Title: The Diamond Pin
Author: Wells, Carolyn, 1862-1942
Language: English
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THE DIAMOND PIN

       *       *       *       *       *

CAROLYN WELLS'


     _Baffling detective stories in which Fleming Stone, the
     great American Detective, displays his remarkable ingenuity
     for unravelling mysteries_

  VICKY VAN                 $1.35 net
  THE MARK OF CAIN          $1.35 net
  THE CURVED BLADES         $1.35 net
  THE WHITE ALLEY           $1.25 net
  ANYBODY BUT ANNE          $1.25 net
  THE MAXWELL MYSTERY       $1.25 net
  A CHAIN OF EVIDENCE       $1.25 net
  THE CLUE                  $1.25 net
  THE GOLD BAG              $1.25 net

EACH WITH FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR.
12MO. CLOTH.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: FIBSY AIMED IT STRAIGHT AT THE MASKED MAN--_Page 258_]


THE DIAMOND PIN

by

CAROLYN WELLS

Author of "A Chain of Evidence," "Vicky Van," etc.

With a Frontispiece in Color by Gayle Hoskins



[Illustration]

Philadelphia and London
J. B. Lippincott Company
1919

Copyright, 1919, by J. B. Lippincott Company



CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
      I. A CERTAIN DATE                                                7
     II. THE LOCKED ROOM                                              24
    III. THE EVIDENCE OF THE CHECKBOOK                                40
     IV. TIMKEN AND HIS INQUIRIES                                     56
      V. DOWNING'S EVIDENCE                                           71
     VI. LUCILLE                                                      87
    VII. THE CASE AGAINST BANNARD                                    103
   VIII. RODNEY POLLOCK APPEARS                                      119
     IX. IRIS IN DANGER                                              135
      X. FLOSSIE                                                     151
     XI. GONE AGAIN!                                                 167
    XII. IN CHICAGO                                                  183
   XIII. FLEMING STONE COMES                                         200
    XIV. FIBSY AND SAM                                               216
     XV. IN THE COLOLE                                               233
    XVI. KIDNAPPED AGAIN                                             250
   XVII. THE CIPHER                                                  266
  XVIII. SOLUTION AT LAST                                            282



CHAPTER I

A CERTAIN DATE


"Well, go to church then, and I hope to goodness you'll come back in a
more spiritual frame of mind! Though how you can feel spiritual in that
flibbertigibbet dress is more than I know! An actress, indeed! No
mummers' masks have ever blotted the scutcheon of my family tree. The
Clydes were decent, God-fearing people, and I don't propose, Miss, that
you shall disgrace the name."

Ursula Pell shook her good-looking gray head and glowered at her pretty
niece, who was getting into a comfortable though not elaborate motor
car.

"I know you didn't propose it, Aunt Ursula," returned the smiling girl,
"I thought up the scheme myself, and I decline to let you have credit of
its origin."

"Discredit, you mean," and Mrs. Pell sniffed haughtily. "Here's some
money for the contribution plate. Iris; see that you put it in, and
don't appropriate it yourself."

The slender, aristocratic old hand, half covered by a falling lace
frill, dropped a coin into Iris' out-held palm, and the girl perceived
it was one cent.

She looked at her aunt in amazement, for Mrs. Pell was a millionaire;
then, thinking better of her impulse to voice an indignant protest, Iris
got into the car. Immediately, she saw a dollar bill on the seat beside
her and she knew that was for the contribution plate, and the penny was
a joke of her aunt's.

For Ursula Pell had a queer twist in her fertile old brain that made her
enjoy the temporary discomfiture of her friends, whenever she was able
to bring it about. To see anyone chagrined, nonplused, or made suddenly
to feel ridiculous, was to Mrs. Pell an occasion of sheer delight.

To do her justice, her whimsical tricks usually ended in the
gratification of the victim in some way, as now, when Iris, thinking her
aunt had given her a penny for the collection, found the dollar ready
for that worthy cause. But such things are irritating, and were
particularly so to Iris Clyde, whose sense of humor was of a different
trend.

In fact, Iris' whole nature was different from her aunt's, and therein
lay most of the difficulties of their living together. For there were
difficulties. The erratic, emphatic, dogmatic old lady could not
sympathize with the high-strung, high-spirited young girl, and as a
result there was more friction than should be in any well-regulated
family.

And Mrs. Pell had a decided penchant for practical jokes--than which
there is nothing more abominable. But members of Mrs. Pell's household
put up with these because if they didn't they automatically ceased to be
members of Mrs. Pell's household.

One member had made this change. A nephew, Winston Bannard, had resented
his aunt's gift of a trick cigar, which blew up and sent fine sawdust
into his eyes and nose, and her follow-up of a box of Perfectos was
insufficient to keep him longer in the uncertain atmosphere of her
otherwise pleasant country home.

And now, Iris Clyde had announced her intention of leaving the old roof
also. Her pretext was that she wanted to become an actress, and that was
true, but had Mrs Pell been more companionable and easy to live with,
Iris would have curbed her histrionic ambitions. Nor is it beyond the
possibilities that Iris chose the despised profession, because she knew
it would enrage her aunt to think of a Clyde going into the depths of
ignominy which the stage represented to Mrs. Pell.

For Iris Clyde at twenty-two had quite as strong a will and inflexible a
determination as her aunt at sixty-two, and though they oftenest ran
parallel, yet when they criss-crossed, neither was ready to yield the
fraction of a point for the sake of peace in the family.

And it was after one of their most heated discussions, after a duel of
words that flicked with sarcasm and rasped with innuendo, that Iris,
cool and pretty in her summer costume, started for church, leaving Mrs.
Pell, irate and still nervously quivering from her own angry tirade.

Iris smiled and waved the bill at her aunt as the car started, and then
suddenly looked aghast and leaned over the side of the car as if she had
dropped the dollar. But the car sped on, and Iris waved frantically,
pointing to the spot where she had seemed to drop the bill, and
motioning her aunt to go out there and get it.

This Mrs. Pell promptly did, only to be rewarded by a ringing laugh from
Iris and a wave of the bill in the girl's hand, as the car slid through
the gates and out of sight.

"Silly thing!" grumbled Ursula Pell, returning to the piazza where she
had been sitting. But she smiled at the way her niece had paid her back
in her own coin, if a dollar bill can be considered coin.

This, then, was the way the members of the Pell household were expected
to conduct themselves. Nor was it only the family, but the servants also
were frequent butts for the misplaced hilarity of their mistress.

One cook left because of a tiny mouse imprisoned in her workbasket; one
first-class gardener couldn't stand a scarecrow made in a ridiculous
caricature of himself; and one small scullery maid objected to
unexpected and startling "Boos!" from dark corners.

But servants could always be replaced, and so, for that matter, could
relatives, for Mrs. Pell had many kinsfolk, and her wealth would prove a
strong magnet to most of them.

Indeed, as outsiders often exclaimed, why mind a harmless joke now and
then? Which was all very well--for the outsiders. But it is far from
pleasant to live in continual expectation of salt in one's tea or cotton
in one's croquettes.

So Winston had picked up his law books and sought refuge in New York
City and Iris, after a year's further endurance, was thinking seriously
of following suit.

And yet, Ursula Pell was most kind, generous and indulgent. Iris had
been with her for ten years, and as a child or a very young girl, she
had not minded her aunt's idiosyncrasy, had, indeed, rather enjoyed the
foolish tricks. But, of late, they had bored her, and their constant
recurrence so wore on her nerves that she wanted to go away and order
her life for herself. The stage attracted her, though not insistently.
She planned to live in bachelor apartments with a girl chum who was an
artist, and hoped to find congenial occupation of some kind. She rather
harped on the actress proposition because it so thoroughly annoyed her
aunt, and matters between them had now come to such a pass, that they
teased each other in any and every way possible. This was entirely Mrs.
Pell's fault, for if she hadn't had her peculiar trait of practical
joking, Iris never would have dreamed of teasing her.

On the whole, they were good friends, and often a few days would pass in
perfect harmony by reason of Ursula not being moved by her imp of the
perverse to cut up any silly prank. Then, Iris would drink from a glass
of water, to find it had been tinctured with asafetida, or brush her
hair and then learn that some drops of glue had been put on the bristles
of her hairbrush.

Anger or sulks at these performances were just what Mrs. Pell wanted, so
Iris roared with laughter and pretended to think it all very funny,
whereupon Mrs. Pell did the sulking, and Iris scored.

So it was not, perhaps, surprising that the girl concluded to leave her
aunt's home and shift for herself. It would, she knew, probably mean
disinheritance; but after all money is not everything, and as the old
lady grew older, her pranks became more and more an intolerable
nuisance.

And Iris wanted to go out into the world and meet people. The neighbors
in the small town of Berrien, where they lived, were uninteresting, and
there were few visitors from the outside world. Though less than fifteen
miles from New York, Iris rarely invited her friends to visit her
because of the probability that her aunt would play some absurd trick on
them. This had happened so many times, even though Mrs. Pell had
promised that it should not occur, that Iris had resolved never to try
it again.

The best friends and advisers of the girl were Mr. Bowen, the rector,
and his wife. The two were also friends of Mrs. Pell, and perhaps out of
respect for his cloth, the old lady never played tricks on the Bowens.
It was their habit to dine every Sunday at Pellbrook, and the occasion
was always the pleasantest of the whole week.

The farm was a large one, about a mile from the village, and included
old-fashioned orchards and hayfields as well as more modern greenhouses
and gardens. There was a lovely brook, a sunny slope of hillside, and a
delightful grove of maples, and added to these a long-distance view of
hazy hills that made Pellbrook one of the most attractive country places
for many miles around.

Ursula Pell sat on her verandah quite contentedly gazing over the
landscape and thinking about her multitudinous affairs.

"I s'pose I oughtn't to tease that child," she thought, smiling at the
recollection; "I don't know what I'd do, if she should leave me! Win
went, but, land! you can't keep a young man down! A girl, now, 's
different. I guess I'll take Iris to New York next winter and let her
have a little fling. I'll pretend I'm going alone, and leave her here to
keep the house, and then I'll take her too! She'll be so surprised!"

The old lady's eyes twinkled and she fairly reveled in the joke she
would play on her niece. And, not to do her an injustice, she meant no
harm. She really thought only of the girl's glad surprise at learning
she was to go, and gave no heed to the misery that might be caused by
the previous disappointment.

A woman came out from the house to ask directions for dinner.

"Yes, Polly," said Ursula Pell, "the Bowens will dine here as usual.
Dinner at one-thirty, sharp, as the rector has to leave at three, to
attend some meeting or other. Pity they had to have it on Sunday."

There was some discussion of the menu and then Polly, the old cook,
shuffled away, and again Ursula Pell sat alone.

"An actress!" she ruminated, "my little Iris an actress! Well, I guess
not! But I can persuade her out of that foolishness, I'll bet! Why, if I
can't do it any other way, I'll take her traveling,--I'll--why, I'll
give her her inheritance now, and let her amuse herself being an heiress
before I'm dead and gone. Why should I wait for that, any way? Suppose I
give her the pin at once--I'd do it to-day, I believe, while the
notion's on me, if I only had it here. I can get it from Mr. Chapin in a
few days, and then--well, then, Iris would have something to interest
her! I wonder how she'd like a whole king's ransom of jewels! She's like
a princess herself. And, then, too, that girl ought to marry, and marry
well. I suppose I ought to have been thinking about this before. I must
talk to the Bowens--of course, there's no one in Berrien--I did think
one time Win might fall in love with her, but then he went away, and
now he never comes up here any more. I wonder if Iris cares especially
for Win. She never says anything about him, but that's no sign, one way
or the other. I'd like her to marry Roger Downing, but she snubs him
unmercifully. And he is a little countrified. With Iris' beauty and the
fortune I shall leave her, she could marry anybody on earth! I believe
I'll take her traveling a bit, say, to California, and then spend the
winter in New York and give the girl a chance. And I must quit teasing
her. But I do love to see that surprised look when I play some
outlandish trick on her!"

The old lady's eyes assumed a vixenish expression and her smile widened
till it was a sly, almost diabolical grin. Quite evidently she was even
then planning some new and particularly disagreeable joke on Iris.

At length she rose and went into the house to write in her diary. Ursula
Pell was of most methodical habits, and a daily journal was regularly
kept.

The main part of the house was four square, a wide hall running straight
through the center, with doors front and back. On the left, as one
entered, the big living room was in front, and behind it a smaller
sitting room, which was Mrs. Pell's own. Not that anyone was unwelcome
there, but it held many of her treasures and individual belongings, and
served as her study or office, for the transaction of the various
business matters in which she was involved. Frequently her lawyer was
closeted with her here for long confabs, for Ursula Pell was greatly
given to the pleasurable entertainment of changing her will.

She had made more wills than Lawyer Chapin could count, and each in turn
was duly drawn up and witnessed and the previous one destroyed. Her
diary usually served to record the changes she proposed making, and when
the time was ripe for a new will, the diary was requisitioned for
direction as to the testamentary document.

The wealth of Ursula Pell was enormous, far more so than one would
suppose from the simplicity of her household appointments. This was not
due to miserliness, but to her simple tastes and her frugal early life.
Her fortune was the bequest of her husband, who, now dead more than
twenty years, had amassed a great deal of money which he had invested
almost entirely in precious stones. It was his theory and belief that
stocks and bonds were uncertain, whereas gems were always valuable. His
collection included some world-famous diamonds and rubies, and a set of
emeralds that were historic.

But nobody, save Ursula Pell herself, knew where these stones were.
Whether in safe deposit or hidden on her own property, she had never
given so much as a hint to her family or her lawyer. James Chapin knew
his eccentric old client better than to inquire concerning the
whereabouts of her treasure, and made and remade the wills disposing of
it, without comment. A few of the smaller gems Mrs. Pell had given to
Iris and to young Bannard, and some, smaller still, to more distant
relatives; but the bulk of the collection had never been seen by the
present generation.

She often told Iris that it should all be hers eventually, but Iris
didn't seriously bank on the promise, for she knew her erratic aunt
might quite conceivably will the jewels to some distant cousin, in a
moment of pique at her niece.

For Iris was not diplomatic. Never had she catered to her aunt's whims
or wishes with a selfish motive. She honestly tried to live peaceably
with Mrs. Pell, but of late she had begun to believe that impossible,
and was planning to go away.

As usual on Sunday morning, Ursula Pell had her house to herself.

Her modest establishment consisted of only four servants, who engaged
additional help as their duties required. Purdy, the old gardener, was
the husband of Polly, the cook; Agnes, the waitress, also served as
ladies' maid when occasion called for it. Campbell, the chauffeur,
completed the ménage, and all other workers, and there were a good many,
were employed by the day, and did not live at Pellbrook.

Mrs. Pell rarely went to church, and on Sunday mornings Campbell took
Iris to the village. Agnes accompanied them, as she, too, attended the
Episcopal service.

Purdy and his wife drove an old horse and still older buckboard to a
small church nearby, which better suited their type of piety.

Polly was a marvel of efficiency and managed cleverly to go to meeting
without in any way delaying or interfering with her preparations for the
Sunday dinner. Indeed, Ursula Pell would have no one around her who was
not efficient. Waste and waste motion were equally taboo in that
household.

The mistress of the place made her customary round of the kitchen
quarters, and, finding everything in its usual satisfactory condition,
returned to her own sitting room, and took her diary from her desk.

At half-past twelve the Purdys returned, and at one o'clock the motor
car brought its load from the village.

"Well, well, Mr. Bowen, how do you do?" the hostess greeted them as they
arrived. "And dear Mrs. Bowen, come right in and lay off your bonnet."

The wide hall, with its tables, chairs and mirrors offered ample
accommodations for hats and wraps, and soon the party were seated on the
front part of the broad verandah that encircled three sides of the
house.

Mr. Bowen was stout and jolly and his slim shadow of a wife acted as a
sort of Greek chorus, agreeing with and echoing his remarks and
opinions.

Conversation was in a gay and bantering key, and Mrs. Pell was in high
good humor. Indeed, she seemed nervously excited and a little
hysterical, but this was not entirely unusual, and her guests fitted
their mood to hers.

A chance remark led to mention of Mrs. Pell's great fortune of jewels,
and Mr. Bowen declared that he fully expected she would bequeath them
all to his church to be made into a wonderful chalice.

"Not a bad idea," exclaimed Ursula Pell; "and one I've never thought of!
I'll get Mr. Chapin over here to-morrow to change my will."

"Who will be the loser?" asked the rector. "To whom are they willed at
present?"

"That's telling," and Mrs. Pell smiled mysteriously.

"Don't forget you've promised me the wonderful diamond pin, auntie,"
said Iris, bristling up a little.

"What diamond pin?" asked Mrs. Bowen, curiously.

"Oh, for years, Aunt Ursula has promised me a marvelous diamond pin, the
most valuable of her whole collection--haven't you, auntie?"

"Yes, Iris," and Mrs. Pell nodded her head, "that pin is certainly the
most valuable thing I possess."

"It must be a marvel, then," said Mr. Bowen, his eyes opening wide, "for
I've heard great tales of the Pell collection. I thought they were all
unset jewels."

"Most of them are," Mrs. Pell spoke carelessly, "but the pin I shall
leave to Iris----"

At that moment dinner was announced, and the group went to the dining
room. This large and pleasant room was in front on the right, and back
of it were the pantries and kitchens. A long rear extension provided the
servants' quarters, which were numerous and roomy. The house was
comfortable rather than pretentious, and though the village folk
wondered why so rich a woman continued to live in such an old-fashioned
home, those who knew her well realized that the place exactly met Ursula
Pell's requirements.

The dinner was in harmony with the atmosphere of the home. Plentiful,
well-cooked food there was, but no attempt at elaborate confections or
any great formality of service.

One concession to modernity was a small dish of stuffed dates at each
cover, and of these Mrs. Pell spoke in scornful tones.

"Some of Iris' foolishness," she observed. "She wants all sorts of
knick-knacks that she considers stylish!"

"I don't at all, auntie," denied the girl, flushing with annoyance, "but
when you ate those dates at Mrs. Graham's the other day, you enjoyed
them so much I thought I'd make some. She gave me her recipe, and I
think they're very nice."

"I do, too," agreed Mrs. Bowen, eating a date appreciatively, and
feeling sorry for Iris' discomfiture. For though many girls might not
mind such disapproval, Iris was of a sensitive nature, and cringed
beneath her aunt's sharp words.

In an endeavor to cover her embarrassment, she picked up a date from her
own portion and bit off the end.

From the fruit spurted a stream of jet black ink, which stained Iris'
lips, offended her palate, and spilling on her pretty white frock,
utterly ruined the dainty chiffon and lace.

She comprehended instantly. Her aunt, to annoy her, had managed to
conceal ink in one of the dates, and place it where Iris would naturally
pick it up first.

With an angry exclamation the girl left the table and ran upstairs.



CHAPTER II

THE LOCKED ROOM


Ursula Pell leaned back in her chair and shrieked with laughter.

"She _will_ have stuffed dates and fancy fixin's, will she?" she cried;
"I just guess she's had enough of those fallals now!"

"It quite spoiled her pretty frock," said Mrs. Bowen, timidly
remonstrant.

"That's nothing, I'll buy her another. Oh, I did that pretty cleverly, I
can tell you! I took a little capsule, a long, thin one, and I filled it
with ink, just as you'd fill a fountain pen. Oh, oh! Iris _was_ so mad!
She never suspected at all; and she bit into that date--oh! oh! wasn't
it funny!"

"I don't think it was," began Mrs. Bowen, but her husband lifted his
eyebrows at her, and she said no more.

Though a clergyman, Alexander Bowen was not above mercenary impulses,
and the mere reference, whether it had been meant or not, to a jeweled
chalice made him unwilling to disapprove of anything such an influential
hostess might do or say.

"Iris owes so much to her aunt," the rector said smilingly, "of course
she takes such little jests in good part."

"She'd better," and Ursula Pell nodded her head; "if she knows which
side her bread is buttered, she'll kiss the hand that strikes her."

"If it doesn't strike too hard," put in Mrs. Bowen, unable to resist
some slight comment.

But again her husband frowned at her to keep silent, and the subject was
dropped.

It was fully a quarter of an hour before Iris returned, her face red
from scrubbing and still showing dark traces of the ink on chin and
cheek. She wore a plain little frock of white dimity, and smiled as she
resumed her seat at the table.

"Now, Aunt Ursula," she said, "if you've any more ink to spill, spill it
on this dress, and not on one of my best ones."

"Fiddlestrings, Iris, I'll give you a new dress--I'll give you two. It
was well worth it, to see you bite into that date! My! you looked so
funny! And you look funny yet! There's ink marks all over your face!"

Mrs. Pell shook with most irritating laughter, and Iris flushed with
annoyance.

"I know it, auntie; but I couldn't get them off."

"Never mind, it'll wear off in a few days. And meantime, you can wrap it
up in a blotter!"

Again the speaker chuckled heartily at her own wit, and the rector
joined her, while Mrs. Bowen with difficulty achieved a smile.

She was sorry for Iris, for this sort of jesting offended the girl more
than it would most people, and the kind-hearted woman knew it. But,
afraid of her husband's disapproval, she said nothing, and smiled, at
his unspoken behest.

Nor was Iris herself entirely forgiving. One could easily see that her
calmly pleasant expression covered a deeper feeling of resentment and
exasperation. She had the appearance of having reached her limit, and
though outwardly serene was indubitably angry.

Her pretty face, ludicrous because of the indelible smears of ink, was
pale and strained, and her deep brown eyes smoldered with repressed
rage. For Iris Clyde was far from meek. Her nature was, first of all, a
just one, and, to a degree, retaliatory, even revengeful.

"Oh, I see your eyes snapping, Iris," exclaimed her aunt, delighted at
the girl's annoyance, "I'll bet you'll get even with me for this!"

"Indeed I will, Aunt Ursula," and Iris' lips set in a straight line of
determination, which, in conjunction with the ink stains, sent Mrs.
Pell off into further peals of hilarity.

"Be careful, Iris," cautioned Mr. Bowen, himself wary, "if you get even
with your aunt, she may leave the diamond pin to me instead of to you."

"Nixie," returned Iris saucily, "you've promised that particular diamond
pin to me, haven't you, Auntie?"

"I certainly have, Iris. However often I change my will, that pin is
always designated as your inheritance."

"Where is it?" asked Mr. Bowen, curiously; "may I not see it?"

"It is in a box in my lawyer's safe, at this moment," replied Mrs. Pell.
"Mr. Chapin has instructions to hand the box over to Iris after my
departure from this life, which I suppose you'd like to expedite, eh,
Iris?"

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to poison you," Iris smiled, "but I
confess I felt almost murderous when I ran up to my room just now and
looked in the mirror!"

"I don't wonder!" exclaimed Mrs. Bowen, unable to stifle her feelings
longer.

"Tut! tut!" cried the rector, "what talk for Christian people!"

"Oh, they don't mean it," said Mrs. Pell, "you must take our chaff in
good part, Mr. Bowen."

Dinner over, the Bowens almost immediately departed, and Iris, catching
sight of her disfigured face in a mirror, turned angrily to her aunt.

"I won't stand it!" she exclaimed. "This is the last time I shall let
you serve me in this fashion. I'm going to New York to-morrow, and I
hope I shall never see you again!"

"Now, dearie, don't be too hard on your old auntie. It was only a joke,
you know. I'll get you another frock----"

"It isn't only the frock, Aunt Ursula, it's this horrid state of things
generally. Why, I never dare pick up a thing, or touch a thing--without
the chance of some fool stunt making trouble for me!"

"Now, now, I will try not to do it any more. But, don't talk about going
away. If you do, I'll cut you out of my will entirely."

"I don't care. That would be better than living in a trick house! Look
at my face! It will be days before these stains wear off! You ought to
be ashamed of yourself, Aunt Ursula!"

The old lady looked roguishly penitent, like a naughty child.

"Oh, fiddle-de-dee, you can get them off with whatcha-call-it soap. But
I hope you won't! They make you look like a clown in a circus!"

Mrs. Pell's laughter had that peculiarly irritating quality that belongs
to practical jokers, and Iris' sensitive nature was stung to the core.

"Oh, I hate you," she cried, "you are a fiend in human shape!" and
without another word she ran upstairs to her own room.

Ursula Pell looked a little chagrined, then burst into laughter at the
remembrance of Iris' face as she denounced her, and then her expression
suddenly changed to one of pain, and she walked slowly to her own
sitting room, went in and closed the door behind her.

It was part of the Sunday afternoon routine that Mrs. Pell should go to
this room directly after dinner, and it was understood that she was not
to be disturbed unless callers came.

A little later, Polly was in the dining-room arranging the sideboard,
when she heard Mrs. Pell's voice. It was an agonized scream, not loud,
but as one greatly frightened. The woman ran through the hall and living
room to the closed door of the sitting room. Then she clearly heard her
mistress calling for help.

But the door was locked on the inside, and Polly could not open it.

"Help! Thieves!" came in terrified accents, and then the voice died away
to a troubled groaning; only to rise in a shrill shriek of "Help!
Quickly!" and then again the moans and sighs of one in agony.

Frantically Polly hurried to the kitchen and called her husband.

"One of her damfool jokes," muttered the old man, as he shuffled toward
the door of the locked room. "She's locked herself in, and she wants to
get us all stirred up, thinkin' she's been attacked by thugs, an' in a
minute she'll be laughin' at us."

"I don't think so," said Polly, dubiously, for she well knew her
mistress' ways, "them yells was too natural."

Old Purdy listened, his ear against the door. "I can hear her rustlin'
about a little," he said, "an'--there, that was a faint moan--mebbe
she's been took with a spell or suthin'."

"Let's get the door open, anyway," begged Polly. "If it's a joke, I'll
stand for it, but I'll bet you something's happened."

"What could happen, unless she's had a stroke, an' if that's it, she
wouldn't be a callin' out 'Thieves!' Didn't you say she said that?"

"Yes, as plain as day!"

"Then that proves she's foolin' us! How could there be thieves in there,
an' the door locked?"

"Well, get it open. I'm plumb scared," and Polly's round face was pale
with fright.

"But I can't. Do you want me to break it in? We'd get what for in
earnest if I done that!"

"Run around and look in the windows," suggested Polly, "and I'm going to
call Miss Iris. I jest know something's wrong, this time."

"What is it?" asked Iris, responding to the summons, "what was that
noise I heard?"

"Mrs. Pell screamed out, Miss Iris, and when I went to see what was the
matter, I found the door locked, and we can't get in."

"She screamed?" said Iris. "Perhaps it's just one of her jokes."

"That's what Purdy thinks, but it didn't sound so to me. It sounded like
she was in mortal danger. Here's Purdy now. Well?"

"I can't see in the windows," was his retort, "the shades is all pulled
down, 'count o' the sun. She always has 'em so afternoons. And you well
know, nobody could get in them windows, or out of 'em."

Ursula Pell's sitting room was also her storehouse of many treasures.
Collections of curios and coins left by her husband, additional objects
of value, bought by herself, made the room almost a museum; and, in
addition, her desk contained money and important papers. Wherefore, she
had had the windows secured by a strong steel lattice work, that made
ingress impossible to marauders. Two windows faced south and two west,
and there was but one door, that into the living room.

This being locked, the room was inaccessible, and the drawn shades
prevented even a glimpse of the interior. The windows were open, but the
shades inside the steel gratings were not to be reached.

There was no sound now from the room, and the listeners stood, looking
at one another, uncertain what to do next.

"Of course it's a joke," surmised Purdy, "but even so, it's our duty to
get into that room. If so be's we get laughed at for our pains, it won't
be anything outa the common; and if Mrs. Pell has had a stroke--or
anything has happened to her, we must see about it."

"How will you get in?" asked Iris, looking frightened.

"Bust the door down," said Purdy, succinctly. "I'll have to get Campbell
to help. While I'm gone after him, you try to persuade Mrs. Pell to come
out--if she's just trickin' us."

The old man went off, and Polly began to speak through the closed door.

"Let us in, Mrs. Pell," she urged. "Do, now, or Purdy'll spoil this good
door. Now what's the sense o' that, if you're only a foolin'? Open the
door--please do--"

But no response of any sort was made. The stillness was tragic, yet
there was the possibility, even the likelihood, that the tricky mistress
of the house would only laugh at them when they had forced an entrance.

"Of course it's her foolishness," said Agnes, who had joined the group.
She spoke in a whisper, not wanting to brave a reprimand for
impertinence. "What does she care for having a new door made, if she can
get us all soured up over nothing at all?"

Iris said nothing. Only a faint, almost imperceptible tinge remained of
the ink stains on her face. She had used vigorous measures, and had
succeeded in removing most of the disfigurement.

Campbell returned with Purdy.

"Ah, now, Mis' Pell, come out o' there," he wheedled, "do now! It's a
sin and a shame to bust in this here heavy door. Likewise it ain't no
easy matter nohow. I'm not sure me and Purdy can do it. Please, Missis,
unlock the door and save us all a lot of trouble."

But no sound came in answer.

"Let's all be awful still," suggested Purdy, "for quite a time, an' see
if she don't make some move."

Accordingly each and every one of them scarcely breathed and the silence
was intense.

"I can't hear a sound," said Campbell, at last, his ear against the
keyhole, which was nearly filled by its own key. "I can't hear her
breathing. You sure she's in there?"

"Of course," said Polly. "Didn't I hear her screamin'? I tell you we
_got_ to get in. Joke or no joke, we got to!"

"You're right," and Campbell looked serious. "I got ears like a hawk,
and I bet I'd hear her breathing if she was in there. Come on, Purdy."

The door was thick and heavy, but the lock was a simple one, not a bolt,
and the efforts of the two men splintered the jamb and released the
door.

The sight revealed was overwhelming. The women screamed and the men
stood aghast.

On the floor lay the body of Ursula Pell, and a glance was sufficient to
see that she was dead. Her face was covered with blood and a small pool
of it had formed near her head. Her clothing was torn and disordered,
and the whole room was in a state of chaos. A table was overturned, and
the beautiful lamp that had been on it, lay in shattered bits on the
floor. A heavy-handled poker, belonging to the fire set, was lying near
Mrs. Pell's head, and the contents of her writing-desk were scattered
in mad confusion on chairs and on the floor. A secret cupboard above
the mantel, really a small concealed safe, was flung open, and was
empty. An empty pocket-book lay on one chair, and an empty handbag on
another.

But these details were lost sight of in the attention paid to Mrs. Pell
herself.

"She's dead! she's dead!" wailed Polly. "It wasn't a joke of hers--it
was really robbers. She called out 'Thieves!' and 'Help!' several times.
Oh, if I'd got you men in sooner!"

"But, good land, Polly!" cried Campbell, "what do you mean by thieves?
How _could_ anybody get in here with the door locked? Or, if he was in,
how could he get out?"

"Maybe he's here now!" and Polly gazed wildly about.

"We'll soon see!" and Campbell searched the entire room. It was not
difficult, for there were no alcoves or cupboards, the furniture was
mostly curio cabinets, treasure tables, a few chairs and a couch.
Campbell looked under the couch, and behind the window curtains, but no
intruder was found.

"Mighty curious," said old Purdy, scratching his head; "how in blazes
could she scream murder and thieves, when there wasn't no one in here?
And how could anyone be in here with her, and get out, leavin' that
'ere door locked behind him?"

"She was murdered all right!" declared Campbell, "look at them bruises
on her neck! See, her dress is tore open at the throat! What kind o'
villain could 'a' done that? Gosh, it's fierce!"

Iris came timidly forward to look at the awful sight. Unable to bear it,
she turned and sank on the couch, completely unnerved.

"Get a doctor, shall I?" asked Campbell, who was the most composed of
them all.

"What for?" asked Purdy. "She's dead as a door nail, poor soul! But yes,
I s'pose it's the proper thing. An' we oughta get the crowner, an' not
touch nothin' till he comes."

"The coroner!" Iris' eyes stared at him. "What for?"

"Well, you see, Miss Iris, it's custom'ry when they's a murder----"

"But she couldn't have been murdered! Impossible! Who could have done
it? It's--it's an accident."

"I wish I could think so, Miss Iris," and Purdy's honest old face was
very grave, "but you look around. See, there's been robbery,--look at
that there empty pocket-book an' empty bag! An' the way she's
been--hit! Why, see them marks on her chest! She's fair black an' blue!
And her skirt's tore--"

"Good Lord!" cried Polly, "her pocket's tore out! She always had a big
pocket inside each dress skirt, and this one's been--why it's been cut
out!"

There could be no doubt that the old lady had been fearfully attacked.
Nor could there be any doubt of robbery. The ransacked desk, the open
safe, the cut-out pocket, added to the state of the body itself, left no
room for theories of accident or self-destruction.

"Holler for the doctor," commanded Purdy, instinctively taking the helm.
"You telephone him, Campbell, and then he'll see about the coroner--or
whoever he wants. And I think we'd oughter call up Mr. Bowen, what say,
Miss Iris?"

"Mr. Bowen--why?"

"Oh, I dunno; it seems sorter decent, that's all."

"Very well, do so."

"I--I suppose I ought to telephone to Mr. Bannard----"

"Sure you ought to. But let's get the people up here first, then you can
get long distance to New York afterward."

Once over the first shock of horror, Purdy's sense of responsibility
asserted itself, and he was thoughtful and efficient.

"All of you go outa this room," he directed, "I'll take charge of it
till the police get here. This is a mighty strange case, an' I can't see
any light as to how it could 'a' happened. But it did happen--poor Mis'
Pell is done for, an' I'll stand guard over her body till somebody with
more authority gets here. You, Agnes, be ready to wait on the door, and
Polly, you look after Miss Iris. Campbell, you telephone like I told
you----"

Submissively they all obeyed him. Iris, with an effort, rose from the
couch and went out to the living room. There, she sat in a big chair,
and stared at nothing, until Polly, watching, became alarmed.

"Be ca'm, now, Miss Iris, do be ca'm," she urged, stupidly.

"Hush up, Polly, I am calm. Don't say such foolish things. You know I'm
not the sort to faint or fly into hysterics."

"I know you ain't, Miss Iris, but you're so still and queer like----"

"Who wouldn't be? Polly, explain it. What happened to Aunt Ursula--do
_you_ think?"

"Miss Iris, they ain't no explanation. I'm a quick thinker, I am, and I
tell you, there ain't no way that murderer--for there sure was a
murderer--could 'a' got in that room or got out, with that door
locked."

"Then she killed herself?"

"No, she couldn't possibly 'a' done that. You know yourself, she
couldn't. When she screamed 'Thieves!' the thieves was there. Now, how
did they get away? They ain't no secret way in an' out, that I know.
I've lived in this house too many years to be fooled about its buildin'.
It's a mystery, that's what it is, a mystery."

"Will it ever be solved?" and Iris looked at old Polly as if inquiring
of a sibyl.

"Land, child, how do I know? I ain't no seer. I s'pose some of those
smart detectives can make it out, but it's beyond me!"

"Oh, Polly, they won't have detectives, will they?"

"Sure they will, Miss Iris; they'll have to."

"Now, I'm through with the telephone," said Campbell, reappearing.
"Shall I get New York for you, Miss?"

"No," said Iris, rising, "I'll get the call myself."



CHAPTER III

THE EVIDENCE OF THE CHECKBOOK


Winston Bannard's apartments in New York were comfortable though not
luxurious. The Caxton Annex catered to young bachelors who were not
millionaires but who liked to live pleasantly, and Bannard had been
contentedly ensconced there ever since he had left his aunt's home.

He had always been glad he had made the move, for the city life was far
more to his liking than the village ways of Berrien, and if his law
practice could not be called enormous, it was growing and he had
developed some real ability.

Of late he had fallen in with a crowd of men much richer than himself,
and association with them had led to extravagance in the matter of cards
for high stakes, motors of high cost, and high living generally.

