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 womenreally 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—whatisthere about that pin? What doyouknow 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."
"Youdid! 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, Iknowthat 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 notsureyou 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-bookfor 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 wantedthe pin, but that was a blind. He was hunting the jewels."
"Well,we'dbetter 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. "Wouldyou?"
"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 commonsense 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,croolglances, 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 tonesvery 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, itmust bevaluable. 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. Hadshe 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 amhere, 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.
"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 justranto 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 apin, 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 cutdiamond, 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, andwhen 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'minclined 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 herskirt 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 whatcouldthey want of it?" repeated Lucille, plaintively. "Just as a surmise, whatcouldthey 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 certainweight, 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 isso 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 murdererdidget 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 wayuphere, not on his wayback, 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 allif 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!
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 whatcanhe want of it?"
"The whole thing istoomysterious!" 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, "butI'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 thecity. 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 wasdetermined 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 Idowant! 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 apencil 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 youknowthat 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 thesecret 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 forcrooks 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.