Wearily, Iris went upstairs to her own room, and closed the door. Then she opened it again, for the night was hot and stifling. Without turning on a light, she went and sat by an open window, leaning her arms on the sill, and staring, with unseeing gaze, out into the night.

She was thinking about Bannard, and her thoughts were in a chaos. Not for a moment did she believe him guilty of his aunt's death, but she could not help a conviction that he had been at Pellbrook that Sunday afternoon. She wasted no time on the inexplicable mystery of the locked room, for, she reasoned, whoever did kill Mrs. Pell escaped afterward, so that point had no bearing on Winston's connection with the crime. Moreover, she knew, as she feared the police also knew, that Bannard was deeply in debt, and as he had received the substantial check from his aunt, and had banked the same, it was all, in a way, circumstantial evidence that was strongly indicative.

Roger Downing had seen Win around Pellbrook about noon, or he thought he had, of that she was sure, and Roger's declaration that he would deny this was of little value, for Hughes would get it out of him, she knew.

Arrest wasn't conviction, to be sure, but—Iris resolutely put away her own growing suspicions of Bannard. She would stand by him, even in the face of evidence or testimony—she would—and then she began to speculate as to the fortune. Those gems were hidden somewhere—and without Winston to help her how was she to look for them? Knowing Ursula Pell's tricksy spirit, the jewels might be in the most absurd and unexpected place. Crypt? Where was any crypt? She inclined a little to the idea of its being in some church, not in Berrien; for with all Mrs. Pell's foolishness, Iris didn't think she would hide the treasure in any but a safe place. And too, the crypt might well be merely the vaults of some safe deposit company—in Chicago, perhaps, or New York. It was maddening! Iris thought over the events since the day of her aunt's death. The awful tragedy itself, the mystery of the unknown assailant and his manner of escape, the fearful scenes of the inquest, the funeral, and the police searchings since, and, finally, the arrest of Bannard. It seemed to Iris she couldn't stand anything more; and yet, she realized, it had but begun. The mystery was as deep as ever, the jewels were missing, perhaps would never be found, and Winston's case looked very dark against him.

"I must find the jewels," Iris mused, as she had done a hundred times before. "And I must do it by my wits. They are somewhere in safety—of that I'm sure, and, too, Aunt Ursula has left some hint, some clue to their hiding-place. If I'm to be of any help to Win, the first thing to do is to ferret out this matter. Then, we may be better able to trace the——"

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of what seemed to her to be a shadow, crossing the lawn below her. The shrubbery was dense, and the night dark, but she discerned a faint semblance of a person skulking among the trees. She sat motionless, but the shadow faded, and she could see nothing more of it. Concluding she had been mistaken, she sighed and was about to draw the blinds and make a light, when she was seized with a sudden spirit of nervous energy that impelled her to do something—anything, rather than go to bed, where she knew she would only toss sleeplessly on the pillow.

Silently, not to disturb Miss Darrel, she crossed the hall and went downstairs. With only a vague notion of looking around, she went into her aunt's sitting room, and flashed on a light. It was the table lamp that had been found broken on the floor at the time of the tragedy, but that now, replaced by a new electrolier, gave a pleasant, soft light. Coiling up the long green cord, lest she trip on it, Iris sank into an easy chair near the table.

Restlessly, she arose and walked about the room. Though familiar with every detail, it looked strange to her, as a room does when one is the sole occupant. She opened the wall-safe, and stared into its emptiness. She pulled open some drawers of a cabinet, looked into a few boxes, and with no definite purpose, sat down at her aunt's desk. Disinterestedly, she looked over some books and papers, but she knew them all by heart. She ran over some bundles of letters, hoping to find a penciled memorandum on the backs, that had been hitherto unnoticed.

Nothing met her eye that seemed important, and she turned from the desk, her glance falling on the cretonne window curtains that overhung the lighter lace ones.

"Come out!" she cried, and then quickly, "no, don't come out! Stay where you are! Who are you?"

The curtain moved very slightly, and Iris rose, and stood, holding the back of her chair. Her heart was beating wildly, for though possessed of average courage, to be alone at midnight in a room of sinister memories, and see the folds of a curtain sway ever so little is, to say the least, disturbing.

"Who are you, I say!" she repeated angrily, but there was no response, and the curtain hung still.

