Penny Nichols and the Black Imp

"I know you are, Sue. But I don't think we'll have such a dull time as you imagine. It isn't every day that one has an opportunity to see a five thousand dollar statue unveiled."

"Will the winner of the Huddleson prize get that much money?" Susan asked in awe.

"Yes, and they say the competition this year has been very keen. The showing today at the Gage Galleries is a private one--the general public won't be allowed to see the statues for a week or so."

"Then how do we get in?"

Penny displayed two printed cards. "Dad," she announced laconically.

Penny's father, Christopher Nichols, a noted detective, was well known in Belton City and had many influential friends. The tickets to the special showing of the prize statuary at the Gage Galleries had been presented to him and since he had no interest in the affair he had passed them on to his daughter.

"The winning statue is to be unveiled at three o'clock," Penny declared. "What time is it now, Sue?"

"Then we'll never make it," Penny groaned, stepping harder on the gasoline pedal.

"Say, you slow down or I'll get out and walk," Susan protested. "I don't intend to risk my life--not for any old statue!"

Penny obediently slackened speed. Although she drove well and had the car under perfect control she had been traveling a trifle fast. "That's better," Susan approved. "At this speed there's absolutely no danger----"

Her words broke off abruptly as Penny slammed on the foot brake so hard that she was flung forward in the seat. From a side street, a long gray sedan unexpectedly had entered the main boulevard, the driver utterly disregarding the stop sign.

Penny swerved in time to avoid a crash, but the fenders of the two cars jarred together.

The girls sprang out to see how much damage had been done. The driver of the gray sedan likewise drew up to the curbing and alighted. He was a tall, thin man with a black moustache, immaculately dressed in gray tweeds. He wore a gardenia in the lapel of his well-tailored coat.

"See what you've done!" he accused angrily before either Penny or Susan could speak. "Just look at that."

He pointed to the rear fender which had been badly dented and bent. Penny cast an appraising glance at her own car and was relieved to note that save for a few minor scratches it had not been damaged.

"It's too bad," she acknowledged with a polite show of sympathy. "Didn't you see the boulevard stop?"

The man turned upon her wrathfully. "Of course I saw it. And I made the required stop too."

"Oh, no you didn't," Susan interposed heatedly. "You just barged right in without looking in either direction."

"What do you intend to do about my fender?" the man demanded testily of Penny, ignoring Susan entirely.

"Nothing. The fault was entirely yours. You're lucky the accident wasn't any worse."

"We'll see about this," the driver snapped. He made a great ado of copying down the license number of Penny's car.

"If you're determined to make a fuss, I should advise you to see my father--his name is Christopher Nichols."

"Nichols, the detective?"

Penny could not restrain a smile for it was easy to see that the name had startled the belligerent driver.

"Yes," she admitted.

With a scowl, the man returned paper and pencil to his pocket, not bothering to copy down the entire license number.

"Why didn't you tell me that before?" he muttered, climbing back into his car.

"You didn't ask me."