Penny was McCumber's grand-daughter.
But Rocks had already located a room about two blocks from the museum and had moved in.
That was why the police found him so quickly.
It was an August night, as hot as hades, and Rocks was sleeping with both feet practically out the window, to take advantage of the late breeze. He awakened to the sound of his landlady's protesting voice.
"But I tell you, Officer, you can't want Mr. Malone. He's a fine boy and I will vouch for him personally. I'm sure he hasn't done anything wrong."
"I'm not saying he's done anything wrong, madam," a bass rumble answered. "But the officer on the beat said he lived here."
A rap sounded on the door. Rocks took his feet out of the window and said, "Come in."
A blue-coated figure thrust his head in. "You Malone?" he inquired.
"Yes. What's wrong?"
"We want you over at the Museum."