The Diamond Pin

"What an extraordinary tale," he commented as she finished. "I wish I could help you out, I'm sure. Now, no receipt of ours would be of importance in and of itself. It must have had a memorandum scribbled on it, or something of that sort."

"Yes," agreed Iris, thoughtfully, "that must be it. In that case the murderer wanted it because it told where the jewels are hidden."

"And he has already secured them! Oh, no!"

Mr. Reed's interest was so sincere that Iris told him a little more. She told him of the pin, and of her being kidnapped in an attempt to get it.

"You are in danger," Reed said, warningly. "Until they get what they want you will continue to be molested. It isn't the pin – that's too absurd! But they're after something that has to do with the secret of the hiding place of those jewels. On that you may depend."

"But couldn't the pin have some bearing on that?"

"I can't imagine any way that it could. The idea of its being made of radium is ridiculous. The idea of its being a weight or a measure is silly, too; and how else could it be indicative? No, the pin part of the performance is a ruse, the thieves are after something else. If they stole the receipt in question, it was, as I said, because there were instructions on it. Your man Pollock is doubtless the head of the gang. He's no important collector, or I should know of him. And probably his whole collection story was a falsehood. He read of the pin in the paper and used that to distract your mind from what he really was after."

"Very likely," and Iris sighed. "What would you advise me to do?"

"It's too big a case for a layman's advice, and, pardon me, too big a case for a young girl to manage."

"Oh, I know that. I've a very good lawyer, and the police are at work, but nobody seems able to accomplish anything."

"I hope and trust somebody will," said Reed, heartily; "that lot of jewels is too big a loot for crooks to get hold of! I'd be sorry indeed to learn they have done so!"

Iris went away, and as her work in Chicago was done, she decided to start at once for home.

Entering the hotel, she found a telegram from Lucille Darrel. It read:

"Come home at once. I've engaged F. S. and he will arrive to-morrow."

Now, F. S. meant the great detective, Fleming Stone.

CHAPTER XIII

FLEMING STONE COMES

Fleming Stone carried his years lightly. Except for the slight graying at his temples, no one would think that he had arrived, as he had, at the years that are called middle-aged.

But an especially interesting problem so stirred his enthusiasm and roused his energies that he grew young again, and his dark eyes fairly scintillated with eagerness and power.

"Tell me everything," he repeated, even after he had heard all the details over and over again. "Omit nothing – no tiniest point. It all helps."

They sat in the living room at Pellbrook, Miss Darrel and Iris being present, also Hughes and Lawyer Chapin.

Stone had examined the sitting room where Mrs. Pell had died, and, closing its door, had returned to the big living room, for further information on the whole subject of the crime and its subsequent events.

"The pin's the thing," he said, at last. "Everything hinges on that."

"Do you think so?" asked Mr. Chapin. "It seems to me the pin's a blind – a decoy – and the people hunting it are really after something else, of intrinsic value."

Fleming Stone looked at the lawyer, with a courteous impatience.

"No, Mr. Chapin, the pin is the thing they are after. It was for that pin that Mrs. Pell was murdered. That is why her dress was torn open at the throat, the villain was searching for that pin. That's why the desk was ransacked, the handbag explored, the pocket-book emptied – all in a desperate effort to find that seemingly insignificant pin! That is why the poor woman was tortured, maltreated, bruised and beaten, in final attempts to make her tell where the pin was. Failing, the wretch flung her to the floor, in a burst of murderous frenzy."

"That's why I was kidnapped, then," exclaimed Iris.

"Of course, and you may be again! Those people will stop at nothing! The letters asking for the pin, the caller who wanted it for his 'collection,' all represent the same master-mind, who is after the pin.

"But why?" wondered Hughes, "what do they want of the pin?"

"The pin means the jewels," declared Stone, briefly. "How, I can't say, exactly, for the moment, but the pin is the open sesame to the hiding-place of the gems, and only the possession of it will secure the treasure. We must get the pin – and then, all else will be clear sailing."

"But the pin is gone," lamented Iris.

"That is the worst phase of it all," Stone said, regretfully. "It is such a difficult thing to trace – not only so tiny, and easily lost, but so like thousands of others, that it can't readily be discerned even if seen."

"You think it's just an ordinary pin, then?" inquired Chapin.

"Absolutely, sir."

"Then why won't any other pin do as well?"

Stone looked at him keenly. "I can't answer that at present, Mr. Chapin; my theory regarding the pin, while doubtless the truth, is as yet uncertain. Now, another and equally great problem is that of the murderer's exit. From your story of the crime, I gather that the room was absolutely unenterable, except by breaking in the door, which Purdy and the chauffeur did?"

"That is true," agreed Iris; "the windows, as you can see, are strongly barred, and there is but the one door. Search has been made for secret entrances or concealed passages, but there is nothing of the sort."

"No," said Stone, "this sort of a house is not apt to have such. If there were any, they would be easily discovered. And there were several people in this room, when the two men burst in the door?"

"Yes," said Iris. "I was here, and Polly, the cook, and the two men – "

"You are positive the murderer could not have slipped by you all, as the door flew open, and so made his escape?"

"That was utterly impossible. We were all grouped around the door and stayed so, until we entered the sitting room ourselves. There was nobody there but Aunt Ursula, herself – "

"Dead?"

"Yes, but only just dead. Polly heard her faint moans, after her loud screams, you know, before we broke in."

"And what were the words she used when she screamed out?"

"I don't know exactly, but they were cries for help, and I'm sure Polly said she called out 'Thieves!' Of course, she was unable to speak coherently."

"Now," began Stone, "to look at this one point. Her assailant had to get out or stay in, didn't he? You're sure he didn't get out, therefore he must have stayed in. A man of flesh and blood cannot go through walls, like a ghost."

"But he didn't stay in!" cried Iris. "We searched the room at once, there was nobody in it. You know there's almost no place to hide. We looked behind the window curtains, and all such places – and, too, we were in this room continuously, till others came, and no one could have gone through here without being seen."

"Nor could he get out of the barred windows. Then what became of him?"

"Ah, Mr. Stone," said Hughes, "that's the question that has puzzled us all. If you can solve that, we can begin to look for the murderer!"

"Meantime, we must assume him to be a spook? Is that it?" Stone smiled a little at the complacent Hughes.