The high cost of living is undeniable, and Bannard not infrequently
found himself in financial difficulties of more or less depth and
importance.

As he entered his rooms Sunday evening about seven, he found a telegram
and a telephone notice from the hotel office. The latter merely
informed him that Berrien, Connecticut, had called him at four o'clock.
The telegram read:

"For Heaven's sake come up here at once. Aunt Ursula is dead."

It was signed Iris, and Bannard read it, standing by the window to catch
the gleams of fading daylight. Then he sank into a chair, and read it
over again, though he now knew it by rote.

He was not at all stunned. His alert mind traveled quickly from one
thought to another, and for ten minutes his tense, strained position,
his set jaw and his occasionally winking eyes betokened successive
cogitations on matters of vital importance.

Then he jumped up, looked at his watch, consulted a time-table, and, not
waiting for an elevator, ran down the stairs through that atmosphere of
Sunday afternoon quiet, which is perhaps nowhere more noticeable than in
a city hotel.

A taxicab, a barely caught train, and before nine o'clock Winston
Bannard was at the Berrien railroad station.

Campbell was there to meet him, and as they drove to the house Bannard
sat beside the chauffeur that he might learn details of the tragedy.

"But I don't understand, Campbell," Bannard said, "how could she be
murdered, alone in her room, with the door locked? Did she--didn't
she--kill herself?"

But the chauffeur was close-mouthed. "I don't know, Mr. Bannard," he
returned, "it's all mighty queer, and the detective told me not to
gossip or chatter about it at all."

"But, my stars! man, it isn't gossip to tell _me_ all there is to tell."

"But there's nothing to tell. The bare facts you know--I've told you
those; as to the rest, the police or Miss Iris must tell you."

"You're right," agreed Bannard. "I'm glad you are not inclined to guess
or surmise. There must be some explanation, of course. How about the
windows?"

"Well, you know those windows, Mr. Bannard. They're as securely barred
as the ones in the bank, and more so. Ever since Mrs. Pell took that
room for her treasure room, about eight or ten years ago, they've been
protected by steel lattice work and that's untouched. That settles the
windows, and there's only the one door, and that Purdy and I broke open.
Now, that's all I know about it."

Bannard relapsed into silence, and Campbell didn't speak again until
they reached the house.

"Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" was the first greeting to the young man
as he entered the hall at Pellbrook. It was spoken by Mrs. Bowen, who
had been with Iris ever since she was summoned by telephone, that
afternoon. "It's all so dreadful,--the doctors are examining the body
now--and the coroner is here--and two detectives--and Iris is so
queer----" the poor little lady quite broke down, in her relief at
having some one to share her responsibility.

"Isn't Mr. Bowen here?" Bannard said, as he followed her into the
living-room.

"No, he had to attend service, he'll come after church. Here is Iris."

The girl did not rise at Bannard's approach, but sat, looking up at him,
her face full of inquiry.

"Where have you been?" she demanded; "why didn't you come sooner? I
telegraphed at four o'clock--I telephoned first, but they said--they
said you were out."

"I was; I only came in at seven, and then I found your messages, and I
caught the first train possible."

"It doesn't matter," said Iris, wearily. "There's nothing you can
do--nothing anybody can do. Oh, Win, it's horrible!"

"Of course it is, Iris. But I'm so in the dark. Tell me all about it."

"Oh, I can't. I can't seem to talk about it. Mrs. Bowen will tell you."

The little lady told all she knew, and then, one of the detectives
appeared to question Bannard. He explained his presence and told who he
was and then asked to go into his aunt's sitting room.

"Not just now," said the man, whose name was Hughes, "the doctors are
busy in there, with the coroner."

"Why so late," asked Bannard; "what have they been doing all the
afternoon?"

"Doctor Littell came at once," explained Mrs. Bowen, "he's her own
doctor, you know. But that coroner, Doctor Timken, never got here till
this evening. Why, here's Mr. Chapin!"

Charles Chapin, who was Mrs. Pell's lawyer, entered, and also Mr. Bowen,
so there was quite a group in waiting when the doctors came out of the
closed room.

"It's the strangest case imaginable," said Coroner Timken, his face
white and terrified. "There's not the least possibility of suicide--and
yet there's no explanation for a murder."

"Why do you say that?" asked Chapin, who had heard little of the
details.

"The body is terribly injured. There are livid bruises on her chest,
shoulders and upper arms. There are marks on her wrists, as if she had
been bound by ropes, and similar marks on her ankles."

"Incredible!" cried Mr. Chapin. "Bound?"

"The marks can mean nothing else. They are as if cords had been tightly
drawn, and on one ankle the stocking is slightly stained with blood."

"What?" exclaimed Mrs. Bowen.

"Yes, and the flesh beneath the stain is abraded round the ankle, and
the skin broken. The other ankle shows slight marks of the cord, but it
did not cut into the flesh on that side. Her wrists, too, show red marks
and indentations, as of cords. It is inexplicable."

"But the bruises?" pursued Mr. Chapin, "and the awful wound on her
face?"

"There is no doubt that she was attacked for the purpose of robbery.
Moreover, the thief was looking for something in particular. It is clear
that he stole money or valuables, but the state of the desk and safe
prove a desperate hunt for some paper or article of special value. Also
the pocket, cut and torn from the skirt, proves a determination to
secure the treasure. As we reconstruct the crime, the intruder
intimidated Mrs. Pell by threats and by physical violence; tied her
while search was made through her room; and then, in a rage of
disappointment, flung the old lady to the floor, where she hit her head
on a sharp-pointed brass knob of the fender. This penetrated her temple
and caused her death. These things are facts; also the state of the
room, the overturned table and chairs, the broken lamp, the ransacked
desk and safe--all these are facts; but what theory can account for the
disappearance of the murderer from the locked room?"

There was no answer until Detective Hughes said, "I've always been told
that the more mysterious and insoluble a crime seems to be, the easier
it is to solve it."

"You have, eh?" returned the coroner; "then get busy on this one. It's
beyond me. Why, that woman's wrist is sprained, if not broken, she has
some internal injuries and she was suffering from shock and fright. The
attack was diabolical! It may be that the murder was unpremeditated, but
the mauling and bruising of the old lady was the work of a strong man
and a hardened wretch."

"Why didn't she scream sooner?" asked Hughes, who was listening
intently. He had been detailed on other duties while his confrères
investigated the scene of the crime.

"Gagged, probably," answered Timken. "There are slight marks at the
corners of her mouth which indicate a gag was used, for a time at least.
How long was it," he said abruptly, turning to Iris, "that your aunt was
in that room alone? I mean alone, so far as you knew?"

"I don't know; I was up in my own room all the time after dinner, and--I
don't know what time it was when they called me--I seem to have lost all
track of time----"

"Don't bother the girl," said Mrs. Bowen. "Polly, you tell about the
time."

The servants were in and out of the room, now clustered at the doorway,
now hurrying off on errands and back again.

"It musta been about ha' past three when I heard her scream," said
Polly, "or maybe a bit earlier, but not much. I was in the dining room,
settin' the sideboard to rights after dinner, and I heard her holler."

"And you went to the door at once?"

"Yes; just 's quick 's I could. But the door was locked----"

"Was that usual?"

"Yes, sir, she often locks it when she takes a nap Sunday afternoons.
And then I went and called Purdy, and we couldn't get in."

"Yes, I know about the barred windows and so on. Did you hear any
further sounds from Mrs. Pell?"

"Some; sorta movin' around an' faint moanin's. But the truth is--we
thought she was a foolin' us."

"Fooling you?"

"Yes, sir. Mrs. Pell, she was great for jokin'. Many's the time she's
hollered, 'Help! Polly!' and when I'd get there, she'd laugh fit to kill
at me. She was that way, sir. She was always foolin' us."

"Is this true?" asked Timken, turning to the others.

They all corroborated Polly's statements. Even Chapin, the lawyer, told
of jests and tricks his wealthy client had played on him, and Winston
Bannard declared he had suffered so much from his aunt's whims that he
had been forced to move away.

"And you, Miss Clyde, did she so tease you?"

"Indeed she did," said Iris. "I think I was her favorite victim.
Scarcely a day passed that she did not annoy and distress me by some
practical joke. You know about the ink, this noon----" she turned to
Mrs. Bowen.

"Yes," said that lady, but she looked grave and thoughtful.

"But surely," pursued the coroner, "one could tell the difference
between the screams of a victim in mortal agony, and those of a jest!"

"No, sir," and Polly shook her head. "Mrs. Pell was that clever, she'd
make you think she'd been hurt awful, when she was just trickin' you.
But, any ways, sir, me an' Purdy we did all we could, and we couldn't
get in. Then Campbell, he come, and helped to break down the door----"

"And you're sure the murderer couldn't have slipped through as you
opened the door?"

"Not a chance!" spoke up Campbell. "We smashed it open, the lock just
splintered out of the jamb, as you can see for yourself, and we were all
gathered in a clump on this side. No, sir, the room was quiet as
death--and empty, save for Mrs. Pell, herself."

"And she was dead, then?"

"Yes, sir," asseverated Purdy, solemnly. "I ain't no doctor, but I made
sure she was dead. She'd died within a minute or so, she was most as
warm as in life, and the blood was still a flowin' from her head where
she was struck."

"Did you move anything in the room?"

"No, sir, only so much as was necessary to get around. The table that
was upset had a 'lectric lamp on it, which had a long danglin' green
cord, 'cause it was put in after the reg'lar wirin' was done. I coiled
up that 'ere cord, and picked up the pieces of broken glass, so's we
could step around. But I left the bag and pocket-book and all, just
where they was flung. And the litter from the desk, all over the floor,
I didn't touch that, neither--nor I didn't touch the body."

Purdy's voice faltered and his old eyes filled with tears.

"You did well," commended the coroner, nodding his head kindly at him,
"just one more question. Was Mrs. Pell in her usual good spirits
yesterday? Did she do anything or say anything that seemed out of the
ordinary?"

"No," and Purdy shook his head. "I don't think so, do you, Polly?"

"Not that I noticed," said his wife. "She cut up an awful trick on Miss
Iris, but that wasn't to say unusual."

"What was it?" and the coroner listened to an account of the date with
ink in it. The story was told by Mrs. Bowen, as Iris refused to talk at
all.

"A pretty mean trick," was the coroner's opinion. "Didn't you resent it,
Miss Clyde?"

"She did not," spoke up the rector, in a decided way. "Miss Clyde is a
young woman of too much sense and also of too much affection for her
dear aunt, to resent a good-humored jest----"

"Good-humored jest!" exclaimed Hughes. "Going some! a jest like
that--spoilin' a young girl's pretty Sunday frock----"

"Never mind, Hughes," reproved Timken, "we're not judging Mrs. Pell's
conduct now. This is an investigation, a preliminary inquiry, rather,
but not a judgment seat. Miss Clyde, I must ask that you answer me a
few questions. You left your aunt's presence directly after your guests
had departed?"

"Within a few moments of their leaving."

"She was then in her usual health and good spirits?"

"So far as I know."

"Any conversation passed between you?'

"Only a little."

"Amicable?'

"What do you mean by that?"

"Friendly--affectionate--not quarrelsome."

"It was not exactly affectionate, as I told her I was displeased at her
spoiling my gown."

"Ah. And what did she say?"

"That she would buy me another."

"Did that content you?"

"I wasn't discontented. I was annoyed at her unkind trick, and I told
her so. That is all."

"Of course that is all," again interrupted Mr. Bowen. "I can answer for
the cordial relationship between aunt and niece and I can vouch for the
fact that these merry jests didn't really stir up dissension between
these two estimable people. Why, only to-day, Mrs. Pell was dilating on
the wonderful legacies she meant to bestow on Miss Clyde. She also
referred to a jeweled chalice for my church, but I am sure these
remarks were in no way prompted by any thought of immediate death. On
the contrary, she was in gayer spirits than I have ever seen her."

"I think she was over-excited," said Mrs. Bowen, thoughtfully. "Don't
you, Iris? She was giggling in an almost hysterical manner, it seemed to
me."

"I didn't notice," said Iris, wearily. "Aunt Ursula was a creature of
moods. She was grave or gay without apparent reason. I put up with her
silly jokes usually, but to-day's performance seemed unnecessary and
unkind. However, it doesn't matter now."

"No," declared Winston Bannard, "and it does no good to rake over the
old lady's queer ways. We all know about her habit of playing tricks,
and I, for one, don't wonder that Polly thought she screamed out to
trick somebody. Nor does it matter. If Polly hadn't thought that, she
couldn't have done any more than she did do to get into that room as
soon as possible. Could she, now?"

"No," agreed the coroner. "Nor does it really affect our problem of how
the murder was committed."

"Let me have a look into that room," said Bannard, suddenly.

"You a detective?" asked Timken.

"Not a bit of it, but I want to see its condition."

"Come on in," said the other. "They've put Mrs. Pell's body on the
couch, but, except for that, nothing's been touched."

Hughes went in with Bannard and the coroner, and the three men were
joined by Lawyer Chapin.

Silently they took in the details. The still figure on the couch, with
face solemnly covered, seemed to make conversation undesirable.

Hughes alertly moved about peering at things but touching almost
nothing. Bannard and Mr. Chapin stood motionless gazing at the evidences
of crime.

"Got a cigarette?" whispered Hughes to Bannard and mechanically the
young man took out his case and offered it. The detective took one and
then continued his minute examination of the room and its appointments.

At last he sat down in front of the desk and began to look through such
papers as remained in place. There were many pigeonholes and
compartments, which held small memorandum books and old letters and
stationery.

Hughes opened and closed several books, and then suddenly turned to
Bannard with this question.

"You haven't been up here to-day, have you, Mr. Bannard? I mean, before
you came up this evening."

"N-no, certainly not," was the answer, and the man looked decidedly
annoyed. "What are you getting at, Mr. Hughes?"

"Oh, nothing. Where have you been all day, Mr. Bannard?"

"In New York city.'

"Not been out of it?"

"I went out this morning for a bicycle ride, my favorite form of
exercise. Am I being quizzed?"

"You are. You state that you were not up here, in this room, this
afternoon, about three o'clock?"

"I certainly do affirm that! Why?"

"Because I observe here on the desk a half-smoked cigarette of the same
kind you just gave me.

"And you think that is incriminating evidence! A little far-fetched, Mr.
Hughes."

"Also, on this chair is a New York paper of to-day's date, and not the
one that is usually taken in this house."

"Indeed!" but Winston Bannard had turned pale.

"And," continued Hughes, holding up a check-book, "this last stub in
Mrs. Pell's check-book shows that she made out to _you to-day_, a check
for five thousand dollars!"

"What!" cried Mr. Chapin.

"Yes, sir, a check stub, in Mrs. Pell's own writing, dated _to-day_!
Where is that check, Mr. Winston Bannard, and when did you get it? And
why did you kill your aunt afterward? What were you searching this room
for? Come, sir, speak up!"



CHAPTER IV

TIMKEN AND HIS INQUIRIES


"You must be out of your mind, Mr. Hughes," said Bannard; but, as a
matter of fact, he looked more as if he himself were demented. His face
wore a wild, frightened expression, and his fingers twitched nervously,
as he picked at the edge of his coat. "Of course, I haven't been up here
to-day, before I came this evening. That _New York Herald_ was never in
my possession. Because I live in New York City, I'm not the only one who
reads the 'Herald.'"

"But your aunt subscribed only to _The Times_. Where did that 'Herald'
come from?"

"I'm sure I don't know. It must have been left here by somebody--I
suppose----"

"And this half-burnt cigarette, of the same brand as those you have in
your pocket case?"

"Other men smoke those, too, I assume."

"Well, then, the check, which this stub shows to have been drawn to-day
to you. Where is that?"

"Not in my possession. If my aunt made that out to me it was doubtless
for a present and she may have sent it to me in a letter; in which case
it will reach my city address to-morrow morning, or she may have put it
somewhere up here for safe keeping.

"All most unlikely," said Mr. Chapin, shaking his head. "Did Mrs. Pell
send any letters to the post-office to-day, does any one know?"

Campbell was called, and he said that his mistress had given him a
number of letters to mail when he took Miss Clyde to church that
morning.

"Was one of them directed to Mr. Bannard," asked Hughes.

"How should I know?" said the chauffeur, turning red.

"Oh, it's no crime to glance at the addresses on envelopes," said
Hughes, encouragingly. "Curiosity may not be an admirable trait, but it
isn't against the law. And it will help us a lot if you can answer my
question."

"Then, no, sir, there wasn't," and Campbell looked ashamed but positive.

"And there was no other chance for Mrs. Pell to mail a letter to-day?"
went on Hughes.

"No, sir; none of us has been to the village since, and the post-office
closes at noon on Sunday anyhow."

"All that proves nothing," said Bannard, impatiently. "If my aunt drew
that check to me it is probably still in this room somewhere, and if not
it is quite likely she destroyed it, in a sudden change of mind. She has
done that before, in my very presence. You know, Mr. Chapin, how
uncertain her decisions are."

"That's true," the lawyer agreed, "I've drawn up papers for her often,
only to have her tear them up before my very eyes, and demand a document
of exactly opposite intent."

"So, you see," insisted Bannard, who had regained his composure, "that
check means nothing, the New York newspaper is not incriminating and the
cigarette is not enough to prove my guilty presence at the time of this
crime. Unless the police force of Berrien can do better than that, I
suggest getting a worthwhile detective from the city."

Hughes looked angrily at the speaker, but said nothing.

"That is not a bad suggestion," said Chapin. "This is a big crime and a
most mysterious one. It involves the large fortune of Mrs. Pell, which,
I happen to know, was mostly invested in jewels. These gems she has so
secretly and securely hidden that even I have not the remotest idea
where they are. Is it not conceivable that they were in that wall-safe,
and have been stolen by the murderer?"

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Hughes. "I didn't know she kept her fortune
here!"

"Nor do I know it," returned Chapin. "But, doubtless, something of value
was in that safe, now empty, and I only surmise that it may have been
her great collection of precious stones."

"Have you her will?" asked Bannard, abruptly.

"Yes, her latest one," replied Chapin. "You know she made a new one on
the average of once a month or so."

"Who inherits?"

"I don't know. A box, bequeathed to Miss Clyde and a--something similar
to you, probably contain her principal bequests. This house, however,
she has left to another relative, and there are other bequests. I do not
deny the will is that of an eccentric woman, as will be shown at its
reading, in due time."

"That's all right," broke in the coroner, "but what I'm interested in is
catching the murderer."

"And solving the mystery of his getting in," supplemented Hughes.

"She might have let him in," assumed Timken.

"All right, but how did he get out?"

"That's the mystery," mused Chapin. "I can see no light on that
question, whatever, can you, Winston?"

"No," said Bannard, shortly. "There's no secret entrance to this room,
of that I'm positive. And with the windows barred, and those people at
the door, as it was broken open, there seems no explanation."

"Oh, pshaw," said Timken, "that's all for future consideration. The lady
couldn't have killed herself. Somebody got in and the same somebody got
out. It's up to the detectives to find out how. If a human being could
do it, and did do it, another human being can find out how. But let us
get at the possible criminal. Motive is the first consideration."

"The heirs are always looked upon as having motive," said Lawyer Chapin,
"but, in this case, I feel sure the principal heirs are Miss Clyde and
Mr. Bannard, and I cannot suspect either of them."

"Iris--ridiculous!" exclaimed Bannard. "For Heaven's sake, don't drag
her name in!"

"Where is Miss Clyde's bedroom?" asked Hughes, suddenly.

"Directly above this room," returned Bannard. "Are you going to suggest
that she came down here by a concealed staircase, and maltreated her
aunt in this ferocious manner? Mr. Hughes, do confine yourself to
theories that at least have a slight claim to common sense!"

And yet, when the coroner held his inquest next day, more than one who
listened to the evidence leaned toward the suggestion of Iris Clyde's
possible connection with the crime.

The girl's own manner was against her, or rather against her chance of
gaining the sympathies of the audience.

The inquest was held in Pellbrook. The big living room was filled with
interested listeners, who also crowded the hall, and drifted into the
dining room. The room where Mrs. Pell had died was closed to all, but
curiosity-seekers hovered around it outside, and inspected the steel
protected windows, and discoursed wisely of secret passages and
concealed exits.

As the one known to have last spoken with her aunt, Iris was closely
questioned. But her replies were of no help in getting at the truth. She
admitted that she and her aunt quarreled often, and agreed that that was
the real reason she had decided to go to New York to live.

But her answers were curt, even angry at times, and her manner was
haughty and resentful.

Great emphasis was laid by the coroner on the tenor of the last words
that passed between Iris and her aunt.

The girl admitted that they were quarrelsome words, but declared she did
not remember exactly what had been said.

Something in the expression of the maid, Agnes, caught the eye of the
coroner, and he suddenly turned to her, saying, "Did you overhear this
conversation?"

Taken aback by the unexpected question, Agnes stammered, "Yes, sir, I
did."

"Where were you?"

"In the dining room, clearing the table."

"Where was Miss Clyde?"

"In the hall, just about to go upstairs."

"And Mrs. Pell?"

"In the hall, by the living-room door."

"Why were they in the hall?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Bowen had just left, and the ladies had said good-bye to
them at the front door, and then they stood talking to each other a few
moments."

"What were they talking about?"

Agnes hesitated, but on further insistence of the coroner she said,
"Miss Iris was complaining to Mrs. Pell about her habit of playing
tricks."

"Was Miss Clyde angry at her aunt?"

"She sounded so."

"Certainly I was," broke in Iris. "I had stood that foolishness just as
long as I could----"

"You are not the witness, for the moment, Miss Clyde," said the coroner,
severely. "Agnes, what did Mrs. Pell say to her niece in response to
her chiding?"

"She only laughed, and said that Miss Iris looked like a circus clown."

"Then what did Miss Clyde say?"

"She said that Mrs. Pell was a fiend in human shape and that she hated
her. Then she ran upstairs and went into her own room and slammed the
door."

"Have you any reason to think, Agnes, that there is any secret mode of
connection between Mrs. Pell's sitting room and Miss Clyde's bedroom,
directly above it?"

"Why, no, sir, I never heard of such a thing."

"Absurd!" broke in Winston Bannard, "utterly absurd. If there were such
a thing, it could certainly be discovered by your expert detectives."

"There isn't any," declared Hughes, positively. "I've sounded the walls
and examined the floor and ceiling, and there's not a chance of it. The
way the murderer got out of that locked room is a profound mystery, but
it won't be solved by means of a secret entrance."

"Yet what other possibility can be suggested?" went on Timken,
thoughtfully. "And the connection needn't be directly with Miss Clyde's
room. Suppose there is a sliding wall panel, or an exit to the cellar,
in some way."

"But there isn't," insisted Hughes. "I'm not altogether ignorant of
architecture, and there is no such thing in any part of that room.
Moreover, how could any outsider come to the house, get in, and get into
that room, without any member of the household seeing his approach? The
two women servants were in the house, but Campbell, the chauffeur, and
Purdy, the gardener, were out of doors, and could have seen anyone who
came in at the gate."

"Might not the intruder have entered while the family was at dinner, and
concealed himself in Mrs. Pell's sitting room, until she went in there
after dinner?"

"Possibly," agreed Hughes, "but, in that case, how did the intruder get
out?"

And that was the sticking-point with every theory. No one could think of
or imagine any way to account for the exit of the criminal. Mrs. Pell
had undoubtedly been murdered. Her injuries were not self-inflicted. She
had been brutally maltreated by a strong, angry person, before the final
blow had killed her. The overturned table, and the ransacked room, the
empty pocket-book and handbag were the work of a desperate thief, and it
really seemed absurd to connect the name of Iris Clyde with such
conditions. More plausible was the theory of Bannard's guilt, but,
again, how did he get away?

"There is a possibility of locking a door from the outside," said
Coroner Timken.

"I've thought of that," returned Hughes, "but it wasn't done in this
case. I've tried to lock that door from outside, with a pair of nippers,
and the lock is such that it can't be done. And, too, Polly heard Mrs.
Pell's screams at the moment of her murder--the criminal couldn't have
run out, and locked the door outside, and gone through this room without
having been seen by someone. You were in the dining room, Polly?"

"Yes, sir, and I ran right in here; there was no time for anybody to get
away without my seeing him."

The facts, as testified to, were so clear cut and definite, that there
seemed little to probe into. It was a deadlock. Mrs. Pell had been
robbed and murdered. Apparently there was no way in which this could
have been done, and yet it had been done. The two who could be said to
have a motive were Iris Clyde and Winston Bannard. It might even be said
that they had opportunity, yet it was clearly shown that they could not
have escaped unseen.

Bannard was further questioned as to his movements on Sunday.

He declared that he had risen late, and had gone for a bicycle ride, a
recreation of which he was fond.

"Where did you ride?" asked Timken.

"Up Broadway and on along its continuation as far as Red Fox Inn."

"That's about half way up here!"

"I know it. I stopped there for luncheon, about noon, and after that I
returned to New York."

"You lunched at the Inn at noon?"

"Shortly after twelve, I think it was. The Inn people will verify this."

"They know you?"

"Not personally, but doubtless the waiter who served me will remember my
presence."

"And, after luncheon, you returned to the city?"

"I did."

"Reaching your home at what time?"

"Oh, I didn't go to my rooms until about twilight. It was a lovely day,
and I came home slowly, stopping here and there when I passed a bit of
woods or a pleasant spot to rest. I often spend a day in the open."

"You had your newspaper with you?"

"I did."

"What one?"

"The 'Herald.'" But even as Bannard said the words, he caught himself,
and looked positively frightened.

"Ah, yes. There is even now a 'Herald' of yesterday's date in Mrs.
Pell's sitting room."

"But that isn't mine. That--that one isn't unfolded--I mean, it hasn't
been unfolded. You can see that by its condition. Mine, I read through,
and refolded it untidily, even inside out."

"Fine talk!" said Timken, with a slight sneer. "But it doesn't get you
anywhere. That New York paper, that cigarette end, and that check stub
seem to me to need pretty strict accounting for. Your explanations are
glib, but a little thin. I don't see how you got out of the room, or
Miss Clyde either; but that consideration would apply equally to any
other intruder. And we have no other direction in which to look for the
person who robbed Mrs. Pell."

"Leave Miss Clyde's name out," said Bannard, shortly. "If you want to
suspect me, go ahead, but it's too absurd to fasten it on a woman."

"Perhaps you both know more than you've told----"

"I don't!" declared Iris, her eyes snapping at the implication. "I was
angry at my aunt. I've told you the truth about that, but I didn't kill
her. Nor did her nephew. Because we are her probable heirs does not mean
that we're her murderers!"

"Your protestation doesn't carry much weight," said Timken, coldly.
"We're after proofs, and we'll get them yet. Mr. Bowen, will you take
the stand?"

The rector somewhat ponderously acquiesced, and the coroner put some
questions to him, which like the preceding queries brought little new
light on the mystery.

But one statement roused a slight wave of suspicion toward Iris Clyde.
This was the assertion that Mrs. Pell had said she would call her lawyer
to her the next day, to change her will.

"With what intent?" asked Timken.

"She promised that she would have all her jewels set into a chalice, and
present it to me for my church."

"Oh, she didn't mean that, Mr. Bowen," Iris exclaimed.

"Why didn't she? She said it, and I have no reason to think she was not
sincere."

"She may have meant it when she said it," put in Lawyer Chapin, "but she
was likely to change her mind before she changed her will."

"That's mere supposition on your part," objected Mr. Bowen.

"But I know my late client better than you do. She changed her will
frequently, but her fortune was always left to her relatives, not to any
institution or charity."

"She said that she had never thought of it before," Mr. Bowen related,
"but that she considered it a fine idea."

"Oh, then you proposed it?" said Timken.

"Yes, I did," replied the clergyman, "I suggested it half jestingly, but
when Mrs. Pell acquiesced with evident gladness, I certainly hoped she
would put at least part of her fortune into such a good cause."

"You heard this discussion, Miss Clyde?" asked the coroner.

"Of course I did; it occurred at the dinner table."

"And were you not afraid your aunt would make good her promise?"

"She didn't really promise----"

"Afraid then that she would carry out the minister's suggestion."

"I didn't really think much about it. If you mean, did I kill her to
prevent such a possibility, I answer I certainly did not!"

And so the futile inquiry went on. Nobody could offer any evidence that
pointed toward a solution of the mysterious murder. Nobody could fasten
the crime on anyone, or even hint a suggestion of which way to look for
the criminal.

Sam Torrey, a brother of Agnes, the maid, testified that he had seen a
strange man prowling round the Pell house Sunday morning, but as the lad
was reputed to be of a defective mind, and as the tragedy occurred on
Sunday afternoon, little attention was paid to him.

Roger Downing, a young man of the village, said he saw a stranger near
Pellbrook about noon. But this, too, meant nothing.

No testimony mentioned a stranger or any intruder near the Pell place in
the afternoon. The Bowens had left the house at about three, and Polly
heard her mistress scream less than half an hour later. No one could fix
the time exactly, but it was assumed to be about twenty or twenty-five
minutes past the hour.

This meant, the coroner pointed out, that the murderer acted rapidly;
for to upset the room as he had done, while the mistress of the house
was bound and gagged, watching him; then afterward--as Timken
reconstructed the crime--to torture the poor woman in his efforts to
find the jewels or whatever he was after; and then, in a final frenzy of
hatred, to dash her to the floor and kill her by knocking her head on
the point of the fender, all meant the desperate, speedy work of a
double-dyed villain. As to his immediate disappearance, which took place
between the time when he dashed her to the floor and when Purdy broke in
the door, the coroner was unable to offer any explanation whatever.



CHAPTER V

DOWNING'S EVIDENCE


And so the case went to the coroner's jury. And after some discussion
they returned the inevitable verdict of murder by person or persons
unknown. Some of them preferred the phrase, "causes unknown." But others
pointed out that the physical causes of Mrs. Pell's death were only too
evident; the question was: Who was the perpetrator of the ghastly deed?

And so the foreman somewhat importantly announced that the deceased met
her death at the hands of persons unknown, and in most mysterious and
inexplicable circumstances, but recommended that every possible effort
be made to trace any connection that might exist between the tragedy and
the heirs to the fortune of the deceased.

A distinct murmur of disapproval sounded through the room, yet there
were those who wagged assenting heads.

The inquest had been a haphazard affair in some ways. Berrien was
possessed of only a limited police force, and its head, Inspector Clare,
was a man whose knowledge of police matters consisted of an education
beyond his intelligence. Moreover, the case itself was so weirdly
tragic, so out of all reason or belief, that the whole force was at its
wits' end. The bluecoats at the doors of Pellbrook were as interested in
the village gossip as the villagers themselves. And though entrance was
made difficult, most of the influential members of the community were
assembled to hear the inquiry into this strange matter.

There were so few material witnesses, those who were questioned knew so
little, and, more than all, the mystery of the murder in the locked room
was so baffling, that there was, of course, no possibility of other than
an open verdict.

"It's all very well," said the inspector, pompously, "to bring in that
verdict. Yes, that's all very well. But the murderers must be found. A
crime like this must not go unpunished. It's mysterious, of course, but
the truth must be ferreted out. We're only at the beginning. There is
much to be learned beside the meager evidence we have already
collected."

The mass of people had broken up into small groups, all of whom were
confabbing with energy. There were several strangers present, for the
startling details of the case, as reported in the city papers, had
brought a number of curious visitors from the metropolis.

One of these, a quiet-mannered, middle-aged man, edged nearer to where
the inspector was talking to Bannard and Iris Clyde. Hughes was
listening, also Mr. Bowen and Mr. Chapin.

"It's this way," the inspector was saying, in his unpolished manner of
speech, "we've got her alive at three, talking to her niece, and we've
got her dying at half-past three, and calling for help. Between these
two stated times, the murderer attacked her, manhandled her pretty
severely and flung her down to her death, besides ransacking the room,
and stealing nobody knows what or how much. Seems to me a remarkable
affair like that ought to be easier to get at than a simple everyday
robbery."

"It ought to be, I think, too," said the stranger, in a mild, pleasant
voice. "May I ask how you're going about it?"

"Who are you, sir?" asked Clare. "You got any right here? A reporter?"

"No, not a reporter. An humble citizen of New York city, not connected
with the police force in any way. But I'm interested in this mystery,
and I judge you have in mind some definite plan to work on."

Mollified, even flattered at the man's evident faith in him, the
inspector replied, "Yes, sir, yes, I may say I have. Perhaps not for
immediate disclosure, no, not that, but I have a pretty strong belief
that we'll yet round up the villains----"

"You assume more than one person, then?"

"I think so, yes, I may say I think so. But that's of little moment. If
we can run down the clues we have, if we can follow their pointing
fingers, we shall know the criminal, and learn whether or not he had
accomplices in his vile work."

"Quite so," and with a smile and a nod, the stranger drifted away.

Another man came near, then, and frankly introduced himself as Joe
Young, from a nearby town, saying he wanted to be allowed to examine the
wall-safe said to have been rifled by the murderer.

"My father built that safe," he explained his interest, "and I think it
might lead to some further enlightenment."

Detective Hughes accompanied Young to the closed room that had been Mrs.
Pell's sanctum, and they entered alone.

"Don't touch things," cautioned Hughes. "I've not really had a chance
yet to go over the place with a fine tooth comb. They've taken the poor
lady's body away, but otherwise nothing's been touched----"

"Oh, I won't touch anything," agreed Young, "but I couldn't help a sort
of a notion that my father might have built more than a safe--he was a
skilful carpenter and joiner, and Mrs. Pell was a tricky woman. I mean
by that, she was mighty fond of tricking people and she easily could
have had a secret cupboard, or even an entrance from somewhere behind
that safe."

But no amount of searching could discover the slightest possibility of
such a thing. The open safe was an ordinary, built-in-the-wall affair,
not large enough to suggest an entrance for a person. Nor was there any
secret compartment behind it or anything other than showed on the
surface. The door, when closed, had been covered by a picture, which had
been taken down and flung on the floor. The safe was absolutely empty,
and no one knew what it had contained.

Young was decidedly disappointed. "I had no personal motive in looking
this thing up," he said, "I only hoped that my knowledge of my father's
clever work might lead to some discovery that would prove helpful to you
detectives or to the family. But it's plain to be seen there's no
hocus-pocus about this thing. It's as simple a safe as I ever saw.
Nothing, in fact, but a concealed cupboard with a combination lock.
Wonder who opened it? The murderer?"

"I don't think so," rejoined Hughes. "I think the intruder, whoever he
was, compelled the old lady to open it for him."

"You stick to the masculine gender, I see, in your assumptions."

"I do. I don't think for a minute that Miss Clyde is involved."

"But her room is just above this----"

"Oh, that's what you're after! A secret connection between this room and
Miss Clyde's by way of the safe!"

"Yes, that's what I had in mind. But there's not the slightest
possibility of it, is there?"

"No, not any other secret passage of any sort or kind. Oh, I've
investigated fully in that respect. I meant, I haven't searched for tiny
clues and little scraps of evidence. Straws, in fact, do show which way
the wind blows."

"Well, I don't suppose I can be of any help, but if I can, call on me. I
live in East Fallville, only twelve miles away, and I'd like nothing
better than to dig into this mystery, if I'm wanted."

"Thank you, Mr. Young, I appreciate your helpful spirit, and I'll call
on you if it's available. But I don't mind owning up that we have more
people to look into this matter than directions in which to look. As you
may imagine, it's a baffling thing to get hold of. I confess I hardly
know which way to turn."

As the two men returned to the living room, Hughes overheard some angry
words between Bannard and Roger Downing, one of the dwellers in the
village.

"But I saw you," Downing was saying.

"You think you did," returned Bannard, "but you're mistaken."

"When?" asked Hughes, suddenly and sharply, of Downing.

