The girl was so preoccupied as they drove toward the Nichols' home that the detective commented upon her silence.
"Forget it," he advised kindly. "I know how to deal with Max's strong-arm squad."
Penny halted the car on the driveway and the detective alighted to open the garage doors. She drove in and snapped off the ignition. Together she and her father walked up the stepping-stone path to the rear entrance of the house.
The Nichols' residence was not imposing in appearance but the well-shrubbed grounds gave it a home-like air. A grass tennis court occupied one part of the lot while the opposite side was devoted to Mrs. Gallup's flowers. Since the death of Penny's mother, the kindly woman had served as a faithful housekeeper.
Mrs. Gallup, her plump arms covered with flour, was making biscuits when Penny and her father entered the neat kitchen.
"I'm slow tonight," she apologized. "All afternoon agents and peddlers have been coming to the door. It was enough to drive a body crazy. But I'll have dinner ready in about fifteen minutes."
"We're in no hurry," Penny assured her. "Has the evening paper come yet?"
"Yes, I heard the boy drop it in the mailbox a few minutes ago."
Usually Penny had scant interest in the newspaper but she was curious to learn what had been published concerning the stolen Rembrandt. She ran to the mailbox and soon had the sheet spread out on the floor. As she had expected, the story appeared on the front page. And there was a slightly blurred picture of the painting which had been stolen. Penny studied it carefully and read the story several times before relinquishing the paper to her father.
"Well, has the thief been apprehended?" Mr. Nichols asked with a smile.