Classic Audiobook Collection - The Diamond Pin by Carolyn Wells ~ Full Audiobook [mystery]

Episode Date: September 20, 2023

The Diamond Pin by Carolyn Wells audiobook. Genre: mystery Eccentric and wealthy New York widow Ursula Pell loves playing cruel jokes on her guests and particularly on her niece and nephew who are destined to inherit the millions in gems left to her by her late husband. Therefore when she is found brutally murdered in a locked room the morning after a dinner party her niece Iris the most recent victim of Ursula's humiliating pranks is first suspected until all the clues point to her nephew. Where did she stash the gemstones and the much mentioned diamond pin promised Iris. Enter Fleming Stone, famous detective who hopefully can prove the innocence of the nephew, the true value of the diamond pin and discover WHO killed Mrs. Pell. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:20:01) Chapter 02 (00:40:31) Chapter 03 (00:59:53) Chapter 04 (01:17:57) Chapter 05 (01:37:04) Chapter 06 (01:56:31) Chapter 07 (02:16:15) Chapter 08 (02:36:01) Chapter 09 (02:55:23) Chapter 10 (03:14:32) Chapter 11 (03:33:34) Chapter 12 (03:52:21) Chapter 13 (04:11:35) Chapter 14 (04:30:59) Chapter 15 (04:51:03) Chapter 16 (05:09:43) Chapter 17 (05:27:50) Chapter 18 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The Diamond Pin by Carolyn Wells 1. 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 flibbertigibut dress is more than I know. An actress, indeed. No mummer's 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. "'Eursula Pell shook her good-looking grey head "'and glowered at her pretty niece,

"'who was getting into a comfortable, though not elaborate, motor-car. "'I know you didn't propose a aunt, Ursula,' "'returned the smiling girl. "'I thought up the scheme myself, "'and I declined to let you have credit of its origin. "'Discredit, you mean!' "'And Mrs. Pell sniffed hotly. "'Here's some money for the contribution-played, 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's outheld 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 aunts 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 any one chagrined nonplussed or made suddenly to feel ridiculous was to mrs spell 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's whole nature was different from her aunts 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 a 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 bell'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 22 had quite as strong a will and inflexible a determination as her

aunt at 62, 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 to 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 work-basket. 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 booze from dark corners. But servants could always be replaced, and so for that matter could relatives, for Mrs. Bell 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 at Iris, after a year's further endurance, was thinking seriously a 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's 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 of these performances were just what mrs bell wanted so iris roared with laughter and pretended to think it all very funny whereupon mrs bell did the sulking and iris scored so it was not perhaps surprising that the girl concluded to leave her aunt's home and shipped 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 Beryon where they lived were uninteresting, and there were a few visitors from the outside world. Though less than 15 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 Pellbroke, 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 Pelbrook one of the most attractive country places for many miles around. Ursula Pell sat on her veranda quite contendedly gazing over the landscape and thinking about her multitudinous affairs. I suppose 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. Wyn went, but land, you can't keep a young man down. A girl, now, is 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 a 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 anyway? Suppose I give her the pin at once. I'd do it today, I believe, while the notion's on me, if I only had it here. I can get it for 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 Berion I did think one time Wynne might fall in love with her But then he went away and now he never comes up here anymore

I wonder if Iris cares especially for Wynne She never says anything about him but that's no sign one way or that's the other. I'd like her to marry Roger Downing, but she snubs him unmercifully. And he is a little contrived. With Iris's beauty and the fortune I shall leave her, she could marry anybody on earth. I believe I'll take her travelling 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 surprise 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

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 taste in 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 be all 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 peak 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 her. 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 menage,

and all other workers, and there were a good many, were. employed by the day and did not live at Pelbrook. 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 Purdy's 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 veranda 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 tomorrow 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 then the group went into 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. Bell spoke in scornful tones. "'Some of Iris's 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's 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 up 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's 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.

End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 of the Diamond Pin by Carolyn Wells This Lieberbox recording is in the public domain. 2. The Locked Room Ursula Pell leaned back in her chair and shrieked with laughter. She will have stuffed dates and fancy fixings, will she? She cried. I just guess she's had enough of those fallows now.

It quite spoiled her pretty frog. 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 a 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 jewel chalice made him unwilling to disapprove of anything such

an influential hostess might do or say. Iris owe so much to her aunt, the rector said smilingly. Of course she takes such little jest 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 Irish 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. and behesed. 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 and 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,' in Iris's lips set in a straight line of determination, which in conjunction with the ink-stains sent Mrs. Spell off into further peals of hilarity. "'Be careful, Iris,' cautioned Mr. Borristened Mr. Bow. 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. Bell. 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 the 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 tomorrow, 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 anymore 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, fiddled-de-dee, you can get them off with what you 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's sensitive of 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's 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 the 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 the 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 damn fool 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, "'Thinking she's been attacked by thugs,

"'and in a minute she'll be laughing at us.' "'I don't think so,' said Polly dubiously, "'for she well knew her mistress's ways. "'Them yells was too natural.' "'Old Purdy listened his ear against the door. "'I can hear her rustling about a little,' he said. "'And there, that was a faint moan. "'Maybe she's been took with a spell or something.'

"'Let's get the door open anyway,' begged Polly. "'If it's a job. joke, I'll stand for it, but I'll bet you something's happened. What could happen unless she's had a stroke, and if that's it, she wouldn't be calling out thieves? Didn't you say she said that? Yes, as plain as day. Then that proves she's fooling us. How could there be thieves in there and 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 just 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 counted the sun she always says all pulled down count of the sun she always says has em so afternoons. And you well know nobody could get in them windows or out of them. 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, bees, we get laughed at for our pains.

It won't be anything out of 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 doors let us in mrs Pell she urged do now or purdy'll spoil this good door now what's the sense of 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, Miss Bell, come out of 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, Mrs. 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 and 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're sure she's in there? Of course, said Polly. Didn't I hear her screaming? I tell you we got to get in. Joke or no joke, we got to. You're right, said Campbell looking 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 jam and released the door. The sight revealed was overwhelming. The woman 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. The 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 mantle, really a small con-eseled. concealed safe was flung open and was empty. An empty pocketbook lay on one chair and an empty handbag on another.

