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?"