Chapter XVIII: Captured

The art critic rapped three times on the door. It opened instantly and closed after him as he vanished inside.

After waiting a few minutes, Penny tiptoed back down the hall. Her suspicions had been aroused and she was determined to learn what was going on inside the room.

She paused at the door and listened again. She could hear voices but this time it was impossible to catch even a word.

Penny moved on to the next door. She gently turned the knob. The door was locked. So were all the others along the corridor until she came to the last one.

To Penny's surprise, it opened. Cautiously, she peeped inside. The room appeared to be empty. She entered.

It was only a small office, empty of furniture. A few papers were scattered over the bare floor, but upon examination Penny found them of no significance. It was clear that if she were to learn anything of value, she must find a means of entering the room where Hanley Cron, the ex-museum worker and the others were talking.

An inside door opened into an adjoining room. Penny was elated to find it unlocked. But her satisfaction was of short duration, for the next office likewise was empty and devoid of any clues.

By placing her ear against the north wall, she was able to hear the three men talking. It was provoking to be so close and yet unable to learn what they were saying. She felt convinced that if only she could hear their conversation, a great many puzzling matters might be cleared up.

Presently, Penny heard a door slam. She peeped out into the hallway in time to see Cron, Hoges and another man disappearing down the stairway.

"The coast is clear now!" she thought. "If I can just find some way to enter that room while they're away!"

She made another tour of the hall, trying the door. As she had anticipated it was locked.

Returning to the room she had just left, she went to the window and looked out. A wide ledge of stone extended along the wall of the building, connecting the windows. At best it offered a dangerous footing. Yet Penny was tempted to try to reach the adjoining room by means of it, for there was no other way to gain admittance.

She raised the window and looked down. Her courage nearly failed her. While the ledge was wide, it meant a long fall and instant death should she become dizzy and lose her balance.

"I can do it--easy," Penny told herself grimly.

Climbing out on the ledge, she clutched an overhanging telephone wire for support and cautiously eased herself along, an inch at a time. She kept her gaze ahead, resisting the temptation to glance toward the deserted street.

She reached the next window which was open an inch at the bottom. The gap provided a finger-hold and enabled her to raise the window. With a sigh of intense relief, she dropped lightly to the floor.

She found herself in a large, studio room, well illuminated by two sky lights. Obviously, several artists had been working there, for the place was cluttered with easels, palettes, and discarded paintings. A number of pictures of uniform size stood in a little pile, face downward.

Curiously, Penny lifted one to gaze at it.

"The stolen Rembrandt!" she gasped.

Then she knew better. It was only a copy, identical with the one she had viewed at Mrs. Dillon's home.

She lifted the other pictures and looked at them. They were all the same.

"So this is where Mrs. Dillon's fake came from!" she thought. "The men who rented this place apparently are manufacturing Rembrandts in wholesale quantities!"

At the other side of the room she noticed a picture which was only half finished, and beside it a canvas covered easel. She crossed over to lift the protecting cloth.

Still another Rembrandt was revealed.

"Just a copy," Penny told herself, and started to replace the canvas.

Then she looked at the picture again. It did not look exactly like the others. The detail was the same, yet this painting seemed to have a depth and quality which the others lacked. Penny wondered if it could be the original Rembrandt, the priceless painting which had been stolen from the Gage Galleries.

"I believe it is!" she decided.

As Penny stood gazing at the picture, she was dismayed to hear footsteps in the hallway. Frantically, she looked about for a hiding place.

It was too late to escape through the window. The only refuge available was a clothes closet.

Penny darted inside and softly shut the door. Scarcely had she secreted herself when three men entered the room. Peering out through the keyhole, she distinguished Cron, Hoges, and the man in gray whom she had once followed to the Franklyn Street address. Apparently, the men had returned for something they had forgotten. Hanley Cron searched in a table drawer.

"Say, who left that window open?" he demanded unexpectedly.

"I didn't," Hoges said.

"You can't blame me for it," the other man growled. "Probably you opened it yourself."

"I did not," Cron retorted. He crossed the room and slammed down the window. "Be careful about things like that. If we're not more cautious we'll have the cops on us."

"If you ask me, I think it's about time we blow," Hoges commented. "This town is getting pretty hot for us."

"Maybe you're right," Cron muttered. "I had a disagreeable hour with that simple minded Mrs. Dillon. She's still afraid to notify the police, but that Nichols girl has been talking with her, and she may make us trouble."

"Christopher Nichols has been assigned to the jewel case too," Hoges added. "He's no sloth when it comes to action!"

"Our game has just about played out," Cron agreed. "But I have one more good customer lined up. I told him to come here at one-thirty to see the picture."

"Maybe we could pull this last job," Hoges agreed. "Does he know much about painting?"

"Very little. We ought to nip him for three thousand at least."

Hoges glanced at his watch.

"If your customer is coming at one-thirty we'd better get the stage set."

"All right," Cron nodded. "Let's clean up the joint."