But these details were lost sight of and 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 helped 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 leaving that air door locked behind him? She was murdered all right, declared Campbell. Look at them bruises on her neck. See, her dresses tore open at the throat. "'What kind of villain could have 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 doornail, poor soul. "'But yes, I suppose it's the proper thing. and we ought to get the crowner and not touch nothing till he comes. The coroner, Iris's eyes stared at him. What for? Well, you see, Miss Iris, it's customary when there's a murder. But she couldn't have been murdered. Impossible. Who could have done it? 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 their empty pocketbook and empty bag. And the way she's been hit. Why, see them marks on her chest? She's fair black and blue, and her skirts tore. Good Lord, cried Polly. Her pockets 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 an accident or self-destruction. Huller 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 ought to call up Mr. Bowen. What say, Miss Iris? "'Mr. Bowen, why?' "'Oh, I don't know. It seems sort of decent, that's all.' "'Very well, do so.' "'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, Prudy's sense of responsibility asserted itself, and he was thoughtful and efficient. "'All of you go out of this room,' he directed, I'll take charge of it till the police get here. This is a mighty strange case, and I can't see any light as to how it could have happened. But it did happen.

Poor Miss Pell is done for. And 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 calm now, Miss Iris. Do be calm,' 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. a quick thinker I am, and I tell you there ain't no way that murderer, for there sure was a murderer, could have got in that room or got out with that door locked. Then she killed herself. No, she couldn't possibly have 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 and out that I know. I've lived in this house too many years to be fooled about its building.

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 sybil. Land, child, how do I know? I ain't no seer. I suppose 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. 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. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of the Diamond Pin by Carolyn Wells. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. 3. The Evidence of the Checkbook. Winston-Bannard's apartments in New York were comfortable, though not luxurious. The Caxston Annex catered to young bachelors who were not millionaires but who liked to live pleasantly, and Bannard had been contentedly escorts 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 Berion, 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 room Sunday evening about seven, he found a telegram and a telephone notice from the hotel office. The latter merely informed him that Barian, 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 Banner dreaded 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 timetable, 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 taxi cab, a barely caught train, and before nine o'clock, Winston Bannard was at the Barian 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. Banner. They're as securely barred as the ones in the bank, and more so. Ever since Mrs. Bell took that room for her treasure room, about eight or ten years ago, they've been protected by still latticework 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. Bernard 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 Pelbrook. 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 someone 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 was. I only came in at seven, and 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 and there with the coroner. Why so late? asked Bannard. What have they been doing all the afternoon? Dr. Lytel came at once, explained Mrs. Bowen. He's her own doctor, you know.

But that coroner Dr. Timkin 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 is the strangest case imaginable, said Coroner Timkin, 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 chappen 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 she was attacked for the purpose of robbery. 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 the 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 confrere investigated the scene of the crime. Gagged, probably, answered Timkin. 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 room all the time after dinner. and, I don't know what time it was when they called me. I seemed 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 must have been about half-past three when I heard her scream, said Polly, or maybe a bit earlier, but not much. I was in the dining-room,

setting the sideboard, writes after dinner, and I heard her holler. And you went to the door at once. Yes, just as quick as 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 for Mrs. Bell? Some, sort of moving around and faintly. moan'ens. But the truth is, we thought she was a fool in us. Fooling you? Yes, sir. Mrs. Pell, she was great for choking. 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 fooling us. Is this true? asked Timkin, 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, 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 that she'd been hurt awful when she was just tricking you. But anyway, sir, me and 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 he opened the door. Not a chance, spoke up Campbell.

We smashed it open, the lock just splintered out of the jam, as you can see for yourself, and we 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 died within a minute or so She was most as warm as in life

And the blood was still aflowing from her head Where she was struck Did you move anything in the room No sir Only so much as was necessary to get round The table that was upset had electric clamp on it Which had a long dangling green cord "'cause it was put in after the regular wiring was done.

"'I cooled up that air cord "'and picked up the pieces of broken glass "'so 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-humoured jest good-humoured jest exclaimed hughes

"'Going some. A jest like that. Spoiling a young girl's pretty Sunday frock.' "'Never mind, Hughes,' reproved Timkin. "'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 legacy she meant to bestow on miss claus she also referred to a jeweled chalice for my church, and 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 today'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 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 Timpkin. 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 case. 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. Chappen stood motionless gazing at the evidences of crime. Got a cigarette? Whispered Hughes to Bannard, and mechanically the young men 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 today, have you, Mr. Bannard? I mean, before you came up this evening.' "'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 favourite 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 today'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 checkbook,

"'this last stub in Mrs. Pell's checkbook shows that she made out to you today "'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-Bannert, 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.'

end of chapter three chapter four of the diamond pin by caroline wells this lebervox recording is in the public domain four timkin 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's ascribed 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 with 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 her 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 almost unlikely said mr chappen shaking his head did mrs bell send any letters for 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 bell to mail a letter to-day went on hughes

no sir none of us have 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 chappen 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 barion can do better than that i suggest getting a worth while 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. Bell, which I happened 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 chapen 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 chapen 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 is no secret entrance to this room. Of that I am

positive. And with the windows barred and those people at the door, as it was broken open, there seems no explanation. Oh, shah, 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 that 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 lean 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 Pelbrook. The big living room was filled with interested listeners who also crowded the hall and drifted into the dining room. The room where Mrs. Spell 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 bell 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, broken 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. Bell 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. Bell 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. Bell's sitting room and Miss Clyde's bedroom directly above it? Why, no, sir, I never heard of such a thing. Absurd? Broken 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's 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 pocketbook

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 Timkin. 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. Bell screams at the moment of her murder. The criminal couldn't have run out and lock 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 very. 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 Timkin. Up Broadway, and along its continuation as far as Red Fox Inn. That's about halfway 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 spent a day in the open. You had your newspaper with you. 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 checkstub seemed 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. Pepp.

