The Diamond Pin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Perhaps. Listen to this, Iris:

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

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

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

"You were, Iris! Here's proof!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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