"Sunday about noon. Win Bannard was skulking around in the woods just
back of this house----"

"Skulking! Take back that word!" cried Bannard.

"Well, you were sauntering around, then, dawdling around, whatever you
want it called, but you were there!"

"I was not," declared Bannard.

"And I saw your little motor car waiting for you a bit farther along the
road----"

"You did!" and Bannard laughed shortly, "well, as it happens I don't own
a motor car!"

"Nonsense, Roger," said Hughes, "Win Bannard wasn't up here Sunday
noon--where would he have been concealed until three o'clock----"

"In his aunt's room----"

"Take that back!" shouted Bannard, "do you know what you're saying?"

"Hush up, both of you," cautioned Hughes. "For Heaven's sake don't get
up a scene over nothing! But, if you saw a small motor car along the
road near here, I want to know about it. What time was this, Downing?"

"'Long about noon, I tell you," was the sulky reply. "It might have been
a few minutes before. There was no one in the car; it was drawn up by
the side of the road, not more'n two hundred yards from the house."

"And you thought you saw Mr. Bannard. Of course, it was someone else,
but it's important to know about this. I can't help thinking whoever
committed that murder was hidden in the room for some time
beforehand----"

"And how did he get away?" asked Bannard.

"If you ask me that once more, I'll pound you! I don't _know_ how he got
away. But he did get away, and we'll find out how, when we find our man.
That's my theory of procedure, if you want to know; let the mystery of
the locked room wait, and devote all possible effort to finding the
murderer. Then the rest will unravel itself."

"Easier said than done," sneered Downing, "if you're going to discard
all evidence or statements that anyone makes to you!"

"If you were so sure you saw Mr. Bannard on Sunday morning, why didn't
you so state at the inquest?"

"I wasn't asked, and besides 'twas about noon, and old Timken only asked
about the afternoon----"

"And besides," broke in Bannard, "you weren't sure you did see me, and
you weren't sure you saw anybody, and you made up this whole yarn,
anyhow!"

"Nothing of the sort, and you'll find out, Win Bannard, when I tell all
I know----"

"Quit it now," ordered Hughes; "if you've anything to tell of real
importance, Roger, tell it to me when we're alone. Don't sing out your
information all over the place."

"You're going straight ahead with your investigations, then?" Bannard
asked of the detective.

"Yes, but we can't do much till after the funeral, and----"

"And what?"

"And after the reading of the will. You know motive is a strong factor
in unraveling a murder case. Why, s'pose some of the servants receive
large legacies; and you know how queer Mrs. Pell was--she might well
leave a fortune to those Purdys."

"Oh, they didn't do it," and Bannard tossed off the idea as absurd.

"You don't know. Leaving out, as I said before, the question of how the
villain got in or out, it might easily have been one or more of the
servants. And other help is hired beside the regular house crowd. Take
it from me, it was somebody in the house, and not an intruder from
outside."

"And take it from me, you don't know what you're talking about," said
Roger Downing, as he angrily stalked away.

Bannard had said very little to Iris since his coming to Pellbrook, but
he now sought her out, and asked her what she thought about the whole
matter.

"I don't know what to think," Iris replied to his question, "but I don't
know as it matters so much about solving the mystery. Poor Aunt Ursula
is dead, she was killed, but I don't see how we can find out who did it.
I think, Win, it must have been somebody we don't know about--say,
someone connected with her early life--you know, she has had a more or
less varied career."

"How do you mean? She lived here very quietly."

"Yes, but before she came here. Before we knew her, even before we were
born. And then, her jewels. Nobody ever owned a splendid collection of
jewels but what they were beset by robbers and burglars to get the
treasure."

"Then you think it an ordinary jewel robbery?"

"Not ordinary! Far from that! But I can't help thinking that was what
the thieves were after. Why, you know her jewels are world famous."

"What do you mean by world famous?"

"Well, maybe not that, but well known among jewelers and jewel
collectors. So they would, of course, be known to professional jewel
thieves."

"That's so. Where are they anyway?"

"The thieves?"

"No; the jewels."

"I haven't the least idea----"

"Haven't you? Honestly!"

"Indeed, I haven't."

"I don't believe you."

"Why, Win Bannard, what do you mean!"

"Oh, I oughtn't to say that, but truly, Iris, I supposed of course you
knew where Aunt Ursula kept 'em."

"Well, I don't. I've not the slightest notion of her hiding place."

"Hiding place! Aren't they in a safe deposit, or something of that
sort?"

"They may be, but I don't think so. But it will be told in the will. Mr.
Chapin is so ridiculously secretive about the will! Sometimes I think
she may have left them all to someone else after all."

"Someone else?"

"Yes, someone besides us. I think, don't you, that we ought to be her
principal heirs? But she promised me, always, her wonderful diamond
pin."

"Huh! I don't think one diamond pin so much! Why, she has----"

"I know, but she always spoke of this particular diamond pin that she
destined for me as something especially valuable. I expect it is a sort
of Kohinoor."

"Oh, I didn't know about that. And what is she going to leave me, to
match up to that?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. But we sound very mercenary, talking like this,
before the poor lady is even buried."

"To be honest, Iris, I'm terribly sorry for the way the poor thing was
killed, but I can't grieve very deeply, unless I'm a hypocrite. As you
know, Aunt Ursula and I weren't good friends----"

"Who could be friends with Aunt Ursula? I tried my best, Win, my very
best, but she was too trying to live with! You've no idea what I went
through!"

"Oh, yes, I've an idea. I lived with her some years myself. Well, we'll
say nothing but good of her now she's gone. I say, Iris, let's take a
walk down to the village and see Browne, the jeweler."

"What for?"

"Ask him about her jewels."

"Oh, no, I think that would be horrid. You go, if you like. I shan't."

But Iris went out on the verandah with Bannard, and they ran into Sam
Torrey, the brother of Agnes.

"Hello, Sam," said Bannard. "What's that you were saying about seeing a
man around here Sunday morning."

"Not morning, but noon," declared Sam, gazing with lack-luster eyes at
his questioner.

"Brace up, now, Sam, tell me all you know," and Bannard looked the boy
squarely in the eye.

Sam, about seventeen, or so, was of undeveloped intellect, called by the
neighbors half-witted. But if pinned down to a subject and his
attention kept on it, he could talk pretty nearly rationally.

"Know lots. Saw man here--there--near edge of woods--nice little car,
oh, awful nice little car----"

"Yes, go on, what did he do?"

"Do? Do? Oh, nothing. Walked around----"

"Hold on, you said he was in a car."

"No, walked around, sly--oh, so sly----"

"Rubbish! you're making up!"

"Of course he is," said Iris, "he can't tell a connected story. Who was
the man, Sam?"

"Don't know name. But--he was at the show to-day."

"At the inquest! No!" Bannard exclaimed.

"Yes, he was. Same man. Oh, I know him, he killed Missy Pell."

"How did he get in the house," Bannard tried to draw him on to further
absurd assertions.

"Dunno," and Sam shook his uncertain head. "But he did, and he kill--and
kill--and so, he come to show."

"Fool talk!" and Bannard scowled at the defective lad.

"No, sir! Sam no fool."

"Yes, you are, and you know it," Iris declared, but she smiled at him,
for she had known the unfortunate boy a long time, and always treated
him kindly, but not as a rational human being.

And just then, Browne, the local jeweler, appeared.

He had been sent for by Hughes, in order that they might get some idea
of the whereabouts of Mrs. Pell's jewel collection. No one really
thought they had all been stored in the small wall safe, and Browne was
asked concerning his knowledge.

Several of those most interested clustered round to hear the word and
perhaps none was more eager than Mr. Bowen. Quite evidently he had
strong hopes of receiving the chalice for his church, and he listened to
the jeweler's story.

But it was of little value. Mr. Browne declared his knowledge of many of
Mrs. Pell's jewels, which she had shown him, asking his opinion or
merely to gratify his interest, and again, when she had wanted to sell
some of the smaller ones. But he was sure that she possessed many and
valuable stones that he had never seen. He named some diamonds and
emeralds that were of sufficient size and weight to be designated by
name. He told of some collections that she had bought with his knowledge
and advice. And he assured them that he was positive she was the owner
of at least two million dollars' worth of unset gems, part of which
formed the collection left to her by her husband and part of which she
had acquired later, herself.

But Mr. Browne hadn't the slightest idea where these gems were stored
for safe keeping. He had sometimes discreetly hinted to Mrs. Pell that
he would like to know where they were, merely as a matter of interest,
but she had never told him, and had only stated that they were safe from
fire, flood or thieves!

"Those were her very words," he asserted, "and when I said that was an
all-round statement, she laughed and said they were buried."

"Buried!" cried Iris, "what an idea!"

"A very good idea," Mr. Browne defended. "I'm not sure that isn't the
best way to conceal such a stock of valuables."

"But buried where?" pursued the girl.

"That I don't know," said the jeweler.



CHAPTER VI

LUCILLE


"I am Miss Lucille Darrel."

People are usually cognizant of their own names, but few could throw
more convincing certainty into the announcement than the speaker. One
felt sure at once that her name was as she stated and had been so for a
long time. The first adjective one would think of applying to Miss
Darrel would be "positive." She was that by every implication of her
being. Her hair was positively white, her eyes positively black. Her
manner and expression were positive, and her very walk, as she stepped
into the Pellbrook living room, was positive and unhesitating.

Iris chanced to be there alone, for the moment; alone, that is, save for
the casket containing the body of Ursula Pell. The great room, set in
order for the funeral, was filled with rows of folding chairs, and the
oppressive odor of massed flowers permeated the place.

The girl stood beside the casket, tears rolling down her cheeks and her
whole body shaking with suppressed sobs.

"Why, you poor child," said the newcomer, in most heartfelt sympathy;
"Are you Iris?"

The acquiescent reply was lost, as Miss Darrel gathered the slim young
figure into her embrace. "There, there," she soothed, "cry all you want
to. Poor little girl." She gently smoothed Iris' hair, and together they
stood, looking down at the quiet, white face.

"You loved her so," and Miss Darrel's tone was soft and kind.

"I did," Iris said, feeling at once that she had found a friend. "Oh,
Miss Darrel, how kind you are! People think I didn't love Aunt Ursula,
because--because we were both high-tempered, and we did quarrel. But,
underneath, we were truly fond of each other, and if I seem cold and
uncaring, it isn't the truth; it's because--because----"

"Never mind, dear, you may have many reasons to conceal your feelings. I
know you loved her, I know you revere her memory, for I saw you as I
entered, when you thought you were all alone----"

"I am alone, Miss Darrel--I am very lonely. I'm glad you have come, I've
been wanting to see you. It's all so terrible--so mysterious; and--and
they suspect me!"

Iris' dark eyes stared with fear into the kind ones that met hers, and
again she began to tremble.

"Now, now, my child, don't talk like that. I'm here, and I'll look after
you. Suspect you, indeed! What nonsense. But it's most inexplicable,
isn't it? I know so little, only what I've read in the papers. I came
from Albany last night; I started as soon as I possibly could, and
traveled as fast as I could. I want to hear all about it, but not from
you. You're worn out, you poor dear. You ought to be in bed this
minute."

"Oh, no, Miss Darrel, I'm all right. Only--I've a lot on my mind, you
see, and--and----" again Iris, with a glance of distress at the cold,
dead face, burst into tumultuous weeping.

"Come out of this room," said Miss Darrel, positively. "It only shakes
your nerves to stay here. Come, show me to my room. Where shall I lodge?
This house is mine, now, or soon will be. You knew that, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Iris, listlessly. "I knew Aunt Ursula meant to leave it to
you, but I don't know whether she did or not. And I don't care. I only
care for one thing----"

But Miss Darrel was not listening. She was observing and admiring the
house itself--the colonial staircase, the well-proportioned rooms and
halls, and the attractive furnishings.

"I'll give you the rose guest room," Iris said, leading her toward it,
as they reached the upper hall. "Winston Bannard is here, but no other
visitors. If there are other heirs, I suppose Mr. Chapin has notified
them."

"I suppose so," returned Miss Darrel, preoccupiedly. "When will the
services be held?"

"This afternoon at two. It will be a large funeral. Everybody in Berrien
knew Aunt Ursula, and people will come up from New York. Now, have you
everything you want to make you comfortable in here?"

"Yes, thank you," replied Miss Darrel, after a quick, comprehensive
glance round the room, "and, wait a moment, Iris--mayn't I call you
Iris?"

"Yes, indeed, I'm glad to have you."

"I only want to say that I want to be your friend. Please let me and
come to me freely for comfort or advice or anything I can do to help
you."

"Thank you, Miss Darrel, I am indeed glad to have a friend, for I am
lonely and frightened. But I can't say more now, someone is calling me."

Iris ran downstairs and found Winston Bannard eagerly asking for her.

"I've unearthed Aunt Ursula's diary!" he exclaimed.

"Was it hidden?"

"Not exactly, but old Hughes wouldn't let me rummage around in the desk
much, so I took a chance when he was out of the way, and it was in an
upper drawer. Come on, let's go and read it."

"Why? Now?"

"Yes. Look here, Iris, you want to trust me in this thing. You want to
let me take care of you."

"Thank you, Win--I'm glad to have you----" but Iris spoke constrainedly,
"By the way, Miss Darrel is here."

"Who's she? Oh, that cousin of Aunt Ursula's?"

"Not really her cousin, but a relative of Mr. Pell's. I never knew her,
did you?"

"No; what's she like?"

"Oh, she's lovely. Kind and capable, but rather dictatorial, or, at
least, decided."

"Does she get the house?"

"She says so. And I know Auntie spoke of leaving it to her, because, I
believe, Mr. Pell had wished it."

"What about the jewels, Iris?"

"Oh, Win, I wish you wouldn't talk or think about those things, till
after----"

"After the funeral? I know it seems strange--I know I seem mercenary,
and all that, but it isn't so, Iris. There's something wrong going on,
and unless we are careful and alert, we'll lose our inheritance yet."

"What _do_ you mean?"

"Never mind. But come with me and let's take a glimpse into the diary. I
tell you we ought to do it. It may mean everything."

Iris followed him to a small enclosed porch off the dining room and they
put their heads together over the book.

It was funny, for Ursula Pell couldn't help being funny.

One entry read:

"Felt like the old scratch to-day, so took it out on Iris. Poor girl, I
am ashamed of myself to tease her so, but she's such a good-natured
little ninny, she stands it as few girls would. I must make it up to her
in some way."

And another read at random:

"Up a stump to-day for some mischief to get into. Satan doesn't look out
properly for my idle hands. I manicured them carefully, and sat waiting
for some real nice mischief to come along, but none did, so I hunted up
some for myself. It's Agnes' night out, and I stuffed the kitchen door
keyhole with putty. Won't she be mad! She'll have to ring Polly up, and
she'll be mad, too. I'll give Agnes my black lace parasol, to make up.
What a scamp I am! I feel like little Toddie, in 'Helen's Babies,' who
used to pray, 'Dee Lord, not make me sho bad!' Well, I s'pose 'tis my
nature to."

"These are late dates," said Bannard, running over the leaves, "let's
look further back."

It was not a yearly diary, but a goodsized blank book, in which the
writer had jotted down her notes as she felt inclined; something was
written every day, but it might be a short paragraph or several pages in
length.

"Here's something about us," and Bannard pointed to a page:

The entry ran:

"To-day I gave the box for Iris into Mr. Chapin's keeping. I shall never
see it again. After I am gone, he will give it to I. and she can have it
for what it is worth. I'll leave the F. pocket-book to Winston. The
house must go to Lucille, but the young people won't mind that, as they
will have enough."

"That's all right, isn't it, Iris. Looks as if we were the principal
heirs."

"You can't tell, Win. She may have changed her mind a dozen times."

"That's so. Let's see if there's anything about Mr. Bowen and his
chalice."

"Oh, she only thought of that last Sunday."

"Don't be too sure. I shouldn't be surprised if the old chap got round
her long ago, and had the matter all fixed up, and she pretended it was
a new idea."

"I can't think that."

"You can't, eh? Well, listen here:

"'Sometimes I think it would be a good deed to use half of the jewels
for a gift to the church. If I should take the whole Anderson lot, there
would be plenty left for W. and I.'"

"What is the Anderson lot?" Iris asked.

"A certain purchase that the old man got through a dealer or an agent,
named Anderson. Aunt Ursula used to talk over these things with me and,
all of a sudden she shut up on the subject and never mentioned jewels to
me again."

"She talked of them to me, sometimes, but never anything of definite
importance. She spoke of the Baltimore emeralds, but I know nothing of
them."

"They're mentioned here; see:

"'The Balto. emeralds will make a wonderful necklace for I. when she
gets older. I hope I may live long enough to see the child decked out in
them. I believe I'll tell her the jewels are all in the crypt.'"

"In the crypt! Oh, Win, you know Mr. Browne said he thought they were
buried! Isn't a crypt a burial place in a church?"

"Yes; but a crypt may be anywhere. Any vault is a crypt, really."

"But a bank vault wouldn't be called a crypt, would it?"

"Not generally speaking, no. But, she probably changed the hiding place
a dozen times since this was written."

"Well, we'll know all when we hear the will. Isn't it a queer thing to
put all of one's fortune in jewels?"

"She didn't do it, her husband did. And everybody says he was a shrewd
old chap. And, you know he made wonderful collections of coins and
curios, and all sorts of things."

"Yes, up in the attic is a big portfolio of steel engravings. I can't
admire them much, but they're valuable, Auntie said once. It seems Uncle
Pell was a perfect crank on engravings of all sorts."

"I know. She gave me an intaglio topaz for a watch-fob. I didn't care
much about it."

"I'm crazy to see my diamond pin. I've heard about that for years. No
matter how often she changed her will, she told me, that diamond pin was
always bequeathed to me. Perhaps it's her choicest gem."

"Perhaps. Listen to this, Iris:

"'I am going to New York next Tues. I shall give Winston a
cheap-looking pair of gloves, but I shall first put a hundred-dollar
bill in each finger.'

"She did that, you know, and I was so mad when she gave them to me I was
within an ace of throwing them away. But I caught sight of a bulge in
the thumb, and I just thought, in time, there might be some joke on.
Didn't she beat the dickens?"

"She did. Oh, Win, you don't know how she humiliated and hurt me! But
I'm sorry, now, that I wasn't more patient."

"You were, Iris! Here's proof!

"'I put a wee little toad in Iris' handbag to-day. We were going to the
village, and when she opened the bag, Mr. Toad jumped out! Iris loathes
toads, but I must say she took it beautifully. I bought her a muff and
stole of Hud. seal to make up.'"

"Poor auntie," said Iris, as the tears came, "she always wanted to 'make
up!' I believe she couldn't help those silly tricks, Win. It was a sort
of mania with her."

"Pshaw! She could have helped it if she'd wanted to. Somebody's coming,
put the book away now."

The somebody proved to be Miss Darrel, who, when Bannard was presented,
gave him a cordial smile, and proceeded to make friendly advances at
once.

"We three are the only relatives present," she said, "and we must
sympathize with and help one another."

"You can help me," said Iris, who was irresistibly drawn to the strong,
efficient personality, "but I fear I can't help you. Though I am more
than willing."

"It is a pleasure just to look at you, my dear, you are so sweet and
unspoiled."

Bannard gave Miss Darrel a quick glance. Her speech, to him, savored of
sycophancy.

But not to Iris. She slipped her hand into that of her new friend, and
gave her a smile of glad affection.

Luncheon was announced and after that came the solemn observances of the
funeral.

As Miss Darrel had said, the three were the only relatives present.
Ursula Pell had other kin, but none were nearby enough to attend the
funeral. Of casual friends there were plenty, and of neighbors and
villagers enough to fill the house, and more too.

Iris heard nothing of the services. Entirely unnerved, she lay on the
bed in her own room, and sobbed, almost hysterically.

Agnes brought sal volatile and aromatic ammonia, but the sight of the
maid roused Iris' excitement to a higher pitch, and finally Miss Darrel
took complete charge of the nervous girl.

"I'm ashamed of myself," Iris said, when at last she grew calmer, "but I
can't help it. There's a curse on the house--on the place--on the
family! Miss Darrel, save me--save me from what is about to befall!"

"Yes, dear, yes; rest quietly, no harm shall come to you. The shock has
completely upset you. You've borne up so bravely, and now the reaction
has come and you're feverish and ill. Take this, my child, and try to
rest quietly."

Iris took the soothing draught, and fell, for a few moments, into a
troubled slumber. But almost immediately she roused herself and sat bolt
upright.

"I didn't kill her!" she said, her large dark eyes burning into Miss
Darrel's own.

"No, no, dear, you didn't kill her. Never mind that now. We'll find it
all out in good time."

"I don't want it found out! It must not be found out! Won't you take
away that detective man? He knows too much--oh, yes, he knows too much!"

"Hush, dear, please don't make any disturbance now. They're taking your
aunt away."

"Are they?" and suddenly Iris calmed herself, and stood up, quite still
and composed. "Let me see," she said; "no, I don't want to go down. I
want to look out of the windows."

Kneeling at the front window of Miss Darrel's room, in utter silence,
Iris watched the bearers take the casket out of the door.

"Poor Aunt Ursula," she whispered softly, "I _did_ love you. I'm sorry I
didn't show it more. I wish I had been less impatient. But I will avenge
your death. I didn't think I could, but I must--I know I _must_, and I
will do it. I promise you, Aunt Ursula--I vow it!"

"Who killed her?" Miss Darrel spoke softly, and in an awed tone.

"I can't tell you. But I--_I_ am the avenger!"

It was an hour or more later when the group gathered in the living room,
listened to the reading of Ursula Pell's last will and testament.

Mr. Bowen's round face was solemn and sad. Mrs. Bowen was pale with
weeping.

Miss Darrel kept a watchful eye on Iris, but the girl was quite her
normal self. Winston Bannard was composed and somewhat stern looking,
and the servants huddled in the doorway waiting their word.

As might have been expected from the eccentric old lady, the will was
long and couched in a mass of unnecessary verbiage. But it was duly
drawn and witnessed and its decrees were altogether valid.

As was anticipated, the house and estate of Pellbrook were bequeathed to
Miss Lucille Darrel.

The positive nod of that lady's head expressed her satisfaction, and Mr.
Chapin proceeded.

Followed a few legacies of money or valuables to several more distant
relatives and friends, and then came the list of servants.

A beautiful set of cameos was given to Agnes; a collection of rare coins
to the Purdys; and a wonderful gold watch with a jeweled fob to
Campbell.

A clause of the will directed that, "if any of the legatees prefer cash
to sentiment, they are entirely at liberty to sell their gifts, and it
is recommended that Mr. Browne will make for them the most desirable
agent.

"The greater part of my earthly possessions," the will continued, "is in
the form of precious stones. These gems are safely put away, and their
whereabouts will doubtless be disclosed in due time. The entire
collection is together, in one place, and it is to be shared alike by my
two nearest and dearest of kin, Iris Clyde and Winston Bannard. And I
trust that, in the possession and enjoyment of this wealth, they will
forgive and forget any silly tricks their foolish old aunt may have
played upon them.

"Also, I give and bequeath to my niece, Iris Clyde, the box tied with a
blue silk thread, now in the possession of Charles Chapin. This box
contains the special legacy which I have frequently told her should be
hers.

"Also, I give and bequeath to my husband's nephew, Winston Bannard, the
Florentine pocket-book, which is in the upper right-hand compartment of
the desk in my sitting room, and which contains a receipt from Craig,
Marsden & Co., of Chicago. This receipt he will find of interest."

"That pocket-book!" cried Bannard. "Why, that's the one the thief
emptied!"

Everyone looked up aghast. The empty pocket-book, found flung on the
floor of the ransacked room, was certainly of Florentine illuminated
leather. But whether it was the one meant in the will, who knew?

After concluding the reading of the will, Mr. Chapin handed to Iris the
box that had been intrusted to his care. It was very carefully sealed
and tied with a blue silk thread.

Slowly, almost reverently, Iris broke the seals and opened the box. From
it she took the covering bit of crumpled white tissue paper, and found
beneath it a silver ten-cent piece and a common pin.

"A dime and pin!" cried Bannard instantly; "one of Aunt Ursula's jokes!
Well, if that isn't the limit!"

Iris was white with indignation. "I might have known," she said, "I
might have known!"

With an angry gesture she threw the dime far out of the window, and cast
the pin away, letting it fall where it would.



CHAPTER VII

THE CASE AGAINST BANNARD


"It's just this way," said Lucille Darrel, positively, "this house is
mine, and I want it to myself. Ursula Pell is dead and buried and she
can't play any more tricks on anybody. I admit that was a hard joke on
you, Iris, to get a dime and pin, when for years you've been expecting a
diamond pin! I can't help laughing every time I think of it! But all the
same, that's your business, not mine. And, of course, you and Mr.
Bannard will get your jewels yet, somehow. That woman left some
explanation or directions how to find her hoard of gems. You needn't
tell me she didn't."

"That's just it, Miss Darrel," and Iris looked deeply perplexed, "I've
never known Aunt Ursula to play one of her foolish tricks but what she
'made it up' as she called it, to her victim. Why, her diary is full of
planned jokes and played jokes, but always it records the amends she
made. I think yet, that somewhere in that diary we'll find the record of
where her jewels are."

"I don't," declared Bannard. "I've read the thing through twice; and it
does seem to have vague hints, but nothing of real importance."

"I've read it too, at least some of it," and Miss Darrel looked
thoughtful, "and I think the reference to the crypt is of importance.
Also, I think her idea of having a jeweled chalice made is in keeping
with the idea of a crypt as a hiding-place. What more like Ursula Pell
than to manage to hide her gems in the crypt of a church and then desire
to leave a chalice to that church."

"There's no crypt in the Episcopal church here," objected Iris.

"I didn't say here. The church, I take it, is in some other place. She
had no notion of giving a chalice to Mr. Bowen, she just teased him
about that, but she meant it for some church in Chicago, where she used
to live, or up in that little Maine town where she was brought up and
where her father was a minister."

"This may all be so," Bannard admitted, "but it's pure supposition on
your part."

"Have you any better supposition? Any other theory? Any clear direction
in which to look?"

"No;" and the young man frowned; "I haven't. I think that dime and pin
business unspeakably small and mean! I put up with those tricks as long
as I could stand them, but to have them pursue me after Mrs. Pell is
dead is a little too much! It's none of it _her_ family's fortune,
anyway. My uncle, Mr. Pell, owned the jewels and left them to her. She
did quite right in dividing them between her own niece and myself, but
far from right in so secreting them that they can't be found. And they
never will be found! Of that I'm certain. The will itself said they
would _doubtless_ be discovered! What a way to put it!"

"That's all so, Win," Iris spoke wearily, "but we must _try_ to find
them. Couldn't that crypt be in this house, not in any church?"

Bannard looked at the girl curiously. "Do you think so?" he said,
briefly.

"You mean a concealed place, I suppose," put in Miss Darrel. "Well,
remember this house is mine, now, and I don't want any digging into its
foundations promiscuously. If you can prove to me by some good
architect's investigation that there is such a place or any chance of
such a place, you may open it up. But I won't have the foundations
undermined and the cellars dug into, hunting for a crypt that isn't
there!"

"Of course we can't prove it's here until we find it, or find some
indications of it," Iris agreed. "But you've invited us both to stay
here for a week or two----"

"I know I did, but I wish I hadn't, if you're going to tear down my
house----"

"Now, now, Miss Darrel," Bannard couldn't help laughing at her angry
face, "we're not going to pull the house down about your ears! And if
you don't want Iris and me to visit you, as you asked us to, just say so
and we'll mighty soon make ourselves scarce! We'll go to the village inn
to-day, if you like."

"No, no; don't be so hasty. Take a week, Iris, to get your things
together, and you stay that long, too, Mr. Bannard; but, of course, it
isn't strange that I should want my house to myself after a time."

"Not at all, Miss Lucille," Iris smiled pleasantly, "you are quite
justified. I will stay a few days, and then I shall go to New York and
live with a girl friend of mine, who will be very glad to have me."

"And I will remain but a day or two here," said Bannard, "and though I
may be back and forth a few times, I'll stay mostly in my New York
rooms. I admit I rather want to look around here, for it seems to me
that, as heirs to a large fortune of jewels, it's up to Iris and myself
to look first in the most likely hiding-places for them; and where more
probable than the testator's own house? Also, Miss Darrel, there will
yet be much investigation here, in an endeavor to find the murderer;
you will have to submit to that."

"Of course, I shall put no obstacles in the way of the law. That
detective Hughes is a most determined man. He said yesterday, just
before the funeral, that to-day he should begin his real
investigations."

And the detective made good his promise. He arrived at Pellbrook and
announced his determination to make a thorough search of the place,
house and grounds.

"That crypt business," he declared, for he had read the diary, "means a
whole lot. It's no church vault, my way of thinking, it's a crypt in
this here house and the jewels are there. Mark that. Also, the concealed
crypt is part of or connected with the secret passage that leads into
that room, where the windows are barred, and that's how the murderer got
in--or, at least, how he got out."

"But--but there isn't any such crypt," and Iris looked at him
imploringly. "If there were, don't you suppose I'd know it?"

"You might, and then, again, you mightn't," returned Hughes; then he
added, "and then again, mebbe you do."

A painful silence followed, for the detective's tone and glance, even
more than his words, hinted an implication.

"And I wish you'd tell me," he went on, to Iris, "just what that funny
business about the ten cent piece means. Did your aunt tell you she was
going to leave you a real diamond?"

"Yes; for years Mrs. Pell has repeatedly told me that in her will she
had directed that I was to receive a small box from her lawyer, which
contained a diamond pin. That is, I thought she said a diamond pin; but
of course I know now that she really said, 'a dime and pin.' That is not
at all surprising, for it was the delight of her life to tease people in
some such way."

"But she knew you _thought_ she meant a diamond pin?"

"Of course, she did."

"She never put it in writing?"

"No; then she would have had to spell it, and spoil the joke. I don't
resent that little trick, it was part of her nature to do those things."

"Did she never refer to its value?"

"Not definitely. She sometimes spoke of the valuable pin that would some
day be mine, or the important legacy I should receive, or the great
treasure she had bequeathed to me, but I never remember of hearing her
say it was a costly gem or a valuable stone. She was always particular
to tell the literal truth, while intentionally misleading her hearer.
You see I am so familiar with her jests that I know all these details.
It seems to me, now, that I ought to have realized from the way she said
'dime an' pin' that she was tricking me. But few people pronounce
_diamond_ with punctilious care; nearly everybody says 'di'mond'."

"Not in New England," observed Lucille Darrel, positively.

"Perhaps not," agreed Iris. "But anyway, it never occurred to me that
she meant anything else than a diamond pin, and one of her finest
diamonds at that. However, as I said, it isn't that joke of hers that
troubles me, so much as the thought that she left her entire collection
of jewels to Mr. Bannard and myself and gave us no instructions where to
find them. It isn't like her to do that. Either she has left directions,
which we must find, or she fully intended to do so, and her sudden death
prevented it. That's what I'm afraid of. She was of rather a
procrastinating nature, and also, greatly given to changing her mind.
Now, she distinctly states in her diary that the jewels are all in the
crypt, and I am firmly convinced that she intended to, or did, tell
where that crypt is. If we can't find any letter or other revelation, we
must look for the crypt itself, but I confess I think that would be
hunting a needle in a haystack; for Aunt Ursula had a varied life, and
before she settled down here she lived in a dozen different cities in
many parts of the world."

"You're right, Miss Clyde," and Hughes nodded, "she prob'ly left some
paper telling where that crypt is situated. Me, I believe it's in this
house, but all the same, we've got to look mighty sharp. I don't want to
miss it, I can tell you. Sorry, Miss Darrel, but we'll have to go
through your cellar with a keen search."

"That's all right," Miss Darrel acquiesced. "I'm more than willing to
allow a police hunt, but I don't want every Tom, Dick and Harry pulling
my house to pieces."

"Lucky my name's Winston," said Bannard, good-naturedly. "Do you mind if
I go with the strong arm of the law?"

"No," said his hostess, "and don't misunderstand me, young man. I've
nothing against you, personally, but I don't admit your rights, as I do
those of the police."

"I know; I understand," and Bannard followed the detective down the
cellar stairs.

All this occurred the day after Ursula Pell's funeral. In the four days
that had elapsed since her inexplicable death, no progress had been
made toward solving the mystery. The coroner's inquest had brought out
no important evidence, there were no clues that promised help, and
though the police were determined and energetic, they had so little to
work on that it was discouraging.

But Hughes was a man of bull-dog grit and perseverance. He argued that a
mysterious murder had been committed and the mystery had to be solved
and the murderer punished. That was all there was about it. So, to work.
And his work began, in accordance with the dictates of his judgment, in
the cellar of Ursula Pell's house.

And it ended there, for that day. No amount of scrutiny, of sounding
walls or measuring dimensions brought forth the slightest suspicion,
hope, or even possibility of a secret vault or crypt within the four
walls. Hughes had two assistants, skilled builders both. Bannard added
his efforts, but no stone or board was there that hadn't its own honest
use and place.

Coal bins, ash pits, wood boxes, cupboards and portable receptacles were
investigated with meticulous care, and the result was absolutely nothing
to bear out the theory of a crypt of any sort or size, concealed or
otherwise.

"And that settles that notion," summed up Hughes, as he made his report
to the two interested women. "Of course, you must see, there's two ways
to approach this case--one being from the question of how the murderer
got in and out of that room, and the other being who the murderer was.
Of course, if we find out either of those things, we're a heap forrader
toward finding out the other. See?"

"I see," said Miss Darrel, "but I should think you'd find it easier to
work on your first question. For here's the room, the door, the lock,
and all those things. But as to the murderer, he's gone!"

"Clearly put, ma'am! And quite true. But the room and lock--in plain
sight though they are--don't seem to be of any help. Whereas, the
murderer, though he's gone, may not be able to stay gone."

"Just what do you mean by that?" asked Bannard.

"Two things, sir. One is, that they do say a murderer always returns to
the scene of his crime."

"Rubbish! I've heard that before! It doesn't mean a thing, any more than
the old saw that 'murder will out' is true."

"All right, sir, that's one; then, again, there's a chance that said
murderer may not be able to stay away because we may catch him."

"That's the talk!" said Bannard. "Now you've said something worth while.
Get your man, and then find out from him how he accomplished the
impossible. Or, rather, the seemingly impossible. For, since somebody
did enter that room, there was a way to enter it."

"It isn't the entering, you know, Mr. Bannard. Everybody was out of the
living room at the time, and the intruder could have walked right in the
side door of that room, and through into Mrs. Pell's sitting room. The
question is, how did he get out, after ransacking the room and killing
the lady, and yet leave the door locked after him."

"All right, that's your problem then. But, as I said, if he _did_ do it,
or _since_ he did do it, somebody ought to be able to find out how."

"I'll subscribe to that, somebody _ought_ to be able to, but who is the
somebody?"

"Don't ask me, I'm no detective."

"No, sir. Now, Mr. Bannard, what about this? Do you think that
Florentine pocket-book, that was found emptied, as if by the robber, is
the one that your aunt left you in her will?"

"I think it is, Mr. Hughes. But I am by no means certain. Indeed, I
suppose it, only because it looks as if it had held something of value
which the intruder cared enough for to carry off with him."

"You think it looks that way?"

"I don't," interposed Iris. "I think there was nothing in it, and that's
why it was flung down. If it had had contents the thief would have taken
pocket-book and all."

"Not necessarily," said Bannard. "But it's all supposition. If that's
the pocket-book my aunt willed to me, it's worthless now. If there is
another Florentine pocket-book, I hope I can find it. You see, Miss
Darrel, we'll have to make a search of my aunt's belongings. Why all the
jewels may be hidden in among her clothing."

"No," and Iris shook her head decidedly. "Aunt Ursula never would have
done that."