"'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 Timkin 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 Timkin. 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 Timkin. Yes, I did. did, replied the clergyman. I suggested it half-gestingly, but when Mrs. Spell 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 minute Mr.'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 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 Pellbroke 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 20 or 25 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 the point of the fender, all meant the desperate speedy work of a double-died 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. End of Chapter 4. Chapter 5 of the Diamond Pin by Carolyn Wells. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. 5. 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. Barion was possessed of only a limited 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 blue coats at the doors of Pelbrook were as interested in the village gossip as the villagers themselves. And though entrance was 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 these 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 those two stated times, the murderer attacked her, man handled 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 Claire. You got any right here? A reporter? No, not a reporter. A 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 will 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 skillful 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 fact.

family. But it's plain to be seen there's no hocus-focus about this thing. It's as simple as 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 involved. But her room is just above this, oh, that's what you're after, a secret connection between this room and Miss Clies 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. Strauss, in fact, do show which way the way the blows. Well, I don't suppose I can be of any help, but if I can call on me. I live in East Falville only 12 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. When Bannard was skulking around in the woods just back of this house. "'Sculking! 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. when Bannard wasn't up here Sunday afternoon? 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 than 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 asked 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 state so at the inquest? "'I wasn't asked, and besides, it was about noon, and old Timkin 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, Wynne 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, suppose some of the servants receive large legacies, and you know how queer Mrs. Bell was. She might well leave a fortune to those purdies. Oh, they didn't do it, and Banner. "'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 Pelbrook, 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, Wyn, 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? 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, wind-bannert, what do you mean? "'Oh, I oughtn't to say that, but truly, Iris, I suppose, of course, you knew where Aunt Ursula kept them. 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 Coenor. 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 brown the jeweller 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 veranda with bannard and they ran into sam tory 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 lacklustre eyes at his questioner. "'Braise 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. No, lots. Saw a 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 today. 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 he's. 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, Brown, 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 Brown was asked concerning his knowledge. Several of the most interested it 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 jeweller's story. But it was of little value. Mr. Brown 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 invaluable stones that he had never seen. He named some diamonds and emerales 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. Brown hadn't the slightest idea where these gems were stored for safekeeping. 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. Brown 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.

End of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 of the diamond pin by Carolyn Wells. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. 6. Lucille. I am Miss Lucille. Daryl. 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 Daryl 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 Pelbrook living room, was positive and unhesitating. Iris chanced to be there alone for the moment, alone, that is, safe for the casket containing the body of Ursula Pel. The great room, set in order for the funeral, was filled with rows of folding chairs, and the oppressive odor of masked 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 Darrell gathered the slim young figure into her embrace. There, there, she soothed. Cry all you want to, poor little girl. She gently smoothed Iris's hair, and together they stood, looking down at the quiet, white face. You loved her so, and Miss Darrell's tone was soft and kind. "'I did,' Iris said, feeling at once that she had found a friend.

"'Oh, Miss Daryl, 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 Daryl.

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's dark eyes stared with fear into the kind ones that met hers, and once 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 travelled 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 darrell 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 darrell 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 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 Darrell 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 Daryl preoccupiedly. When will the services be held? This afternoon at two, it will be a large funeral. Everybody in Bary a new 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 Daryl after a quick, comprehensive glance around 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 Darrell. 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 on earth aunt ursula's diary he exclaimed was it hidden not exactly but old hughes wouldn't let me rummered 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 in i'm glad to have you but iris spoke constrainedly by the way miss darrell 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, when, 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 do. tease her so, but she's such a good-natured little nanny. She stunted as few girls would. I must make it up to her in some way. And another reddit random. Up a stump today 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's 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 Toddy and Helen's babies, who used to pray. De Lord, not make me show bad.

Well, I suppose it's my nature, too. These are late dates, said Bannard running over the leaves. Let's look further back. It was not a yearly diary but a good-sized 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.

Aunt Bannard pointed to a page. The entry ran. Today 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's 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, Wynne, 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 baltoe emerales 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 brown 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'll know all when we'll know all when we're 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 have a know, she gave me an intaglio-topaz for a watchbob. 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 Tuesday. 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, Wyn, 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's handbag today. "'We were going to the village, and when she opened the bag, Mr. Toad jumped out. "'Iris loathed toads, but I must say she took it beautifully. "'I bought her a muff and stole of HUD's 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 when. It was a sort of mania with her. Shah, she could have helped it if she wanted to. Somebody's coming. Put the book away now. That somebody proved to be Miss Darrell, 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 person. 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 Daryl 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 Darrell 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 villages enough to fill the house, and more, too.

Iris heard nothing of the services. Entirely unerved, 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's excitement to a higher pitch, and finally Miss Darrell 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 Darrell, 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 now the reaction has come, you're feverish and ill. Take this, my child, and try to rest quietly. Iris took the soothing draft and fell for a few moments into a troubled slumber. But almost immediately she roused herself and sat bold upright. I didn't kill her, she said, her large dark eyes burning into Miss Daryl'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 Darrell's room in utter silence, Iris watched the bears 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 Darrell spoke softly and in a nod 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 Darrell kept a watchful eye on Iris, but the girl was quite her normal self. Winston Bannard was composed in 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 degrees were altogether valid. As was anticipated, the house and estate of Pellbroke were bequeathed to Miss Lucille Daryl. 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 Purdy's, and a wonderful gold watch with a jeweled bob 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. Brown 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. 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 pocketbook, which is in the upper right-hand compartment of the desk in my sitting-room, and which contains a receipt from Craig, Marsden and Company 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 a 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 entrusted 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.

End of Chapter 6. Chapter 7 of the Diamond Pin by Carolyn Wells. This Lebe of Ox recording is in the public domain. 7. The case against Bannard. It's just this way, said Lucille Daryl 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 Daryl,

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 amend she made. I think yet that somewhere in that diary will find the record of where her jewels are.

