Chapter X: Hanley Cron's Studio

Penny wondered why Hanley Cron should wish to duplicate the Black Imp. He had not thought highly enough of it even to award Amy honorable mention in the Huddleson contest.

She had no time to consider the matter, for her chief thought was to capture the jewel thief before he escaped from the building. Already she feared that she had lost him.

"Why do you keep your studio door locked from the inside?" she demanded, turning the key to open it.

"Because I don't care to be interrupted while I am working," Cron retorted significantly. "As a rule, visitors don't have the effrontery to come in the windows!"

Penny did not reply to the gibe. She opened the door just as Amy came running up the corridor, holding something in her hand. She stopped short when she saw Hanley Cron.

"Amy Coulter, I believe," he said sharply. "Wanted by the police."

"I've done nothing wrong," the girl retorted.

"You are under suspicion for the theft of a valuable painting from the Gage Galleries."

"I don't know anything about the picture."

"The charge is silly," Penny added.

"You seem to have an unlucky faculty of being present whenever valuables are stolen," Cron commented coldly. "Isn't that Mrs. Dillon's bag you have in your hand?"

"Yes, it is. I picked it up by the elevator. It was lying on the floor."

"The thief must have dropped it," Penny declared. "Are the pearls gone?"

"I haven't even looked yet," Amy admitted.

She offered the beaded bag to Penny who promptly turned it inside out. Save for a compact and a handkerchief the purse was empty.

"The pearls are missing all right," Cron commented, looking half-accusingly at Amy.

"Don't you dare suggest I had anything to do with it!" the girl cried furiously. "Mrs. Dillon will tell you that Penny and I were only trying to help!"

"I don't know anything about the pearls," Cron replied cuttingly, "but I intend to turn you over to the police for questioning in regard to the stolen painting."

Penny turned blazing eyes upon the art critic.

"Before you do that, Mr. Cron, you might explain to Miss Coulter why you are copying her statue!"

Darting across the room, she snatched off the cloth which covered the sculptor's work.

"Why, it's my Black Imp!" Amy cried in surprise. "You've reproduced it in every detail!"

Hanley Cron was taken aback at the unexpected exposure, but he quickly regained his usual nonchalance.

"I rather liked the figure," he said inadequately. "That was why I copied it. I had no other reason."

"You didn't like the Black Imp well enough to award it a prize," Amy cried indignantly. "You have a very good reason for reproducing the statue--perhaps you intend to put it to commercial use!"

"You flatter yourself, Miss Coulter. The statue has no value commercially or otherwise."

"You have no right to copy it," Amy insisted, with increasing anger. "The Black Imp is solely my work."

Before either Hanley Cron or Penny guessed the girl's intention, she darted across the room and snatched the little figure from the pedestal.

"What are you doing?" the sculptor demanded harshly.

"I'm going to take the Black Imp with me. You've no right to it!"

"Drop that!"

Furiously, Cron caught the girl by the wrist, giving it a cruel wrench. Amy would not relinquish the mass of wet clay and Penny hastened to assist her. In the midst of the struggle, the door opened and a policeman looked in.

"What's going on here?"

Hanley Cron's hand fell from Amy's arm. The girls expected him to make a direct charge against them but he seemed confused by the appearance of the policeman.

"We're not having any trouble, officer," he muttered. "Just a little friendly argument about some of my work."

"Friendly, eh?" the policeman questioned. He gazed inquiringly at Penny and Amy.

"It was really nothing," the latter said hurriedly. "We merely disagreed about a statue."

The girls edged toward the door, Amy still clutching the Black Imp in her hands. They both confidently expected that Cron would bring up the matter of the stolen painting, but for some reason which they could not fathom, he stood mute.

The policeman, however, blocked the exit.

"Just a minute," he said. "What's this bag doing here?" He picked up the beaded purse which had been dropped on the table.

Penny explained where Amy had found it and told of her own attempt to capture the jewel thief.

"The man didn't come into my studio," Cron interposed. "These girls are so excited they don't know what they saw."

"The thief came up the fire escape," Penny insisted. "I admit I may have been mistaken as to the window he entered."

"You were," Cron said shortly.

"I guess it doesn't matter greatly now," Penny returned. "By this time the thief is probably blocks away."

It was Mrs. Dillon who had called the policeman. She had noticed him at the corner and had screamed for help. He had mounted the stairs so swiftly that she had been unable to keep pace with him. Now she hurried up, breathless from exertion. The corridor was rapidly filling with excited occupants of the building who had learned of the theft.

"Oh, thank goodness you've recovered my bag!" Mrs. Dillon cried joyfully, as she entered the studio room.

"Your pearls are gone," the policeman told her, handing over the purse. "The thief dropped the bag in the hallway after he had rifled it."

Mrs. Dillon sank weakly down in the nearest chair. Her face was white and Penny could not help feeling sorry for her.

"Can you describe the thief?" the officer questioned.

"Oh, I'm afraid not," Mrs. Dillon murmured. "I really didn't notice him at all until he came up to me. He asked me for fifty cents. When I refused he snatched my bag."

"It was a planned robbery, I think," Penny interposed. "I noticed that the man was waiting when Mrs. Dillon drove up. He seemed to be watching for her car."

The policeman directed his questions toward Penny who answered them to the best of her ability. However, she was unable to furnish a very good description of the thief.

"Officer, you must find that man," Mrs. Dillon said urgently. "I'll pay a liberal reward for the return of my jewels. I must have them back! They represent a fortune!"

"I'll do the best I can, Madam."

