "but in return we
expect a split on the pearl necklace."
"That was a deal between Cron and me."
The argument waxed hotter, the men's voices rising until Hanley Cron
feared they could be heard outside.
"Pipe down," he ordered. "Do you want to bring the police? The
important thing now is to get away from here before we're caught. Why
not split everything four ways and no hard feelings?"
"Okay," Lynch growled. "We divide even. Where are the pearls?"
"They're safe here," Cron answered. "I'll get them."
He started across the room, but just then a loud knock sounded on the
door.
The four froze into tense attitudes.
"Better answer," Lynch whispered. "Maybe it's only your landlord."
"Who's there?" Cron demanded.
"Open up!" a voice shouted. "Open in the name of the law!"
"The police!" Cron muttered in an undertone. "Quick! Down the fire
escape!"
"Open the door or we'll break it down!" came the shouted warning.
Cron and his companions ran to the window, there to halt in dismay as
they faced three policemen who had crept up the iron stairway so
quietly that they had not been heard. The four crooks were covered
before they could reach for their guns.
"Hands up!" An officer ordered tersely, stepping through the window
into the studio.
Cron and his confederates sullenly obeyed.
"What is the meaning of this outrage?" Cron asked with a show of
indignation. "Do you realize who I am?"
"Maybe we'll be more sure of it after you've been finger-printed and
mugged," the policeman retorted. "Keep your hands up."
"What's the charge against us?" Lynch questioned, with studied
indifference, seating himself on the bed. It was not the first time he
had ever been arrested. He frequently boasted that no jail would ever
claim him.
"You're wanted on two counts," the policeman informed. "For theft of a
pearl necklace belonging to Mrs. Dillon, and for stealing a valuable
painting from the Gage Galleries."
"Anything else?" Cron inquired sarcastically.
"Yes, several other things, but I'll let the judge tell you about it."
"It takes evidence to make an arrest," Lynch said sneeringly. "Produce
your proof."
"I'll introduce you to our star witness," the policeman retorted.
He crossed to the door and unlocked it. Penny Nichols and six
policemen entered.
At sight of the girl the four crooks were taken aback. But they
quickly covered their confusion.
"Can you identify these men?" Penny was asked.
"Yes, I can," she answered. "They are the ones who locked me in the
closet and then set fire to the building."
"Set fire to the building?" Hoges echoed. "That's a lie."
"Shut up," Lynch growled.
"Here are the pictures which I saved as evidence," Penny continued,
displaying the original Rembrandt and one of the copies.
"See here, this girl is stark crazy," Cron interposed. "I don't know
where she obtained these pictures, but no one could be more delighted
to have the Rembrandt recovered than myself. I am well connected at
the museum and if you will only call the officials there they will
assure you that this girl is making a most unjust accusation."
"You have pleasant companions," a policeman remarked, nodding in
Lynch's direction.
The four men were lined up and searched. Only Cron was found to have a
gun.
"You can't get me on that," he sneered. "I have a permit to carry a
weapon."
The forty thousand dollars was brought to light.
"Quite a nice haul," a policeman commented, examining the roll of bills.
"You can't arrest a man for having money in his pocket," Lynch said
harshly. "You don't find it marked do you?"
"The truth is, you have no case against us," Cron snapped. "It's only
this silly girl's word against ours. No doubt she's been reading
detective stories!"
"I can furnish an alibi for the entire day," Lynch added.
"Unless this ridiculous charge is dropped I warn you I'll sue for false
arrest," Cron went on furiously.
The officers paid no heed to the talk, yet they knew that their case
against the four was not water-tight. As Cron had said, it was a
matter of Penny Nichols' testimony against the four. True, she had the
Rembrandt as evidence, but it might be difficult to prove that the four
men had been involved in the theft. They had painful recollections of
other cases against Max Lynch which had dissolved like soap bubbles in
a wind. The man had no equal at producing unexpected witnesses who for
a sum of money would provide him with a complete alibi. His lawyer,
employed at a yearly salary, was as clever as he was unscrupulous.