I don't, declared Bannard. I have 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 Darrell 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 main 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 diamond-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 and 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, Wynne, 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 Daryl. 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 sellers 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 Darrell, 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 in today, if you like. No, no, don't be some. 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 girlfriend 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 Darrell, 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 today he should begin his real investigations. And the detective made good his promise. He arrived at Pelbrook and announced his determination to make a thorough search of the place, house and grounds. The 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 maybe 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 spell 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 that-i thought that 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 read? refer to its value? Not definitely. She sometimes spoke of the valuable pin that would someday 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 jest that I know all these details. It seems to me now that I ought to have realize from the way she said dime-an pin that she was tricking me. But few people pronounce

diamond with punctilious care. Nearly everybody says diamond. Not in New England, observed Lucille Daryl 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 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 a rather 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 probably 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 Darrell, but we'll have to go through your cellar with a keen search.' "'That's all right,' Miss Darrell 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 aunt 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 up to her inexplicable death no progress had been made toward solving the mystery the coroner's inquest had brought up 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 porpoenas. 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, were a heap forwarder toward finding out the other, see? I see, said Miss Darrell, 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? 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 worthwhile. 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 threw into mrs bell's sitting-room the question is how did he get out after ransacking the room and killing the lady and at least 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 pocketbook 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 pocketbook and all.

Not necessarily, said Bannard, but it's all supposupposed. position. If that's the pocket-book my aunt will to me, it's worthless now. If there is another Florentine pocket-book, I hope I can find it. You see, Miss Daryl, 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 pocketbooks 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 Daryl. "'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 Hugh,

who's declared that all thought of any secret passage from Iris's 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, serie. 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 a 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 accusing me 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 banners 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 barian he overlooked it you can't expect him to be sure about such a minor detail he was sure If Mrs. Bell 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 when 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 pocketbook, 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. End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8 of the diamond pin by Carolyn Wells. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. 8. Rodney Pollack appears. The shock of Bannard's arrest caused the complete collapse of Iris.

Miss Daryl put the girl to bed and sent for Dr. Little. He prescribed only rest and quiet and ordinary care, saying that a nurse was unnecessary as Iris's 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 when, 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 am going to find him and find the jewels and solve the whole mystery. There, there, Iris, Miss Darrell 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 scarce 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 had a woman.

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 Pelbrook on the day of the tragedy. It's this way, Downing expressed it. When 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 for dinner i only caught a glimpse of him and 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 up 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 Daryl. "'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 grey suit with a Norfolk jacket

"'that I've seen him wear before this summer. "'And he had on a light grey tie with a ruby stick pin. "'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 barion in response to iris's 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 all this up he might easily describe clothing that he knew winston possessed without having seen him as he said he had iris looked down 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 wynn 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 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 Darrell'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 grow too fast, Mr. Pollock smiled. a little. My collection is not of rare, beblos 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 know that, as old Dr. Cote 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 mementos 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 disaster, 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 am sorry to say it's impossible as I flung them away and I have 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'm a good. 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 confessed 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 Mementos. At her permission, her visitor fell on his 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, Indiris 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 the spin, 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 bin. I am not a poor man.

Nonsense, I couldn't take money for a few. pin. You're more than welcome to it. And one of those, too, 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. Goodbye, 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 to 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. Bell, "'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 spell 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 underside of my own pin cushion, 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 a little bit. It doesn't matter. There's a 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 Gate Post tonight at ten o'clock. Don't let anybody see you. You will receive the money tomorrow 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.

Ashton. That evening, Iris told Lucille 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 friend's dresses. "'Why, I'm afraid to go there with a gown trimmed with fancy buttons. "'She rips them off when you're not looking. "'It's really a mania with her.

"'Now two men 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's connection with the matter. Hmm, 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 me 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 have 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 gate-post 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 tell you. 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 Darrell's attitude. She had received her inheritance and selfishly took little interest in that of the other heirs. End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of the Diamond Pin by Carolyn Wells. This Libre Fox recording is in the public domain.

Nine. 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 Pelbrook 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. of. Roger Downing had seen Wynne around Pellbroke 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 tricky 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 Berion. 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 event 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 searching 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, and 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 Darrell, 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 electrolyer, 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 back, that had been hitherto unnoticed. Nothing met her eye that seemed important, and she turned from the desk her glance falling on the croton 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 a 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 black-avised 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 left, frightful than a supernatural visitant. The color came back to her white cheeks, and she says 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 have 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 defenseless woman, but I command you to keep your distance. My voice belies me, then, he returned coolly. I'd shoot you quicker in 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's 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 bin 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'm 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 tonight?

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? 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 a 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-defense. Where is it? No, you needn't speak yet, indignant. 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 around them was an ordinary dull old-looking one it was iris's clever play up 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 of 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 veranda. 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, 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 her. herself finally, just as at last slumber came to her. But it's queer that the same mania attacked

two people at the same time. Next day she told Lucille Daryl the story. No, I don't think he was crazy, Miss Daryl 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 diamond 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 a little bit, 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 about that now, Miss Iris, Polly said. I've got her 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 underside of Agnes' pin cushion? Come outside here, and the cook drew Iris out to the kitchen porch. Now, she whispered, don't you talk so free about that pin?

Yes, Miss Iris, I got it, and you can be mighty glad. That's a valuable pin that is, and don't you forget 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 going 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 "'You'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 saying she would. "'She was a law unto herself. "'But anyway, that pins valuable, "'and it don't matter for what reason.

"'So I got it away from Agnes, "'who hasn't a might of right to it and saved it for you. "'Why, Miss Iris, didn't your aunt, time and again, "'say she was going to leave you a little? 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. Let me keep it for you, Miss Iris, dear, won't you? Maybe I will later, Polly. I'll enjoy my valuable possession a while 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 shirt-waist 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.

End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 of the Diamond Pin by Carolyn Wells This Librevox recording is in the public domain 10 Flossy When Iris failed to respond to the summons for dinner Miss Darrell 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 anyone of her household to forget that she was now mistress of Pelbrook, 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 got 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 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 Darrell concluded she had gone off on some sudden and unexpected errand, perhaps to see Winston Bannard. So Miss Darrell 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 son. 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,

except 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 off in agnes what does this all mean why did you take it for agnes and where did she get it well miss darrell 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 "'Noam, 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's 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 Wynne 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 Wynn 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 the heiress at her death. And too, Miss Darrell, 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 codisals 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 dare say 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 acquaintance, 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 Pelbrook at once. When Iris realized that she had been actually kidnapped, her feelings were of anger rather than a fright.

The indignity of the thing loomed above her sense of danger or fear of personal injury. The little car, a landolet, ran smoothly and rapidly, and as soon as they were well away from Pelbrook, 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's 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's cheerful companion. You mind your business and I'll mind mine.