A terror passed through her, and left her shivering, with an icy grip at her heart. Though not at all inclined toward a belief in the supernatural, there was an uncanny feeling in the atmosphere and Iris trembled with a strange, weird feeling, as of impending disaster. She edged a step backward, but as she did so the curtain was flung aside, and a man stood disclosed—a tall figure, with strong, muscular frame, and arms extended in a threatening gesture.

"Not a word!" he whispered, "not a sound!" and the glint of a small revolver flashed toward her. But she was too petrified with fear to speak, for the man was masked, and the effect of the blackavised apparition took her breath away. Only for a moment, however, and then a wave of relief surged over her. For, alarming as a human intruder may be, he is less frightful than a supernatural visitant.

The color came back to her white cheeks, and she said scornfully, "I am not afraid of you——"

"You'd better be, then," and the man moved nearer to her. "I've no wish to harm you, but if you raise an alarm, I shall consider my own safety first!"

"Coward!"

"Nonsense! I don't mean before yours, you've nothing to fear. But if you're inclined to call help, I'll have to make it impossible for you to do so."

The voice was that of an educated man, but entirely unfamiliar to Iris. Her terror left her, as she realized that at least she hadn't to deal with a low-class, uncouth ruffian.

"Why should I call help, since you say I've nothing to fear?" she said, trying to speak coolly, but still watching the carefully held pistol.

"Nothing to fear if you do as I say."

"And what do you say?"

The masked figure came a little nearer. "I say——" he began, but Iris interrupted.

"Stay where you are! I am not afraid of your pistol; your voice tells me you would not shoot a defenceless woman, but I command you to keep your distance."

"My voice belies me, then," he returned coolly. "I'd shoot you quicker'n a wink, were it necessary to make my getaway. But, listen; you will be immediately unmolested, if you give me what I have come here to get. I advise you to give it willingly, but if not—then I must get it as best I can."

"Take off your mask, won't you?" and Iris' tone was almost formal. "I know you, don't I?"

"You do not, and something tells me you never will. Pardon me, if I retain my protecting decoration——"

"Scarcely a decoration," murmured Iris, who was striving to think quickly what to do.

"Thank you; that implies your belief in a fair share of good looks on my part. But that's a matter of no moment. And time passes. I am here to ask you for a matter of no great moment after all. I want the pin that your late aunt left you in her will."

"Oh, then you are William Ashton?"

"Careful! Not so loud. Yes—I am none other than he." A mock dramatic gesture accompanied the phrase, and Iris involuntarily smiled.

"You are charming when you smile," the visitor went on. "I may say that, since I am not making a social call——"

"You seem to be, I think," Iris interrupted him.

"Far from it! You are under a distinct misapprehension. But, alas! your smiles and charms are not the prize I'm seeking. I want that pin," for the first time he spoke a little roughly, "and I'm going to have it!"

"What under the heavens do you want of that pin?" exclaimed Iris, surprised beyond all thought of fear. She had at first supposed he was after the jewels, or money, at least.

"Never mind what for. Are you going to hand it over?"

"I suppose you are making a collection of dramatic trifles, like Mr. Pollock. It seems to be a popular pursuit, this gathering material for a miniature junk-shop!"

"So? Well, are you going to give it to me? Why didn't you put it on the gate post to-night?"

"For the very good reason that I haven't got it."

"Don't talk that useless chatter. Of course you have it."

"But I haven't. I threw it away, when the lawyer gave it to me, and——"

"No; you didn't. You only pretended to. Come; now, where is it?"

"Will you go away if I give it to you?" Iris was struck with an idea.

"If you give me your word of honor that you're giving me the right one."

This dissuaded her, for she had intended to give him one from her belt ribbon.

"I tell you I don't know where it is. Now, cease this useless interview, please, and leave me."

"I'll do nothing of the sort! You know where that pin is, and I am sure it's hidden in this room—"

"How utterly absurd you are! Why, why do you want it? I believe you're crazy!"

"I'm not, as you'll find out! But I intend to have the pin, so make up your mind to that!" He sprang toward her, laying his automatic on a table, and with a single gesture, it seemed to Iris, he had a soft silk handkerchief tied over her mouth, and around her head, in such fashion that she couldn't utter a sound.

"I'm sorry, as I told you," he went on, in a business-like voice, "but I must obtain that little piece of property. Will you change your mind and tell me where it is?"

Iris shook her head vigorously, meaning that she did not know where it was, but he chose to think she meant a mere negative.

"Then I'll make you!" and he took hold of her arm and twisted it. She moaned with pain, but he picked up the revolver and threatened her.

