Together Penny and Jerry ran down the street, their eyes raised to the unevenly lighted windows of the separate apartment houses. They were uncertain as to the building from which the cry had come.
Suddenly the front door of the corner dwelling swung open, and a young woman in a maid’s uniform ran toward them.
Jerry, ever alert for a story of interest to the Star, neatly blocked the sidewalk. Of necessity the girl halted.
“Get a policeman, quick!” she gasped. “Mr. Kohl’s apartment has been robbed!”
“Mr. Kohl—the banker?” demanded Penny, scarcely believing her ears.
“Yes, yes,” the maid said in agitation. “Jewels, silverware, everything has been taken! The telephone wire was cut, too! Oh, tell me where I’ll find a policeman!”
“I’ll get one for you,” offered Jerry.
The information that it was Mr. Kohl’s house which had been burglarized dumbfounded Penny. As the reporter darted away to summon help, she showered questions upon the distraught maid.
“I don’t know yet how much has been taken,” the girl told her excitedly. “The rooms look as if a cyclone had swept through them! Oh, what will the Kohls say when they learn about it?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Kohl aren’t home yet?”