"Oh, I don't think so, either, but we _must_ hunt up things. She may
have had a dozen Florentine pocket-books, for all I know."

"But the will said, in the desk," Iris reminded him. "And there's no
other in the desk, and that one has been there for a long time. I've
often seen it there."

"You have?" said Hughes, a little surprised. "What was in it?"

"I never noticed. I never thought anything about it, any more than I
thought of any other book or paper in Mrs. Pell's desk. She didn't keep
money in it, that I know. But she did keep money in that little handbag,
quite large sums, at times."

"Well," Hughes said, at last, by way of a general summing up, "I've
searched the cellar, and I've long since searched the room where the
lady died, and now I must ask permission to search the room above that
one."

"Of course," agreed Miss Darrel. "That's your room, Iris."

"Yes; the detective is quite at liberty to go up there at once, so far
as I am concerned."

The others remained below while Hughes and Iris went upstairs.

But after a few minutes they returned, and Hughes declared that all
thought of any secret passage from Iris' room down to her aunt's sitting
room was absolutely out of the question.

"This house is built about as complicatedly as a packing-box!" he
laughed. "There's no cubby or corner unaccounted for. There are no
thickened walls or unexplained bulges, or measurements that don't gee.
No, sir-ee! However that wretch got out of that locked room, it was not
by means of a secret exit. I'll stake my reputation on that! Now, having
for the moment dismissed the question of means or method from my mind, I
want to ask a few questions of one concerning whom, I frankly admit, I
am in doubt. Mr. Bannard, you've no objection, of course, to replying?"

"Of course not," returned Bannard, but he suddenly paled.

Iris, too, turned white, and caught her breath quickly. "Don't you
answer, Win," she cried; "don't you say a word without counsel!"

"Why, Iris, nonsense! Mr. Hughes isn't--isn't accusing me----"

"I'll put the questions, and you can do as you like about answering."
Hughes spoke a little more gruffly than he had been doing, and looked
sternly at his man.

"Were you up in this locality on Sunday afternoon, Mr. Bannard?"

"I was not. I've told you so before."

"That doesn't make it true. How do you explain the fact that Mrs. Pell
made out to you a check dated last Sunday?"

"I've already discussed that," Bannard spoke slowly and even
hesitatingly, but he looked Hughes in the eye, and his glance didn't
falter. "My aunt drew that check and sent it to me by mail----"

"We've proved she sent no letter to you on Sunday----"

"Oh, no, you haven't. You've only proved that Campbell didn't mail a
letter from her to me."

Hughes paused, then went on slowly.

"All right, when did you get that letter?"

"How do you know I got it at all?"

"Because you've deposited the check in your bank in New York."

"And how did I deposit it?"

"By mail, from here, day before yesterday."

"Certainly I did. Well?"

But Bannard's jauntiness was forced. His voice shook and his fingers
were nervously twisting.

Hughes continued sternly. "I ask you again, Mr. Bannard, how did you
receive that check? How did it come into your possession?"

"Easily enough. I wrote to my hotel to forward my mail, and they did so.
There were two or three checks, the one in question among them, and I
endorsed them and sent them to the bank by mail. I frequently make my
deposits that way."

"But, Mr. Bannard, I have been to your hotel; I have interviewed the
clerk who attended to forwarding your mail, and he told me there was no
letter from Berrien."

"He overlooked it. You can't expect him to be sure about such a minor
detail."

"He was sure. If Mrs. Pell did mail you that check in a letter on
Sunday, it would have reached New York on Monday. By that time the
papers had published accounts of the mysterious tragedy up here, and any
letter from this town would attract attention, especially one addressed
to the nephew of the victim of the crime."

"That's what happened, however," and Bannard succeeded in forcing a
smile. "If you don't believe it, the burden of proof rests with you."

"No, sir, we _don't_ believe it. We believe that you were up here on
Sunday, that you received that check from the lady's own hand, that the
half-burned cigarette was left in that room by you, and the New York
paper also. In addition to this, we believe that you abstracted the
paper of value from the Florentine pocket-book, and that you were the
means of Mrs. Pell's death, whether by actual murder, or by attacking
her in a fit of anger and cruelly maltreating her, finally flinging her
to the floor, with murderous intent! You were seen hanging around the
nearby woods about noon, and concealed yourself somewhere in the house
while the family were at dinner. These things are enough to warrant us
in charging you with this crime, and you are under arrest."

A shrill whistle brought two men in from outside, and Winston Bannard
was marched to jail.



CHAPTER VIII

RODNEY POLLOCK APPEARS


The shock of Bannard's arrest caused the complete collapse of Iris. Miss
Darrel put the girl to bed and sent for Doctor Littell. He prescribed
only rest and quiet and ordinary care, saying that a nurse was
unnecessary, as Iris' physical health was unaffected and he knew her
well enough to feel sure that she would recuperate quickly.

And she did. A day or two later she was herself again, and ready to
follow up her determination to avenge the death of Ursula Pell.

"It's too absurd to suspect Win!" she said to the Bowens, who called
often. "That boy is no more guilty than I am! Of course, he wasn't up
here last Sunday! But no one will believe in his innocence until the
real murderer is found. And I'm going to find him, and find the jewels,
and solve the whole mystery!"

"There, there, Iris," Miss Darrel said, soothingly, for she thought the
girl still hysterical, "don't think about those things now."

"Not think about them!" cried Iris, "why, what else can I think of?
I've thought of nothing else for the whole week. It's Saturday now, and
in six days we've done nothing, positively nothing toward finding the
criminal."

"Perhaps it would be better not to try," suggested Mr. Bowen, gently.

"You say that because you believe Win guilty!" Iris shot at him. "I
_know_ he wasn't! You don't think he was, do you, Mrs. Bowen?"

"I scarcely know what to think, Iris, it is all so mysterious. Even if
Winston did commit the crime, how did he get out of the room?"

"That's a secondary consideration----"

"I don't think so," put in the rector. "I think that's the first thing
to be decided. Knowing that one could speculate----"

Iris turned away wearily. Though fond of the gentle little Mrs. Bowen,
she had never liked the pompous and self-important clergyman, and she
rose now to greet someone who appeared at the outer door.

It was Roger Downing, who, always devoted to Iris, was now striving to
earn her gratitude by showing his willingness to be of help in any way
he might. He came every day, and though Iris was careful not to
encourage him, she eagerly wanted to know just what he knew about
Bannard's presence at Pellbrook on the day of the tragedy.

"It's this way," Downing expressed it. "Win was certainly up here last
Sunday, for I saw him. Now, Iris, if you want me to say I was mistaken
as to his identity, I'll say it--but, I wasn't."

"You mean, sir, you would tell an untruth?" said Mr. Bowen, severely.

"I mean just that," averred Downing; "I care far more for Miss Clyde and
her wishes than I do for the Goddess of Truth. I'm sorry if I shock you,
sir, but that is the fact."

Mr. Bowen indeed looked shocked, but Iris said, emphatically, "You
_were_ mistaken, Roger, you must have been!"

"Very well, then, I was," he returned, but everyone knew he was
purposely making a misstatement.

"Where was he?" said Iris, altogether illogically.

"In the woods, near the orchard fence."

"Sunday afternoon?"

"No; not afternoon. I'm not just sure of the time, but it was about
noon. I was taking a long walk; I'd been nearly to Felton Falls, and was
coming home to dinner. I only caught a glimpse of him, and I didn't
think anything about it, until--until he said he hadn't been out of New
York city on Sunday."

"Then, if you only caught a glimpse," Iris said quickly, "it may easily
have been someone else! And it doubtless was."

"Shall I say so? Or do you want the truth?"

Iris dropped her eyes and said nothing. But Mr. Bowen spoke severely;
"Cease that nonsense, Roger. Tell what you saw, and tell it frankly. The
truth must be told."

"It's better to tell it anyway," declared Lucille Darrel, "truth can't
harm the innocent. But it seems to me Mr. Downing may be mistaken."

"No, I'm not mistaken. Why, he wore that gray suit with a Norfolk
jacket, that I've seen him wear before this summer. And he had on a
light gray tie, with a ruby stickpin. The sun happened to hit the stone
and I saw it gleam. You know that pin, Iris?"

Iris knew it only too well, and she knew, moreover, that when Win came
up Sunday evening he wore that same suit, and the same scarf and pin. He
had gone back to town the next day for other clothing, but when he had
rushed to Berrien in response to Iris' summons, he had not stopped to
change.

And yet, she was not ready, quite, to believe Downing's story. Suppose,
in enmity to Win, he had made this all up. He might easily describe
clothing that he knew Winston possessed, without having seen him as he
said he had.

Iris looked at Downing so earnestly that he quailed before her glance.

"I don't believe your story at all!" she said; "you are making it up,
because you hate Win, and it's absurd on the face of it! If Win came up
here on Sunday at noon, he would come in for dinner, of course----"

"Not if he came with sinister intent," interrupted Downing.

"I don't believe it! You have made up that whole yarn, and let me tell
you, you didn't do it very cleverly, either! Why didn't you say you saw
him in the afternoon? It would have been more convincing, and quite as
true!"

"I wasn't near here myself in the afternoon. But I did pass here just
before twelve, and I did see him." Downing's voice had a ring of truth.
"However, after this, I shall say I did not see him. I know you prefer
that I should."

He looked straight at Iris, and ignored Mr. Bowen's pained exclamation.

"Say whatever you like, it doesn't matter to me," the girl returned
haughtily.

"It does matter to you--and to Win. So, I shall say I was mistaken and
that I did not see Winston Bannard on Sunday. I shall expect you, Mr.
Bowen, and you ladies, not to report this conversation to the police. If
you are questioned concerning it, you must say what you choose. But you
will not be questioned, unless someone now present tattles."

       *       *       *       *       *

Later that day, Iris had another caller. He sent up no card, but Agnes
told her that a Mr. Pollock wished to see her.

"Don't go down, if you don't want to," urged Lucille, "I'll see what he
wants."

But Miss Darrel's presence was not satisfactory to the stranger. He
insisted on seeing Miss Clyde.

So Iris came down to find a man of pleasant manner and correct demeanor,
who greeted her with dignity.

"I ask but a few moments of your time, Miss Clyde. I am Rodney Pollock,
home Chicago, business hardware, but as a recreation I am a collector."

"And you are interested in my late aunt's curios," suggested Iris. "I am
sorry to disappoint you, but they are not available for sale yet, and,
indeed, I doubt if they ever will be."

"Don't go too fast," Mr. Pollock smiled a little, "my collection is not
of rare bibelots or valuable curios. Perhaps I'd better confide that
I'm an eccentric. I gather things that, while of no real use to others,
interest me. Now, what I want from you, and I am willing to pay a price
for it, is the ten cent piece and the pin your aunt left to you in her
will."

"What!" and Iris stared at him.

"I told you I was eccentric," he said, quietly, "more, I am a
monomaniac, perhaps. But, also, I am a philosopher, and I know, that, as
old Dr. Coates said, 'If you want to be happy, make a collection.' So I
collect trifles, that, valueless in themselves, have a dramatic or
historic interest; and I wish," he beamed with pride, "you could see my
treasures! Why, I have a pencil that President Garfield carried in his
pocket the day he was shot, and I have a shoelace that belonged to
Charlie Ross, and----"

"What very strange things to collect!"

"Yes, they are. But they interest me. My business, hardware, is prosaic,
and having an imaginative nature I let my fancy stray to these tragic
mementoes of crime or disaster. I have a menu card from the Lusitania
and a piece of queerly twisted glass from the Big Tom explosion. I look
reverently upon the relics of sad disasters, and I value my collection
as a numismatist his coins or an art collector his pictures."

"But it seems so absurd to ask for a common pin!"

"It may, but I would greatly like to have it. You see, it was an unusual
gift. You didn't care for it, in fact, I have heard you indignantly
spurned it."

"I did."

"They say, you expected a diamond pin, and your aunt left you a dime and
pin! Is that so?"

"That is so."

"Pardon my smiling, but I think it's the funniest thing I ever heard.
And I would greatly like to have that pin and that dime."

"I'm sorry to say it's impossible, as I flung them away, and I've no
idea where they landed."

"If you had them would you sell them to me?"

"I'd give them to you, if I had them! Why, it was merely an ordinary
dime, not an old or rare coin. And the pin was a common one."

"Yes, I know that, but the idea, you see, the strange bequest--oh, I
greatly desire to have one or the other of those two things! Can't we
find them? Where did you throw them?"

"The dime I remember throwing out of the window. It must have fallen in
the grass, you never could find that! The pin, I tossed on the floor, I
think----"

"Has the room been swept since?"

"No, it has not. It should have been, but we have been so upset in the
house----"

"I quite understand. I have a home and family, and I know what
housekeeping means. However, since the room has not been swept, may I
look around a bit in it?"

"It is this room, the room we are in. I sat right here, when I opened
the box. I threw the dime out of that window, and I flung the pin over
that way. I confess to a quick temper, and I was decidedly indignant.
Let us look for the pin, and if we find it you may have it."

Iris was pleasantly impressed by Mr. Pollock's manner and set him down
in her mind as a ridiculous but good-natured lunatic--not really insane,
of course, but a little hipped on the subject of mementoes.

At her permission, her visitor fell on hands and knees, and went quickly
over the floor of the whole room. Iris with difficulty restrained her
laughter at the nimble figure hopping about like a frog, and peering
into corners and under the furniture.

She looked about also, but from the more dignified position of standing,
or sitting on a chair or footstool.

The search grew interesting, and at last they considered it completed.
Their joint result was four pins and a needle.

Mr. Pollock presented a chagrined face.

"It may be any one of these," he said, ruefully looking at the four
pins.

"That's true," Iris agreed. "But you may have them all, if you wish."

"Can't you judge which it is? See, this one is extra large."

"Then that's not it. I know it was of ordinary size. I scarcely looked
at it, but I know that. Nor was it this crooked one. It was straight,
I'm sure. But it may easily have been either of these other two."

"Suppose I take these two, then, and put them in my collection, with the
surety that one or other is the identical pin."

"Do so, if you like," and Iris gave him a humoring smile. "Now, do you
care to hunt for the dime? If you do, there's the lawn. But I won't help
you, the sun is too warm."

"I think I won't hunt, or if I do, it will be only a little. I have this
pin, and that is sufficient for a memento of this case. I am on my way
to a house in Vermont, where I hope to get a button that figured in a
sensational tragedy up there. I thank you for being so kind and I would
greatly prefer to pay you for this pin. I am not a poor man."

"Nonsense! I couldn't take money for a pin! You're more than welcome to
it. And one of those two must be the one, for I'm sure there's no other
pin on this floor."

"I'm sure of that, too. I looked most carefully. Good-by, Miss Clyde,
and accept the gratitude of a man who has a foolish but innocent fad."

Iris bowed a farewell at the front door, and returned to the living-room
smiling at the funny adventure.

Almost involuntarily she began to look over the floor again, searching
for pins.

"Have you lost anything?" asked Agnes, coming by.

"No; I've been looking for a pin."

"Want one, Miss Iris? Here's one."

"No, I don't want a pin, I mean--I don't want--a pin." Iris concluded
her sentence rather lamely, for she had been half inclined to tell Agnes
the story of her visitor, when something restrained her.

Perhaps it was Agnes' expression, for the maid said, "Were you looking
for the pin Mrs. Pell left you?"

"Yes, I was," said Iris, astonished at the query.

"I have it," Agnes went on. "I picked it up the day you threw it away."

"For gracious' sake! Why did you do that?"

"Because--that's a lucky pin. Miss Iris, your aunt had that pin for
years."

"I know it; it's been years in that box Mr. Chapin held for me."

"But before that. When I first came to live with Mrs. Pell, she always
wore a pin stuck in the front of her dress. Once I took it out, it
looked so silly, you know. She blew me up terribly, and said if I ever
disturbed her things again she'd discharge me. And I gave it back to
her--I had stuck it in my own dress--and she wore it for a short time
more, and then she didn't wear it. Even then, I wouldn't have thought
anything much about it, but a maid who lived here before I did, said she
lost a pin once that had been in the waist of Mrs. Pell's gown and they
had an awful time about it."

"Did they find it?"

"I don't know. I think not. I think she took another pin for a 'Luck.'
Why, Polly knew about it. She said when she heard what Mrs. Pell had
left to you, that it might be the lucky pin."

"Oh, what foolishness! Well, Agnes, have you really got the pin that
Aunt Ursula left to me?"

"Yes, ma'am, as soon as I saw you throw it away, I watched my chance to
go and pick it up before Polly could get it."

"Do you want to keep it?"

"Not if you want it, Miss Iris. If not, I'd like to have it. I suppose
it's superstitious, but it seems lucky to me."

"Go and get it, Agnes, and let me see it."

       *       *       *       *       *

But the maid returned without the pin.

"I can't find it, Miss Iris. I put it on the under side of my own
pincushion, and there's none there now. I asked Polly and she said she
didn't touch it. Where could it have gone?"

"You used it unthinkingly. It doesn't matter, there's no such thing as a
lucky pin, Agnes. You can just as well take any other pin out of Aunt
Ursula's cushion--take one, if you like--and call that your 'Luck.'
Don't be a silly!"

Iris smiled to think that neither of the pins her strange visitor
carried off with him was the right one, after all. "But," she thought,
"it makes no difference, anyway, as he thinks he has it. He's sure it's
one of the two he has; if there were three uncertain ones it would be
too complicated. Let the poor man rest satisfied. I wonder if he found
the dime."

But looking from the window she could see no sign of her late caller,
and she dismissed the subject from her mind at once.

       *       *       *       *       *

Yet she had not heard the last of it.

In the evening mail a letter came for her. It was in an unfamiliar
handwriting, and was written on a single plain sheet of paper.

The note ran:

     MISS CLYDE,

     DEAR MADAM:

     I will pay you one hundred dollars for the pin left to you
     by your aunt. Please make every effort to find it, and lay
     it on the South gatepost to-night at ten o'clock. Don't let
     anybody see you. You will receive the money to-morrow by
     registered mail. No harm is meant, but I want to get ahead
     of that other man who is making a collection. Put it in a
     box, and be sly about it. I'll get it all right. You don't
     know me, but I would scorn to write an anonymous letter, and
     I willingly sign my name,

  WILLIAM ASHTON.

That evening Iris told Lucille all about it.

"What awful rubbish," commented that lady. "But I know people who make
just such foolish collections. One friend of mine collects buttons from
her friends' dresses. Why, I'm afraid to go there, with a gown trimmed
with fancy buttons; she rips one off when you're not looking! It's
really a mania with her. Now two men are after your pin. Have you got
it? I'd sell it for a hundred dollars, if I were you. And that man will
pay. Those collectors are generally honest."

"No; I haven't it." And Iris proceeded to tell of Agnes' connection with
the matter.

"H'm, a Luck! I've heard of them, too. Sometimes they're worth keeping.
Oh, no, I'm not really superstitious, but an old Luck is greatly to be
reverenced, if nothing more. If that pin was Ursula's Luck, you ought to
keep it, my dear."

"But I haven't it. If it is a Luck, and if its possession would help
me--would help to free Win--I'd like to see the collector that could get
it away from me!"

"Oh, it mightn't be so potent as all that, but after all, a Luck is a
Luck, and I'd be careful how I let one get away."

"But it has got away. And, too, I let friend Pollock go off with the
idea that he had it; now, if I were to let somebody else take it, Mr.
Pollock would have good reason to chide me."

"But how did this other man know about it?"

"I've no idea, unless he and Pollock are friends and compare notes."

"But how did--what's his name?--Ashton, know it was lost?"

"That's so, how did he? It's very mysterious. What shall I do?"

"Nothing at all. You can't put it on the gatepost, if you don't know
where it is. But I'd certainly try to find it. Ask Polly what she knows
about it."

"I will, to-morrow. She's gone to bed by now. Poor old thing, she works
pretty hard."

"I know it. I'll be glad when I get a whole staff of new servants. But
I'll wait till this excitement is over."

That was Miss Darrel's attitude. She had received her inheritance and
selfishly took little interest in that of the other heirs.



CHAPTER IX

IRIS IN DANGER


Wearily, Iris went upstairs to her own room, and closed the door. Then
she opened it again, for the night was hot and stifling. Without turning
on a light, she went and sat by an open window, leaning her arms on the
sill, and staring, with unseeing gaze, out into the night.

She was thinking about Bannard, and her thoughts were in a chaos. Not
for a moment did she believe him guilty of his aunt's death, but she
could not help a conviction that he had been at Pellbrook that Sunday
afternoon. She wasted no time on the inexplicable mystery of the locked
room, for, she reasoned, whoever did kill Mrs. Pell escaped afterward,
so that point had no bearing on Winston's connection with the crime.
Moreover, she knew, as she feared the police also knew, that Bannard was
deeply in debt, and as he had received the substantial check from his
aunt, and had banked the same, it was all, in a way, circumstantial
evidence that was strongly indicative.

Roger Downing had seen Win around Pellbrook about noon, or he thought
he had, of that she was sure, and Roger's declaration that he would deny
this was of little value, for Hughes would get it out of him, she knew.

Arrest wasn't conviction, to be sure, but--Iris resolutely put away her
own growing suspicions of Bannard. She would stand by him, even in the
face of evidence or testimony--she would--and then she began to
speculate as to the fortune. Those gems were hidden somewhere--and
without Winston to help her how was she to look for them? Knowing Ursula
Pell's tricksy spirit, the jewels might be in the most absurd and
unexpected place. Crypt? Where was any crypt? She inclined a little to
the idea of its being in some church, not in Berrien; for with all Mrs.
Pell's foolishness, Iris didn't think she would hide the treasure in any
but a safe place. And too, the crypt might well be merely the vaults of
some safe deposit company--in Chicago, perhaps, or New York. It was
maddening! Iris thought over the events since the day of her aunt's
death. The awful tragedy itself, the mystery of the unknown assailant
and his manner of escape, the fearful scenes of the inquest, the
funeral, and the police searchings since, and, finally, the arrest of
Bannard. It seemed to Iris she couldn't stand anything more; and yet,
she realized, it had but begun. The mystery was as deep as ever, the
jewels were missing, perhaps would never be found, and Winston's case
looked very dark against him.

"I _must_ find the jewels," Iris mused, as she had done a hundred times
before. "And I must do it by my wits. They are somewhere in safety--of
that I'm sure, and, too, Aunt Ursula has left some hint, some clue to
their hiding-place. If I'm to be of any help to Win, the first thing to
do is to ferret out this matter. Then, we may be better able to trace
the----"

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of what seemed to her to be a
shadow, crossing the lawn below her. The shrubbery was dense, and the
night dark, but she discerned a faint semblance of a person skulking
among the trees. She sat motionless, but the shadow faded, and she could
see nothing more of it. Concluding she had been mistaken, she sighed
and was about to draw the blinds and make a light, when she was seized
with a sudden spirit of nervous energy that impelled her to _do_
something--anything, rather than go to bed, where she knew she would
only toss sleeplessly on the pillow.

Silently, not to disturb Miss Darrel, she crossed the hall and went
downstairs. With only a vague notion of looking around, she went into
her aunt's sitting room, and flashed on a light. It was the table lamp
that had been found broken on the floor at the time of the tragedy, but
that now, replaced by a new electrolier, gave a pleasant, soft light.
Coiling up the long green cord, lest she trip on it, Iris sank into an
easy chair near the table.

Restlessly, she arose and walked about the room. Though familiar with
every detail, it looked strange to her, as a room does when one is the
sole occupant. She opened the wall-safe, and stared into its emptiness.
She pulled open some drawers of a cabinet, looked into a few boxes, and
with no definite purpose, sat down at her aunt's desk. Disinterestedly,
she looked over some books and papers, but she knew them all by heart.
She ran over some bundles of letters, hoping to find a penciled
memorandum on the backs, that had been hitherto unnoticed.

Nothing met her eye that seemed important, and she turned from the desk,
her glance falling on the cretonne window curtains that overhung the
lighter lace ones.

"Come out!" she cried, and then quickly, "no, _don't_ come out! Stay
where you are! Who are you?"

The curtain moved very slightly, and Iris rose, and stood, holding the
back of her chair. Her heart was beating wildly, for though possessed
of average courage, to be alone at midnight in a room of sinister
memories, and see the folds of a curtain sway ever so little is, to say
the least, disturbing.

"Who are you, I say!" she repeated angrily, but there was no response,
and the curtain hung still.

A terror passed through her, and left her shivering, with an icy grip at
her heart. Though not at all inclined toward a belief in the
supernatural, there was an uncanny feeling in the atmosphere and Iris
trembled with a strange, weird feeling, as of impending disaster. She
edged a step backward, but as she did so the curtain was flung aside,
and a man stood disclosed--a tall figure, with strong, muscular frame,
and arms extended in a threatening gesture.

"Not a word!" he whispered, "not a sound!" and the glint of a small
revolver flashed toward her. But she was too petrified with fear to
speak, for the man was masked, and the effect of the blackavised
apparition took her breath away. Only for a moment, however, and then a
wave of relief surged over her. For, alarming as a human intruder may
be, he is less frightful than a supernatural visitant.

The color came back to her white cheeks, and she said scornfully, "I am
not afraid of you----"

"You'd better be, then," and the man moved nearer to her. "I've no wish
to harm you, but if you raise an alarm, I shall consider my own safety
first!"

"Coward!"

"Nonsense! I don't mean before yours, you've nothing to fear. But if
you're inclined to call help, I'll have to make it impossible for you to
do so."

The voice was that of an educated man, but entirely unfamiliar to Iris.
Her terror left her, as she realized that at least she hadn't to deal
with a low-class, uncouth ruffian.

"Why should I call help, since you say I've nothing to fear?" she said,
trying to speak coolly, but still watching the carefully held pistol.

"Nothing to fear if you do as I say."

"And what do you say?"

The masked figure came a little nearer. "I say----" he began, but Iris
interrupted.

"Stay where you are! I am not afraid of your pistol; your voice tells me
you would not shoot a defenceless woman, but I command you to keep your
distance."

"My voice belies me, then," he returned coolly. "I'd shoot you quicker'n
a wink, were it necessary to make my getaway. But, listen; you will be
immediately unmolested, if you give me what I have come here to get. I
advise you to give it willingly, but if not--then I must get it as best
I can."

"Take off your mask, won't you?" and Iris' tone was almost formal. "I
know you, don't I?"

"You do not, and something tells me you never will. Pardon me, if I
retain my protecting decoration----"

"Scarcely a decoration," murmured Iris, who was striving to think
quickly what to do.

"Thank you; that implies your belief in a fair share of good looks on my
part. But that's a matter of no moment. And time passes. I am here to
ask you for a matter of no great moment after all. I want the pin that
your late aunt left you in her will."

"Oh, then you are William Ashton?"

"Careful! Not so loud. Yes--I am none other than he." A mock dramatic
gesture accompanied the phrase, and Iris involuntarily smiled.

"You are charming when you smile," the visitor went on. "I may say that,
since I am not making a social call----"

"You seem to be, I think," Iris interrupted him.

"Far from it! You are under a distinct misapprehension. But, alas! your
smiles and charms are not the prize I'm seeking. I want that pin," for
the first time he spoke a little roughly, "and I'm going to have it!"

"What under the heavens do you want of that pin?" exclaimed Iris,
surprised beyond all thought of fear. She had at first supposed he was
after the jewels, or money, at least.

"Never mind what for. Are you going to hand it over?"

"I suppose you are making a collection of dramatic trifles, like Mr.
Pollock. It seems to be a popular pursuit, this gathering material for a
miniature junk-shop!"

"So? Well, are you going to give it to me? Why didn't you put it on the
gate post to-night?"

"For the very good reason that I haven't got it."

"Don't talk that useless chatter. Of course you have it."

"But I haven't. I threw it away, when the lawyer gave it to me, and----"

"No; you didn't. You only pretended to. Come; now, where is it?"

"Will you go away if I give it to you?" Iris was struck with an idea.

"If you give me your word of honor that you're giving me the right
one."

This dissuaded her, for she had intended to give him one from her belt
ribbon.

"I tell you I don't _know_ where it is. Now, cease this useless
interview, please, and leave me."

"I'll do nothing of the sort! You know where that pin is, and I am sure
it's hidden in this room--"

"How utterly absurd you are! Why, _why_ do you want it? I believe you're
crazy!"

"I'm not, as you'll find out! But I intend to have the pin, so make up
your mind to that!" He sprang toward her, laying his automatic on a
table, and with a single gesture, it seemed to Iris, he had a soft silk
handkerchief tied over her mouth, and around her head, in such fashion
that she couldn't utter a sound.

"I'm sorry, as I told you," he went on, in a business-like voice, "but I
_must_ obtain that little piece of property. Will you change your mind
and tell me where it is?"

Iris shook her head vigorously, meaning that she did not know where it
was, but he chose to think she meant a mere negative.

"Then I'll make you!" and he took hold of her arm and twisted it. She
moaned with pain, but he picked up the revolver and threatened her.

Iris was now really frightened, and realized that his gentler mood had
passed, and she was in desperate danger. She cast appealing glances at
him, but he was oblivious to her piteous eyes, and demanded the pin.

Suddenly the thought came to her that the man was crazy, really a
maniac, and in view of this she determined to use her wits to extricate
herself from this dangerous situation. If demented, he might shoot her
as likely as not, and she thought deeply and carefully what it was best
to do. He was distinctly clever, as she had heard maniacs often are, so
she dared not fool him too openly.

Therefore, she acted rather defiantly, until, as she had hoped, this
attitude on her part brought a rough, hard twist of her slender arm,
that really brought the tears to her eyes.

With a limp gesture of surrender, she nodded her head at him, while pain
contorted her face.

"Sorry," he said, again, "but there's no other way. Does that mean
you're going to give me the pin?"

Iris nodded acquiescence, and he stipulated, "The real one?"

Again she nodded, salving her conscience by the thought that her
falsehood was told in self-defence.

"Where is it? No, you needn't speak yet, indicate where it is, and I'll
get it."

Iris nodded her head toward the desk, and the man went to it. He ran his
fingers lightly over the various compartments, watching her the while,
and as he touched one, she nodded.

She had remembered a small packet of papers, pinned with an old and
somewhat rusty pin, and she determined to pass this pin off on him, if
she could make herself dramatically convincing.

"I've always thought I could be an actress," the poor child said to
herself, "now's my time to make good."

So, by dint of indicative nods and glances, she easily made her visitor
discover the packet and the pin. The papers were valueless, and the pin,
which held a paper band round them, was an ordinary, dull, old-looking
one.

It was Iris' clever play of her eyes and her hands,--that betokened a
great unwillingness to part with it, but did so under duress--that
succeeded in making the thief believe it was the pin he was after. He
scrutinized the papers, and threw them aside.

"A good hiding-place," he said, putting the papers back where they had
been. "As obvious as Poe's 'Purloined Letter.' I don't ask you if this
is _the_ pin, for your speaking countenance has told me it is. I only
bid you a very good evening."

He rose quickly, and without a further glance at Iris, he turned off
the electric light on the table, and she heard him step softly through
the living room, and out of one of the low windows that gave on to the
verandah.

She sat where he had left her, not really in pain, but in some
discomfort. Then, lifting her hands she managed to untie the
handkerchief gag. It wasn't difficult, though the tight knot took a few
moments to loosen.

She was tempted to turn on the light, and look at the silk handkerchief
still in her hand, but she feared her visitor might discover the fraud
and return.

She crept softly into the living room, closed and locked the window
through which she had heard him go, and wondered whether it had been
left unfastened or he had forced the catch. But that could wait till
morning. She locked the living-room door on the hall side, for further
safety, and returned to her room, determined to have additional bolts
and bars attached here and there the next day.

Then she remembered the house was not hers, and though she might suggest
she could not dictate.

Hours she lay awake, thinking it all over. In the security of her own
room, she felt no fear and the dawn had begun to show before she slept.

"He's a crazy man," she told herself, finally, just as, at last,
slumber came to her. "But it's queer the same mania attacked two people
at the same time."

Next day she told Lucille Darrel the story.

"No, I don't think he was crazy," Miss Darrel said, "I think he's an
agent of that other man, and they wanted to find out if you had given
the first man the right pin. You see, when you made the second
man--what's his name, Ashton?----"

"Yes, and the first was Pollock."

"Well, when Pollock doubted that you'd given him the right pin, he sent
Ashton to find out, and then when you were so clever as to fool Ashton
so fully, he thought you had been frightened into it, at last."

"But what do they want the pin _for_?"

"Just as Pollock said; to add to a collection of such things. You know
that dime and pin joke is in all the papers. Everybody knows about it."

"But why so desperately anxious to get the very one? If they did have
another, nobody would ever be the wiser."

"Not unless you withheld the real one, and then gave it or sold it to
somebody else later. That would make Pollock's pin a fraud. Now, he's
sure he has the very pin."

"Well, of all rubbish! But, you're right. I suppose friend Ashton went
to the gate post, and not finding it there, he hovered around the house
hoping to get in and hunt for himself."

"Just that. And he did get in--I'm not sure he wouldn't have taken
something more valuable than the pin, if you hadn't caught him."

"I don't know; he didn't seem at all like an ordinary thief. Now, I'm
going to see if Polly knows anything about the real pin."

       *       *       *       *       *

It was nearly time for the Sunday dinner, and Iris, going to the
kitchen, found the old cook busy with her preparations.

"Oh, don't bother me 'bout that now, Miss Iris," Polly said; "I've
gotter set this custard----"

"Behave yourself, Polly! It won't hurt your old custard to take one
minute to answer my question. Did you take a pin out of the under side
of Agnes' pincushion?"

"Come outside here," and the cook drew Iris out to the kitchen porch.
"Now," she whispered, "don't you talk so free 'bout that pin. Yes, Miss
Iris, I got it, and you kin be mighty glad. That's a vallyble pin, that
is, and don't you fergit it!"

"Valuable, how? And where is it?"

"Well, you know, Mrs. Pell, she set great store by that pin. Many's the
time, when she's been goin' to New York or somewhere, she's said to me,
'Polly, you keep this safe till I get home,' and she'd hand me that
self-same pin. And would I guard it? Well, wouldn't I!"

"But why, _why_, Polly, did she set such store by it?"

"It was her Luck, Miss Iris----"

"Luck, fiddlesticks! Aunt Ursula wasn't a fool! If she'd kept that pin
for luck, she'd have stuck it away and left it alone."

"Now, you know there's no telling _what_ Mrs. Pell would do! Anybody
else might have done this or that, but there's no use sayin' _she_
would. She was a law unto herself. But, anyway, that pin's valuable, and
it don't matter for what reason! So, I got it away from Agnes, who
hasn't a mite of right to it, and saved it for you. Why, Miss Iris,
didn't your aunt, time and again, say she was goin' to leave you a
valuable pin? Her little joke was neither here nor there. She said she'd
leave you a _valuable_ pin--and she did!"

"You're crazy too, Polly. Well, give me the pin; let me see if I can
discover its great value. Perhaps if I rub it a Slave of the Pin will
appear, to grant my wishes!"

"Here it is, Miss Iris," and Polly drew a pin from her bodice, "but for
the land's sake be careful of it! Do, now!"

"I will, honest, I will," and Iris smiled as she took the common pin
from the trembling fingers of the old woman.

"Lemme keep it for you, Miss Iris, dear. Won't you?"

"Maybe I will, later, Polly. I'll enjoy my valuable possession awhile,
myself, first."

Iris went around the lawn toward the side door of the house. As she
went, she looked curiously at the pin and then stuck it carefully in her
shirtwaist frill.

As she neared the side door, she noticed a small motor car standing
there. It was empty, and even as she looked, someone came up stealthily
behind her, threw a thick, dark cloth over her head, picked her up and
lifted her into the little car, and drove rapidly away.