Then she took the covering entirely off Iris's 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 dead. Where am I? Where am I going? And Iris frowned at her. You don't know where you're going, but you're on your way, sang the strange girl, for she was little more than a girl. Now don't he 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, very well. But you call me flossy, won't you? I've no desire to call you anything. Fy, 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.

Oh, ho, of course you do usually. But this is an unusual incident, and 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 cruel, cruel 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 of 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 the 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? Flossy 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 a 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 shirt-waist 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. The 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 and 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 for her 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 80s 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 Flousy 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 shirt-waist, or shall I? Iris looked aghast. Then she concluded it would be best to submit. Will you lock the door? "'Or,' she said haughtily, "'it is locked. We are quite safe from intrusion or interruption. Please proceed.' Iris proceeded.

But as she removed her shirt-waist, she furtively, yet careful that Flossy should see her, glanced at the pin in its frill. She laid the garment on a chair and went on to disrobe with a cold dignity of a queen on the scaffold. Flossie was kind and delicately courteous. "'Not your under-clothing, 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 am 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. End of Chapter 10. Chapter 11 of the Diamond Pin by Carolyn Wells. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. eleven gone again the murder mystery is bad enough said hughes but this disappearance of miss clyde is also alarming there is deep devilty 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 darrell they may be working in collusion began hughes but mr chappan interrupted don't use such an expression Working in collusion implies wrongdoing.

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 coupe 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 a 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 get the pin they had the pin they had the 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 veradium 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 Daryl'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 chaper 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 plate. 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's 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 Darrell. 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 today. 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 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?' "'Farely 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 special 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 Darrell 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 where in 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 an 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 of i don't know what you're getting at said chapen 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 today 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 wait wait exclaimed hugh

use. Suppose a certain weight, Goldsmith's scales, you know, would open a delicately adjusted load 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 have 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 chapen 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 am not afraid if miss darrell 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 you more than you'd think

now i want to go and see when 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 Darrell 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 don't know as they do, but they've got to be looked into. That pin's safe for the present, I think, safer than it be in a bank. That is, unless somebody was looking in the window.

Miss Clyde was mighty careful to draw the shades in the 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 Winn-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 touches aunt for five thousand on Sunday. How's that? Did he really? He really did. And we've more accounts 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? My inquiries I got a foot, and they panned out pretty good. Why, I've got a witness to prove that he stopped at the Red Fox in 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 have a heap to see to. Tell the ladies goodbye for me.

The detective went off and lawyer Chapin, with the privilege of a family friend, went into 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 Daryl 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's inheritance, she won't mind the cost. And if he doesn't succeed, then I'll pay for it. Lucille's spurt. 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 when 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 chapered.

Even a great detective would find this a hard case, I'm sure. But if he fails, Miss Darrell 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 when, 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 become 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 pocketbook 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 Winn 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 safe.' 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. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12 of the Diamond Pin by Carolyn Wells. This Liebervox recording is in the public domain. Twelve. 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 Blue Seal. 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 ante 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 pocketbook she left to 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 Wyn out.

Why should he steal the 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 Wyn 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 tomorrow and I'll be gone several days, but I'll be back as soon as possible and there'll be something doing or all 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 foggy.

"'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 inexplicably. 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 demured. "'But I'd hate to leave here just now. Sam is in 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 Berion than poor Sam.' Agnes blushed but didn't deny it. So Iris went to Chicago alone. She went to a woman's hotel and a staff established herself there. Then she set out in search of the church that Mrs. Pell used to attend. The rector, Dr. Stevenson, 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 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. Stevenson 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. 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 all so 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's story, and after their assurances, the girl went away. Next, she went to the firm of Craig Marsden and Company 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 next. 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 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 Marzen and Company was a large jewelry concern, and probably the receipt in question was for some precious stones or their settings.

Iris boarded a streetcar 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. Fertively 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 collar, 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 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 a 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 their 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 were wasting time and 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 mementos, 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 and Company. 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 sitting, 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 her. 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 cancelled 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 explained. She "'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 have 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 darrell 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.

End of Chapter 12. Chapter 13 of the diamond pin by Carolyn Wells. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Thirteen. Flemingstone comes. Flemingstone 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 Pellbroke, Miss Daryl and Iris being present, also Hughes and the lawyer Chapin. stone had examined the sitting-room where mrs bell 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 pins the thing he said at last everything hinges on that do you think so asked mr chappen it seems to me the pins a blind a decoy and the people hunting it are really after something else of intrinsic value flemingstone looked at the lawyer with a courteous impatience no mr chappen 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 and the hand-bag 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 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 mastermind 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 has 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 is 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 chapen my theory regarding the pin while doubtless the truth is as yet uncertain now another and equally great problem is that of the 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 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 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 two 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

a stall. If you can solve that, we 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 hues. 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've 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 have encountered, but I shall do my best. And I want the cooperation 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 also, Miss Daryl, 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 him, 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, Terrence 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 around. We'll be friends, Terrence, said. said Iris, who felt sorry for his embarrassment and who pleasantly offered her hand. Thank you, ma'am, and will you please call me Phippsy? It makes me feel more at home, like. Fipsy? What a funny name, because you tell Fibbs? Yes, em, how'd you guess? The laughing eyes met hers and the boy's stubby paw touched Iris's 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. "'Let me see the room,' whispered Fibsey with a pleading look at Flemingstone. "'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 Fibsey'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 such a side as of no consequence, while Fleming Stone washed 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 rank the hard out of the mystery you can just bet. Of course, how'd the murderer get out is easy enough to sit around and say, like a flock of ferrets. The thing to do is find out how he did get out. Phipsey stood hand in pockets in front of the mantle, looking down at the floor. Here's where she was lying, he asked gravely, and Iris nodded her head. Leaning down, Phipsey looked up the chimney and Hughes laughed out.

Back, number, he said, looking bored. Don't you suppose we've investigated that chimney business? A monkey couldn't get up that little flu, let alone an able-bodied man. "'That's so, my buckle.' And Phibsy 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 have been opened and folded up again, offered Fipsy. 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 Fipsy. Where's this Mr. Bannard live? In Bachelor Apartments in New York, said Iris. I mean where in New York? The boy persisted. West 44th Street. He ain't the murderer? And Fipsy handed the newspaper that he had been glancing over back to Hughes. You, darling, cried Iris excitedly, grasping Fipsy's two hands.