"Search the room," the police captain ordered. "The Dillon pearls must
be here."
The men set about their task with system and thoroughness. They
examined every inch of the mattress, they went through all of the
clothing, even ripping out the linings of coats and jackets. The floor
boards were tested to learn if any had been recently loosened.
"You'll not find the necklace here," Cron said harshly.
Penny watched the search with growing uneasiness. She had felt certain
that the pearls would be found in the studio. The conversation she had
overheard while tied in the closet had led her to believe that the
necklace was in Cron's possession. It must be somewhere in the room.
She crossed over to a bookcase which the officers had not yet examined.
Instantly, she noted that Hanley Cron was watching her intently. She
lifted out the lower row of volumes. Nothing had been hidden behind
them.
"Little Miss Detective!" Cron jeered.
Penny took out a few of the books on the second shelf. She uttered a
little cry of surprise.
"My Black Imp!" she exclaimed, wheeling toward Cron. "So you were the
one who entered my room and stole it."
Triumphantly, she caught up the little clay figure from its hiding
place.
"Now I know you're crazy!" Cron snapped. "Someone sent that figure to
me in the mail. And rightly it should have been returned to me too!
You and that Coulter girl came here and robbed me of it."
Penny gazed thoughtfully down at the Black Imp. She recalled how
startled Max Lynch had been when he had viewed it on her father's desk.
Then later, either Cron or an agent of his, had risked capture to enter
the Nichols house and recover the little statue. Why was it so
valuable? What secret did it guard?
Suddenly, Penny knew. With a triumphant laugh, she raised the Black
Imp and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a dozen pieces.
"Say, what's the idea?" a policeman demanded. Then he stared down at
the floor.
Among the broken fragments of day lay Mrs. Dillon's pearl necklace.
"There's your evidence," Penny said calmly. "I think even Max Lynch
may find it difficult to alibi this."
With a fatalistic shrug, the gambler turned to the policeman who
guarded him.
"You win," he said. "Buckle on the cuffs and let's go."
"There's something I'd like to learn before you take these men away,"
Penny mentioned to the captain. "Mr. Hoges has a letter in his
possession which I wish I might examine."
"Is this the one you mean?" the officer asked. The envelope he
indicated had been taken from Hoges when he was searched a few minutes
before.
"I think it is."
The policeman handed Penny the letter and he quickly examined it.
"This is the right one," she said in relief. "And it exonerates Amy
Coulter of any wrong doing."
The brief message read:
"Mr. Hoges: I shall be unable to accept the work which you offered me.
I am returning the money paid me as an advance fee."
Penny was jubilant at the way matters had ended. She had many
questions to ask Cron and Max Lynch but she decided to postpone them,
realizing that the men were not likely to reveal anything which could
be used as evidence against them.
As the four crooks were led away, the captain waited to compliment
Penny for her valuable assistance.
"Tell me, young lady," he commanded admiringly, "how did you know Mrs.
Dillon's pearls were hidden inside that clay figure?"
"I wasn't absolutely certain," Penny admitted. "But a number of things
made me suspicious. First, I recalled that the man who snatched the
necklace from Mrs. Dillon ran into this studio."
"Could you identify that man?"
"I think you already have him under arrest. I don't know his name, but
I feel certain he is the same person now that I have viewed him
closely."
"He ran into this studio you say?"
"Yes, and when I entered I found Hanley Cron modeling the Black Imp.
The possibility did not occur to me at the time, but now I know he must
have received the pearls from the actual thief, and molded them into
the wet clay."
"A very clever scheme."
"Yes, and it would have succeeded, save for one thing. Cron copied the
statue of Amy Coulter's Black Imp. We thought he intended to put it to
some commercial use, and took it from him."
"He permitted you to take it away?" the officer asked in surprise.
"It happened that a policeman came into the studio. I think he must
have been afraid to make a fuss."
"Undoubtedly. Then what happened?"
"I took the statue to my father's office. Max Lynch came to talk with
Dad and saw it. He hurried out of the office as if he had seen a
ghost."