She tried to scream, but a hand was held tightly over her mouth, and try
as she would she could make no sound. She felt the familiar curve as
they drove through the gateway, and turned off on the road that led away
from the village, and Iris realized she was being kidnapped.



CHAPTER X

FLOSSIE


When Iris failed to respond to the summons for dinner, Miss Darrel
waited a few moments and then took her own place at the table.

"Go and find Miss Clyde," she said to Agnes; "I do wish people would be
prompt at meals, especially when they're guests."

Lucille never allowed any one of her household to forget that she was
now mistress of Pellbrook, and she longed for the time when the mystery
would be cleared up and she might be left to the possession of her new
home.

Being Sunday, it was a case of midday dinner, and, as Iris was usually
prompt, Lucille was surprised at the length of time Agnes remained out
of the room. At last she returned with the word that she could not find
Miss Clyde anywhere in the house. "But," she added, "maybe she went away
in the little car that was here a while ago."

"What little car?" demanded Lucille.

"I don't know whose it was, and I don't know that Miss Iris was in it,
but I just caught sight of it as it whizzed through the gate."

"When?"

"About an hour ago. I didn't think much about it. I saw a man driving
it, and I think there was a lady on the back seat----"

"Agnes, you're crazy! Miss Clyde wouldn't go out anywhere on Sunday
morning without telling me. She didn't go to church?"

"Oh, no, ma'am, it was much too late for that."

"Well, that was some stranger's car. You didn't see Iris in it?"

"No, ma'am, I didn't."

However, as there was no Iris on the premises, Lucille Darrel concluded
she had gone off on some sudden and unexpected errand--perhaps to see
Winston Bannard.

So Miss Darrel ate her dinner alone, with no feeling of alarm, but a
slight annoyance at the episode.

She thought over the story Iris had told her of the intruder of the
night before, and slowly a vague suggestion of something wrong shaped
itself in her brain. She realized that if Iris had gone on an errand, or
had gone for a ride with Roger Downing, or any other friend or caller,
she would certainly have told Lucille she was going. For Iris was
punctilious in her courtesy, and the two women really got along very
well together. She called old Polly in and asked her what she thought
about it.

"I don't know," and the cook shook her head. "I'd just been talking to
her about that pin Mrs. Pell left to her----"

"Good heavens! Polly! That pin again? Why--what _is_ there about that
pin? What do _you_ know of it?"

"Well," and the old face was very serious, "I've been acquainted with
that pin for years."

"Is it a special pin?"

"Very special."

"Why? What's its value?"

"That I don't know, ma'am, 'cept I'm thinking it's a lucky pin."

"Oh, how ridiculous! Why, you're not even sure the pin is in
existence--I mean, that anybody knows of."

"Oh, yes, ma'am, I just gave that pin to Miss Iris this morning."

"_You_ did! Where did you get it?"

"Well, I hooked it offen Agnes."

"What does this all mean? Why did you take it from Agnes? And where did
she get it?"

"Well, Miss Darrel, ma'am, it's all mighty queer. I don't say's there's
any such thing as luck, and then, I don't say as there isn't. Anyway,
Mrs. Pell guarded that pin like everything while she was alive, and she
left it to Miss Iris when she died. Don't that look like it was a Luck?"

"Oh, that bequest business was a joke. Surely you know that."

"Not altogether it wasn't. The dime part was, maybe, but that pin--why,
I _know_ that pin, I tell you!"

"Do you mean you'd know that pin apart from a lot of other common pins?"

"No'm--I don't know as I can say that--but, well, maybe I could tell
it."

"Polly, you're out of your head! But never mind all that now, tell me
what you think of Miss Iris' absence? You know her. Would she run off
anywhere just before dinner on Sunday, without telling anyone?"

"That she would not! Miss Iris is most considerate and thoughtful. She'd
never go away without seeing you first."

"That's what I think. Then where is she?"

"I don't know, ma'am, but--but I'm--I'm awful scared!"

And flinging her apron over her face, as she burst into sobs, Polly ran
out of the room.

Thoroughly alarmed, Lucille spoke again to Agnes.

"You're not _sure_ you saw Miss Clyde in that car?"

"Oh, no, ma'am. I didn't see her at all. Only I didn't know the car, and
I thought she might be in it. I know Mr. Downing's car, and Mr.
Chapin's, and----"

"I think I'll telephone Mr. Chapin. What with murderings and maraudings
this house is a frightful place! I almost wish it wasn't mine!"

She called Mr. Chapin on the telephone, and he came over as quickly as
he could.

Then she told him of the intruder of the night before, and of the other
efforts that had been made to get the pin.

The lawyer smiled. "Nonsense!" he said, "they're not after that pin!
They're after something else."

"What?"

"I don't know, but probably the jewels, or memoranda or information as
to where the jewels are."

"Where can they be?"

"I've not the slightest idea. I wish now I'd insisted more strongly on
having Mrs. Pell's confidence. But she told me that her whole fortune
was left to Iris and Win Bannard, and that it was all disclosed in the
will's directions. She gave me to understand that the box for Iris and
the pocket-book for Win held directions for the possessing of her
fortune."

"Was her money all in the jewels?"

"All but a few shares of stock, and a little real estate. Those,
however, will help along, for they belong to Iris and young Bannard as
her immediate heirs, aside from her will."

"Well, I should think you would have insisted on knowing a little more
about things than that!"

"Why should I? I drew her will, I attended to such matters as she asked
me to, and it was not my affair where she chose to conceal her wealth,
especially as she had given me a sealed box to hand over to her heiress
at her death. And, too, Miss Darrel, you didn't know my late client as
well as I did. Indeed, I doubt if many people knew her as I did! A
lawyer often has queer clients, but I'm sure she set a record for
eccentricities! I suppose I drew up a score of wills for her, and Lord
knows how many codicils were added! Then, too, I never knew when she
would perpetrate one of her silly jokes on me. I've been called over
here late at night, to take her dying testamentary directions, only to
arrive and find her perfectly well, and laughing at me! I've been given
an extra fee for some trifling service, only to find that payment had
been stopped at the bank before I could present the check."

"And you stood for such treatment?"

"What could I do? She was an old and valued client; she paid well, and
the checks were always honored later, after she had had her fun out of
me. And, of course, her tricks were merely tricks. She never did
anything dishonest or dishonorable. Then, too, I liked the old lady.
Aside from her one foolish fad, she was intelligent and interesting. Oh,
Ursula Pell was all right, except for that one bee in her bonnet. Now, I
am perfectly certain her hoard of jewels is safely secreted and I
think--I hope, she has left directions telling where they are. But if
she hasn't, if, dying so unexpectedly, she has neglected to leave the
secret, then I fear Iris will never get her inheritance. Why, they may
be within a few feet of us, even now, and yet be so slyly hidden as to
be irrecoverable."

"I think that's what the man was after last night."

"I daresay. But who was the man?"

"Not an ordinary burglar, for Iris declared he was a gentleman----"

"Gentlemen don't conduct themselves as----"

"You know what I mean! She said he was educated and cultured of speech
and manner. Of course, he was a thief. He pretended he wanted the pin,
but that was a blind. He was hunting the jewels."

"Well, _we'd_ better hunt Iris. I don't like her unexplained
disappearance. Suppose we telephone to all the people we can think of,
at whose homes she might be."

But this procedure, though including the Bowens and many other of Iris'
intimate acquaintances, brought forth positively no results. Nobody had
seen or heard from Iris that day.

At last they telephoned to Hughes, and the detective said he would come
to Pellbrook at once.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Iris realized that she had been actually kidnapped, her feelings
were of anger, rather than of fright. The indignity of the thing loomed
above her sense of danger or fear of personal injury. The little car, a
landaulet, ran smoothly and rapidly, and as soon as they were well away
from Pellbrook the stifling cloth was partially removed from her head,
and Iris discovered that beside her was a young woman, whose face,
though determined, was not at all awe-inspiring. She even smiled at
Iris' furious expression, and said, "Now, now, what's the use? You may
as well take it quietly."

"Take kidnapping quietly!" blazed Iris. "Would _you_?"

"If I couldn't help myself any more than you can, yes."

"Keep still! Too much chattering back there!" came a voice from the
driver's seat, and a scowling face turned round for a moment.

"All right," retorted Iris' cheerful companion, "you mind your business,
and I'll mind mine."

Then, she took the covering entirely off Iris' head, but at the same
time she drew down the silk shades to the windows of the car.

"Sorry," she said, blithely, "but it must be did!"

"Where am I? Where am I going?" and Iris frowned at her.

"You dunno where you're going, but you're on your way," sang the strange
girl, for she was little more than a girl. "Now, don'tee fight--just
take it pleasant-like, and it will be lots better for you."

"I don't care for your advice, thank you; I ask you what it means that I
am forcibly carried off in this way?"

"It means we wanted you, see? Now, Miss Clyde--or, may I call you Iris?"

"You may not!"

"Oh, very well--ve-ry well! But you call me Flossie, won't you?"

"I've no desire to call you anything----"

"Fie, fie! What a temper! Or doesn't your common sense tell you that it
would be better for you to make friends with me than not?"

"I reserve the privilege of choosing my own friends."

"Oho! Of course you do, usually. But this is an unusual incident. An
out-of-the-way occurrence, if I may say so."

Iris preserved a stony silence.

"All right, Miss Clyde. Here's your last chance. Be a little more
friendly with me, and I assure you you'll get off much more easily.
Continue to rebuff me with these crool, _crool_ glances, and--take the
consequences!"

The last three words were said in such a menacing tone that Iris jumped.
It seemed this laughing young woman could turn decidedly threatening.

Iris capitulated. "In view of what you imply, I'll be as friendly as I
can, but I confess I don't feel really sisterly toward you!"

"That's better! That line o' talk is most certainly better. Now, maybe
we can hit it off. What do you want to know?"

"Why I was carried off in this manner! Who did it? Where am I being
taken? Why?"

  "The questions put by thee, dear heart,
  Are as a string of pearls to me----"

The lilting voice was true, and the soft tones very sweet. Iris was
attracted, in spite of herself, to this strange person.

"I'll answer separately--every one apart----" she twittered on. "First,
you were--ahem--accumulated, for a good and wise purpose. The principal
actor, who could be said to answer your question of who did it, is not
in our midst at present. You are being taken to a house. Why? Ah, if I
tell you, you will know, won't you?"

Flossie looked provoking, but good-natured, and Iris deemed it wiser not
to rouse her ire again.

"You haven't really answered, but I suppose you won't. Well, when can I
go back home?"

"If you're goody-girl, you can return in, say, a couple of hours. If
not--ah, if not!"

Suddenly a light broke upon Iris.

It was that pin! These strange people were after the pin!

And it was sticking in her shirtwaist frill, just where she had put it
when Polly gave it to her. They must not get it! Now, if ever, she must
use her wits. For, if anybody wanted that pin so desperately, it was, it
_must be_ valuable. Also, if Ursula Pell had cherished that pin as old
Polly described, it surely was valuable.

Iris thought quickly. This sharp-eyed girl would be difficult to
hoodwink, yet it must be done. Had she seen the pin? A furtive glance
at the full ruffle of lawn and lace showed Iris that the pin was not
prominently visible, though she could see it. Why did they want it? But
that didn't matter now--now she must hide it. Would she be searched, she
wondered. Surely she would not be submitted to such an insult. Yet, it
might be. At any rate, it must be hidden. This was the real pin, the
others had not been, and these people who were after it knew that. What
the pin meant, or why they wanted it, must be left undecided, but the
pin must be made safe.

Iris thought of dropping it out of the window, which was open, though
the shade was down, but concluded that her ever finding it again would
be too doubtful. She thought of concealing it in her abundant hair--but
suppose she were made to take down her hair! A sort of intuition told
her that she would be searched, and she must be ready.

At last she thought of a hiding-place, and as a start she drew Flossie's
attention to a slightly loose shade tassel, while, with a gesture as of
straightening a tiny velvet bow at her throat, she drew her hand down
the frill, and brought the pin with it.

Concealed in her left hand, and stealthily watching her companion's
eyes, she waited her chance, and then, unnoticed, she thrust it, head
end first, into the hem of her white serge skirt. The loose weave of
the material made this possible, and the pin disappeared into the inch
wide hem. It might be safe there and it might not. Iris thought it
would, and at any rate she could think of no better place to conceal it.

Also, getting another pin from her belt she placed it where the
"valuable" pin had been, for further precaution.

Nor did she accomplish her work much too soon, for very shortly they
drove in at a gate and stopped at the door of a small house.

There was no attempt at hiding now, and Iris was handed out of the car
by the man who had driven them. With no appearance of stealth, Flossie
ushered her into the house, which proved to be an ordinary, middle-class
dwelling of country people.

The sitting room they went into had a table with a red cover, some books
of no interest, and an old-fashioned lamp on a wool-work mat. The patent
rocker and a few other worn chairs betokened family furnishings bought
in the eighties, and not renewed since.

Flossie closed the door, and spoke to Iris, in a new and very decided
tone.

"Miss Clyde," she said, with respect and politeness, "I'm truly sorry,
but you are here and I am here, in order that I may take from you a
pin, which you have somewhere in your clothing. I deeply regret the
necessity, but it is imperative that I make sure of getting every pin
that is on your person. Please do not make it harder for me--for both of
us--than is necessary. For, I assure you, I shall do my duty."

"A pin?" said Iris, innocently, "here is one."

She took one from her belt, in which there chanced to be several, and
thanked her lucky stars that she had hidden the real one. It might be
found, for this girl was surely energetic, but Iris trusted much to her
own dramatic ability now.

"Not one, but all," said Flossie, gravely. "I'm afraid you don't
understand----"

"I'm sure I don't!" interrupted Iris. "What about a pin?"

"I won't waste words with you, if you please. I am here to take from you
every pin you have in your clothing. You will please undress slowly,
that I may get them all. Here is a paper of new ones to replace them.
Will you please take off your shirtwaist, or shall I?"

Iris looked aghast. Then she concluded it would be best to submit.

"Will you lock the door?" she said, haughtily.

"It is locked. We are quite safe from intrusion or interruption. Please
proceed."

Iris proceeded. But as she removed her shirtwaist, she furtively, yet
careful that Flossie should see her, glanced at the pin in its frill.
She laid the garment on a chair, and went on to disrobe, with the cold
dignity of a queen on the scaffold.

Flossie was kind and delicately courteous.

"Not your underclothing, of course," she said. "I have reason to think
you secreted the pin I want in your clothes, a few moments before
you--before you left home, and I think it must be in your frock or
petticoats. Or, perhaps, in your camisole."

She examined the dainty lingerie with scrutinizing care, and extracted
every pin--of which she found several. Each one she carefully laid
aside, and gravely offered Iris a new pin in its place.

Pretty sure, now, that her pin would not be found, Iris let herself be
amused at the whole performance.

"Do you do this as a profession," she asked, "or are you an amateur?"

"Both," was the unsmiling answer. "Will you give me your word there are
no more pins on you?"

"I will give you my word there is only this one, and you are welcome to
it." Iris took a pin from a loop of ribbon that adorned her petticoat
ruffle, "but I must ask for one to replace it. I'm a shockingly
careless mortal, and I fully meant to sew that bow on, but I didn't."

Flossie stared at her hard, but Iris didn't quiver an eyelash of fear or
apprehension, and the other allowed her to dress herself again.

"That is all," Flossie said, shortly, as once more Iris was in full
costume. "We will go now."

They re-entered the car, which was still at the door, and started back
the way they had come.



CHAPTER XI

GONE AGAIN!


"The murder mystery is bad enough," said Hughes, "but this disappearance
of Miss Clyde is also alarming. There is deep deviltry going on, and
since Winston Bannard is in custody it can't be assumed that he had any
hand in the matter."

"Unless Iris is doing something for Win," suggested Miss Darrel.

"They may be working in collusion----" began Hughes, but Mr. Chapin
interrupted. "Don't use such an expression! Working in collusion implies
wrong-doing. If those two, or either of them, should be hunting the
hidden jewels, they have a perfect right to do so. The jewels belong to
them--if they can find them."

"Iris Clyde isn't on any jewel hunt," declared Hughes, when, at that
very moment, in at the door came Iris herself.

Her hair was decidedly tumbled, and her pretty lingerie waist was
rumpled, but otherwise she looked trim and tidy.

But angry! Her eyes blazed as she cried, "Oh, I am so glad you men are
here! I've had such an experience! Mr. Hughes, you must look up the
people who kidnapped me--kidnapped me, in broad daylight! At my own side
door! It seems to me as incredible as it must seem to you!"

"There, there," said Lucille, trying to calm the excited girl, "have you
had your dinner?"

"No, and I don't want any. Listen, everybody, while I tell you about
it."

They listened, breathlessly and absorbedly, while Iris told every detail
of her adventure.

"And then," she wound up, "after Flossie had searched me as thoroughly
as a police matron might have done, she allowed me to put on my things
again, and we came back just as we went. I mean, I was put into the car
with her, it was a little coupé affair, you know, and the same man drove
it. We had the shades up part of the time, but as we made a turn she
pulled them down, and as we neared this house, she put the shawl over my
head again. It was a nice, white, woolly shawl, and smelt faintly of
violet. Well, when we got to the bend of the--road below here, they
asked me to get out and walk the rest of the way. I did so, gladly
enough! I was so relieved to see the house again, that I just _ran_ to
it. They scooted, of course, and that's all. Now, Mr. Hughes, catch
'em!"

"Not so easy, Miss Clyde. The thing was carefully planned, and carried
out with equal care. Did they get the pin?"

"They did not! Now, Mr. Hughes--Mr. Chapin, that pin must have some
value. What can it be? To say it's a lucky pin is silly, I think."

"But what else could be its value?" said Chapin, wonderingly. "Let me
see it."

"I won't let anybody see it, unless we draw the blinds and lock the
doors," said Iris, decidedly. "I tell you there is some value to this
pin. Could it be made of radium, or something like that?"

"Let's see it," demanded Hughes.

"All right, I will," and Iris locked the doors herself, and drew down
the window shades. Then, turning on an electric light, she turned up the
hem of her white serge skirt, and began feeling for the pin. And she
found it, though the point had come through the material. But the head
held it in, and Iris easily extricated it.

"There!" she said, holding it up, "that is the 'valuable pin' Aunt
Ursula bequeathed to me. What do you make of it?"

Hughes took it first, and looked at it curiously. "Just a common,
ordinary pin," he said, "no radium about that."

"Did you ever see any radium?" asked Iris.

"No; but I've seen common pins all my life, and that's one."

"Of course it is;" and Lucille Darrel's positive statement rather
settled the matter.

Mr. Chapin looked at it, but could see nothing unusual about it. It was
not bright, like a new pin, yet it was not yellowed with age. It was
merely a _pin_, and nothing more could be made of it.

"It's a blind," said Hughes, with conviction. "Those people, whoever
they may be, pretend they're after this pin, but really they think you
have a real diamond pin left you by your aunt, and they're after that."

"That might be," agreed Chapin. "Did the search indicate anything of the
sort, Iris?"

"I can't say. If so, at least, that girl made a big bluff of hunting an
ordinary pin. I tried to fool her. I had put a pin of hers in the frill
of my blouse, and I kept looking toward it, but furtively, as if eluding
her attention. She caught on, and she examined that frill in every
plait! She found the pin I had put there, of course, and she took
special care of it, though pretending it was of no particular
importance. I put one, as if hidden, in my petticoat ruffle, too, and
she fairly pounced on that, but she gave me a glance to see if I noticed
her satisfaction! Oh, we played our parts, and it was diamond cut
diamond, I can tell you. I couldn't help liking her; she's really a nice
girl, and she must have been made, or hired, to do what she did. She
made me take down my hair, and she brushed it herself, in hope of
finding a pin in it! And I did think of hiding it there at first, but I
thought it safer where I put it. You see, it couldn't lose out, and
there was little likelihood of her thinking to feel in the hem of my
skirt."

"Very well done; you're a heroine, Miss Clyde, indeed you are! But, I
fear the end is not yet. When they find they haven't the right pin----"

"How can they possibly know?" exclaimed Miss Darrel. "How can they tell
that they haven't?"

"They must be able to tell, because they were not satisfied with the
pins Mr. Pollock took from here."

"Pollock!" cried Iris. "It wasn't Pollock who ran that car to-day."

"No, but it's his affair. He sent the little car for you----"

"How did he know I'd be out there and with the pin in my possession?"

"He's been on the watch, all day, likely. Oh, you don't know the
cleverness of a really clever villain. But give me an idea which way you
went."

"I have no idea. You see, all the time the shades were up the shawl was
over my head, and when she took the shawl off I couldn't see out at
all."

"You've no notion what road you traveled?"

"Not a bit, after we left this place. I think they made unnecessary
turns, for the car turned around often."

"You see what clever rascals we have to deal with?" grumbled Hughes.
"And you recognized no landmarks?"

"Not one."

"What was the house like?"

"Fairly nice; old-fashioned, but not antique at all. Decent furnishings,
but no taste, and nothing of real value. Commonplace, all through."

"The hardest kind of a house to trace!"

"Yes, there was nothing distinctive at all."

"No people in it?"

"Not that I know of. I heard no sound. Flossie took me into a little
sitting room to undress, not a bedroom. Everything was clean, but
ordinary. Of course, I'd know the room if I saw it again, but I've no
glimmering of an idea where it was."

"Strangest case I ever heard of!" mused Mr. Chapin. "I think the pin has
some especial value. Maybe it is of gold, inside."

"Nonsense!" said Lucille, scornfully, "that amount of gold wouldn't be
worth anything! I'm inclined to the radium theory, though I don't know
a thing about the stuff."

"Well, I'm going to hide this pin, right now," said Iris, "and I want
you all to see where I put it. I'm afraid to put it in the bank or in
Mr. Chapin's safe, for those people would get it somehow. But here are
only Mr. Chapin and Mr. Hughes and Miss Darrel and myself. We are all
trustworthy, and I'll hide it. Then, I shall devote my life to the
solving of the mystery of the pin and Aunt Ursula's death--for, I think
they are very closely connected."

"I believe you!" cried Hughes, "and I agree that the best place to hide
the thing is in this house. Where, now?"

"In Auntie's room," said Iris, solemnly, and she led the way to Ursula
Pell's sitting room. "This place is barred and we can lock the door to
the other room, and keep it locked. See, I shall put it in this big easy
chair, that Auntie loved to sit in. I'll tuck it well down in between
the back and the seat upholstery, and no one can find it. Then, if we
ever discover wherein its value lies, we know where the pin is, and can
get it."

"I suppose that's all right," said Mr. Chapin, a little dubiously, "but
in a safe----"

"No, Miss Clyde's idea is best," asserted Hughes. "How cleverly she hid
the thing in her skirt hem, didn't she? Let her alone for the right
dope about this. As she says, we four know where it is, and that's all
that's necessary. I believe the people who want this pin will stick at
nothing, and if it's in any ordinary safe they'll get it."

"But what _could_ they want of it?" repeated Lucille, plaintively. "Just
as a surmise, what _could_ they want of it?"

"I'll tell you!" cried Iris, with a flash of inspiration. "It's a clue
or a key to where the jewels are hidden! Oh, it must be! That's why they
want it!"

"Clue? How?" said Lucille, in bewilderment.

"I don't know, but, say, the pin is the length of--of----"

"I don't know what you're getting at," said Chapin, "but all pins are
the same length."

"What!" cried Hughes, "indeed they're not!"

"Oh, well, I mean there are only a few lengths. The pins that girl took
from Iris to-day are just the same as this one, aren't they?"

"About," said Iris; "of course, pins differ, but the ones we use are
generally of nearly the same length. But I'm sure the length or weight
of this pin----"

"Weight!" exclaimed Hughes; "suppose a certain weight, goldsmith's
scales, you know--would open a delicately adjusted lode on a safe----"

"You're romancing, man," and Mr. Chapin smiled, "but it does seem that
the pin must have some significance. It would be just like Ursula Pell
to call it a valuable pin, when it really was a valuable pin, in some
such sense as a key to a hiding-place."

"But how?" repeated Lucille; "I don't see how its weight or length could
be a key----"

"Nor I," agreed Hughes, "but I believe it is, all the same! I've a lot
of confidence in Miss Clyde's intuition, or insight, or whatever you
choose to call it. And I believe she's on the right track. I confess I
can't see how, but I do think there may be some connection between this
pin and the hidden jewels----"

"But what good does it do, if we can't find it?" objected Lucille.

"We will find it," declaimed Iris, her eyes shining with strong purpose,
"we must find it. And if we do, we'll be indebted to these people for
putting us on the right track."

"They'll probably turn up again, pin-hunting," mused Mr. Chapin.

"Let 'em!" said Iris, scornfully, "I'm not afraid of them. They're
determined, Lord knows! But they're not dangerous."

"They gagged you----"

"But not in a ruffianly manner! No, I'm not afraid. If Miss Darrel will
let me stay here a while longer, I believe I can ferret out----"

"Stay as long as you like, dear child," and Lucille smiled kindly on
her, "and I'll help you. I'm fond of puzzles, myself, and maybe I can
help more than you'd think!"

"Now, I want to go and see Win, and tell him all about it," Iris
announced; "mayn't I?"

"I think I can arrange that----" began Hughes; but Lucille said, "Not
now, Iris, you must have some food first. Why, you've had no dinner at
all, and it's after four o'clock!"

"I'm not hungry," Iris insisted, but Miss Darrel carried her off to the
dining room.

"Mighty queer mix-up," Hughes said to the lawyer.

"It is so, but I can't think there's any importance to that pin. These
theories don't hold water."

"I dunno's they do, but they've got to be looked into. That pin's safe
for the present, I think, safer'n it'd be in a bank. That is, unless
somebody was lookin' in the window. Miss Clyde was mighty careful to
draw the shades in the other room, but she forgot it in here--and so did
I."

"Oh, there's nobody to look in. The house is so far back from the road,
and none of the servants are of the prying sort."

"That's all very well, but I believe in taking every precaution. Say,
Mr. Chapin, has it ever struck you that Win Bannard might be in cahoots
with these pin people?"

"Winston? Good heavens, no! What do you mean?"

"Well, nothing in particular, but you know I arrested Bannard because I
thought he killed his aunt--and I've had no reason to change my mind."

"How----"

"Don't say 'how did he get out?' Just remember that the murderer _did_
get out, and we must find him first, and then he'll tell us how."

"Oh, not Win Bannard!"

"Then, who? Who else had motive, opportunity, and--well, you know his
finances are in a bad way?"

"No, I didn't know it."

"Well, they are. And he told some of his pals in New York on Saturday
night that he'd touch his aunt for five thousand on Sunday! How's that?"

"Did he really?"

"He really did. And we've more counts against him, too. Oh, Winston
Bannard has a lot to explain! But I don't want to talk here. These are
state secrets."

"But tell me, how did you find out so much about Bannard?"

"By inquiries I got afoot, and they panned out pretty good. Why, I've
got a witness to prove that he stopped at the Red Fox Inn that Sunday,
just as he said he did, but it was on his way _up_ here, not on his way
_back_, as he declares!"

"Hughes, that's bad!"

"Bad? You bet it is! I'm sorry for Bannard, but I've got to track him
down. I'll be going now; I've a heap to see to. Tell the ladies good-bye
for me."

The detective went off and Lawyer Chapin, with the privilege of a family
friend, went to the dining room, where Iris was trying to eat, all the
while excitedly telling Lucille further details of the kidnapping
affair.

"I'm terribly interested," Miss Darrel was saying, "and I want you to
stay here, Iris, till it's all cleared up. And I want to get a big
detective up from the city. I don't think very much of Hughes, do you,
Mr. Chapin?"

"Not much, no. But big detectives are very expensive."

"If one can find Iris' inheritance, she won't mind the cost."

"And if he doesn't succeed?"

"Then I'll pay it!" Lucille spoke positively and with a determined shake
of her head. "I've money of my own, and I'll pay if he doesn't find the
jewels, and if he does Iris can reward me, eh, girlie?"

"Of course I will! Oh, Lucille, do you mean it? I'm so glad. You know
Win isn't guilty, I know he isn't, and a fine detective could find out
who is, and how he did the murder, and then he can find the jewels, and
everything will be cleared up!"

"Don't go too fast," cautioned Chapin, "even a great detective would
find this a hard case, I'm sure."

"But if he fails, Miss Darrel will pay his fee, and if he succeeds, I
will, and gladly! And I'll give you a big present too," she added
glancing brightly at Lucille.

"Now, I'm going to see Win," Iris went on, pushing back from the table,
"but first, let's talk over this detective matter." She led the way back
to the sitting room, which had come to be the general rendezvous for
discussions.

She looked around the room, thoughtfully. "If we have a detective," she
said; "he'll ask first of all if anything has been touched. The place
hasn't been much disturbed, has it?"

"Very little," agreed Lucille. "And we can be careful that nothing else
is touched."

"And I'm going to pick up and put away anything that can be considered a
clue." Iris took up the old pocket-book, as she spoke. "We've all looked
on this as no account, because the contents are missing; perhaps the
detective will be interested in the empty pocket-book."

"Then there's the New York paper," suggested Lucille.

Iris winced. "They think that implicates Win," she said, slowly, "but I
don't! So I'm going to take that, too. The cigarette stub Mr. Hughes
took away with him. But everybody smokes that brand. Now, what else?"

"The check-book," said Chapin, gravely. "Be careful, Iris. Everything
does seem to point to Win, you know."

"It seems to, yes, but does it? You know yourself, Mr. Chapin, anybody
might have a New York Sunday paper--oh, well, I'm going ahead, because I
know Win is innocent, and these seeming clues may help to find the real
villain."

"Good stuff, you are, Iris!" declared the lawyer, looking at her
admiringly. "Go in and win!"

"Win for Win!" and Iris smiled brightly.

"Are you in love with him?" cried Lucille, who had not thought of such a
thing.

"Yes," said Iris, simply. "Now, Mr. Chapin, are you going to help me?"

"Certainly I am, if I can. How?"

"Well, first of all, I've changed my mind about that pin. I don't think
I'll leave it where it is. I did think it wise, but it seems to me that
anyone searching thoroughly, desperately, would look in the chair
cushions, and so, I think I'll ask you to put it in your safe,
but--don't tell Mr. Hughes we've changed its hiding-place."

"Very well, Iris; the pin is certainly yours, and if you give it to me
for safe-keeping, I'll do my best to protect it."

"And don't tell Mr. Hughes, for he's liable to want to see what it's
made of. I'll give it to you now."

"Draw the shades first, don't fail to use every precaution. That's
right; I'll switch on a light. Why do you have this table light on this
long cord?"

"It was put in lately, and it was less trouble to do it that way. Now
I'll get the pin. It does seem ridiculous to make such a fuss over a
pin!"

"Here's a little box," said Mr. Chapin, taking an empty one from the
desk, "we can put it in this."

"Why, where is it?" said Iris, looking blank. "I stuck it right in this
corner."

But the pin was gone!

Search as they would, in the soft cushions, there was no pin there. Nor
had it sunk through the upholstery material. The closely woven brocade
would not permit of that. They faced the astounding fact--the pin was
gone!



CHAPTER XII

IN CHICAGO


The three looked at one another in consternation.

"Hughes said it was unsafe," Chapin remarked. "He said you didn't
remember to pull down the shades in this room when you hid the pin,
Iris."

"No, I didn't, but who could get in? The windows are barred----"

"But the door to the living room was open, and we were all in the dining
room--anyone could have come in at the front door and walked in
here----"

"Very silently, then, or we could have heard footsteps from the dining
room."

"But it must have been done that way. Someone looking in at these
windows saw you put the pin in the chair, and a few moments later,
watching his chance, sneaked in and stole it."

"Then it was Pollock, or some messenger of his. But what _can_ he want
of it?"

"The whole thing is _too_ mysterious!" exclaimed Lucille. "Let's send
for a city detective at once."

"But," objected Iris, "what could he do?"

"Do? He could do everything! Find the murderer, find the jewels, find
the pin----"

"Good gracious!" cried Iris. "I don't want the pin! In fact, I'm glad
it's gone. Now, they won't be kidnapping me to get it! But I'm going to
find the jewels. And I'm going to start on a new tack. I'm no good at
solving mysteries, but I can investigate. I'm going to Chicago----"

"Whatever for?" exclaimed Lucille; "I'll go with you!"

"No; I'm going alone, and I'm going because I feel sure I can find out
something there. I'll see the minister of the church Auntie attended,
and see if she promised him a chalice, or if his church has a crypt, or
if those people she spoke of in her will--that firm, you know--can tell
me anything about the receipt that was in the pocket-book she left to
Win."

"But it wasn't in the pocket-book!" reminded Chapin.

"It was when Aunt Ursula made that will. The murderer took it, and, Mr.
Chapin, that lets Win out! Why should he steal a paper that was meant
for him anyway?"

"He didn't know then that it was left to him, did he?"

"I don't know that, I'm sure. But I know Win didn't kill Aunt Ursula,
and it's awful to keep him shut up!"

"I think myself they hardly had enough evidence to arrest him on, but
Hughes thought they did, and the district attorney is hard at work on
the case now."

"Yes, hard at work!" Iris spoke scornfully, "what's he doing, I'd like
to know."

"These things move slowly, Iris----"

"Well, I'll do a little quick work, then, and show them how. I'm going
to Chicago to-morrow, and I'll be gone several days, but I'll be back as
soon as possible and there'll be something doing, or I'll know why!"

"Your energy is all right, Iris," said Chapin, "but a bit
misdirected----"

"Nothing of the sort," snapped Iris, who considered the lawyer an old
fogy; "it's time somebody got busy, and I don't take much stock in the
local police."

"But about the pin," pursued Lucille, "I think you ought to find out who
stole it just now, Iris. Maybe it was somebody in the house. Where is
Purdy?"

"Purdy!" cried Iris, "don't suspect him, Lucille! Why, he is as faithful
and honest as I am myself."

"But where was he?"

"I don't know, and I don't care; he wasn't in here stealing the pin."

"Perhaps it's still in the chair," suggested Chapin.

But it wasn't. A careful search showed that, and as inquiries proved
that Purdy and his wife were in the kitchen and Agnes had been waiting
on Iris at her belated dinner, there was really no reason to suspect the
servants. Campbell, the chauffeur, was in the garage, and there were no
other servants about on Sunday. The disappearance of the pin was as
inexplicable as the murder, and Iris decided to give up the house
mysteries, and look in Chicago for new light.

       *       *       *       *       *

She started the next day, Lucille and Agnes hovering over her in a
solicitude of final preparations.

"I'll take only a suitcase," Iris declared, "for I can't be bothered
with a trunk."

"I wish you'd let Agnes go with you," urged Lucille, who hated to have
the girl go alone.

But Iris didn't want to take a maid along, and, too, Agnes didn't want
to go.

"I'll go if you say so," Agnes demurred, "but I'd hate to leave here
just now. Sam is on one of his spells, and I ought to look after him."

"Oh, yes," and Iris smiled at her, "that's one word for Sam and two for
yourself! I think that good-looking young man who calls on you has more
power to keep you in Berrien than poor Sam!"

Agnes blushed, but didn't deny it.

So Iris went to Chicago alone. She went to a woman's hotel, and
established herself there. Then she set out in search of the church that
Mrs. Pell used to attend.

The rector, Dr. Stephenson, was a kindly, courteous old man, who
received her with a pleasant welcome. He well remembered Ursula Pell,
and was deeply interested in the mystery of her tragic death. It was
many years since she had lived in Chicago, and his definite memories of
her were largely concerning the pranks she used to play, for even the
minister had not been spared her annoying fooleries.

But he knew nothing of any gift of a jeweled chalice, and said he really
had no desire for such a thing.

"It would only be a temptation to thieves," he asserted, "and the price
of it could be much better expended in some more useful way."

"Is there a crypt in your church?" asked Iris, abruptly.