"The pearls will be recovered, Mrs. Dillon," Hanley Cron said soothingly. "Our police force is very efficient."

"I shouldn't have carried the pearls in my purse," Mrs. Dillon moaned. "Christopher Nichols warned me. I should have heeded his words."

"Where were you when the bag was snatched?" the officer questioned.

"I had just left my car. I was coming here to meet Mr. Cron. We were taking luncheon together."

"Had you told anyone that you were carrying the pearls in the purse?"

"Only Mr. Cron. Of course Christopher Nichols was aware of my intention."

"I knew you were taking the jewels to the bank vault," Penny informed. "I overheard you talking at the ball, and I believe others must have listened to the conversation too."

"No guest of mine could be guilty of the theft," Mrs. Dillon replied in a shocked voice. "The man who snatched the bag was a stranger."

"He may have been employed by another," Penny suggested.

Amy was decidedly uneasy in the presence of Hanley Cron and the policeman, fearing that at any moment some reference might be made to the stolen painting. She could not understand why the art critic remained silent since he had threatened to expose her.

Hearing the whining whistle of a squad car arriving from police headquarters, the girls quietly slipped away. Cron made no move to detain them, even though Amy retained possession of the Black Imp.

"Why do you suppose Hanley Cron didn't try to make trouble?" Penny asked as they walked swiftly along the street toward Amy's rooming house. "I felt certain he would."

"So did I. I guess he knew he had no right to copy the Black Imp."

"He was probably afraid he might get himself into trouble," Penny chuckled. "Either that, or he didn't want to make a scene in front of Mrs. Dillon."

"It's queer about the statue," Amy said musingly. "I can't understand what he intended to do with it."

She took the Black Imp from her pocket and examined it critically. The damp clay was slightly misshapen from rough handling. They sat down on a park bench while Amy deftly moulded it back into its original form.

"It should make a fairly nice figure when it dries," she remarked.

"Why don't you try to sell the Black Imp to some commercial firm?" Penny asked abruptly. "It seems to me it has possibilities. It's such a cute little figure."

"Perhaps I will try later on," Amy agreed. "But until my name is cleared I haven't much chance to do anything."

"That's true," Penny acknowledged. "What are you going to do with this copy of the statue?"

"Oh, I don't know. Would you like it?"

"Would I? Rather! But don't you want it yourself?"

"No, I have the original if ever I muster the courage to go to the museum and claim it."

"I'd love to have the reproduction," Penny declared enthusiastically. "Only I wish you had made it instead of Hanley Cron."

"I'll make you a nicer piece later on," Amy promised as she wrapped up the figure in her handkerchief and gave it to Penny.

Presently, after discussing at some length the exciting events of the afternoon, they arose and walked on down the street. They were nearing the downtown business section when Penny halted and pretended to gaze into the plate glass window of a large department store.

"Amy, I think we're being followed!" she announced in a low tone. "Don't look around."

"What makes you think so?" Amy inquired skeptically.

"Ever since we left the park a man has been trailing us."

"Are you sure?"

"Every time we stop he does too. I can see his reflection now in the plate glass. He's pretending to be looking into that jewelry store window but he's really watching us."

"You mean the man in the gray topcoat?"

"Yes."

"Maybe he's a plain-clothes man who is after me," Amy said uneasily.

"We can soon find out. Come on!"

Catching Amy's arm, Penny steered her into the department store. They sauntered leisurely through the aisles, frequently pausing to examine merchandise. Unobtrusively, they kept watch of the main entrance.

"Here he comes, just as I knew he would!" Penny exclaimed in an undertone as she caught a glimpse of the man entering the store. "We must shake him quickly now."

They walked swiftly down the aisle and took a crowded elevator to the top floor.

"Now we'll walk down three flights of stairs," Penny commanded.

Already they had lost sight of the man, but to make certain that he would not catch them again, they crossed to the opposite side of the building and took a down-going elevator to the main floor. Mingling with the crowd they emerged upon the street.

"We certainly gave him the slip," Amy laughed.

"My father taught me that trick. Even a trained detective finds it difficult to follow a person who is aware he is being shadowed."

"I guess I'll say goodbye to you here," Amy said regretfully. "I hope I'll see you again soon."

"Yes, indeed. I intend to talk with Mrs. Dillon about that painting she bought. I'll let you know what she says."

The girls parted company but Penny did not leave the scene. Instead, she walked across the street, establishing herself in a doorway where she could keep watch of the department store entrance.

"Two can play at this game of shadowing," she chuckled.

It was nearly twenty minutes before the man who had been following Penny and Amy emerged from the store. She noted him instantly. He was a tall, thin man dressed entirely in gray.

"I don't believe I've ever seen him before," Penny thought.

When the man moved off down the street, she crossed the street and trailed him. He walked swiftly and did not once glance backward, apparently having no suspicion that he was being followed.

Once the man paused to glance into the window of a pawnshop. He turned down East Franklyn Street which led through a dirty, poverty-stricken district to the river. Presently, Penny saw him enter a run-down, dilapidated brick building.

In the doorway he met another man, evidently the janitor who caught him roughly by the arm as he endeavored to pass.

"Just a minute, you," he said. "I've been trying to find you for a week. How about that rent you owe?"

"Try and get it!"

"I'll get it all right," the janitor returned threateningly. "If I don't I may make it my business to find out why you rented the entire top floor."

A strange look came over the other man's face. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a large roll of bills.

"How much?"

"Fifty dollars."

"Here it is. And a five for yourself. Now don't bother me again."

And with that the man strode angrily into the building and mounted a long flight of stairs which led to the top floor.