"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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 ma.s.s of wet clay and Penny hastened to a.s.sist 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed?" 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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."