"You should have won," Penny declared loyally. "Your entry was by far the best."

"The judge didn't think so."

"Who is Hanley Cron anyhow?" Penny scoffed. "Just a newspaper art critic! Do you consider him an authority?"

"No, I don't," Amy returned. "It was rather odd that he was named judge of such an important contest."

"You see, it doesn't mean a thing."

"The five thousand dollars would have meant something," Amy smiled ruefully. "I could use it to pay my rent and buy new clothes. To say nothing of taking lessons in art. I'm desperate for money."

"Can't I loan you a little?" Penny offered.

"Oh, no! I have enough to keep going for some time. I only meant that I could use that prize money very advantageously."

"By the way, have you read the morning papers?" Penny inquired abruptly.

"No, I was so busy getting moved that I haven't glanced at a paper for days. I suppose the critics made fun of my poor entry."

"Upon the contrary, the Black Imp was highly praised. However, I was referring to the theft of the painting."

"Theft?" Amy asked blankly. "What painting do you mean?"

"Then you haven't heard the news," Penny said, watching her closely.

"I haven't heard about any painting being stolen. Surely you don't mean from the Gage Galleries?"

"Yes, a Rembrandt was taken yesterday afternoon from the exhibition room. The police believe that one of the contestants for the Huddleson prize may have stolen it in spite--the theory sounds silly to me."

"But how was the picture smuggled from the museum?"

"The police aren't sure, but they think a girl carried it out as a package. She was seen by one of the guards entering a taxi cab."

Amy's face flamed with color. "Miss Nichols, are you trying to tell me that I am under suspicion?" she demanded.

Penny nodded. "Yes, that's why I wanted to talk with you. The police are looking for you now."

"The police! But I've done nothing wrong. I didn't take the painting!

How can anyone accuse me of such a thing?"

"It's unjust of course. They suspect you because you left the Galleries only a few minutes before the theft of the painting was discovered."

"But that doesn't prove I took the picture! I had a right to leave."

"No one would have thought anything of it, Amy, but the guard reported he saw you board a taxi cab with a flat package under your arm.

Probably he was mistaken."

"I did take a package from the museum," the girl acknowledged, "and it was a painting. However, it was my own--one which I had exhibited there for several months."

"You didn't show the package to the guard who is stationed by the door?"

"No, when I left the building he was not at his usual post. As I entered the taxi cab I heard someone call after me but I was upset and I didn't want to go back. So I just pretended I didn't hear."

"It's too bad you didn't return and show the picture," Penny commented slowly. "That would have cleared you of all suspicion. As it is, you're in an awkward position."

"Don't you think the police will believe my story?"

"If you can prove it--yes. I suppose someone at the Gage Galleries will have a record that the picture you took was your own."

Amy looked frightened. "I'm afraid not," she admitted. "You see, the painting was wrapped up for me to carry home weeks ago. I didn't want to bother with it so I kept it in my locker in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Then yesterday I decided to take it with me."

"No one saw you go to your locker?"

"Not to my knowledge." Amy crossed the room and lifted out a small picture from her trunk. "See, this is the painting. A vase of flowers. It's very poor work--certainly about a million miles removed from a genuine Rembrandt."

In silence Penny studied the painting. She really was not thinking of it at all. However, she noticed absently that it was similar in size to the dimensions which the evening papers had given for the stolen Rembrandt.

"You don't think the police will try to send me to jail?" Amy questioned tensely. "The accusation is utterly silly!"

Penny did not know how to advise the girl. While she was inclined to believe Amy's story, she was afraid that others might not.

"Does anyone know of your present address?" she asked Amy.

"Only you. I haven't even had time to inform the postoffice of the change."

"Then why not remain in hiding for a few days until this trouble blows over?" Penny proposed after a moment's thought. "I shouldn't suggest it only I feel confident the real thief will be traced soon. Or at least new evidence will be uncovered."

"I shouldn't like to appear a sneak or a coward. If I were sure the police would believe me, I'd be glad to go to them and give myself up."

"That's just the point, Amy. You can't tell what they're likely to do.

And the story is almost certain to come out in the papers."

"I shouldn't like publicity," Amy declared. "Perhaps you're right about hiding."

"I'd stay off the street if possible," Penny advised, arising to leave.

"And it might be a good idea to take all your meals in."

"I shall," Amy promised. "Thank you for bringing me the warning. I appreciate it more than I can say."

"If there are any new developments I'll keep you posted," Penny said as they parted at the door. "The truth surely will come out within a few days."

She walked back to Pearl Street for her automobile, but did not drive home. Instead she turned toward the Gage Galleries.

"It seems to me the police and museum authorities have overlooked one important clue," she reflected. "I can't help thinking that the guard Susan and I met in the corridor may know something about the case. At least he should be questioned."

While it was true that a museum official had vouched for the honesty of the employee, Penny could not forget that the man had seemed greatly embarra.s.sed at the encounter in the dark hall.

She was quite aware that the loss of the valuable painting really was none of her affair. Nor would she have taken such a personal interest in the case had it not been for her acquaintance with Amy Coulter. She felt that if the girl were to be cleared of suspicion, someone would have to work in her behalf.