Hanley Cron was taken aback at the unexpected exposure, but he quickly regained his usual nonchalance.
"I rather liked the figure," he said inadequately. "That was why I copied it. I had no other reason."
"You didn't like the Black Imp well enough to award it a prize," Amy cried indignantly. "You have a very good reason for reproducing the statue—perhaps you intend to put it to commercial use!"
"You flatter yourself, Miss Coulter. The statue has no value commercially or otherwise."
"You have no right to copy it," Amy insisted, with increasing anger. "The Black Imp is solely my work."
Before either Hanley Cron or Penny guessed the girl's intention, she darted across the room and snatched the little figure from the pedestal.
"What are you doing?" the sculptor demanded harshly.
"I'm going to take the Black Imp with me. You've no right to it!"
"Drop that!"
Furiously, Cron caught the girl by the wrist, giving it a cruel wrench. Amy would not relinquish the mass of wet clay and Penny hastened to assist her. In the midst of the struggle, the door opened and a policeman looked in.