Of course he's. isn't, but how do you know? Don't go too fast, Phibs, said Flemingstone, smiling with understanding at the boy. Shall we say the real murderer lives somewhere near Bob Grady's place? Yes, sir, yes. Oh, 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 Flemingstone 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 bloodstain on the brass knob and her head was right by it. The poker is two feet away.' "'Might have been used all the same,' and Phippsy stared at it. "'How some ever 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, Fibsey returned quietly. So far, they ain't nothing to implicate Mr. Bannard. Something 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. F.S. all over, cried Fipsy admiringly. puts his finger on the very

spot. And me a babbling foolishness about finding how the chap he 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 Fibsey's humble acceptance. acceptance of Hugh's reproof had no tinge of irony. The boy was not conceded or bumpious 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 McGuire desired. And then, Phibsey 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 behavior, 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 all so 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 new 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. Phippsy took his way to the garage and began a desultory conversation with Campbell, the chauffeur. Who's the college professor? He asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder

at a long, lank figure hovering toward them. him he's sam 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's half-brother and he's half-witted hmm 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 chewing 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 Phibsi put a paper package in it. Wait a minute, he went on, leading Sam out of ear-shot of the garage.

What's that song I heard you sing in 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, Phibsy applauded. Would you learn that, Sam of L? Long ago, baby days. And why do you sing it today?

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 do you steal it from? From chair, from old Mr. Chair. Yes, of course. And Phipsy's heart beat fast. The big fat. Mr. Chair? Yes, big fat

Mr. Chair. In Mrs. Pell's room? Yes, yes, in Missy Pell's room. But Phipsy began to think the clouded intellect was merely repeating words spoken to it and he asked, Who put the 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 phipsy held his breath lest he disturbed the evident effort the poor lad was making to remember missy iris sam said at last yes missy iris missy iris missy yes missy there there phy 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 Phibsey set to work To turn the poor befuddled mind In another direction And after a time he succeeded End of Chapter 13

Chapter 14 of the Diamond Pin By Carolyn Wells This Librevox recording is in the public domain 14 Phipsy and Sam There are two things to find Flemingstone 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 24 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 Daryl 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 have a notion of which way to look, said Phippsy, who had just entered the room. It was Mrs. Pell's sitting-room and Fleming-Stee.

Stone was still fingering some packets of papers in the desk. Out with it, Phibbs, for I'm going over to see Mr. Bannard now, and I want all your information before I go. So Fibsey 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 Fibsey. 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 suppose 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, Phibsey returned. He may have. have seen you hiding it as he says he did, and he may have come in and stolen it just because of a mere whimsy 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 Daryl doesn't mind. I don't like him, said Lucille, but I am sorry for him and he does adore Agnes. I thought 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. Fibsey ran out and came back with a 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 concerned. concealed it. Good boy. How'd you get into 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 lackluster eyes gleamed with an uncanny wisdom, and the stupid face showed a stubborn denial as he said, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. 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 is where Sam looked utterly blank. Where's the pin?

Nice pin. Oh, pinny pin, pin, pin. Where's the pin? Oh, I know. All right, where? Forgot. I'll forgot. Nice pin, forgot, forgot, forgot.

Oh, shah, 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, pin, penny 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 a 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 Phipsy, 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 tone that was a good place now what floor was it this room no no no not this floor no no no

another 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 it 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 as 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 today, 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 Winbannard'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 whys and those extra-long looped G's are just like these here in a lot of letters of bannards. 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 sort of one. I know, never mind that now. Do you think Bannard wrote the note? Yes, I do.

I believe when Bannard is after that pin so as 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. At any 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, Wynne, there's nothing to offset that theory. and everything to point toward it. Moreover, there's no other's aspect. William Ashton, Rodney Pollock. All the same man, opined Hughes, and all, Winston Bannard. Oh, I don't know. How are 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. To herons, Flemingstone 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 mastermind. 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? 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. Hugh's 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 Bannard. He found the young man willing to talk, but hopelessly dejected. There's no use, Miss. 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 Bairn in 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 have no interest in that pin, or 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 ursla told of the valuable diamond pin she had bequeathed to iris at least we thought she said diamond pin but she said dime n 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 barion 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 over-anxious to see me, so I planned to make my call at Pelbrook 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 Bell 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 out her check-book and drew me a check for $5,000. I was amazed. 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 up in her own thoughts, and when I said I'd be going, she made no demure, and I went. And what time was this? I've thought the thing over, Mr. Stone, and though I'm not positive, I think I reached Pelbrook 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 want 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 was such a straightforward glance that Flemingstone 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 those 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 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 Berion, not from it.

Then the waiter lies. I was on my way back to New York. I lunched at the inn and proceeded on my way. I reached down 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 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 in 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. End of Chapter 14. Chapter 15 of the Diamond Pin by Carolyn Wells. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. 15 in the coal-ol. Phippsy 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 Phipsy cultivated the lack of its acquaintance and established friendly relations. Agnes rather resented Phipsy's attitude, but his weedlesome ways won her heart, too, and the three were often together. In fact, Phibsey 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, Phipsy 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 chat in his sing-song way nice pinie pin pin where are you where are you nice pinny 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 head 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?' Fibsey had learned the workings of the queer mind, and he was sure now that Sam had hid in 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 Phibsey 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 Fibsey stuck to his self-imposed task of standing by Sam, hoping for a chance revelation. Go ahead, Flemingstone 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

she had lived in Chicago and for the past ten years had resided at Pellbroke. Her husband had died fifteen years ago and left her his great fortune, mostly in precious stones. Ten years ago when she came to Berion, she had taken all the jewels from the bankers and had concealed them in some place of safety, which was not known to anyone 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 mastermind 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. Bell'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 pocketbook, and that was definitely bequeath to Mr. Bannard. The 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's 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 Flossy searched her. After a little talk, Flemingstone discovered that the agent had given out few of those calendars

outside his hometown, but he mentioned some names that he remembered. Do any of these people live in a house with high stone steps? the detective queried. Let me see. Yes, Joe Young, over to East Falville, 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 Pelbrook mystery, and that his father had built the wall 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 and 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, accepting yourself? No, nobody.