"No; nothing of the sort. Or--well, that is, there is a room below the
main floor that could be called a crypt, I suppose, but it is never used
as a chapel, or for mortuary purposes. Why?"

Iris told him of the entry in her aunt's diary stating that the
collection of jewels was in a crypt, and Dr. Stephenson smiled.

"Not in my church," he said, "of that I'm positive. The basement I speak
of has no hidden places nor has anybody ever concealed anything there.
You may search there if you choose, but it is useless. To my mind, it
sounds more like a bank vault. That might be called a crypt, if one
chose so to speak of it."

"Perhaps," said Iris, disappointed at this fruitless effort. "I will go
to the Industrial Bank and inquire. That is the bank where my aunt kept
her money when she lived here."

The people at the bank were also kind and courteous, but not so much at
leisure as the rector had been. They gave Iris no encouraging
information. They looked up their records, and found that Mrs. Pell had
had an account with them some years ago, but that it had been closed out
when she left the city. There were no properties of hers, of any sort,
in their custody, and no one of their vaults was rented in her name.

They seemed uninterested in Iris' story, and after their assurances the
girl went away.

Next she went to the firm of Craig, Marsden & Co., to see if she could
trace the receipt that was mentioned in Mrs. Pell's will as being of
importance to Winston Bannard.

A Mr. Reed attended to her errand.

"A vague description," he said, smiling, as she told him of the will.
"To be sure, our books will show the name, but it will take some time to
look it up."

However, he agreed to investigate the records, and Iris was told to
return the next day to learn results.

It was a mere chance that the record of the sale, whatever it might be,
would be of any definite importance, but Iris was determined to try
every possible way of finding out anything concerning the matter.

The firm of Craig, Marsden & Co. was a large jewelry concern, and
probably the receipt in question was for some precious stones or their
settings.

Iris boarded a street car to return to her hotel. She sat, deeply
engrossed in thought over the various difficulties that beset her path,
when the man who sat next her drew a handkerchief from his pocket.

Abstractedly, she noticed the handkerchief. It was of silk, and had a
few lines of blue as a border. Then, suddenly, she realized that it was
the exact counterpart of the one with which the midnight marauder had
tied up her mouth the time he came to get the pin.

Furtively she glanced at the man. The burglar had been masked, but the
size and general appearance of this man were not unlike him. Then,
another surreptitious look revealed his features to her, and to her
surprise she recognized her caller named Pollock!

Quickly she turned her own face aside (the man had not noticed her) and
wondered what to do. Without a doubt it was Pollock, she was sure of
that, and the peculiar handkerchief gave her an idea it was the midnight
intruder also--that they were one and the same! She had surmised this
before, and she now began to join the threads of the story.

She felt sure that Pollock and the burglar and the kidnapper were all
one, and that Pollock was determined to get the pin at any cost; and
she couldn't believe it was for the reason he had asserted, merely as a
memento of the dramatic tragedy.

It had not been this man who drove the little car that carried her away
on Sunday, but the driver, as well as the girl called Flossie, were
probably Pollock's tools.

At any rate, she concluded to trace Pollock and find out something about
him.

When he left the car, as he did shortly, she rose and followed him. He
had not glanced at her, and was apparently absorbed in thought, so she
had no difficulty in walking, unnoticed, behind him.

She smiled at herself, as she realized she was really "shadowing," and
felt quite like a detective.

Pollock went into a small restaurant, and Iris, through the wide window,
saw him take a seat at a table. The deliberation with which he unfolded
his napkin, and looked over the menu, made her assume that he would be
there some time.

Acting on the impulse of the moment, Iris ran to the nearest telephone
she could find, and called up a detective agency.

Over the wire she stated her desire to employ a detective at once, and
asked to have him sent to her, where she was, which was in a drug shop.

There was a maddening delay, and as Iris waited, she began to fear she
had done a foolish thing. She suddenly realized that she had acted too
quickly and perhaps unadvisedly. But she must stand by it now.

It was half an hour before a man arrived and met her at the door of the
drug shop.

"I am Mr. Dayton," he said, "from the agency. Is this Miss Clyde?"

"Yes," said Iris, "and please hurry! I've just got on the track of a man
who is a--a burglar----"

"Ma'am?" and the detective looked sharply at this young girl who had
called him to her.

"Yes," and Iris grew impatient at his doubtful interest, "now, don't
stop to parley, but catch him."

"Where is he?"

"He's in the restaurant, half a block away. I don't mean for you to
arrest him, but trail him, shadow him, or whatever you call it, and find
out who he is, and what sort of a character he bears. If he's a correct
and decent citizen, all right; if he's a man who might be a burglar, I
want to know it! Now, fly!"

"Wait a minute, Miss Clyde. Tell me more. How shall I know him?"

"Oh, he's at the table by the first front window, as you go from here.
He's a tall man, and a strong-looking one. Come on, I'll point him out."

They went toward the restaurant, and cautiously Iris looked in at the
window. But her quarry had fled. There was no one at the table at all.

"Come on in," she cried to the bewildered Dayton. "No, that won't do, he
mustn't see me. You go in, and get the waiter who served him, or the
proprietor or somebody, and find out who the man was who ate at that
table just now. Maybe he's still in the coat room."

Iris stepped around a corner, and Dayton went in on his errand.

But the waiter had no knowledge of the patron's name. He said he had
never seen him before, to his knowledge, but he was a new waiter there,
and the captain might know.

However, neither the head waiter nor the cashier, nor indeed anyone
about the place, knew the man. A few remembered seeing him, but the
waiters at nearby tables, if they had noticed him, didn't know his name.

One waiter said he thought he had seen him before, but wasn't sure. The
man was gone, and no one knew which direction he had taken from the
restaurant.

Iris was disheartened at the report of her emissary.

"If you'd only got here sooner!" she reproached the detective.

"Did my best," he assured her. "Describe your man more accurately."

But Iris couldn't seem to think of any very distinguishing
characteristics that fitted him.

"His name is Pollock," she said, "and he's a collector. Oh, wait, I do
know something more. He's in the hardware business."

"For himself, or with a firm?"

"I don't know."

"Then, I fear, Miss Clyde, we're wasting time in looking for a person so
vaguely identified. If you say so, I can go over the hardware people for
a Pollock, but it will be an unsatisfactory and expensive process."

"I don't want that," and Iris looked perplexed. "Oh, I don't know what I
_do_ want! But it's maddening to see him, and then have him get away!
He's also a collector."

"Ah, that helps. A collector of what?"

"Of mementoes of crimes----"

"Of what?"

"It sounds silly, I know, but he told me so. Not exactly crimes, more of
prominent people. Like a pencil that belonged to President Garfield,
and such things."

"Oh, a freak! I hoped you meant a prominent collector of valuable
things; then we might trace him."

"No; he collects queer things, it is a sort of harmless mania, I think.
Well, if we can't find him, we can't. How much do I owe you?"

This matter was adjusted, and Iris turned disconsolately back to her
hotel. She had accomplished nothing on her Chicago trip, and unless the
Craig people could give her information of importance, there was no use
prolonging her visit.

The rest of that day, and the morning of the next, she spent in the
vicinity of the restaurant, hoping Pollock would return.

But she didn't see him, and in the afternoon she went back to Craig,
Marsden & Co.

Mr. Reed greeted her pleasantly, but he had no important information.

"We've many records of sales to Mrs. Pell," he related, "and, if you
desire, I can give you a memorandum of them. Presumably, she had
receipts in every case, but as I do not know the particular receipt you
want, I can't offer you any data concerning it."

"What are the transactions?" asked Iris. "Jewels she bought?"

"Yes; and setting, and engraving. Mrs. Pell had a great deal of
engraving done."

"What sort of engraving?"

"On silver or gold trinkets and ornaments."

"Oh, yes, I know. All her silver has not only initials, but names and
dates, and sometimes quotations or lines of poetry."

"Yes, and she was most particular about that work. It was always done by
our best engraver, and unless it just suited her we were treated to her
finest sarcasm. Mrs. Pell was a wealthy and extravagant patron, but not
affable or easy to please."

"I know that, but she was a remarkable woman and a strong character
often has peculiar ways. I am heir to half her fortune, and that gives
me a sense of obligation that will never be canceled until I have
avenged my aunt's death."

Iris did not tell this man about the missing jewels, for it seemed of no
use. But they discussed at length the jewels that he knew that Mrs. Pell
had possessed, and Iris was amazed at the size and value of the amount.

"Really!" she exclaimed. "Do you _know_ that my aunt had such an
enormous fortune as that, in gems?"

"I know that she had at the time of her dealings with us. That was ten
years ago, or so, but then we had the handling of more than a million
dollars' worth, and I know she added to her store after that."

"Oh, where are they?" cried Iris forgetting her determination not to
discuss this matter here.

"Do you mean to say you don't know?" exclaimed Mr. Reed, astounded.

So Iris told him about the will.

"What an extraordinary tale," he commented as she finished. "I wish I
could help you out, I'm sure. Now, no receipt of ours would be of
importance in and of itself. It must have had a memorandum scribbled on
it, or something of that sort."

"Yes," agreed Iris, thoughtfully, "that must be it. In that case the
murderer wanted it because it told where the jewels are hidden."

"And he has already secured them! Oh, no!"

Mr. Reed's interest was so sincere that Iris told him a little more. She
told him of the pin, and of her being kidnapped in an attempt to get it.

"You are in danger," Reed said, warningly. "Until they get what they
want you will continue to be molested. It isn't the pin--that's too
absurd! But they're after something that has to do with the secret of
the hiding place of those jewels. On that you may depend."

"But couldn't the pin have some bearing on that?"

"I can't imagine any way that it could. The idea of its being made of
radium is ridiculous. The idea of its being a weight or a measure is
silly, too; and how else could it be indicative? No, the pin part of the
performance is a ruse, the thieves are after something else. If they
stole the receipt in question, it was, as I said, because there were
instructions on it. Your man Pollock is doubtless the head of the gang.
He's no important collector, or I should know of him. And probably his
whole collection story was a falsehood. He read of the pin in the paper
and used that to distract your mind from what he really was after."

"Very likely," and Iris sighed. "What would you advise me to do?"

"It's too big a case for a layman's advice, and, pardon me, too big a
case for a young girl to manage."

"Oh, I know that. I've a very good lawyer, and the police are at work,
but nobody seems able to accomplish anything."

"I hope and trust somebody will," said Reed, heartily; "that lot of
jewels is too big a loot for crooks to get hold of! I'd be sorry indeed
to learn they have done so!"

Iris went away, and as her work in Chicago was done, she decided to
start at once for home.

Entering the hotel, she found a telegram from Lucille Darrel. It read:

"Come home at once. I've engaged F. S. and he will arrive to-morrow."

Now, F. S. meant the great detective, Fleming Stone.



CHAPTER XIII

FLEMING STONE COMES


Fleming Stone carried his years lightly. Except for the slight graying
at his temples, no one would think that he had arrived, as he had, at
the years that are called middle-aged.

But an especially interesting problem so stirred his enthusiasm and
roused his energies that he grew young again, and his dark eyes fairly
scintillated with eagerness and power.

"Tell me everything," he repeated, even after he had heard all the
details over and over again. "Omit nothing--no tiniest point. It all
helps."

They sat in the living room at Pellbrook, Miss Darrel and Iris being
present, also Hughes and Lawyer Chapin.

Stone had examined the sitting room where Mrs. Pell had died, and,
closing its door, had returned to the big living room, for further
information on the whole subject of the crime and its subsequent events.

"The pin's the thing," he said, at last. "Everything hinges on that."

"Do you think so?" asked Mr. Chapin. "It seems to me the pin's a
blind--a decoy--and the people hunting it are really after something
else, of intrinsic value."

Fleming Stone looked at the lawyer, with a courteous impatience.

"No, Mr. Chapin, the pin is the thing they are after. It was for that
pin that Mrs. Pell was murdered. That is why her dress was torn open at
the throat, the villain was searching for that pin. That's why the desk
was ransacked, the handbag explored, the pocket-book emptied--all in a
desperate effort to find that seemingly insignificant pin! That is why
the poor woman was tortured, maltreated, bruised and beaten, in final
attempts to make her tell where the pin was. Failing, the wretch flung
her to the floor, in a burst of murderous frenzy."

"That's why I was kidnapped, then," exclaimed Iris.

"Of course, and you may be again! Those people will stop at nothing! The
letters asking for the pin, the caller who wanted it for his
'collection,' all represent the same master-mind, who is after the pin.

"But why?" wondered Hughes, "what do they want of the pin?"

"The pin means the jewels," declared Stone, briefly. "How, I can't say,
exactly, for the moment, but the pin is the open sesame to the
hiding-place of the gems, and only the possession of it will secure the
treasure. We must get the pin--and then, all else will be clear
sailing."

"But the pin is gone," lamented Iris.

"That is the worst phase of it all," Stone said, regretfully. "It is
such a difficult thing to trace--not only so tiny, and easily lost, but
so like thousands of others, that it can't readily be discerned even if
seen."

"You think it's just an ordinary pin, then?" inquired Chapin.

"Absolutely, sir."

"Then why won't any other pin do as well?"

Stone looked at him keenly. "I can't answer that at present, Mr. Chapin;
my theory regarding the pin, while doubtless the truth, is as yet
uncertain. Now, another and equally great problem is that of the
murderer's exit. From your story of the crime, I gather that the room
was absolutely unenterable, except by breaking in the door, which Purdy
and the chauffeur did?"

"That is true," agreed Iris; "the windows, as you can see, are strongly
barred, and there is but the one door. Search has been made for secret
entrances or concealed passages, but there is nothing of the sort."

"No," said Stone, "this sort of a house is not apt to have such. If
there were any, they would be easily discovered. And there were several
people in this room, when the two men burst in the door?"

"Yes," said Iris. "I was here, and Polly, the cook, and the two men----"

"You are positive the murderer could not have slipped by you all, as the
door flew open, and so made his escape?"

"That was utterly impossible. We were all grouped around the door and
stayed so, until we entered the sitting room ourselves. There was nobody
there but Aunt Ursula, herself----"

"Dead?"

"Yes, but only just dead. Polly heard her faint moans, after her loud
screams, you know, before we broke in."

"And what were the words she used when she screamed out?"

"I don't know exactly, but they were cries for help, and I'm sure Polly
said she called out 'Thieves!' Of course, she was unable to speak
coherently."

"Now," began Stone, "to look at this one point. Her assailant had to get
out or stay in, didn't he? You're sure he didn't get out, therefore he
must have stayed in. A man of flesh and blood cannot go through walls,
like a ghost."

"But he didn't stay in!" cried Iris. "We searched the room at once,
there was nobody in it. You know there's almost no place to hide. We
looked behind the window curtains, and all such places--and, too, we
were in this room continuously, till others came, and no one could have
gone through here without being seen."

"Nor could he get out of the barred windows. Then what became of him?"

"Ah, Mr. Stone," said Hughes, "that's the question that has puzzled us
all. If you can solve that, we can begin to look for the murderer!"

"Meantime, we must assume him to be a spook? Is that it?" Stone smiled a
little at the complacent Hughes.

"I don't say that, but I do call the manner of his exit an insoluble
mystery."

"If _he_ could accomplish it, _I_ can find out how," Stone said,
quietly. He had no air of bravado, but he made the statement in all
sincerity.

"I believe you can!" declared Lucille. "That's why I wanted you, Mr.
Stone. I've heard of your almost unbelievable cleverness, and I knew if
anybody could get to the bottom of this mystery, you could."

"I don't mind admitting that it is seemingly the most inexplicable one I
ever encountered, but I shall do my best. And I want the coöperation of
you all. There are many things to be told me yet; remember I've only
just heard the main details, and each of you can give me light in
different ways. I'll call on you for information when necessary. Also,
Miss Darrel, will you extend your hospitality to my young assistant?"

"That boy?" Lucille smiled.

"Yes; Terence, his name is. He's my right-hand man and attends to a lot
of detail work for me."

"He's a handful," and Lucille laughed again. "I saw him in the kitchen,
wheedling round Polly, and begging for cookies."

"I'll warrant he got 'em," said Stone. "He has a way with him that is
persuasive, indeed. But he won't make you any bother. Fix him up a bed
in the loft, or anywhere. He's willing to rough it."

"Oh, no, he can have a decent room, of course. I'll give him one in the
garage, there's a nice one next to Campbell's."

At that moment, Terence appeared at the door.

"Come in," said Stone. "I want these ladies to know you."

Awkwardly the boy entered, and blushed furiously as Stone gravely
introduced him all round.

"We'll be friends, Terence," said Iris, who felt sorry for his
embarrassment, and who pleasantly offered her hand.

"Thank you, ma'am, and will you please call me Fibsy, it makes me feel
more at home--like."

"Fibsy! What a funny name! Because you tell fibs?"

"Yes'm! How'd you guess?" The laughing eyes met hers and the boy's
stubby paw touched Iris' soft hand.

But some subtle spark passed between them, that made each feel the other
a friend, and a tacit compact was sealed without a word.

"Lemme see the room?" whispered Fibsy, with a pleading look at Fleming
Stone.

"Yes," and the detective rose at once, and accompanied the lad to the
room of the tragedy.

The details of the death of Mrs. Pell were quickly rehearsed, and
Fibsy's eyes darted round the room, taking in every detail of walls and
furniture.

Hughes was astounded. Who was this insignificant boy that he should be
consulted, and referred to? Why was an experienced detective, like
himself, set aside, as of no consequence, while Fleming Stone watched
absorbedly the face of the urchin?

"How did the murderer get out?" Hughes could not help saying, with a
view to confusing the boy.

"Gee! If all you local police has concentrated your thinkers on that all
this time, and hasn't doped it out yet, I can't put it over all at once!
But Mr. Stone, he'll yank the heart out o' the mystery, you can just
bet. Of course, 'How'd the murderer get out?' is easy enough to sit
around an' say--like a flock of parrots! The thing to do is to find out
how he _did_ get out!"

Fibsy stood, hands in pockets, in front of the mantel, looking down at
the floor.

"Here's where she was lyin'?" he asked gravely, and Iris nodded her
head.

Leaning down, Fibsy looked up the chimney, and Hughes laughed out.

"Back number!" he said, looking bored, "Don't you s'pose we've
investigated that chimney business? A monkey couldn't get up that little
flue, let alone an able-bodied man!"

"That's so, my bucko!" and Fibsy beamed on Hughes, without a trace of
rancor at the elder man's scorn.

"Now about the evidence against Mr. Bannard," Stone said to the local
detective, "do I understand it's only the newspaper and cigarette that
he was supposed to have left in this room----"

"Well," Hughes defended himself, "he had motive, he was seen around
these parts, and he denies he was up here----"

"Never mind, I'll talk with him, please. I'll learn more from his own
story."

"He isn't guilty, oh, Mr. Stone, he _isn't_ guilty!" Iris exclaimed, her
beautiful eyes filling with tears. "Please get him out of that awful
jail, can't you?"

"Let us hope so, Miss Clyde." Stone spoke abstractedly. "Where is the
newspaper in question?"

"Here it is," and Iris took it from a drawer and handed it to him.

"Why, this has never been opened," exclaimed Stone.

"No," agreed Hughes, "when Bannard came up here Sunday morning on his
bicycle, he had no thought for the day's news! He had other plans ahead.
He carried that paper up here without reading it, and he left it here,
also unopened."

"Might 'a' been opened an' folded up again," offered Fibsy. "It has,
too."

"I did that," said Hughes, importantly. "I opened it, the first time I
saw it, naturally one would, and I refolded it exactly as it was. It's
of no further value as evidence, but I made sure it hadn't been read.
You can always tell if a paper's been read or not."

"Sure you can," agreed Fibsy. "Where's this Mr. Bannard live?"

"In bachelor apartments in New York," said Iris.

"I mean, _where_ in New York?" the boy persisted

"West Forty-fourth Street."

"He ain't the murderer," and Fibsy handed the newspaper, that he had
been glancing over, back to Hughes.

"You darling!" cried Iris, excitedly, grasping Fibsy's two hands. "Of
course he isn't. But how do you know?"

"Don't go too fast, Fibs," said Fleming Stone, smiling with
understanding at the boy. "Shall we say the real murderer lives
somewhere near Bob Grady's place?"

"Yes, sir, _yes_! O Lord, what a muddle!"

Again the boy stood in front of the fireplace, musing deeply.

"New?" he said, turning to the electric lamp on the nearby table.

"Yes," said Iris, puzzled at his actions. "When the man knocked Auntie
down the table was overturned and the lamp smashed to bits. We put a
new one in its place."

"Oh, all right. Now where was that cigarette stub found, and how far was
it burned?"

Hughes disliked to answer the boy's questions, but Fleming Stone turned
expectantly toward him, so he replied, "It was on the desk, and it was
about half-smoked."

"And this poker? Did it lie here, where it is now? Wasn't she hit with
it?"

"Those things have all been thrashed out," replied Hughes, a little
petulantly. "No, she wasn't hit with the poker, she was flung down and
her head knocked onto the sharp knob on the fender."

"How do you know?"

"There's a blood stain on the brass knob, and her head was right by it.
The poker is two feet away."

"Might 'a' been used, all the same," and Fibsy stared at it.
"Howsumever, that don't count. We've got her dead, and we've got to find
out who did it--and, so far, it wasn't Mr. Bannard."

"When will it begin to be Mr. Bannard?" said Hughes, with fine sarcasm.

"I mean," Fibsy returned, quietly, "so far, they ain't nothin' to
implicate Mr. Bannard. Somethin' might turn up, though. But I don't
think so. And anyway, the problem, first of all, ain't _who_, but
_how_. That's what we must hunt out first, eh, Mr. Stone?"

"Very well, Terence," Stone spoke abstractedly, "you attend to that,
while I find the pin. It seems to me that is the most important
thing----"

"Ain't that F. S. all over!" cried Fibsy, admiringly. "Puts his finger
on the very spot! An' me a babblin' foolishness about findin' how the
chappie got in!"

"You do certainly babble foolishness," flung out Hughes, unable to
conceal his annoyance at the boy's forwardness, as he looked upon it.

"Yes, sir," and Fibsy's humble acceptance of Hughes' reproof had no
tinge of irony. The boy was not conceited or bumptious, he was Stone's
assistant, and took no orders save from his chief, but he never assumed
importance on his own merit, nor behaved with insolence or impertinence
to anyone. His only desire was to serve Fleming Stone, and an approving
nod from the great detective was all the reward Terence Maguire desired.

And then, Fibsy seemed possessed of a new idea of some sort, for with a
sudden exclamation and a word of excuse he ran from the room.

"Don't allow yourself to be annoyed by that boy, Mr. Hughes," said
Stone; "he is a great help to me in any work. His manners are not
intentionally rude, but sometimes he gets absorbed in an investigation,
and he forgets what I've tried to teach him of courtesy and
consideration for others. He's of humble birth, but I'm endeavoring to
make him of gentlemanly behaviour. And I'm succeeding, on the whole, but
in emergency the fervor of his soul runs away with the intent of his
mind. For he wants to behave as I ask him to, I know that. Therefore, I
forgive him much, and I must ask you to be also lenient."

Then, apparently feeling that he had done his duty by Hughes, the
detective turned his attention to the room once more.

He scrutinized everything all over again. He left no minutest portion of
the mantel, the table, the desk or the window draperies uninspected. A
few taps at walls and partitions brought the comment, "No secret
entrance, and had there been, you people must have found it 'ere this.
It is a satisfaction to find so much of the investigating done
already--and thoroughly done."

Hughes bridled with satisfaction, and eagerly watched Stone's further
procedure.

Fibsy took his way to the garage, and began a desultory conversation
with Campbell, the chauffeur.

"Who's the college perfessor?" he asked, pointing a thumb over his
shoulder at a long, lank figure, hovering toward them.

"Him? He's Sam."

"Sam?"

"Yep."

"Don't babble on so! I don't want all his family history. Quit talking,
can't you?"

As Campbell had said only a few monosyllables, and as he had the
Scotchman's national sense of humor, he merely stared at his
interlocutor.

"Oh, well, since you're in a chattering mood, spill a little more. Who's
he, in America?"

"Sam? Oh, he's Agnes' half-brother, and he's half-witted."

"H'm. Sort of fractional currency! Is he--is he exclusive?"

"Eh?"

"Never mind, thank you. I'll be my own intelligence office. Hey, Sam,
want some chewin' gum?"

The lackwit turned to the bright-faced boy who followed him, and favored
him with a vacant stare.

"Gum, sonny, gum, you know. Chew-chew! Eh?"

Sam held out his hand, and Fibsy put a paper package in it.

"Wait a minute," he went on, leading Sam out of earshot of the garage.
"What's that song I heard you singing a bit ago?"

"No, sir! Sam don't sing that more."

"Oh, yes, Sam does. It's a pretty song. Come now, I like your voice. Sam
sings pretty--very pretty."

The wheedlesome tone and smile did the trick, and the foolish boy broke
out in a low, crooning song:

  "It is a sin to steal a pin,
  As well as any greater thing."

"Good!" Fibsy applauded. "Where'd you learn that, Samivel?"

"Long ago, baby days."

"And why do you sing it to-day?"

A look of fear came over Sam's face, followed by a smile of cunning. He
looked like a leering gargoyle, as grotesque as any on Notre Dame.

"You know why?" he whispered.

"Oh, yes, I know why. But we won't tell anybody, will us?"

"No, not anybody."

"Who'd you steal it from?"

"From chair, he, he! From old Mister Chair."

"Yes, of course," and Fibsy's heart beat fast. "The big, fat Mister
Chair?"

"Yes, big fat Mister Chair!"

"In Mrs. Pell's room?"

"Yes, yes, in Missy Pell's room."

But Fibsy began to think the clouded intellect was merely repeating
words spoken to it, and he asked, "Who put pin in chair for Sam to
steal?"

"Who?" and the blank, foolish face was inquiring.

"Campbell?"

"No, no! not Campbell!"

"No, no, it was Agnes."

"No! not Agnes----"

"Who, then?" Fibsy held his breath, lest he disturb the evident effort
the poor lad was making to remember.

"Missy Iris," Sam said at last, "yes, Missy Iris, Missy Iris--yes,
Missy----"

"There, there," Fibsy shut him up, "don't say that again. Did you see
her?"

"Yes, by window. Then, Sam steal pin. It is a sin to steal a pin. It is
a sin to steal a pin--it is----"

But Fibsy set to work to turn the poor befuddled mind in another
direction, and after a time he succeeded.



CHAPTER XIV

FIBSY AND SAM


"There are two things to find," Fleming Stone said, "the murderer and
the pin. There are two things to find out, how the murderer got away,
and why the pin is valuable."

Stone persisted in his belief that the pin was of value, and that in
some way it would lead to the discovery of the jewels. He had read all
of Ursula Pell's diary, and though it gave no definite assurance, there
were hints in it that strengthened his theory. Before he had been in the
Pell house twenty-four hours, he had learned all he could from the
examination of the whole premises and the inspection of all the papers
and books in Mrs. Pell's desk. He declared that the murderer was after
the pin, and that, failing to find it, he had maltreated Ursula Pell in
a fit of rage at his failure.

"She was of an irritating nature, you tell me," Stone said, "and it may
well be that she not only refused to give up the pin, but teased and
tantalized the intruder who sought it."

"But what use _could_ the pin be as a clue to the jewels?" Lucille
Darrel asked. "I can't imagine any theory that would explain that."

"I can imagine a theory," Stone responded, "but it is merely a theory--a
surmise, rather; and it is so doubtful, at best, I'd rather not divulge
it at present. But the pin must be found."

"I haven't found it, but I've a notion of which way to look," said
Fibsy, who had just entered the room.

It was Mrs. Pell's sitting room, and Fleming Stone was still fingering
some packets of papers in the desk.

"Out with it, Fibs, for I'm going over to see Mr. Bannard now, and I
want all your information before I go."

So Fibsy told of what Sam had said, and of the snatch of song he had
sung.

"Good enough as far as it goes," commented Stone, "but your source of
knowledge seems a bit uncertain."

"That's just it," said Fibsy. "That's why I didn't tell you this last
night. I thought I'd tackle friend Boobikins this morning and see if I
could get more of the real goods. But, nixie. Sam says he has the pin,
but he doesn't know where it is."

"I'm afraid you're trying to draw water from an empty well, son; better
try some other green fields and pastures new."

"I know it, Mr. Stone, but s'pose you just speak to the innocent before
you go away. You can tell if he knows anything."

"Why should Sam steal the pin?" Iris asked, her eyes big with amazement.

"You can't tell _what_ such people will do," Fibsy returned. "He may
have seen you hiding it, as he says he did, and he may have come in and
stolen it, just because of a mere whimsey in his brain. Is he around
here much?"

"Quite a good deal, of late. He's fond of Agnes, and he trails her
about, like a dog after its master. Aunt Ursula wouldn't have him around
much when she was here, but Miss Darrel doesn't mind."

"I don't like him," said Lucille, "but I am sorry for him, and he does
adore Agnes. I think he ought to be put in an institution."

"Oh, no," said Iris, "he isn't bad enough for that. He's not really
insane, just feeble-minded. He's perfectly harmless."

"Bring him in here," suggested Stone.

Fibsy ran out, and came back with the half-witted boy.

"Hello, Sam," said Stone, in an off-handed, kindly way, "you're the boy
for us. Now, where did you say you found that pin?"

"Here," and Sam pushed his hand down in the big chair, in the very spot
where Iris had concealed it.

"Good boy! How'd you get in this room?"

"Through window in other room--walked in here!" He spoke with pride in
his achievement. But at Stone's next question, a look of deep cunning
came into his eyes, and he shook his head. For the detective said,
"Where is the pin now, Sam?"

The lack-luster eyes gleamed with an uncanny wisdom, and the stupid face
showed a stubborn denial, as he said, "I donno, I donno, I donno."

And then he broke forth again into the droning song:

  "It is a sin to steal a pin,
  As well as any greater thing!"

This couplet he repeated, in his peculiarly insistent way, until they
were all nearly frantic.

"Stop that!" ordered Lucille. "Put him out of the room, somebody. Hush
up, Sam!"

"Wait a minute," said Stone, "listen, Sam, what will you take to show me
where the pin is?"

"Dollars, dollars--a lot of dollars!"

"Two?" and Stone drew out his wallet.

"Yes, 'two, three, four--lot of dollars!"

"And then you'll tell us where the pin is?"

"Yes, Sam tell then--it is a sin----"

"Don't sing that again. Look, here's four nice dollar bills; now where's
the pin?"

"Where?" Sam looked utterly blank. "Where's the pin? Nice pin, oh,
pinny, pin, pin! Where's the pin? Oh, _I_ know!"

"All right, where?"

"Forgot! All forgot. Nice pin forgot--forgot--forgot----"

"Oh, pshaw!" exclaimed Lucille, "he doesn't know anything! I don't
believe he really took the pin at all. He heard Agnes and Polly talking
about it and he thinks he did."

"Oh, yes, Sam took pin!" declared the idiot boy, himself. "Yes, Sam took
pin--pinny-pin--beautiful day, beautiful day, beautiful--beautiful day!"

The boy stood babbling. He was not ill-looking, and the pathos of it all
made him far from ridiculous. A tall, well-formed lad, his face would
have been really attractive, had the light of intelligence blessed it.

But his blue eyes were vacant, his lips were not firm, and his head
turned unsteadily from side to side. Yet, now and again, a gleam of
cunning showed in his expression, and Fibsy, watching such moments,
tried to make him speak rationally.

"Think it up, Sam," he said, kindly. "There! You remember now! So you
do! Where did you put the nice pin?"

"In the crack of the floor! In the crack of the floor! In the----"

"Yes, of course you did!" encouraged Stone. "That was a good place. Now,
what floor was it? This room?"

"No, oh, nony no! Not this floor, no, no, no--'nother floor."

But all further effort to learn what floor was unsuccessful. Indeed,
they didn't really think the boy had hidden the pin in a floor crack, or
at least they could not feel sure of it.

"He never had the pin at all," Lucille asserted, "he heard the others
talking about it, probably they said it might be in a crack, and he
remembered the idea."

"Keep him on the place," Stone told them, as he prepared to go to see
Bannard. "Don't let Sam get away, whatever you do."

       *       *       *       *       *

The call on Winston Bannard was preceded by a short visit to Detective
Hughes.

While the lesser detective was not annoyed or offended at Stone's
taking up the case, yet it was part of his professional pride to be able
to tell his more distinguished colleague any new points he could get
hold of. And, to-day, Hughes had received back from a local handwriting
expert the letter that had been sent to Iris.

"And he says," Hughes told the tale, "he says, Barlow does, that that
letter is in Win Bannard's writing, but disguised!"

"What!" and Stone eyed the document incredulously.

"Yep, Barlow says so, and he's an expert, he is. See, those twirly y's
and those extra long-looped g's are just like these here in a lot of
letters of Bannard's."

"Are these in Bannard's writing?"

"Yes, those are all his. You can see from their contents. Now, this here
note signed William Ashton has the same peculiarities."

"Yes, I see that. Do you believe Bannard wrote this letter to his
cousin?"

"She ain't exactly his cousin, only a half way sort of one."

"I know; never mind that now. Do you think Bannard wrote the note?"

"Yes, I do. I believe Win Bannard is after that pin, so's he can find
them jewels----"

"Oh, then you think the pin is a guide to the jewels?"

"Well, it must be, as you say so. 'Tenny rate, the murderer wanted
something, awful bad. It never seemed like he was after just money, or
he'd 'a' come at night, don't you think so?"

"Perhaps."

"Well, say it was Win, there's nothing to offset that theory. And
everything to point toward it. Moreover, there's no other suspect."

"William Ashton? Rodney Pollock?"

"All the same man," opined Hughes, "and all--Winston Bannard!"

"Oh, I don't know----"

"How you going to get around that letter? Can't you see yourself it's
Bannard's writing disguised? And not very much disguised, at that. Why,
look at the capital W! The one in William and this one in his own
signature are almost identical."

"Why didn't he try to disguise them?"

"He did disguise the whole letter, but he forgot now and then. They
always do. It's mighty hard, Barlow says, to keep up the disguise all
through. They're sure to slip up, and return to their natural formation
of the letters here and there."

"I suppose that's so. Shall I confront Bannard with this?"

"If you like. You're in charge. At least, I'm in with you. I don't want
to run counter to your ideas in any way."

"Thank you, Mr. Hughes. I appreciate the justice and courtesy of your
attitude toward me, and I thank you for it."

"But it don't extend to that boy--that cub of yours!"

"Terence?" Fleming Stone laughed. "All right, I'll tell him to keep out
of your way. He'll not bother you, Mr. Hughes."

"Thank you, sir. Shall I go over to the jail with you?"

"No, I'd rather go alone. But as to this theory of yours. You blame
Bannard for all the details of this thing? Do you think he kidnapped
Miss Clyde last Sunday?"

"I think it was his doing. Of course, the two people who carried her off
were merely tools of the master mind. Bannard could have directed them
as well as anybody else."

"He could, surely. Now, here's another thing--I want to trace the house
where Miss Clyde was taken. Seems to me that would help a lot."

"Lord, man! How can you find that?"

"Do you know any nearby town where there's an insurance agent named
Clement Foster?"

"Sure I do; he lives over in Meadville."

"Then Meadville is very likely the place where that house is."

"How do you know?"

"I don't _know_. But I asked Miss Clyde to think of anything in the room
she was in that might be indicative, and she told of a calendar with
that agent's name on it. It's only a chance, but it is likely that the
calendar was in the same town that the agent lives and works in."

"Of course it is! Very likely! You _are_ a smart chap, ain't you!"

Mr. Hughes' admiration was so full and frank that Stone smiled.

"That isn't a very difficult deduction," he said, "but we must verify
it. This afternoon, we'll drive over there with Miss Clyde, and see if
we can track down the house we're after."

