day she forgot about the matter, and Mrs. Weems carefully avoided speaking of Melvin Osandra. After breakfast, Penny walked to the Marble Doll Shoppe. The show rooms had been cleaned and Nellie herself was in better spirits than upon the previous day.

“I see you’re open for business again,” Penny said cheerfully. “Did you decide not to sell to that old lady?”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet,” Nellie answered. “The police were here late yesterday. They are of the opinion I’ll not be bothered again.”

Penny chatted with the girl a few minutes, and then remarked casually:

“These are cute boxes you use for your dolls.”

“Yes,” said Nellie, “I like them. A paper company made them up especially for me.”

“I saw one of your boxes yesterday. It was delivered to an actress at the Rialto.”

“Oh—” A bright flush stained Nellie’s cheeks.

“Nellie did send that doll,” Penny thought quickly. Aloud she said: “It was the strangest thing, someone gave Miss Harmon a queer creation which for lack of a better name we called a witch doll. Right away it occurred to me that the doll might have come from your shop.”

Nellie did not speak.

“There was a note with the doll,” Penny went on after a moment. “A note saying that the doll might prove an inspiration for a dance. Miss Harmon liked the idea very much. You didn’t send that doll by any chance?”

Nellie’s eyes fell before Penny’s steady gaze.

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered. “Please, don’t ask me.”

Turning abruptly, she disappeared into the rear room of the doll shop.