Oh, yes, my brother has, but he's in Chicago. Was he in Chicago, then? Why, yes, I suppose 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.

"'Charty'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 Charley 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. What is he 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 Pelbrook. There's the man, said Stone briefly. Charlie Young is the mastermind behind all this devilry.

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 was right. "'And I've got a letter that Charlie Young wrote,' Stone exalted.

"'I rather think that we'll 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 Wynne's writing, but different too. The long-tailed letters were just like Wins.' 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 applauding mind. You see, he is so brilliant of scheme, so quick of execution,

that he may well overreach himself, and tumbled 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 Pellbroke-Port-Cosher, a strange-looking figure ran to greet them. Hello, darky boy, who are you? sang out stone as the Blackamore grinned at them. Iris stared and then, burst out laughing.

Why, it's Terrence, she cried. For goodness sake, Fibsey, 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 something fierce, believe me. Well, look out. Don't get near Miss Clyde, nor me either. You're a sight, Phipsy. Yes, sir, 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 Pipsy was doing. He found the boy diligently shoveling coal from one large coal bin to another. Nearby was Sam quite as black as Phibsey and the two were a comical sight.

Sam was seated on a box rocking back and forth in an ecstasy of glee and crooning. Galole, call all, pinny pin and gallo. That's what he says, Mr. Stone, Phibsey defended himself. So if Pinypin 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 mcguire 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 on to friend boboken's 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 obeying 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 bin's adjoined and the task was one

of patience and perseverance rather than up 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 Phippsy 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 the crack of the floor. And as Phipsy 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 Banner, 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 ensured their carrying out. It became clear, therefore, that Young was interested in making it seem that Bannard was at Pelbrook on Sunday afternoon instead of Sunday morning, which latter's tone 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, 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 Fibsey's quest had succeeded. Ducille and Iris followed Flemingstone's flying footsteps down the stairs and found Fibsey, black, but triumphant. "'Here's your pity pin, Mr. Stone,' he cried, lost it 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 Terrence address his employer by anything but his dignified name, but this moment was a strenuous one and Phibsy broke loose. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he gave the detective a pleading look. All right, Phibbs, 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 their woeful countenance made him quickly revise his speech. But it is, I'm sure it is. He finished smiling kindly at the big-eyed Blackamore.

Sure, sure, cried Sam, capering about, naisy-pin. Sam put it there after Missy Iris put it in chair. Flemingstone 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 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. Phippsy, you're at trump, old boy, and after you've sought the assistance that a bathtub grants, return to the sitting-room, and I'll tell you of the value of your find in words of one

syllable. He elated beyond all words, Fipsy ran away to bathe, and the others went to the sitting-room that had been Ursula Pells. With a very strong lens, Flemingstone 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 Terrence 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. Banner 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 Pompon's cry. Oh, my little dogsy, 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 where 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. End of Chapter 15. Chapter 16 of the Diamond Pin by Carolyn Wells. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. 16 Kidnapped again As tone 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 motorcar

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 smelt 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 running a risk of losing it but it was was a worse risk to have this man take it from her, and two, after Phibsey'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 as 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 searched 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 Flemingstone 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 frail 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 stranglehold he had on her brought his body near hers, and by chance Iris's hand was flung against his sidecoat 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 wouldn't. 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, stepped 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. Haves 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 sense worth of good out of that pin. without my help. I'm the only one on earth who knows it's 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. I'll never 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 exceed 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's 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

Phibsies flying feet toward the scene of conflict. He had come with Stone in the car that the detective had used to follow Iris from Pelbrook, but as no one knew which way to look for the kidnapper's car, they had separated, and Stone with Campbell went hunting the high-rope, while Phibsey, senting the truth, had dived into the wood. He had heard Iris's 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, Phipsy'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-rimmon. 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 Phibsy keep the two men covered with a small but efficacious weapon, Stone and Campbell tied the hands of Pollock and his man Bob, the dust robe 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 Phippsy 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 Pelbrook. How can I be grateful enough to you, Iris cried at the sight of the detective, for coming to my aid. And Fibsey, 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 Fipsy'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 isn't safe keeping himself, there's not so much danger. But he may have clever assistance. 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 Daryl 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, tomorrow 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 Jewel's hiding-place?' "'Not to-night.' "'Indeed, I don't yet. know it's secret myself, but I hope to find it out. If I may, I'll stay alone in Mrs. Bell's sitting-room for a time until I puzzled it out. Iris reluctantly went off with Lucille, and the detective locked himself in the room where Mrs. Bell 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, Flemingstone had, as results of his night's work, 40 or 50 scribbled pages of the pad, all of which were in the waistbasket, 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. Phippsy was there, too, as the boy was never excluded from important conferences. Stone locked the door and then said impressively, The diamond 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. The 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. Stonewood. will work it out if it's a cipher, Fibsey declared, looking with pride and confidence at his employer's face. "'Not so easy, Fibbs,' 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 T-U-E-S 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 39 letters on the head of an ordinary pin,

I'll say that it is not an unheard-of accomplishment. Several years ago I saw an exhibition a pin with 45 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 in glass to Miss Darrell 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. Let me see it, begged Phibsy, as Miss Darrell 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 letters 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-H-P-J-R-N-O-X-X-I-V-A-Y-O-D-I-J-Y-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.

end of chapter sixteen chapter seventeen of the diamond pin by caroline wells this laborvox recording is in the public domain seventeen 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 us to the key word i tried an ordinary dime thinking the word we need might be liberty or united or 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 averted, for she had most ingenious notions about puzzles and ciphers.

Sometimes she would offer me a bail 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. Phipsy was pouring 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 Phipsy'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 cipher. the man who murdered Ursula Pell, said Miss Daryl. He must have known its value. It may be you've had an inspiration, Phipsy, 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 as 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, Phibs?

sure but i'll bet the word is on the paper else wide the old ladies say that mr bannard would find the receipt of interest to him and two 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, 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 and showed her the result.