       *       *       *       *       *

Fleming Stone went alone to his interview with Winston Barnard. He found
the young man willing to talk, but hopelessly dejected.

"There's no use, Mr. Stone," he said, after some roundabout
conversation, "I'll be railroaded through. I didn't kill my aunt, but
the circumstantial evidence is so desperately strong against me that
nobody will believe me innocent. They can't prove it, because they can't
find out how I got in, or rather out, but as there's nobody else to
suspect, they'll stick to me."

"How _did_ you get out?"

"Not being in, I didn't get out at all."

"I mean when you were there in the morning!"

Winston Bannard turned white and bestowed on his interlocutor a glance
of utter despair.

"For Heaven's sake!" he exclaimed, "you've been in Berrien less than two
days, and you've got that, have you?"

"I have, Mr. Bannard, and before we go further, let me say that I am
your friend, and that I do not think you are guilty of murder or of
theft."

"Thank you, Mr. Stone," and Bannard interrupted him to grasp his hand.
"That's the first word of cheer I've had! My lawyer is a half-hearted
champion, because he believes in his soul that I did it!"

"Have you told him the whole truth?"

"I have not! I couldn't! Every bit of it would only drag me deeper into
the mire of inexplicable mystery."

"Will you tell it all to me?"

"Gladly, if you'll promise to believe me."

"I can't promise that, blindly, but I'll tell you that I think I Shall
be able to recognize the truth as you tell it. Did you write the letter
signed William Ashton?"

"Lord, no! Why would I do that?"

"To get the pin----"

"Now, hold on, before we go further, Mr. Stone, do satisfy my curiosity.
Is that pin, that foolish, common little pin of any value?"

"I think so, Mr. Bannard. I can't tell until I see it----"

"But man, why _see_ it? It's just like any common pin! I examined it
myself, and it isn't bent or twisted, or different in any way from
millions of other pins."

"Quite evidently then, you've not tried to get possession of it. Your
scorn of it is sincere, I'm certain."

"You may be! I've no interest in that pin, for I know it was only a fool
joke of Aunt Ursula's to tease poor little Iris."

"Her joking habit was most annoying, was it not?"

"All of that, and then some! She was a terror! Why, I simply couldn't
keep on living with her. She made my life a burden. And she did the same
by Iris. What that girl has suffered! But the last straw was the worst.
Why, for years and years Aunt Ursula told of the valuable diamond pin
she had bequeathed to Iris; at least, we thought she said diamond pin,
but she said dime an' pin, I suppose."

"Yes, I know all about that; it _was_ a cruel jest, unless--as I
hope--the pin is really of value. But never mind that now. Tell me your
story of that fatal Sunday."

"Here goes, then. I was out with the boys the night before, and I lost a
lot of money at bridge. I was hard up, and I told one of the fellows I'd
come up to Berrien the next day and touch Aunt Ursula for a present. She
often gave me a check, if I could catch her in the right mood. So, next
day, Sunday morning, I started on my bicycle and came up here."

"What time did you leave New York?"

"'Long about nine, I guess. It was a heavenly day, and I dawdled some,
for I wanted to get here after Iris had gone to church. I wanted to see
Aunt Ursula alone, and then if I got the money, I wanted to go back to
New York and not spend the day here."

"Pardon this question--are you in love with Miss Clyde?"

"I am, Mr. Stone, but she doesn't care for me. She thinks me a
ne'er-do-well, and perhaps I am, but truly, I had turned over a new
leaf and, if Iris would have smiled on me, I was going to live right
ever after. But I knew she wasn't overanxious to see me, so I planned to
make my call at Pellbrook and get away while she was absent at church."

"You reached the house, then, after Miss Clyde had gone?"

"Yes, and the servants had all gone; at least, I didn't see any of them.
I went in at the front door, and I found Aunt Pell in her own
sitting-room. She was glad to see me, she was in a very amiable mood,
and when I asked her for some money, she willingly took her check-book
and drew me a check for five thousand dollars. I was amazed, for I had
expected to have to coax her for it."

"And then?"

"Then I stayed about half an hour, not longer, for Aunt Ursula, though
kind enough, seemed absent-minded, or rather, wrapped in her own
thoughts, and when I said I'd be going, she made no demur, and I went."

"At what time was this?"

"I've thought the thing over, Mr. Stone, and though I'm not positive I
think I reached Pellbrook at quarter before eleven and left it about
quarter after eleven."

"Leaving your aunt perfectly well and quite as usual?"

"Yes, so far as I know, save that, as I told you, she was preoccupied in
her manner."

"You had a New York paper?"

"Yes, a _Herald_."

"Where did you buy it?"

"Nowhere. I have one left at my door every morning. I read it before I
left my rooms, but I put part of it in my pocket, as I usually do, in
case I wanted to look at it again."

"You know there was a _Herald_ found in the room after the murder?"

"Of course I do, but it was not mine."

"What became of yours?"

"I haven't the least idea, I never thought of it again."

"Quite a coincidence, that a _Herald_ should have been left there when
your aunt took quite another New York paper!"

"I'm telling you this thing just as it happened, Mr. Stone."

Bannard spoke sternly, and with such a straightforward glance that
Fleming Stone said, "I beg your pardon--proceed."

"I went down to New York," Bannard resumed, "and I stopped at the Red
Fox Inn for lunch."

"At what time?"

"About noon, or a bit later. I don't know these hours exactly for I had
no notion I'd be called to account for them, and I paid little heed to
the time. I had the money I wanted, Aunt Ursula had given it to me
willingly, I could pay off my debts, and I meant then to live a less
haphazard life. I was making all sorts of plans to make good, and so
gain Iris Clyde's favor, and perhaps, later, her love. I've not told her
of this, for next thing I knew, I was suspected of killing my aunt!"

"But I'm told that the detectives have inquired, and the waiter who
served you at the inn, says you were on your way _toward_ Berrien, not
_from_ it."

"Then that waiter lies. I was on my way back to New York. I lunched at
the inn, and proceeded on my way. I reached town about three or later,
and when I finally got back to my rooms, I found a telegram from Iris to
come right up here. I did so, and the rest of my story is public
information. Now, the murderer, whoever he may have been, came to the
house long after I left it. Oh, I can't say that, for he may have been
hidden in the house when I was there. But, anyway, he killed Aunt Ursula
about the middle of the afternoon, so I supposed my true story would be
sufficient alibi. But it hasn't proved so, and now, if they say the Inn
people declare I was coming north instead of going south, as I was,
then I can only say that the villain who did the deed is trying to make
it seem to have been me."

"That's my belief," agreed Stone; "the whole affair is a carefully
planned and deep-laid scheme, and concocted in a clever and diabolically
ingenious brain."



CHAPTER XV

IN THE COLOLE


Fibsy stuck to half-witted Sam like a leech. The boy's theory was that
Sam had stolen the pin, as he said, and that he had hidden it with the
cunning of a defective mind, in a place most unlikely to be suspected.
So Fibsy cultivated the lackwit's acquaintance and established friendly
relations.

Agnes rather resented Fibsy's attitude, but his wheedlesome ways won her
heart, too, and the three were often together.

In fact, Fibsy enlisted Agnes on his side, and convinced her that they
must learn from Sam where the pin was hidden, if he had really stolen
it.

It was difficult to get information from Sam himself, for his statements
were contradictory and misleading. But, by watching him closely, Fibsy
hoped to catch him off guard, and make him reveal his secret.

Sam babbled of the pin continually. As Agnes said, whenever he got a new
topic in his poor, disordered brain, he harped on it day and night.

"Pinny, pin, pin," he would chant, in his sing-song way, "nice pinny,
pin, pin, where are you? Where are you? Nice pinny-pin, where are you?"

It was enough to drive one frantic, but Fibsy encouraged it as a means
toward an end.

And one day he found Sam down on his knees poking a sharp-pointed stick
in between the boards of the kitchen floor. The cracks were wide in the
old house, and Fibsy held his breath as he, himself unseen, watched the
idiot boy diligently digging.

But it amounted to nothing. After turning out many little piles of dust
and dirt, Sam rose, and said, dejectedly, "No pinny-pin there! Where is
it? Oh, oh, oh--_where_ is it?"

Fibsy had learned the workings of the queer mind, and he was sure now
that Sam had hidden the pin, but not in a floor crack. The mention of
that hiding-place had been made by Sam to turn suspicion from the real
one, and then the idea had stuck in his head, and, Fibsy feared, he had
forgotten the true place of concealment.

This would be a catastrophe, for it might then be the pin would never be
found! So Fibsy stuck to his self-imposed task of standing by Sam,
hoping for a chance revelation.

"Go ahead," Fleming Stone told him, "do all you can with Sam. I, too,
feel sure he took the pin from the chair, where Miss Clyde put it. Find
the pin, Fibsy boy, find the pin, and I'll do the rest."

Stone spent an entire morning in Mrs. Pell's room, going over her old
letters and getting every possible light on her earlier life.

He learned that she had been born and reared in a small town in Maine,
that she had married and gone abroad for a stay of several years, that
after that she had lived in Chicago, and for the past ten years had
resided at Pellbrook. Her husband had died fifteen years ago, and left
her his great fortune, mostly in precious stones. Ten years ago, when
she came to Berrien, she had taken all the jewels from the bankers' and
had concealed them in some place of safety which was not known to any
one but herself.

Her diary attested this fact, over and over again. But it gave no hint
as to where the hiding-place might be.

Stone pondered long and deeply over the statement that the gems were in
some crypt, and, as he thought, a great inspiration came to him.

"Of course!" he said to himself, "it _is_ that! It can be nothing else!"

But he confided his new theory to nobody; he only began to ask more
questions.

He quizzed Iris as to her Chicago visit, and wanted a detailed account
of every minute she had spent there. Then he asked her more particularly
about the house where she was taken in the little motor car.

"Let's try to find it," Stone said, "let's go now."

They started off in a runabout, which Stone drove himself. Knowing that
the house might be in Meadville, they went that way.

Iris was unable to verify the route, so they went there on the chance.

"A wild goose chase, probably," Stone conceded, "but we'll make a stab
at it. You see, Miss Clyde, I'm getting the thing narrowed down to a few
main propositions. There is, first, a master mind at the head of all the
mystery. He is the murderer, he is your caller, Pollock, he is William
Ashton, he is the man you saw in Chicago, who attacked you that night in
Mrs. Pell's room, who kidnapped you that Sunday--in fact, he is the man
at the helm. He has underlings, but I do not think they are accomplices
or confederates, they are merely hirelings. Now, of course, Pollock is
not this man's real name, but we will call him that for identification
among ourselves. This Pollock wanted the pin, we'll say, and not only
the pin, but the paper, the receipt that was in the Florentine
pocket-book, and that was definitely bequeathed to Mr. Bannard. That
paper is quite as valuable as the pin, and he did get that."

"Why, that was just a receipt----"

"Yes, and the pin was just a pin! But we want them both, and therefore
we want the man, Pollock."

"This is Meadville, but I don't see any house that could possibly be the
one they took me to. It had rather high stone front steps, with brick
uprights to them."

They soon went through the little town, but no such peculiarity was to
be found.

"Don't give up the ship too easily," said Stone, smiling at Iris' frown
of disappointment, "we haven't exhausted our resources yet."

A few inquiries showed him the office of Clement Foster, the insurance
agent.

Here Iris saw a calendar exactly like the one that had been in the room
where Flossie searched her.

After a little talk, Fleming Stone discovered that the agent had given
out few of those calendars outside his home town, but he mentioned some
names that he remembered.

"Do any of these people live in a house with high stone steps?" the
detective queried.

"Lemme see; yes, Joe Young, over to East Fallville, has stone steps."

"With brick uprights?" asked Iris, eagerly.

"Yes, that's right. Nice little house it is, too. Right on Maple Avenue,
the prettiest street in that village."

Thanking the agent, the inquiring pair went on their way, rejoicing. And
sure enough the house of Joe Young proved to be the very one where Iris
had been taken.

They went in, and after introducing himself Stone learned that Mr. Young
was decidedly interested in the Pellbrook mystery, and that his father
had built the well-safe in Mrs. Pell's room.

Moreover, Young had attended the inquest, and had kept in touch with all
the developments so far as he could learn them.

But it was impossible to associate him with the kidnapping of Iris. He
was too frankly interested and sympathetic to be suspected of playing a
part or deceiving them in his attitude toward them.

"Where were you a week ago Sunday?" Stone asked him suddenly.

"Why, let me think. Oh, yes, my wife and I went over to Meadville and
spent the day with her mother's folks. Yes, that's what we did. Why?"

"Who was here in this house?" Stone went on.

"Nobody. It was locked up all day."

"Has anyone a key to it, excepting yourself?"

"No, nobody. Oh, yes, my brother has, but he's in Chicago."

"Was he in Chicago then?"

"Why, yes, I s'pose so. I don't know. Why?"

"Could he have come here that day, without your knowing it?"

"Of course he could have done so, and now you speak of it, I remember my
wife said she smelt cigar smoke when we came home. I didn't notice it
myself."

"What's your brother's name?"

"Young, Charlie Young. Is he up to anything wrong?"

"Is he apt to be?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it past him. Charlie's a case! I've tried to do
well by him, but he's been a thorn in my side for years. I'm always
expecting to have him turn up in trouble of one sort or another. Yes, if
you ask me, he might have been here that day, and cut up any sort of
monkey-shines!"

"Do you know any young lady named Flossie?"

"Nope, never heard of any, that I remember. But Charlie has queer
friends, if that's what you're getting at. Say, tell me more about the
Pell case, if you're from Berrien. How did the murderer get out?"

"I haven't discovered that yet, but I hope to do so. I understand your
father was an expert carpenter and joiner?"

"Yes, sir, he was that. He died some four years ago, but I've many
examples of his fine work. Want to see some?"

But Stone could not stay to gratify the son's pride in the paternal
accomplishments and the two callers left and went back to Pellbrook.

"There's the man," said Stone, briefly. "Charlie Young is the master
mind behind all this deviltry."

"Did he kill Aunt Ursula?" asked Iris with angry eyes.

"I don't say that, yet," Stone said, cautiously, "but he's the man who
is after the pin and----"

The detective fell into a deep study and Iris, busy with her own
thoughts, did not interrupt him.

She positively identified the house as the one to which she had been
taken, and if Mr. Stone said that Charlie Young was the villain who had
directed the kidnapping, though he did not appear himself, she had no
doubt Stone wad right.

"And I've got a letter that Charlie Young wrote," Stone exulted. "I
rather think that will go far toward freeing Mr. Bannard!"

"Oh, how?"

"I believe that Young wrote that letter signed William Ashton, and
purposely made it look like the disguised hand of Winston Bannard."

"It was exactly like Win's writing, but different, too. The long-tailed
letters were just like Win's."

"Yes, and that helps prove it. If Bannard had tried to disguise his own
writing, the first thing he would have thought of would be _not_ to make
those peculiar long loops. Now their presence shows a clever trickster's
effort to make the writing suggest Bannard at once, but also to suggest
a disguised hand."

"That is clever! How can you ever catch such an ingenious villain? Shall
you arrest him at once?"

"Oh, no, to suspect is not to accuse, until we have incontrovertible
proof. But we'll get it! Lord, what a brain! And, yet, it may be easier
to catch a smarty like that than a duller, more plodding mind. You see,
he is so brilliant of scheme, so quick of execution, that he may well
overreach himself, and tumble into a trap or two I shall set for him."

"Doubtless he knows you are here, doesn't he?"

"Surely; but that doesn't matter. If things are going as I hope, I'll
bag him soon!"

"And yet you're not sure he's the murderer?"

"No, Miss Clyde, and I'm inclined to think he was not. However, we must
proceed with caution, but we can work swiftly, and, I hope, reach the
end soon. Matters are coming to a focus."

As they drove under the Pellbrook _porte cochère_, a strange-looking
figure ran to greet them.

"Hello, darkey boy, who are _you_?" sang out Stone, as the blackamoor
grinned at them.

Iris stared, and then burst out, laughing. "Why, it's Terence!" she
cried. "For goodness' sake, Fibsy, what _have_ you been doing?"

The boy was quite as black as any chimney sweep--indeed, as any
full-blooded negro. He had run up from the cellar at the approach of the
motor, and stood grinning at Iris and Stone.

"I'm on a trail," he said, "and it's a mighty dark one.

"Where will it lead you--to light?" asked Stone, smiling at the earnest,
blackened face.

"I hope so, oh, Mr. Stone, I hope so! For the trail is somepin' fierce,
be-lieve me!"

"Well, look out, don't get near Miss Clyde, nor me, either! You're a
sight, Fibsy!"

"Yessir, I know it," and, without another word, the boy turned and
disappeared down the cellar entrance.

Iris went into the house, but Stone went down to the cellar to see what
Fibsy was doing. He found the boy diligently shoveling coal from one
large coal bin to another. Nearby was Sam, quite as black as Fibsy, and
the two were a comical sight.

Sam was seated on a box, rocking back and forth in an ecstasy of glee,
and crooning, "Colole, colole, pinny-pin in colole!"

"That's what he says, Mr. Stone," Fibsy defended himself, "so if
pinny-pin _is_ in the coal-hole, I'm going to get her out! And if not,
then Sam's fooled me again, that's all!"

"Terence Maguire! Do you mean to say you're going to hunt for a needle
in a haystack--I mean a pin in a coal-hole?"

"Just that, sir. I'm onto friend Boobikins' curves, now, and I fully
believe that his present dope is the answer! Anyway, I'm taking no
chances."

"But, Fibs, it's impossible----"

"Sure it is, that's why I'm doing it. You run away and play, Mr. Stone,
and let me work out this end. Didn't you tell me to find the pin? Well,
I'm obeyin' orders."

Fibsy turned to his task again, and Stone watched him for a few minutes.
The boy laboriously took up the coal in a small shovel, looked it over
with sharpest scrutiny and then dumped it into the other bin.

By good luck the bins adjoined and the task was one of patience and
perseverance rather than of difficulty.

Stepping toward his faithful assistant, Fleming Stone held out his hand,
and said, quietly, "Put it there, Terence!"

Eagerly the little black paw slipped into the big, strong white one, and
the handshake that ensued was all the reward or recognition the happy
boy wanted.

Stone went upstairs again, and Fibsy whistled gaily as he continued his
self-chosen task.

Sam, sitting by, cheered him on by continued assertions that he _had_
thrown the pin in the coal-bin, and had _not_ buried it in a crack of
the floor.

And, as Fibsy had declared, he knew the half-wit now well enough to feel
pretty sure when he was telling the truth and when not.

Meantime, Stone was pursuing his investigations. That afternoon he drove
to Red Fox Inn. He went alone, and by dint of bribes and threats he
learned that Charlie Young had been there since the day of the murder,
and had instructed the waiter who had served Bannard at his Sunday
luncheon to say that Bannard was coming from New York and not going to
it. These instructions were made as commands and were backed up by
certain forcible arguments that insured their carrying out.

It became clear, therefore, that Young was interested in making it seem
that Bannard was at Pellbrook on Sunday afternoon instead of Sunday
morning, which latter Stone firmly believed to be the case.

Further discreet inquiry proved Young to be a frequent visitor at the
inn, on occasions when he was in the locality, and that was said to be
often, especially of late.

Stone went back, exultant, his brain working swiftly and steadily toward
his solution of the many still perplexing points.

       *       *       *       *       *

Later that afternoon, as it was nearing dusk, a yell from the cellar
told, without words, that Fibsy's quest had succeeded.

Lucille and Iris followed Fleming Stone's flying footsteps down the
stairs and found Fibsy, black but triumphant.

"Here's your pinny-pin, Mr. Stone!" he cried, exhausted from fatigue and
excitement, and with perspiration streaming down his sooty face. "Don't
tell me it mayn't be the one! It's gotter be--oh, F. S., it's _gotter_
be!"

Only in moments of strong excitement did Terence address his employer by
anything but his dignified name, but this moment was a strenuous one,
and Fibsy broke loose. Tears rolled down his cheeks, as he gave the
detective a pleading look.

"All right, Fibs, I've no doubt it's the one. Pins don't grow much in
coal-holes, and though it may not be----" a glance at the woeful
countenance made him quickly revise his speech, "But it is! I'm sure it
is," he finished, smiling kindly at the big-eyed blackamoor.

"Sure! sure!" cried Sam, capering about, "nice pinny-pin! Sam put it
there after Missy Iris put it in chair."

Fleming Stone looked at the pin curiously. As he had been informed, it
was a common pin, of medium size, with nothing about it to distinguish
it from its millions of brothers that are lost every day, everywhere.

"I'll take it up where there's a better light on it," he said, finally.
"Fibsy, you're a trump, old boy, and after you've sought the assistance
that a bath-tub grants, return to the sitting room, and I'll tell you of
the value of your find, in words of one syllable."

Elated beyond all words, Fibsy ran away to bathe, and the others went to
the sitting room that had been Ursula Pell's.

With a very strong lens, Fleming Stone examined the pin.

"This pin is worth its weight in gold, a million times over," he said,
after the briefest examination. "It explains all!--your aunt's bequest,
the efforts of Young to get it--but, I say, let's wait till Fibsy comes
down before I tell you the pin's secret. It's his due, after he found it
for us."

"Yes, indeed, wait," agreed Lucille, "he'll be down soon. I'll go and
call to him to make haste."

"Don't tell me all," said Iris to Stone, as the two were left alone, "I
want to wait till Terence comes--but tell me this, will it free
Winston?"

"I hope so," Stone returned, "though it's another part of the mystery.
But, to my mind, Mr. Bannard is freed already."

"Let me see the pin," and Iris took it in her hand. "Why, it is a common
pin! How can you say there's anything peculiar about it?"

"You'll know soon," and Stone smiled at her. "Anyway, whatever else it
means, it doubtless points the way to the recovery of the fortune of
jewels that was bequeathed to you and Mr. Bannard."

"I don't want the fortune unless Winston is freed," said Iris, sadly;
"if you think Charlie Young is the criminal, when are you going to get
him? But you say you're not sure he killed Aunt Ursula."

"No, I'm not at all sure that he did," Stone returned gravely. "In fact,
I'm inclined to think he did not."

"Then who did?"

But before Stone could answer, there was an agonized whelp from outside,
as of an animal in pain.

"Goodness!" cried Iris, "that's Pom-pom's cry! Oh, my little dogsie!
What has happened?"

She flew out of the room, and ran out on the lawn, from which direction
she had heard the terrified cry.

Remembering the pin, as she ran, she stuck it carefully in her belt and
hurried to the spot whence the sounds proceeded.

It was nearly dark now, and she sped across the grass, in fear for the
safety of her pet.

Stone started to follow her, but Lucille appeared just then, and he
paused to explain matters to her.

When they reached the lawn, Iris was nowhere to be seen, and the little
dog, cruelly beaten, was whining in pain and distress.

Listening intently, Stone heard the last sounds of a disappearing motor
car in the distance.

"Kidnapped again!" he cried, angrily. "And she's got the pin with her!
Young, of course! Oh, how careless I've been!" and calling to Campbell,
he ran toward the garage for a car.

"But how can you follow?" asked Lucille, distractedly, "you don't know
which way they went, after the turn, do you?"

"No," said Stone, despairingly, "I don't."



CHAPTER XVI

KIDNAPPED AGAIN


As Stone surmised, Iris was kidnapped again. When she leaned down to
gather in her arms the little, yelping dog, a figure sprang from the
shrubbery, and pressing a cloth into and over her mouth a man lifted her
from the ground and carried her swiftly away.

Iris was a slender girl and the man had no difficulty in carrying her to
a small motor car, which was waiting out in the main road. The dusk
rendered them nearly invisible, and the detention of Stone by Lucille
precluded what might have been a capture of the invader.

Placed in the car, Iris recognized at once that it was the same one in
which she had been carried off before, and she well knew it was for the
same purpose--to get possession of the pin.

But now that Stone had told her it was valuable, she had no mind to let
it go easily. She sat quietly, as the car flew along, thinking hard what
she would better do. She knew Stone would follow and rescue her if he
had heard any signs of her departure. But the car made little noise,
and the whole affair had been so quickly accomplished that Iris feared
Stone knew nothing of it all. She assumed that he would naturally follow
her out-of-doors, to learn what had happened to her pet dog, but he
might not hasten on that errand, and a delay of a minute would make his
advent of small use to her.

They had gone a mile or so, when the car turned into a little used path
through the woods. Another man was driving the car, and her captor sat
in the back with Iris. He still held her and kept the cloth, which
smelled faintly of chloroform, over her mouth.

At last, when well into the woods, the car stopped, and the man got out,
and ordered Iris to get out, too.

Her mind was made up now; she meant secretly to draw the pin from her
belt, and drop it on the ground. It was running a risk of losing it, but
it was a worse risk to have this man take it from her, and, too, after
Fibsy's successful search of the coal bin, she felt pretty sure the boy
could find the pin in the woods. She was carefully noting the trees and
stones about, when the low voice of her tormentor said, "You will hand
that pin over at once, if you please."

"I'll do no such thing," Iris retorted with spirit. "I am not afraid of
you."

"Nor have you reason to be, if you give up the pin quietly; otherwise,
you will find yourself in a sorry predicament."

"I haven't the pin with me," declared Iris, feeling the falsehood
justifiable in the circumstances.

"I regret to contradict a lady, but I don't believe you."

The man was masked, but Iris recognized his voice and form and she well
knew it was the man who had intruded upon her in her aunt's room that
night, and she was sure it was the man who had instigated the kidnapping
and search by Flossie. Moreover, she realized it was the man she had
seen in Chicago.

She felt an anxiety to detain him and somehow to get him in the grip of
the law, but she could think of no way to do that.

She dared not take the pin from her belt, for his eyes were upon her,
and the dusk, though deepening, left sufficient light for him to observe
her movements.

"Now, look here," he said, speaking more roughly, "there's no Flossie
here. You don't want me to take all the pins you have in your clothing,
do you?"

This suggestion, and the threatening tone of the man, frightened Iris
more than all that had gone before. She was not afraid of physical
violence, something in the man's manner precluded that, but she sensed
his desperate determination to secure the pin, and she knew he would
search her clothing for it, if she refused to hand it over.

Also, she knew there was small use in trying to fool him. Since Stone
had verified the fact that there was something about that special pin
that made it of value, since this man had tried devious ways to get it,
and since she was absolutely at his mercy, the outlook was pretty black.

A vague hope that Fleming Stone would come to her rescue was not well
founded, for how could he know that the car that carried her off had
turned into that little woodland road?

She thought of appealing to the manliness or better nature of her enemy,
but she knew that he would only reply that if she would give him the pin
he would not trouble her further. An idea of asking help from the man
who was in the driver's seat of the car brought only the same
conclusion.

"Come, now," said Pollock, for it was by that name she thought of him.
"I can't waste any more time. If you don't give me that pin in two
seconds, I'll take it."

"Don't you dare!" exclaimed Iris, trying the effect of sheer bravado.

"Two seconds I'll give you, and they've passed. You needn't scream, for
we're far from any habitation."

He came nearer to her, and touched the frill that was about the neck of
her gown.

Iris was at her wits' end. She knew she would give up the pin rather
than have him search her clothing for it, and yet, she meant to put off
her surrender as long as possible.

His own words gave her a hint, and though knowing it could do no good,
she screamed loud and long.

The sound infuriated the man, and he sprang at her, grasping her round
the waist.

"Stop that!" he cried, "Stop or I'll kill you!"

His fingers were at her throat, and his frenzy was such that Iris feared
he would carry out his threat on a sudden impulse.

But the strangle-hold he had on her brought his body near hers, and by
chance Iris' hand was flung against his side coat pocket, where she felt
what was indubitably an automatic pistol.

Pretending to faint, she let her head sink backward, and he
involuntarily put his hand back of her neck to support her.

With a quick motion she snatched the pistol from his pocket without his
knowledge.

Exultant, and feeling herself safe, Iris commanded him to release her.

He only laughed, and she whispered faintly, "Let me go, and I'll----"

Her voice died away as if from weakness, and he partially released his
hold on her, which freed entirely her right arm.

With a wrench, she stepped back, and aiming the automatic at him, she
said, quietly, "Step toward me, and I'll fire!"

With a profane exclamation, Pollock clapped his hand to his side pocket
and fell back a pace or two.

"You little vixen!" he cried. "Give me that! You'll harm yourself!"

"Oh, no, I won't. But I'll harm you. Unless you give your driver orders
to take me straight back home, I shall make this little weapon give good
account of itself."

From where Iris now stood, she covered the two men, and her manner
showed no signs of fear, as she calmly informed them that a move on the
part of either would be followed by a shot.

"And," she said, "while I'm not an expert, I can manage to hit at this
short range."

"Come, come, now, let's arbitrate," said Pollock, who, evidently, knew
when he was cornered. "Give me the pin and I'll go halves with you."

"Halves of what?"

"Of the treasure. Oh, don't pretend you don't know all about it! Didn't
that old smarty-cat you've got on the job tell you what the pin means?"

"If he did, _you_ don't know," said Iris, talking blindly, for she could
make no guess why the pin was a factor in the case at all.

"Don't I? I'm the only one who does know! Your Stone detective can never
get a cent's worth of good out of that pin without my help. I'm the only
one on earth who knows its secret, or who can turn it to use. So, now,
miss, will you make terms? Wait! You needn't take my word for this. Will
you agree that if you return safe home with your precious pin, and when
your precious detective fails to utilize the pin's secret, you'll let me
disclose it to you, and you'll give me half the value of the jewels?"

"I most certainly will not!"

"Then, listen. I swear to you that you will never find those hidden
jewels. Only I can tell you what the pin means, and how it leads to your
aunt's fortune. Refuse my offer, and neither you nor anyone else will
ever see one tiniest gem of your aunt's hoard."

There was something in the man's voice that carried conviction. Iris was
a good reader of human nature, and a surety of his truthfulness came
over her.

But she was far from willing to accede to his terms.

"I do not entirely disbelieve you," she said, "but I most certainly will
not give you the pin----"

"You said you didn't have it!"

"You interrupted me! I was about to say I will not give it to you, even
after my return home."

"Then we'll take it now! Come on, Bob."

Evading the pointed pistol by a quick jump, Pollock dashed it from Iris'
hand, having really caught her off her guard as she grew interested in
their conversation. The driver, Bob, sprang toward them both, and they
seized Iris between them.

A terrific scream from the girl rang through the silent woods and as the
pistol struck the ground it went off with a fairly loud report.

Iris felt her senses going as the two men clutched her roughly, but
managed, in spite of a restraining hand, to give another loud scream.

And it was these sounds that guided Fibsy's flying feet toward the scene
of conflict.

He had come with Stone in the car that the detective had used to follow
Iris from Pellbrook, but as no one knew which way to look for the
kidnapper's car, they had separated, and Stone with Campbell went
hunting the highroads, while Fibsy, scenting the truth, had dived into
the wood.

He had heard Iris' last scream, also the noise of the automatic, and he
blew a loud blast on a shrill whistle, as he hurried to the girl.

Nearing the three, Fibsy's quick eyes saw the pistol on the ground, and
he snatched it up, and aimed it straight at the masked man.

"Hands up!" he cried, and Pollock turned to see a small but
dauntless-looking boy threatening him.

Again endangered by his own firearm, Pollock stood at bay, raging but
impotent in the face of the steady aim of the boy.

In another moment Stone came, with Campbell, in the Pell car and Iris
breathed freely once more, as she felt stealthily for the pin in her
belt ribbon. It was safe, and she sank down on the ground, satisfied to
let the newcomers take charge of the whole matter.

This they did with neatness and dispatch.

Bidding Fibsy keep the two men covered with the small but efficacious
weapon, Stone and Campbell tied the hands of Pollock and his man Bob,
using the dustrobe from Pollock's car, cut into strips for the purpose.

Then they bundled them unceremoniously into their own car and Stone
himself took the wheel.

Campbell drove Iris home, but Fibsy traveled with his chief.

The boy was thrilling with satisfaction at the way things were turning
out, and not at all vain-glorious over his own part in the affair.

Stone turned the two men over to the police on a charge of kidnapping
and then, elated, returned to Pellbrook.

"How can I be grateful enough to you," Iris cried at sight of the
detective, "for coming to my aid! And Fibsy, too! Oh, what should I have
done if you hadn't arrived just as you did? But how did you know where
we were?"

"I didn't," said Stone; "it was Fibsy's idea that the man would take to
the woods. But your screams and the noise of the revolver led us at the
last. I congratulate you, Miss Clyde, on a pretty narrow escape. Those
men were desperate."

"Oh, I know it! Pollock began by being fairly courteous, but when I
wouldn't give up the pin, he grew rough and rude."

"Miss Clyde, we must look out for that pin. Though, now that the one who
wants it is in safe-keeping himself, there's not so much danger. But he
may have clever assistants. By the way, there's no doubt that this
so-called Pollock is Charlie Young. Hughes is putting him through a
third degree, and I think we need not concern ourselves about him just
now. He won't escape from his present quarters easily."

"This child must go to bed now," said Lucille Darrel, with an
affectionate glance at Iris. "She's had enough to upset any ordinary set
of nerves, and she must rest."

"Yes, Miss Clyde, go now, and I think, if you leave the pin with me I'll
keep it safely, and moreover, to-morrow morning, I'll tell you its
secret."

"Oh, tell me now! Please do, Mr. Stone. What can it be that makes it a
key to the jewels' hiding-place?"

"Not to-night. Indeed, I don't yet know its secret myself, but I hope to
find it out. If I may, I'll stay alone in Mrs. Pell's sitting-room for a
time, until I puzzle it out."

Iris reluctantly went off with Lucille, and the detective locked himself
in the room where Mrs. Pell had met her tragic death.

He had, as his working implements, the pin, a strong magnifying glass, a
thick pad of paper and a lead pencil.

As the first streaks of dawn began to show in the eastern heavens,
Fleming Stone had, as results of his night's work, forty or fifty
scribbled pages of the pad, all of which were in the waste basket, a
small, remaining stub of lead pencil and the pin and the magnifying
glass.

Also he had a heavy heart and a feeling of despair and dejection.

He went to his room for a few hours' sleep before breakfast time and
when he met the family at table, he said shortly, "Finding a needle in a
haystack is child's play compared to the task ahead of us."

He refused to explain until after breakfast, and then, Iris and Lucille
went with him to the sitting room and the door was closed upon them.
Fibsy was there, too, as the boy was never excluded from important
conferences.

Stone locked the door, and then said, impressively, "The dime and pin
bequeathed you by your aunt, Miss Clyde, form a far more valuable
inheritance than any diamond pin I have ever seen. I congratulate you on
the possession of the pin, and I ask you where the dime is."

"Gracious, I don't know," replied Iris. "I threw it out of the window
the day I received it, and I've never thought of it since."

"The pin is a key to the hiding-place of the jewels, as I will explain
fully in a few minutes," Stone proceeded, "but it may be necessary to
recover the dime also, before we can utilize the information given us by
the pin."

Iris looked bewildered, but repeated her statement as to the whereabouts
of the dime.

"And again," Stone said, "the dime may be of no importance in the
matter. I'm inclined to think it is not, because Pollock--or Young
rather--made no effort to gain possession of the dime, did he?"

"No; I think not. That first day he called on me, as Mr. Pollock, and
wanted the pin, I told him he might search the lawn for the dime if he
chose, but I don't think he did so."

"I'll find the dime if it's out in the side yard," Fibsy volunteered.

"Now, I'll tell you what this pin is," resumed Stone, holding up the
mysterious bit of brass. "It contains a cipher--a cryptogram."

"How can it?" asked Iris, blankly.

"On the head of this pin is engraved a series of letters which form a
cipher message telling of the hiding-place of your aunt's jewels."

"On the head of that little pin! Impossible!"