"Of course he knew the pearls were hidden inside the statue," the
officer smiled. "He probably thought Mr. Nichols had discovered them
and suspected the plot."
"That's the way I figured it out," Penny nodded.
"Our house was watched. Then one day the Black Imp mysteriously
disappeared. I never saw it again until I entered this room."
"Either Cron or Lynch stole it."
"Cron I think, for the Black Imp was in his possession."
"Well, young lady, you've done a fine bit of work today," the captain
said soberly. "It's evident that you're destined to follow in the
footsteps of your illustrious father."
"Thank you, sir," Penny flushed.
With the four crooks on their way to jail, and the Rembrandt and the
pearl necklace in the possession of the police, she felt that her
responsibility was ended. Calling a taxicab, she drove to Amy
Coulter's new rooming house.
"I have wonderful news for you!" she greeted the girl. "The painting
has been recovered!"
"Then I'm exonerated?"
"Completely."
"Oh, Penny! It's your doing, I know. How can I thank you?" Tears of
joy streamed down Amy's face.
She listened breathlessly to the story Penny related.
"So George Hoges turned out to be a thief!" she exclaimed. "When he
asked me to copy a painting for him, I was suspicious that he had
involved himself in something dishonest."
Penny spoke of the meeting she had witnessed in the park.
"Yes, Mr. Hoges gave me money," Amy acknowledged ruefully. "I needed
it so badly or I shouldn't have listened to him."
"Then you knew you were to copy the Rembrandt?" Penny questioned
quickly.
"Oh, no! He didn't tell me what painting I was to reproduce. I
accepted the money because I needed it so badly. Later, when I thought
the matter over more carefully, I realized that the scheme couldn't be
an honest one. So I sent the money back."
"A fortunate thing that you did," Penny commented. "Had you kept the
money you might have been accused of being one of the gang."
"I'm glad the painting has been recovered," Amy said. "And to think
that my little Black Imp guarded the hiding place of Mrs. Dillon's
jewels!"
Penny remembered that she had a taxicab waiting outside and hastily
said goodbye. When she reached her father's office, he was talking on
the telephone. He smiled broadly as he hung up the receiver.
"Well, I've heard all about it," he declared. "You'll be famous as
soon as the evening papers are on the street. Reporters are on their
way here now."
It developed that Mr. Nichols had not been informed of all the details
of Penny's remarkable adventure. He was quite shaken when he learned
of her narrow escape from death in the burning building. The warmth of
his praise for her courage, brought the color rushing to the girl's
cheeks.
"I only hope Cron and his friends receive the sentences they deserve,"
she commented.
"Don't worry, they will, Penny. You fairly snowed them under with
damaging evidence."
Mr. Nichols was entirely correct in his opinion. Under police
grilling, Hoges and Cron confessed to the crimes for which they were
charged. Max Lynch refused to plead guilty but in the end a long legal
battle availed him nothing. With his three companions he was sentenced
to the state penitentiary.
Hanley Cron in his confession admitted that he had accepted a fee as a
bribe for awarding the Huddleson prize to "Winged Night," a statue of
inferior merit. The entire contest therefore was declared void.
Months later a new competition was held, and to the delight of everyone
Amy Coulter's Black Imp won the cherished prize.
Penny and her father were not to learn of these important developments
for some time. But they were both elated at the outcome of the case.
"Well, you seem to have relieved your old Dad of a job," the detective
smiled. "Now that Mrs. Dillon's necklace has been recovered, my work
for the Insurance Company is over."
"I hope you haven't been cheated out of any fat fees on my account."
"The company will be pleased because its financial responsibility to
Mrs. Dillon is over," the detective answered. "I may charge a double
fee on the strength of your work!"
"And do I get half of it?" Penny countered.
Her father smiled broadly. "Perhaps, if you promise to lock it up in
your bank account." He added with a chuckle: "I believe I could
increase my profits by taking you into the firm. 'Nichols and
Nichols.' How does that strike you?"
"I think it would look grand in print," Penny laughed. "Let's paint it
on the door right now!"
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Penny Nichols and the Black Imp, by Joan Clark