The way to use this, he explained, is to take a key word, let us say Darrell. Then let us suppose this message reads, The jewels are hidden in blank. 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. Rel darrell, da. 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 darrell 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 bell used to guide us see yes i see and miss darrell nodded her head it's most interesting but as the first letter of the cipher is o why can't you find you for you for you for a little bit of the cipher is o why can't you find O in your alphabet and go ahead. Because there are 26 O's in the square, and it needs the key word to tell which of the

26 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 pocketbook, 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 pocketbook, he was the one who attacked your aunt. Aunt Winston Bannard is in jail in his place. Oh, Mr. Stone, let the jewels be a secondary consideration, get Winfreyed and Shaw's 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 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 Phibsey. "'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 boys simply. It was soon after that that Hughes came to Pelbrook 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. Wyn 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 lute i never heard such absurdity iris's 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 cly 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 lookie here. Mr. Bannard didn't kill his aunt.'

is that so bub well as mr dully says your opinion is interesting but not convincing all right go ahead in your own blundering 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 phipsy oh ho and is he in there yet. Nope. But I can't waste any more time on you, friend Hughes. I have something to attend to. Mr. Stone, I'll go and get that time now, shall I? Go ahead, Phibs. Stone returned absently. And I'll go along with you, Hughes, and see if I can make anything out of your new prisoner. Phibcy went first in search of Sam, and having found that defective-minded but sturdy-bodied blood undertook to inform him as to their immediate occupation. See? And, and Phibsey showed Sam a dime. You find me one like that in the grass, and I'll give you two of

them. Two. Two for Sam. Yes, three if you find one quick. Now get busy. Fibsey 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 Phibsey 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 Phipsy sang out, give it up, Samovel 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 right. 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. Fipsy 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, Phibsey 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? Fibsey 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, Phibs, but this alibi is unimpeachable.'

a peach of an alibi eh 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 stayed there until about 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, Chardy Young declares he was at his brothers 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 on to all the pin and diamond receipt business anyway? asked Phippsy, with seeming irrelevance. I don't know, I'm sure. There's something back of that, and Phipsey wagged a sagacious nod. Maybe. But we're 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. Fibsey 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, Fibbs, work it out in 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 telephone 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 key word 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 all together wrong as to the tight- 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 want a help yes if it isn't beyond my power

oh come now and fibsy blushed scarred at the realization that he seemed to plume himself on his own cleverness but here's the way I'm going 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 him 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 flemingstone watched the boy fascinated absorbed in the spirit of his imagined predicament fibsey stood his bright eyes darting about the room as if really in search of a means of exit end of chapter seventeen chapter eighteen of the diamond pin by caroline wells this lebervox recording is in the public domain eighteen 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 Flemingstone excitedly. "'Oh, Phibs, do you see it that way, too?' "'Sure I do. Fancy anybody on tying a lot of ropes and freeing the lady and making a getaway ropes and all in two or three minutes, and besides, he couldn't get out.' Phipsy 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 dare say 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 Domine, 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 and company. 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 11.30. 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. 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 to 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 bell for it and she laughed she wasn't a bit afraid of me plucky old thing i had to tie her while i hunted round she was ready to scratch my eyes out and you beat her bruised her no more than i had to she struggled like a wild cat and you upset the table in your scrap i 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 brothers. 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 stayed 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 the story of your brother's honesty both he and his wife tell the story of your brother's straightforward 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. Flossy, 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 Flemingstone 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 $500, and the bill was receded by J.S. Farrell, 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 feral as a keyword, he found he had at last succeeded in his undertaking.

Beginning with F-E-R-R-A-L-L-F-E-R-A-L-L and so on, 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 Darrell could imagine what L. and M. stood for. Seems like a filing cabinet or card catalog, suggested Stone, but Iris said her aunt had not owned such a thing. Well, we'll find them, Stone promised. Having this information will somehow puzzle out the rest. Look in the dictionary or encyclopedia, put in Phibsey, who was scoward.

telling 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? Phibsy 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 suffered.

sometimes imagined that she took her jewels back to her old home in Maine to hide them. Hence she dropped now and then gave me that impression. Whereabouts in Maine? In a village called Greendale. Her folks all lived 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! Phibsey sprang up in his excitement and waved his arm's striking. triumphantly. That's it. L and M means L and M. Elmer and Emily. Absurd, scoffed Lucille, but Iris said, You're right, Terrence, 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 Irish shook her head. "'I care for the fortune, of course, "'but it is nothing to me beside the freedom of Mr. Bannert. "'I hope Mr. St.' tone that Charlie Young's confession of how he bruised and hurt poor Aunt Ursula proves wins 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. Banner 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. But surely someone can be found who saw Wynne 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 Wynne 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 Wynne Bannard, but who did it? And how did he get out? added Fibsey, 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 towards 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 cigarettes "'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 the Harlem laundry. "'That's why I remarked to Terrence "'that the man who left that came from near Bob Grady's place, "'which is a saloon near the laundering question.

"'That paper never came from the locality where Bannard lives.' "'And that proved Mr. Young's presence,' Phibsey 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 Phipsey shook his head. When you're going to tell him, 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 once 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 see. seemed to you incredible. Will you let me reconstruct the whole day as far as I can?

Mrs. Pell was on her veranda when her niece and her servants went to church. Soon after, Winstard Bannard came. They went into Mrs. Bell'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. Bell'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 monies as he had found about the room, and leaving behind his New York paper. Then, left Bruy, 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 guest 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 dizzyed, 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 cut. 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 affect an entrance. That's it all right, and it all checks up, said Phipsy solemnly. Because why? Because 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 Banner'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 open 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 when 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, Fibsey said thoughtfully. I believe the keynote was struck when Sam told me he had dropped the pinny pin in the coal-hole. If he hadn't, we never would have got anywhere.

We wouldn't have then, said Stone generously, if Fibsey hadn't grout in the coal-hole for the pinny-pin. And found it, chimed in Bannard, in recognition of which one Terrence McGuire Esquire shall receive shortly one diamond pin. Ah, shucks, said Fibsey, greatly embarrassed that the praise heaped upon him. But, he added, I'd like it a heap. And he did. End of Chapter 18. End of the Diamond Pin by Carolyn Wells.