The name seemed strangely familiar. Then she remembered. It must be the shop of Jimmy Wilson, who did some of her father's printing.

Penny opened the door and there was Jimmy himself feeding envelopes into a small job press. He looked up from his work when he saw her, stopping his machine to say: "Well, if it isn't Miss Nichols. Rush order from your father, I'll bet."

"Not this time, Mr. Wilson. But I do wonder if you could give me a little information."

"I'll tell you anything but my lodge secrets," Jimmy replied.

"I want to know what became of the tenants on the floor above."

If the printer was surprised at such a direct question his expression did not disclose it.

"Oh, the janitor was telling me about that, Miss Nichols. He said they moved out, bag and baggage during the night."

"Last night?" Penny inquired quickly.

"Yes, seems their rent was paid up a week ahead too."

"What sort of place did they run?"

"Well, they claimed to be sign painters, but I couldn't tell you about that. In an old building like this a lot of strange specimens come and go."

"Did you notice the man who rented the floor?"

"Not particularly. There seemed to be three of them, a tall, rather well dressed man, and two kind of long-haired looking foreigners.

Sometimes when I worked late in my shop, I could hear them up there messing around long into the night."

Further questioning failed to bring out any vital information, and not wishing to arouse the printer's suspicions, Penny thanked him and descended to the street.

She was disappointed at her failure to find the upper floor of the building occupied and it occurred to her that possibly her own actions had caused the sudden departure.

"The janitor may have mentioned to that man in gray that I came here yesterday," she reflected, "but why should it make any difference?"

Penny was certain that the man she had followed to the building had previously made a business of shadowing her. She had never seen him before in her life and could not understand why her movements should interest him.

"The riddle is too involved for me," she told herself. "I guess one mystery at a time is enough to worry about."

It was still fairly early in the afternoon and Penny did not wish to waste the day. She decided to make a bold move and call upon Mrs.

Dillon. Yet she dreaded the interview.

Taking a bus, she soon arrived at the society woman's home. When she rang the doorbell, the maid who answered, recognized her immediately.

Her glance was not friendly.

"Is Mrs. Dillon in?" Penny inquired.

"Yes, but I'm not sure she'll see you," the maid answered shortly.

"When I told her you were here the other day to see the picture, she didn't know anything about it."

"Did you tell her my name?"

"How could I when you wouldn't give it?"

Penny smiled. "Please tell Mrs. Dillon that Miss Nichols would like to speak with her. You might add that the matter is important."

"I'll tell her," the maid said reluctantly.

Penny waited several minutes, but when the servant came back she was more cordial. "Mrs. Dillon will see you in the drawing room."

The woman arose as Penny entered.

"I am very glad you came this afternoon," she said pleasantly. "I intended to telephone your father but now you may give him my message."

"I'll be glad to, Mrs. Dillon."

"I owe your father an apology about the way I talked to him. You see, I didn't know that my pearl necklace was insured."

"And you have since learned differently?" Penny asked politely.

"Yes, my husband told me last night. He insured the pearls without telling me anything about it. Wasn't that fortunate?"

"Very," Penny agreed. "I suppose you feel greatly relieved."

"Oh, yes, but I still wish your father would take the case. You'll give him my apology?"

"Yes, indeed."

There was a little awkward silence as Mrs. Dillon waited for Penny to explain why she had called. The girl scarcely knew how to begin. She had been disarmed, as it were, by the society woman's manner.

"I wanted to talk to you about a picture which was taken from the Gage Galleries," she began hesitantly. "A Rembrandt."

A cold look came over Mrs. Dillon's face. "Yes?" she inquired.

Penny stirred uncomfortably. The interview was not to her liking. And when her father learned of it she was afraid it might not be to his liking either.

"It occurred to me, Mrs. Dillon, that possibly you could help in locating the stolen picture."

"I? You flatter me, my dear."

Penny saw the warning in Mrs. Dillon's dark eyes. But she dared to go on.

"Let's not pretend, Mrs. Dillon," she said quietly. "I know about that painting which you keep hidden behind the panel of the library."

Mrs. Dillon sprang to her feet, her face convulsed with anger.

"So you are the snooper who came here!" she cried. "Get out of my house and never, never come again! Go quickly or I'll call the police!"

CHAPTER XIV