Read Ebook: Penny Nichols and the Black Imp by Clark Joan

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Ebook has 1690 lines and 40256 words, and 34 pages

"He may have been working a few minutes overtime. Hoges is considered an honest employee. He came to us highly recommended. I am told that he had been ordered to move several pictures this afternoon."

There was nothing more that Penny or Susan could say. As they were departing the police arrived upon the scene to make an investigation of the theft. The girls saw Hanley Cron and the official talking with the officers and they heard Amy Coulter's name mentioned.

"It's ridiculous to try to throw the blame on her," Penny declared as she and Susan went to their parked car. "You can be sure that painting wasn't stolen by any novice."

"Amy might have done it out of spite," Susan suggested slowly. "Because she was provoked about the prize."

"It doesn't sound reasonable to me, Sue. Wait until the police get busy on the case. They'll soon prove that she had nothing to do with the theft."

Penny was so confident of such an outcome that she did not feel greatly concerned for Amy. Although she had talked with the girl only a few minutes, she had taken an immediate liking to her. Both she and Susan had been keenly disappointed at Hanley Cron's decision to award the five thousand dollar prize to an entry other than the Black Imp.

Penny dropped Susan off at the Altman residence, and then, since it was nearly time for her father to leave his office, stopped at the Nichols' Detective Agency to take him home.

Christopher Nichols was a tall, dignified looking man with appraising gray eyes and a slight tinge of gray in his hair. He had solved many unusual cases and it was said of him that he was one of the shrewdest detectives in the state.

Mr. Nichols took his own accomplishments in a matter-of-fact way, but he liked to boast of his attractive daughter's ability as a sleuth. He was very proud of Penny and teased her by frequently referring to the mysteries which she had solved. In the first volume of this series, entitled, "Penny Nichols Finds a Clue," the girl had been instrumental in capturing a daring gang of auto thieves. Later she visited a queer old mansion in the mountains and by her discovery of an underground tunnel and a secret staircase cleared up "The Mystery of the Lost Key."

Now as she entered her father's office, it did not occur to Penny that she had embarked upon a new adventure. She perched herself on the corner of the desk and swiftly gave an account not only of the daring theft at the art museum, but of her unpleasant meeting with Hanley Cron. Mr. Nichols was deeply interested in the details of the theft.

"A Rembrandt," he whistled softly. "That painting must represent quite a tidy sum of money."

"How much?" Penny inquired curiously.

"Oh, I'd not venture to say without knowing more about the picture. Offhand I'd guess several thousand dollars."

"Doesn't it seem silly to think that Amy Coulter could have anything to do with the theft?"

"Upon the face of it, yes," the detective replied slowly. "Of course the girl may have been an agent of another. Picture thefts usually are accomplished by several crooks working together."

"The girl didn't look like a crook, Dad."

"Appearances often are deceitful, Penny. Some of our most dangerous criminals would pass on the street as ordinary citizens. However, I do not doubt that the girl is innocent. It does seem a little strange that she succeeded in carrying a package out of the building without being stopped by a guard, but probably she will be cleared of suspicion within a day or so."

Mr. Nichols locked his desk for it was time to close. As he and Penny were preparing to leave, the secretary appeared in the doorway.

"A man to see you, Mr. Nichols."

"A man did you say?" the detective asked with a twinkle. "Or a gentleman?"

"A man," the secretary repeated firmly. "And an unpleasant appearing one at that."

"Did you tell him that we are just closing the office?"

"I did, Mr. Nichols, but he insisted that his business was very urgent. He refused to give his name."

The detective frowned and then asked: "Would you say the man is an underworld character?"

"He looks it. Shall I tell him you cannot see him this afternoon?"

"No, I'll see him," Mr. Nichols decided. "You may send him in."

Penny arose to leave. "I suppose I'll have to go," she grumbled.

"Duck into the next room if you like," the detective said. "If the conversation gets too interesting, stuff cotton in your ears."

Penny laughed and quickly secreted herself in the private study which adjoined her father's office. She closed the door between the rooms but was careful to leave a generous sized crack through which she could both see and hear.

Scarcely had her father seated himself at his desk when the visitor entered. The secretary's appraisal of the man had not prepared Penny for his actual appearance. He was a stout person, prosperous looking, with several glittering diamond rings on his stubby fingers. His clothes were cut in the latest style, his shoes were brilliantly shined, and he carried a sporty cane.

When Penny surveyed the visitor's face she knew why her father's secretary had catalogued him as an underworld character. His expression was hard and ruthless, his smile cold and sinister.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Nichols," the man said in a purring voice. "You know my name I think."

The detective's eyes narrowed as he recognized the visitor but otherwise his expression did not alter. He said evenly:

"Yes, I know you very well indeed--Max Lynch!"

Penny, crouching at the door, felt a chill of excitement pass over her body as she heard the name. Max Lynch was a notorious crook, a swindler and a gambler, a man who often had been accused of crimes but seldom convicted of them.

"Well, what's your game this time, Max?" the detective demanded sharply. "What brought you here?"

The Threat

Max Lynch smiled disarmingly as he seated himself in a chair opposite the detective.

"You have an abrupt way with your clients, Nichols."

"You're no client of mine," the detective retorted. "You never have been and you never will be!"

The gambler continued to smile blandly, refusing to take offense. "I admit I've never hired you on a job of my own," he said. "But many a time a guy has said to me 'Who is the best private dick in town?' and I says 'Chris Nichols,' just like that. It has brought you some nice jobs."

"I don't believe I've ever taken any case through your influence, Max Lynch. But that's neither here nor there. What's on your mind?"

The gambler moved forward in his chair.

"Well, Nichols, it's like this. Dutch O'Neil is in the jug for pasting a dude customer of mine over at my casino last night. Dutch is one of my bouncers and this fellow started upsetting the faro tables after he had lost his roll. Dutch bounced him out so hard the fellow is in the hospital with a broken jaw."

"And you want me to send the man some flowers?" the detective asked sarcastically.

Max Lynch ignored the thrust. "It's this way," he explained. "The guy turned out to be a big shot of the town--a broker or something. And he has turned so much heat on the judge the poor old fossil is afraid to let Dutch go. Now it happens this broker is an old friend and client of yours--George Kirby. Know him?"

"Yes, I know him very well."

"All right, you go and see George and soften him up. If you can get him to drop his charges and have the case nolled there's half a grand in it for you."

"I'll have nothing to do with it."

"I'll raise the ante," the gambler offered. "Seven hundred and fifty."

"There's not enough of your kind of money in this town to employ me on a crooked case like this."

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