"It does seem impossible, but I assure you that on the surface of the
head of this pin there are thirty-nine letters, which, meaningless in
themselves, form a cipher statement. If we can solve their message----"

"If we _can_!" cried Iris. "We _must_!"

"You bet Mr. Stone will work it out, if it's a cipher," Fibsy declared,
looking with pride and confidence at his employer's face.

"Not so easy, Fibs," Stone returned. "It's a cryptogram which
necessitates another bit of information, a keyword, before it can
possibly be solved. By the way, Miss Clyde, that's what your aunt's
diary means by its reference to the jewels being hidden in a crypt. If
you read her diary carefully, you'll see that she very frequently
abbreviates her words, not only Tues., for Tuesday, and Dec., for
December, but other words, just as the whim took her. So, as we may
conclude, the word crypt stands for cryptogram. And here's the
cryptogram. Now, to explain this seemingly miraculous feat of engraving
thirty-nine letters on the head of an ordinary pin, I'll say that it is
not an unheard-of accomplishment. Several years ago, I saw on exhibition
a pin with forty-five letters to it, and I have seen one or two other
similar marvels. They are done, in every instance, by a most expert
engraver, who has much time and infinite patience and capacity for
carefulness. Indeed, it is an art all by itself, and I doubt if there
are many people in the world who could accomplish it at all."

"Can you show them to me?" Iris asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

"Oh, yes, you can see them with this glass, though even with its aid you
may have difficulty in making out the letters."

Iris looked long and carefully through the powerful lens, and finally
declared that she could discern the letters, but could not read them
clearly.

Stone passed the pin and glass to Miss Darrel, and continued, "I spent
nearly the whole night over it. I have copied off the letters, so now,
if the pin should be stolen, at least we have its secret. Though, I
confess the secret is still a secret."

"Lemme see it," begged Fibsy, as Miss Darrel gave up the effort to make
out the letters at all.

The younger eyes of the boy read them with comparative ease.

"O, I, N, V, L, D, L," he spelled out "Sounds like gibberish, but all
ciphers do that--why, Mr. Stone, the letters are clear enough and you
can read any cipher that ever was made up, I'll bet! You know, you first
see what letter's used most, and that's E----"

"Hold on, Terence, not so fast. That's one kind of a cipher, to be
sure. But this is another sort. These are the letters:

"O I N V L D L Q P S V T H P J R C R N O X X I V B A Y O D I J Y A W W K
M E U

"There's no division into words, which, of course, makes it infinitely
more difficult."

"Aunt Ursula was crazy over ciphers!" exclaimed Iris, "she was always
making them up. But she always called them ciphers, never cryptograms,
or perhaps I might have thought that crypt. was an abbreviation. But
can't you guess it, Mr. Stone?"

"One doesn't guess ciphers, they must be solved. And this one is of that
peculiar kind that needs an arbitrary keyword for its solution, without
the knowledge of which there is little hope of ever getting the answer."

"And you give it up?"

"Oh, no, indeed? I shall solve it, but we must find the word we need to
make it clear."



CHAPTER XVII

THE CIPHER


"And how would the dime help, if we had it?" Iris pursued the subject.

"I'm not at all sure that it would," Stone replied, "but there must be
some hint on it as to the keyword. I tried an ordinary dime, thinking
the word we need might be 'Liberty' or 'United' or 'America,' But none
of those would work. I tried to think out a way where the date on the
dime would help----"

"But you don't know the date!"

"No; but I tried to find a way where a date would apply, but I can't
think figures are needed, it's a _word_ we must have."

"Words on dimes are all alike," suggested Lucille.

"Yes, but suppose a word had been engraved on this particular dime as
these letters are engraved on the pin."

"Aunt Ursula would have been quite capable of such a scheme," Iris
averred, "for she had most ingenious notions about puzzles and ciphers.
Sometimes she would offer me a bill of large denomination, or a check
for a goodly sum, if I could guess from the data she gave me what the
figures were."

"And did you?"

"Never! I have no head for that sort of thing. It made my brain swim
when she finally explained it to me."

"And yet I can't think the dime is necessary for the solution of this
cryptogram," Stone went on, "or Young would have tried to get that also.
However, now we have the man himself, he must be _made_ to give up
whatever knowledge he possesses."

"He won't," Iris said, positively.

Fibsy was poring over the string of letters, which he had copied from
Stone's paper.

"That's so, F. S." he said, blinking thoughtfully, "there aren't enough
duplicates of any letter to mean E. This is a square alphabet with a key
word, sure."

"Good for you, Terence!" and Stone smiled approvingly. "You're a real
genius for ciphers! Now, where's the key word to be looked for?"

"On that paper Mrs. Pell left to Mr. Bannard," and Fibsy's eyes sparkled
at the idea that suddenly sprang to his brain. "Why, of course, Mr.
Stone! I didn't know I was going to say that, till it just came of
itself. But, don't you see? She left the pin to Miss Clyde, and the
receipt to Mr. Bannard and it takes them both to solve the cipher!"

"And that receipt was stolen by the man who murdered Ursula Pell!" said
Miss Darrel; "he must have known its value!"

"It may be you've had an inspiration, Fibsy," conceded Stone, "and it
may be the word is not on that receipt after all. But we must use every
effort to get the paper and, also, to find that dime. It may well be a
word is engraved on the coin, in the same microscopic letters as these
on the pinhead. We must try both means of solution. Will you hunt the
dime, Fibs?"

"Sure, but I'll bet the word is on the paper. Else why'd the old lady
say that Mr. Bannard would find that receipt of interest to him? And,
too, as she left the jewels to two heirs, fifty-fifty, it stands to
reason part of the means of finding them should be given to each party."

"That's mere conjecture," Stone said, "but we'll look up both. I've
worked hours over the cipher, and I've proved to my own satisfaction
that it cannot be solved without the knowledge of the one word needed.
It's like the combination of a safe, you have to know the word or you
can never open the door."

"Tell me a little about it, just what you mean by key word," begged
Lucille, "I know nothing of ciphers."

"I make it out that this cryptogram is built on what we call the
Confederacy Cipher," Stone informed her. "It is a well known plan and is
much used by our own government and by others. It is the safest sort of
a cipher if the key word is carefully guarded. To make it clear to you,
I will put on this paper the alphabet block."

Stone took a large sheet of paper, and wrote the alphabet straight
across its top. He then wrote the alphabet straight down the left hand
side. He then filled in the letters in their correct rotation until he
had this result

  A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
  B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A
  C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B
  D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C
  E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D
  F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E
  G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F
  H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G
  I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H
  J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I
  K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J
  L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K
  M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L
  N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M
  O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N
  P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O
  Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P
  R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q
  S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R
  T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S
  U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T
  V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U
  W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V
  X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W
  Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X
  Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y
  A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

"The way to use this," he explained, "is to take a keyword--let us say,
Darrel. Then let us suppose this message reads, 'The jewels are hidden
in ----.' Of course, I'm only supposing this to show you our
difficulties. I write the message and place the code word, or keyword
above it, thus:

  "Dar relDar rel Darrel Da
   The jewels are hidden in

"we repeat the keyword over and over as may be necessary. Then we take
the first letter, D, and find it in the line across the top of our
alphabet square, and the letter under D, which is T we find in the left
hand perpendicular line. Now trace the D line down, and the T line
across, until the two meet, which gives us W. This would be the first
letter of the cipher message if the key word were Darrel, and the
message like our suggested one. But the first letter of the cipher we
have to solve is O, and no possible amount of guessing can go any
further unless we have the key word Mrs. Pell used to guide us. See?"

"Yes, I see," and Miss Darrel nodded her head. "It's most interesting.
But, as the first letter of the cipher is O, why can't you find O in
your alphabet and go ahead?"

"Because there are twenty-six O's in the square, and it needs the key
word to tell which of the twenty-six we want."

"It's perplexing, but I see the plan," and Lucille studied the paper,
"however, I doubt if I could make it out, even if I had the word."

"Oh, yes, you could, and if we get the dime and the receipt that was in
the pocket-book we can try every word on them both, and I feel sure
we'll get the answer. Now, since Pollock, or Young, rather, was so
desirous of getting the pin, I argue that he had the necessary key word.
Therefore we must get it from him, if we can't get it ourselves, and I
doubt if he'll give it up willingly."

"Of course he has the key word," Iris said, "for he told me he could
find the jewels and no one else could, if I'd hand over the pin. And he
offered to go halves with me! The idea!"

"And yet, if he has the key word, and won't give it up, you can never
find the jewels," observed Stone.

"You don't advise me to accept his offer, do you?"

"No; Miss Clyde, I certainly do not. But there is another phase of this
matter, you know. If Charlie Young stole that paper from the pocket-book
he was the one who attacked your aunt----"

"And Winston Bannard is in jail in his place! Oh, Mr. Stone, let the
jewels be a secondary consideration, get Win freed and Charles Young
accused of the murder--he must be the guilty man!"

"It looks that way," Stone mused; "and yet, Bannard admits he was here
that Sunday morning, and had an interview with his aunt. May he not have
obtained possession of the receipt--oh, don't look like that! Perhaps
his aunt gave it to him willingly, perhaps she told him of its
value----"

"Oh, no," cried Iris, "if all that had happened, Win would have told me.
No; when he discovered that the receipt was left to him and was
especially referred to in the will, he was amazed and disappointed to
find that old pocket-book empty."

"He seemed to be," said Stone, but his manner gave no hint of accusation
of Bannard's insincerity.

"Mr. Bannard, he ain't the murderer," declared Fibsy; "and that Young,
he ain't neither. Because--how'd they get out?"

"How did the murderer get out, whoever he was?" countered Stone.

"He didn't," said the boy, simply.

It was soon after that, that Hughes came to Pellbrook to report
progress.

"That Charlie Young," he said, "he's a queer dick."

"Will he talk?" asked Stone.

"Talk? Nothing but! He tells the most astonishing things. He vows he's
in cahoots with Winston Bannard."

"That isn't true!" Iris cried out "Win isn't guilty himself, of course,
but he isn't mixed up with a man like Charlie Young, either!"

"Young says," Hughes went on, "that the note asking for the pin is in
Bannard's disguised writing. He says that Bannard put him up to
kidnapping Miss Clyde and getting the pin from her so they two could get
the jewels and----"

"What utter rubbish!" Iris said, disdainfully. "Do you mean that Mr.
Bannard wanted to get the jewels away from me? And have both his share
and my own? Ridiculous!"

"It seems, Miss Clyde," Hughes stated, "that Young has part of some
directions or something like that, as to where to find the jewels; and
he made it up with Bannard to get the pin, which he claims is a key to
their hiding-place, and the two men were to share the loot."

"I never heard such absurdity!" Iris' eyes blazed with anger. "Mr.
Stone, won't you go and interview this Young, and tell him he lies?"

"I'll assuredly interview him, Miss Clyde, but suppose Mr. Bannard did
have that paper--that receipt----"

"He didn't! Why, if he had, why would he confer with that bad man? Why
not by means of his paper, which is, you know, lawfully his, and my pin,
which was bequeathed to me, why not, those two things are all that is
necessary, find the jewels by their aid?"

"That's the point," Stone said. "It does seem as if Young possesses some
information of importance."

"Well," Iris went on, angrily, "now they've got the two of them there,
why can't you confront Winston with Young and let them tell the truth?"

"Perhaps they won't," Hughes put in, "you know, Miss Clyde, we didn't
arrest Mr. Bannard without thinking there was enough evidence against
him to warrant it."

"You did! That's just what you did! There wasn't any evidence--that is,
none of importance! Mr. Stone, you don't think Win guilty, do you?"

Here Iris broke down, and shaking with convulsive sobs she let Lucille
lead her from the room.

"Of course she's upset," Hughes said, with sympathy in his hard voice.
"But she's got trouble ahead. I think she's in love with Winston
Bannard----"

"Oh, _do_ you!" chirped Fibsy, unable to control his sarcasm. "Why, what
perspicaciousness you have got! And you are quite right, Mr. Hughes,
Miss Clyde is so much in love with that suspect of yours that she can't
think straight. Now, looky here, Mr. Bannard didn't kill his aunt."

"Is that so, Bub? Well, as Mr. Dooley says, your opinion is interestin'
but not convincin'."

"All right, go ahead in your own blunderin' way! But how did Mr. Bannard
get out of the locked room?"

"Always fall back on that, son! It's a fine climax where you don't know
what to say next! I'll answer, as I always do, how did any other
murderer get out of the room?"

"He didn't," said Fibsy.

"Oho! And is he in there yet?"

"Nope. But I can't waste any more time on you, friend Hughes, I've
sumpthing to attend to. Mr. Stone, I'll go and get that dime now, shall
I?"

"Go ahead, Fibs," Stone returned, absently, "and I'll go along with you,
Hughes, and see if I can make anything out of your new prisoner."

Fibsy went first in search of Sam, and having found that
defective-minded but sturdy-bodied lad, undertook to inform him as to
their immediate occupation.

"See," and Fibsy showed Sam a dime, "you find me one like that in the
grass, and I'll give you two of 'em!"

"Two--two for Sam!"

"Yes, three if you find one quick! Now, get busy."

Fibsy showed him how to search in the short grass of the well-kept lawn,
and he himself went to work also, diligently seeking the dime Iris had
flung out of the window in her irritation.

While Sam lacked intellect, he had a dogged perseverance, and he kept on
grubbing about after Fibsy had become so weary and cramped that he was
almost ready to postpone further search until afternoon.

They had pretty well scoured the area in which the flung coin would be
likely to fall, and just as Fibsy sang out, "Give it up, Samivel, until
this afternoon," the lad found it.

"Here's dime!" he cried, picking it from the grass. "Sammy find it all
aloney!"

"Good for you, old chap! You're a trump! Hooray!"

"But give Sammy dimes--two--three dimes."

"You bet I will! Here--here are five dimes for Sammy!"

Eagerly the innocent received the coins, and scampered away, having no
further interest in the one he had found.

Fibsy examined the dime, but could see no engraving on it, nor any
letters other than those the United States Mint had put there.

The date was 1892, if that meant anything.

Carefully wrapping it in a bit of paper, Fibsy stowed it in his pocket
and went into the house to await Fleming Stone's return.

And when Stone did return, it required no great discernment to see that
he was dejected and discouraged.

He received the dime with a smile of hearty approval, but it was quickly
followed by a reappearance of the distressed frown that betokened
non-success.

"What's up, Mr. Stone?" Fibsy inquired.

"Not my luck," was the reply; "Fibs, we're up against it."

"Let her go! What's the answer?"

"Well, that Young is a hard nut to crack."

"Not for you, F. S."

"Yes, for me, or for anybody. He's got a perfect alibi."

"Always distrust the 'perfect alibi.' That's one of the first things you
taught me, Mr. Stone."

"I know it, Fibs, but this alibi is unimpeachable."

"A peach of an alibi, hey?"

"That, indeed! You remember Joe Young, over at East Fallville?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

"Well, he says that his brother, Charlie Young, was at his house to
dinner on that Sunday that Mrs. Pell was killed. He says Charlie arrived
about half-past twelve, and he staid there until after four o'clock.
Says they were together all that time. Now, that man Joe Young, is, I am
sure, an honest man. Besides, his story is verified by his wife. Of
course, Charlie Young declares he was at his brother's during those
hours, and in the face of all the corroboration I can't disbelieve it.
But, granting that alibi, who is left to suspect but Winston Bannard?"

"How'd Young catch onto all the pin and dime and receipt business,
anyway?" asked Fibsy, with seeming irrelevance.

"I don't know, I'm sure."

"There's something back of that," and Fibsy wagged a sagacious nod.

"Maybe. But whatever's back of it may incriminate Young to the extent of
trying to get the pin from Miss Clyde, perhaps even having stolen the
receipt from Bannard, but it positively lets him out of any implication
in the murder."

"Oh--I don't know."

"Why, child, if he was really at Joe Young's house from noon till four
o'clock, how could he have been here at the time Mrs. Pell was killed?"

"He couldn't." Fibsy was taciturn, but his knitted brow told of deep
thought.

"I got a hunch, Mr. Stone, that's all I can say for the minute--it
mayn't be right, and then again it may, but--I got a hunch!"

"All right, Fibs, work it out your own way. But remember, that alibi
stands. I can see a leak in a story as quickly as the next man, but that
Joe Young is honest as the day, and his wife is too. And when they
assert--we telephoned them, you know--when they assert that Charlie
Young was there at that time, I believe he was."

"I believe it, too, Mr. Stone. Now, what about that dime?"

Fleming Stone took his strong magnifying-glass and studied the coin.

"Nothing on it, Fibs, except what belongs there. It might have been, as
I hoped, that the keyword was one of these words that are stamped on,
but I tried them all, any dime was all right for that. This particular
ten-cent piece has no distinguishing characteristics that I can see.
The date is of no help, I think, for unless I'm altogether wrong as to
the type of cipher, figures are not usable. But I'll keep it safe until
I'm sure it's no good."

"All right, Mr. Stone. Now, I guess I'll work on my hunch! Wanta help?"

"Yes, if it isn't beyond my power."

"Oh, come now," and Fibsy blushed scarlet at the realization that he had
seemed to plume himself on his own cleverness, "but here's the way I'm
goin' about it. Say I'm the murderer. Say that door's locked on this
side." They were alone in Mrs. Pell's sitting room.

"Let's lock it, to help along the local color," suggested Stone, and he
did so.

"Yes, sir. Now--but say, Mr. Stone, wait a minute. What became of those
ropes?"

"Ropes?"

"Yes, that the murderer bound her ankles with and her wrists. Weren't we
told that there were marks on her wrists and ankles where she'd been
bound with ropes?"

"Yes, well, the murderer took those away with him."

"Did he 'bring 'em with him?"

"Probably."

"Then it wasn't Mr. Bannard. If he killed his aunt, which he didn't, he
never came up here with a load of ropes and things! But never mind that,
now. Say I'm the murderer. I've attacked the old lady and I've got the
paper I wanted, and all that. Now, how do I get out!"

Fleming Stone watched the boy, fascinated. Absorbed in the spirit of his
imagined predicament, Fibsy stood, his bright eyes darting about the
room, as if really in search of a means of exit.



CHAPTER XVIII

SOLUTION AT LAST


"I am here," he muttered, "I have killed her, or, at least, she is
dying--lying there on the floor, dying--I have to get out before the
servants break in--I can't get out, there's no way I can get out. Mr.
Stone, he _didn't_ get out, because----"

"Because he wasn't in!" interrupted Fleming Stone, excitedly. "Oh, Fibs,
do _you_ see it that way too?"

"Sure I do! Fancy anybody untyin' a lot o' ropes, and freein' the lady
and makin' a getaway, ropes and all, in two or three minutes, and
besides, he _couldn't_ get out!"

Fibsy stated this as triumphantly as if it were a new proposition. "The
upset table," he went on, "the smashed lamp, with its long, green cord,
the poor lady's dress open at the throat----"

"Yes," Stone nodded, eagerly, "yes,--and I daresay she had lace frills
at her wrists and neck----"

"Of course she did! Oh, the plucky one!"

And then the two investigators put their heads together and
reconstructed to their own satisfaction the whole scene of Mrs. Pell's
tragic death.

"I'll go right over to see Young again," Stone said, at last, "and you
skip around to see Mrs. Bowen; she'll tell you more than Miss Clyde
can."

"Of course she will, and the dominie, too."

After a long argument, Fleming Stone persuaded Young that it would
really be better for him to tell the truth, as to his movements on that
fatal Sunday, than to persist in his falsehoods.

Stone did not tell the prisoner of his brother's confirmation of his
unimpeachable alibi, but he told him that he was sure he did not murder
Mrs. Pell.

"However," Stone said, "unless you tell the truth about her death, you
will not only be suspected but convicted." And, finally, seeing it was
his best hope, Young told his story.

"I went to the house about half-past eleven Sunday morning," he stated,
"everybody had gone to church, and the old lady was there alone."

"What did you go for?"

"To get that receipt and the pin."

"Why those two things?"

"I had reason to think that they meant the discovery of her great hoard
of jewels. I'm telling you all, for I want to prove that I not only did
not kill the lady, but had no thought or intention of doing so."

"You took ropes along to tie her with?"

"Hardly that. I had some strong twine, as I thought she might prove
fractious, and I was determined to get the pin and paper."

"How did you ever know about those things?"

"My uncle made the pin--engraved it, I mean. He was a marvelously expert
engraver in the firm of Craig, Marsden & Co. After his death I came
across a memorandum that gave away the secret. Not the solution of the
cipher, exactly, he didn't know that himself. But a statement that he
had engraved the pin for Mrs. Pell, and that, with the receipt for the
work itself, it formed a direction as to where the jewels were hidden."

"And you demanded these things of her?"

"Yes, I told her the jewels belonged partly to my uncle."

"Did they?"

"No; not exactly, though Mrs. Pell had promised him some small stones,
and I'm not sure she gave them to him."

"Go on, tell it all."

"I'm willing to, for my game is up, and I want to get away from a
murder charge! My heavens, I'd never think of _killing_ anybody!"

"Wait a minute, you say you reached the house about eleven-thirty. How
did you come?"

"I was in my little car. I left that in the woodland road."

"And that's when Sam saw you."

"I suppose so. I didn't see him."

"Did you see Bannard?"

"I did. He was coming away from the house as I started toward it."

"He didn't see you?"

"No, I took good care of that."

"Then he did go away at nearly noon, and he was on his way down to New
York when he stopped at the Red Fox Inn."

"Yes, his story is all true. I fixed up the Inn people to put it the
other way, because I feared for my own skin."

"You _are_ a fine specimen! Well, go on."

"Well, I was bound to get that pin. I asked Mrs. Pell for it, and she
laughed. She wasn't a bit afraid of me. Plucky old thing! I _had_ to tie
her while I hunted around! She was ready to scratch my eyes out!"

"And you beat her--bruised her!"

"No more than I had to. She struggled like a wildcat."

"And you upset the table in your scrap?"

"We did not! Nor smash the lamp. Nor did I dash her to the floor. I'm
telling you the exact truth, because there's so much seeming evidence
against me that I'm playing safe. I searched all the room, and I found
the paper, but I couldn't find the pin."

"You cut out her pocket?"

"I did, but I didn't tear open her gown at the throat, nor did I fling
her to the floor to kill her on the fender. I finally untied her and
went away, leaving her practically unharmed, save for a few bruises.
Why, man, she was at dinner after that, with guests present."

"And where were you?"

"I went right over to my brother's--I suppose you won't believe this,
you'll think he's standing by me to save my life--but it's true. I
reached Joe's by half-past twelve, and I staid there till four or so.
There was nobody more surprised than I to hear of Mrs. Pell's murder! I
left that woman alive and well. The slight bruises were nothing, as is
proved by her presence at the dinner table."

"I can't see why she didn't tell of your visit."

"She was a very peculiar woman. And she had it in for me! I think she
felt that she could get me and punish me with more surety by biding her
time till she could see her lawyer, or somebody like that. It seems to
me in keeping with her peculiar disposition that she kept my attack on
her a secret, until she chose to reveal it!"

"Mr. Young, I wouldn't believe this strange story of yours, but for your
brother's statements and my absolute conviction of your brother's
honesty. Both he and his wife tell a staightforward tale of your arrival
and departure on that Sunday, which exactly coincides with your own. And
there is other corroboration. Now, you are held here, as you know, for
other reasons; kidnapping is a crime, and not a slight one, either."

"I know it, Mr. Stone, and I'll take my punishment for that, but I'm not
guilty of murder. I was possessed to get hold of that pin. I planned
clever schemes to get it, but they all went awry, and I became
desperate. So, when I found a chance, I took it. I did Miss Clyde no
real harm, and I was willing to go halves with her. The day I had two
friends take her to my brother's house, he being away for the day, she
was in no danger, and at but slight inconvenience. Flossie, as Miss
Clyde will tell you herself, was neither rude nor ungracious."

"Never mind all that, now, give me the receipt."

Young hesitated, but a warning scowl from Stone persuaded him, and with
a sigh he handed over what was without doubt the receipt in question.

"This is Winston Bannard's property," said the detective, "and you do
well to give it up."

There was much to be done, but Fleming Stone was unable to resist the
temptation to go home at once and work out the cryptogram, if possible,
by the aid of the receipt.

The paper itself was merely a bill for the engraving on the pin. The
price charged was five hundred dollars, and the bill was receipted by
J. S. Ferrall, who, Young had said, was the man who did the engraving.

There were various words on the bill, both printed and written. Working
with feverish intensity, Stone tried them one by one, and when he used
the word Ferrall as a keyword, he found he had at last succeeded in his
undertaking.

Beginning thus:

  FERRALLFERRALLFERRALL
  OINVLDLQPSVTHPJRCRNOX

he pursued his course by finding F in his top alphabet line. Running
downward until he struck O, he noted that was in the cross line
beginning with J. J, therefore was the first letter of the message. Next
he found E at the top, and traced that line down to I, which gave him E
for his second letter. Going on thus, he soon had the full message,
which read:

  "Jewels all between L and M. Seek and ye shall find."

This solved the cipher, but was far from being definite information.

In a conclave, all agreed that the message was as bewildering as the
cipher itself.

Mr. Chapin could give no hint as to what was meant. Neither Iris nor
Lucille Darrel could imagine what L and M stood for.

"Seems like a filing cabinet or card catalogue," suggested Stone, but
Iris said her aunt had not owned such a thing.

"Well, we'll find them," Stone promised, "having this information, we'll
somehow puzzle out the rest."

"Look in the dictionary or encyclopedia," put in Fibsy, who was scowling
darkly in his efforts to think it out.

"You can't hide a lot of jewels in a book!" exclaimed Lucille.

"No; but there might be a paper there telling more."

However, no amount of search brought forth anything of the sort, and
they all thought again.

"When were these old things hidden?" Fibsy asked suddenly.

"The receipt is dated ten years ago," said Stone, "of course that
doesn't prove----"

"Where'd she live then?"

"Here," replied Iris. "But I've sometimes imagined that she took her
jewels back to her old home in Maine to hide them. Hints she dropped now
and then gave me that impression."

"Whereabouts in Maine?"

"In a village called Greendale."

"Her folks all live there?"

"I think her parents did----"

"What are their names? Did they begin with L or M?"

"No; both with E. They were Elmer and Emily, I think."

"Whoop! Whoop!" Fibsy sprang up in his excitement, and waved his arms
triumphantly. "That's it! L and M means El and Em! Elmer and Emily!"

"Absurd!" scoffed Lucille, but Iris said, "You're right! Terence, you
are right! That would be exactly like Aunt Ursula! And the jewels are
buried between their two graves in the old Greendale cemetery! I dimly
remember some things Auntie said, or sort of hinted at, that would just
prove that very thing!"

"It sounds probable," Stone agreed, and Mr. Chapin said it was in his
mind, too, that Mrs. Pell had hinted at Maine as her hoarding place,
though he had partially forgotten it.

"But this is merely surmise," Stone reminded them, "and while it may be
the truth, yet is it not possible that investigation will only give us
further directions or more puzzles to work out?"

"It is not only possible but very probable," said Mr. Chapin. "I know my
late client's character well enough to think that she made the discovery
of her hoard just as difficult as she could. It was a queer twist in her
brain that impelled her to play these fantastic tricks. Moreover, I
can't think she would trust that fortune in gems to the lonely and
unprotected earth of a cemetery."

"That's just what she would do," Iris insisted. "And really, what could
be a safer hiding-place? Who would dream of digging between two old
graves unless instructed to do so? And who could know of these secret
and hidden instructions?"

"That's all so, Miss Clyde," Stone agreed with her. "I think it a
marvellously well chosen place of concealment, and I am inclined to
think the jewels themselves are there. But it may not be so. It may be
we have further to look, more ciphers to solve. But, at least we are
making progress. Now, who will make a trip to Maine?"

"Not I!" and Iris shook her head. "I care for the fortune, of course,
but it is nothing to me beside the freedom of Mr. Bannard. I hope, Mr.
Stone, that Charlie Young's confession of how he bruised and hurt poor
Aunt Ursula proves Win's innocence and----"

"Not entirely, Miss Clyde. You see, we have his proof that Mr. Bannard
left this house at half-past eleven, or just before Young arrived, but
that won't satisfy the police that Mr. Bannard did not return at three
o'clock or thereabouts."

"But he was on his way to New York then."

"So he says; but the courts insist on proof or testimony of a
disinterested witness."

"But surely someone can be found who saw Win between the time he lunched
at the inn, and the time he reached his rooms in New York."

"That's what we're hoping, but we haven't found that witness yet."

"Well, anyway," Iris pursued, "the people who saw him at the inn--at
what time?"

"At about half-past twelve or so, I think."

"Well, their word proves that Win wasn't hidden here while we were at
dinner, as some have suspected!"

"That's a good point, Miss Clyde! Now, if we can find a later
witness----"

"But who did commit the murder?" asked Lucille. "You've put that Young
out of the question, now, Lord knows I don't suspect Win Bannard, but
who did do it?"

"And how did he get out?" added Fibsy, with the grim smile that often
accompanied that unanswerable question.

"He must be found!" Iris exclaimed. "I told you at the outset, Mr.
Stone, that I want to avenge Aunt Ursula's death as well as find the
fortune she left."

"Even if suspicion clings to Mr. Bannard?"

"He didn't do it! All the suspicion in the world can't hurt him, because
it isn't true! I shall free him, if necessary, by my own efforts! Truth
must prevail. But more than that I want the murderer found. I want the
mystery of his exit solved. I want to know the whole truth, and after
that, we'll go to dig for the treasure. If no one knows of the meaning
of the cipher message but just us few, no one else can get ahead of us,
and dig before we get there. Please, please, Mr. Stone, let the jewels
wait, and put all your energies toward solving the greater mystery of
Aunt Ursula's death."

"A strong point in favor of Mr. Bannard," Stone said, thoughtfully, "is
the fact of the clues that seemed to incriminate him. If he had been a
murderer, would he have left the half-smoked cigarette, so easily traced
to him? Would he have gone off with a check, drawn that very day, in his
pocket?"

"And the paper! He left that!" exclaimed Lucille.

"No," said Stone, "he didn't leave that. Young left that."

"How do you know?"

"Because Young was staying at a boarding-house up in Harlem, and the New
York paper, still unfolded, had in it a circular of a Harlem laundry.
That's why I remarked to Terence that the man who left that came from
near Bob Grady's place, which is a saloon near the laundry in question.
That paper never came from the locality where Bannard lives."

"And that proved Mr. Young's presence," Fibsy said. "Just as the
cigarette proved Mr. Bannard's. Now neither of those men would have left
those clues if they had murdered the lady."

"I've always heard that a murderer does do just some such thoughtless
thing," remarked Chapin.

"This murderer didn't," and Fibsy shook his head. "When you goin' to
tell 'em, Mr. Stone?"

"Is Mrs. Bowen coming over?"

"Yes, sir, and here she comes now."

The minister's wife came hurrying into the room, and stared at the
detective.

"You sent for me, Mr. Stone? I don't know anything--about----"

"Nothing that seems to you important, perhaps. But, please, answer a few
simple questions. Did Mrs. Pell wear lace frills at her wrists and
throat at dinner that Sunday you were here? I've asked Miss Clyde, and
she can't remember."

"Yes, sir, she did. I recollect I had never seen her wearing such full
and elaborate ones before."

"Did you notice anything else peculiar about her attire?"

"Only a spot of blood on the instep of her white stocking."

"Did you make any mention of it?"

"No; I thought at the time a mosquito had bitten her. But afterward I
heard it remarked at the inquest that her ankles had been tied and cut
by cords until they bled a little. I can't see how that could have
happened before dinner."

"That's just when it did happen. I think, my friends, that I will now
tell you what I am positive is the truth of this matter, though it will
at first seem to you incredible. Will you let me reconstruct the whole
day, as far as I can. Mrs. Pell was on her verandah, when her niece and
her servants went to church. Soon after Winston Bannard came. They went
into Mrs. Pell's sitting room, and she willingly gave her nephew a check
for a large amount. Bannard went away, leaving behind a half-burned
cigarette, but nothing else that we know of. Immediately came Charlie
Young. He entered Mrs. Pell's sitting room, and found her there alone.
The house doors were all open. He demanded the pin, and, he threatened
her and finally he used rough treatment. He cut out her pocket in his
desperate determination to secure the pin and the receipt, which later
he found in the old pocket-book.

"He tied her in a chair, that he might better make undisturbed search,
and finally went away, taking with him the cords with which he had bound
her, the receipt and such moneys as he had found about the room, and
leaving behind his New York paper. Then, left bruised and hurt, Mrs.
Pell, instead of following the procedure of the usual woman, pulled
herself together, and, angry and indignant, told no one of her awful
experience, but attended the dinner table and entertained her guests as
if nothing untoward had occurred. She did not change her gown but she
added wrist frills to conceal her bruises, and she doubtless failed to
notice the stain on her stocking.

"Then, after dinner, after the guests departed and Miss Clyde had gone
to her own room, Mrs. Pell went into her sitting room, to rest and
perhaps to plan vengeance on her assailant. But weak from shock, perhaps
ill and dizzied, she stumbled over that long cord that is attached to
the table lamp, upset lamp and table, and herself fell and hit her head
on the fender. Doubtless she herself pulled open the neck of her gown as
she gasped her last. She called out for help, and cried 'Thieves!' in a
dazed remembrance of the attack that had been made on her by the thief.
She locked the door, of course, when she first entered the room. I'm
told that was her invariable custom of a Sunday afternoon. Then, after
the poor lady screamed out with her dying breath, the servants came and
were forced to break in the door to effect an entrance."

"That's it, all right, and it all checks up," said Fibsy, solemnly.
"Cause why? Cause there ain't any other explanation that'll fit all the
circumstances."

Nor was there. It did all check up. Further evidence was sought and
found. Witnesses proved the truth of Bannard's declarations. Sam
identified Young as the man he had seen prowling round in the woods that
morning, and everything fitted in like the pieces of a picture puzzle.

There was no way for a murderer to escape from that locked room, because
there was no murderer and had been no murder. Young's was not a
murderous assault, though it was enough to earn him his well-deserved
punishment, and the fact that the servants heard the crash of the
overset table and lamp proved that it had not happened at the time of
Young's visit.

No one had chanced to enter Mrs. Pell's sitting-room between the call of
Young and the breaking in of the door, so the ransacked desk and the
opened safe were not discovered.

What had been taken from the safe they never knew, for Young declared
there was nothing in it, and they partially believed him.

But the jewels which were found buried between the graves of Ursula
Pell's parents, Elmer and Emily Pell, were of sufficient value to make
it a matter of little moment what was stolen from the safe.

And Winston Bannard was set free and came home in triumph to the smiling
girl awaiting him.

Only Fleming Stone knew that Win Bannard had been so evasive and
taciturn regarding himself because he feared that if he were freed Iris
might be suspected.

He gave Iris the glory of bringing about his release, and though she
disclaimed it, she whispered to him, "I said I would win for Win! The
only thing that bothered me was that note seemingly in your writing,
though disguised."

"I know," said Bannard, "and I knew somebody did that to make it seem
like me, but I couldn't think who the villain could be."

"It was all a mighty close squeak," Fibsy said, thoughtfully. "I believe
the keynote was struck when Sam told me he had dropped the 'pinny-pin in
the colole! If he hadn't we never would have got anywhere!"

"We wouldn't have then," said Stone, generously, "if Fibsy hadn't
grubbed in the 'colole' for the pinny-pin."

"And found it!" chimed in Bannard. "In recognition of which one Terence
Maguire, Esquire, shall receive, shortly, one diamond pin!"

"Aw, shucks!" said Fibsy, greatly embarrassed at the praise heaped upon
him; "but," he added, "I'd like it a heap!"

And he did.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Diamond Pin" ***

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