"But Dad, how does the insurance company figure in the case? The pearls weren't insured."

"As it happens, they were. For fifteen thousand dollars."

"But I heard Mrs. Dillon say to you herself that the necklace had never been insured."

"Yes. Apparently, she didn't tell the truth."

"She acted dreadfully upset over the loss. What reason would she have for telling you a deliberate falsehood about the insurance?"

"I wonder myself."

"Are the pearls worth fifteen thousand?" Penny asked thoughtfully.

"No more than that certainly. It seems, too, that the policy was taken out from the insurance company only a few weeks ago."

"The company doesn't think that the robbery was planned surely?"

"It was planned all right--but whether by Mrs. Dillon I'm in no position to say."

"But why should she wish to resort to such a trick just to collect insurance?" Penny protested. "The Dillons are wealthy."

"Ostensibly so, at least. However, even to Mrs. Dillon, fifteen thousand might look attractive."

"I don't believe she's as honest as she should be," Penny admitted reluctantly. "At least that stolen picture isn't in her favor. She must have bought it with a full knowledge of what she was doing."

Christopher Nichols nodded thoughtfully.

"Will you take the case?" Penny questioned hopefully.

"I haven't decided yet. I admit I'm beginning to grow interested in it."

While the two were talking, Miss Arrow, the secretary, swiftly entered the room.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she apologized, "but that dreadful man is here again."

"Which dreadful man?" the detective inquired, smiling.

"Max Lynch."

"Oh."

"Don't see him," Penny pleaded. "He might attempt to harm you, Dad."

Mr. Nichols paid no heed. He turned to Miss Arrow. "Is he carrying a gun?"

"I don't think so, Mr. Nichols. But I couldn't be certain."

"Please don't see him," Penny begged earnestly. "Max Lynch has a grudge against you."

"Now don't get yourself worked up, Penny," he chided, opening the top drawer of his desk to make certain that his own revolver was at hand for immediate use in an emergency. "I'll be in no danger, and Max may prove useful to me."

"Useful?"

"Yes, he's an expert on jewels and it's a well known fact he sometimes handles stolen gems."

"You think he may know something about Mrs. Dillon's necklace?"

"I don't suppose he had anything to do with the theft, Penny, but likely he has a pretty good idea who handled the job."

"Shall I tell him to come in?" Miss Arrow questioned.

"Yes, I'll see him."

"I suppose I'll have to go," Penny said reluctantly.

"Please," the detective requested.

Miss Arrow already had departed. As Penny reached the door she met Max Lynch coming in. He stood aside for her to pa.s.s, but there was no deference in the action. He eyed the girl insolently.

"Your daughter, Nichols?" he demanded.

"Yes," the detective answered shortly.

"Not bad looking."

"We'll leave her out of the conversation," Nichols said sharply. "What brought you here this time, Max?"

Without replying, Lynch leisurely sat down in a chair opposite the detective. He calmly helped himself to a cigar on the desk. But he never lighted it. For as he reached into his pocket after a match, he noticed an object directly in front of him. It was the Black Imp.

For an instant he stared at the figure, the expression of self-confidence completely washed from his face.

He hastily arose and his chair, as he pushed it back, made a harsh grating noise on the floor. Instinctively, Christopher Nichols' hand moved swiftly toward the top drawer of his desk. But there was no need for alarm. Max Lynch did not reach for his gun. Instead he made for the door.

"You're leaving?" Nichols asked.

Max did not reply. But as he went out the door, he glanced back over his shoulder, and for a fleeting moment his eyes rested in fascinated fear on the figure of the Black Imp.

CHAPTER XII

The Missing Workman

No sooner had Max Lynch banged out of the office than Penny came hurrying in.

"What happened?" she questioned her father.

"Nothing. Max just decided to leave."