Uncovering the genuine Rembrandt, he took one of the copies, and deftly inserted it in the picture frame behind the original painting, but in such a manner that only the back of the canvas was visible. When the frame was replaced only a person with keen eyesight could detect the trickery.

"We'll pull the usual gag about identifying the picture with a signature or a symbol," Cron muttered. "That always goes big."

By this time Penny had seen enough to understand how Mrs. Dillon and other gullible customers had been duped. They had been shown the original stolen Rembrandt, but when invited to place an identifying mark on the back of the canvas to insure that they received the same picture, actually signed the fake copy. It was then a simple matter to remove the two paintings from the frame and send the customer the worthless one which bore his mark.

"Cron and his confederates have worked a fairly safe racket too," Penny thought. "Even if a customer learns he has been cheated, he's afraid to go to the police for fear he'll expose himself as a person willing to buy stolen property!"

She was not greatly surprised to learn that Cron was a party to the dishonest scheme, notwithstanding that Mrs. Dillon had denied the art critic was the mysterious agent who had visited her. Now Penny knew that the woman had not spoken the truth. Doubtlessly, she had feared to accuse Cron, lest he in turn expose her to the police.

A knock sounded on the door. Cron and his confederates froze into tense attitudes, then relaxed.

"It must be our customer," Cron whispered. "Open the door."

As it swung back, Max Lynch stepped into the room. He smiled blandly.

"Hello, boys. You don't look as if you were expecting me."

"We weren't--exactly," Cron muttered. "What do you want, Max? You know I've warned you not to come here."

The gambler had been making a quick survey of the room. His eyes came to rest on the Rembrandt. He smiled again, unpleasantly.

"Say, who are you anyway?" Hoges demanded angrily. "What business do you have with us?"

"My business is with your pal, Hanley Cron. We're partners."

"Partners?" Hoges echoed, his eyes narrowing. He wheeled toward Cron. "If you've been double crossing me----"

"Oh, calm down," Cron said sharply. "Lynch and I had a little private business together but it has nothing to do with the picture racket."

"I'm not so sure about that," the other retorted. "You've been collecting all the money. Maybe you've stuck some of it into your pocket."

"I didn't come here to start an argument," Lynch interposed. "But I'll not stand for any monkey business either. Hand over the pearls, Cron!"

"I don't have them. I told you once that girl----"

"Yes, you've told me a good many things, Cron. But I happen to know you have the necklace. Hand it over or----"

The threat was left unsaid for at that unfortunate moment Penny felt an overpowering impulse to sneeze. She buried her face in her handkerchief but succeeded in only partially muffling the sound.

Immediately, the closet door was flung open and she was found cowering there. Cron dragged her from her hiding place.

"So you've been listening!" he sneered.

"Yes," said Penny boldly. "And I've heard enough to confirm what I've always believed. You are the person who stole the Rembrandt from the Gage Galleries! You're a cheap trickster who pawns himself off as a gentleman!"

As she uttered the tirade, the girl made a quick dive for the door, but Max Lynch caught her by the arm and flung her back.

"Not so fast, Miss Nichols," he muttered. "This is once when you won't go tattling to the police or to that father of yours!"

The discovery of Penny hiding in the closet had brought an abrupt end to the quarrel. In the face of the new emergency, the four crooks laid differences aside to consider what must be done.

"Tie her up!" Cron ordered harshly.

Penny's arms and legs were securely bound with stout cord, a gag was drawn over her mouth, and she was unceremoniously thrown back into the closet. But she could still hear the men talking.

"This changes all our plans," Cron said. "If this girl knew enough to follow us here, the police may soon be on our trail. We must get out of town."

"Not without dividing on that necklace job we planned together," Lynch interposed angrily. "You'll never leave town until you cough up."

Hoges and his unnamed companion were regarding Cron with open suspicion.

"You've been holding out on us," they accused the art critic.

Cron realized that he had placed himself in an awkward position.

"All right, I'll admit I have the pearl necklace," he said shortly. "We'll split four ways, and then no one can kick."

Max Lynch did not like the decision, but after grumbling a little, he unwillingly agreed.

"Now let's get out of here!" Cron urged nervously. "The necklace is at my room. We'll have to go there."

"What about the Rembrandt?" Hoges asked, turning to look at it.

"Take my advice and leave it behind," Lynch spoke up. "That picture is as hot as a rivet. It's a bulky thing to tote around the country as luggage too."

"How about the girl?" Hoges demanded.

Cron hesitated only a fraction of an instant. "Leave her in the closet."

"Maybe she won't be found very soon," Lynch remarked.

"That's her hard luck," Cron retorted. "We have to look out for ourselves."

"Okay," Lynch agreed indifferently. "Let's go."

The men hastily gathered up a few possessions which if left behind might serve to identify them. Then they went out the door, locking it after them.

Penny heard the key turn in the lock, and her heart sank. With a gag over her mouth, she could not even call for help. She was indeed in a desperate plight.