Iris was now really frightened, and realized that his gentler mood had passed, and she was in desperate danger. She cast appealing glances at him, but he was oblivious to her piteous eyes, and demanded the pin.

Suddenly the thought came to her that the man was crazy, really a maniac, and in view of this she determined to use her wits to extricate herself from this dangerous situation. If demented, he might shoot her as likely as not, and she thought deeply and carefully what it was best to do. He was distinctly clever, as she had heard maniacs often are, so she dared not fool him too openly.

Therefore, she acted rather defiantly, until, as she had hoped, this attitude on her part brought a rough, hard twist of her slender arm, that really brought the tears to her eyes.

With a limp gesture of surrender, she nodded her head at him, while pain contorted her face.

"Sorry," he said, again, "but there's no other way. Does that mean you're going to give me the pin?"

Iris nodded acquiescence, and he stipulated, "The real one?"

Again she nodded, salving her conscience by the thought that her falsehood was told in self-defence.

"Where is it? No, you needn't speak yet, indicate where it is, and I'll get it."

Iris nodded her head toward the desk, and the man went to it. He ran his fingers lightly over the various compartments, watching her the while, and as he touched one, she nodded.

She had remembered a small packet of papers, pinned with an old and somewhat rusty pin, and she determined to pass this pin off on him, if she could make herself dramatically convincing.

"I've always thought I could be an actress," the poor child said to herself, "now's my time to make good."

So, by dint of indicative nods and glances, she easily made her visitor discover the packet and the pin. The papers were valueless, and the pin, which held a paper band round them, was an ordinary, dull, old-looking one.

It was Iris' clever play of her eyes and her hands,—that betokened a great unwillingness to part with it, but did so under duress—that succeeded in making the thief believe it was the pin he was after. He scrutinized the papers, and threw them aside.

"A good hiding-place," he said, putting the papers back where they had been. "As obvious as Poe's 'Purloined Letter.' I don't ask you if this is the pin, for your speaking countenance has told me it is. I only bid you a very good evening."

He rose quickly, and without a further glance at Iris, he turned off the electric light on the table, and she heard him step softly through the living room, and out of one of the low windows that gave on to the verandah.

She sat where he had left her, not really in pain, but in some discomfort. Then, lifting her hands she managed to untie the handkerchief gag. It wasn't difficult, though the tight knot took a few moments to loosen.

She was tempted to turn on the light, and look at the silk handkerchief still in her hand, but she feared her visitor might discover the fraud and return.

She crept softly into the living room, closed and locked the window through which she had heard him go, and wondered whether it had been left unfastened or he had forced the catch. But that could wait till morning. She locked the living-room door on the hall side, for further safety, and returned to her room, determined to have additional bolts and bars attached here and there the next day.

Then she remembered the house was not hers, and though she might suggest she could not dictate.

Hours she lay awake, thinking it all over. In the security of her own room, she felt no fear and the dawn had begun to show before she slept.

"He's a crazy man," she told herself, finally, just as, at last, slumber came to her. "But it's queer the same mania attacked two people at the same time."

Next day she told Lucille Darrel the story.

"No, I don't think he was crazy," Miss Darrel said, "I think he's an agent of that other man, and they wanted to find out if you had given the first man the right pin. You see, when you made the second man—what's his name, Ashton?——"

"Yes, and the first was Pollock."

"Well, when Pollock doubted that you'd given him the right pin, he sent Ashton to find out, and then when you were so clever as to fool Ashton so fully, he thought you had been frightened into it, at last."

"But what do they want the pin for?"

"Just as Pollock said; to add to a collection of such things. You know that dime and pin joke is in all the papers. Everybody knows about it."

"But why so desperately anxious to get the very one? If they did have another, nobody would ever be the wiser."

"Not unless you withheld the real one, and then gave it or sold it to somebody else later. That would make Pollock's pin a fraud. Now, he's sure he has the very pin."

"Well, of all rubbish! But, you're right. I suppose friend Ashton went to the gate post, and not finding it there, he hovered around the house hoping to get in and hunt for himself."

"Just that. And he did get in—I'm not sure he wouldn't have taken something more valuable than the pin, if you hadn't caught him."

"I don't know; he didn't seem at all like an ordinary thief. Now, I'm going to see if Polly knows anything about the real pin."

It was nearly time for the Sunday dinner, and Iris, going to the kitchen, found the old cook busy with her preparations.

"Oh, don't bother me 'bout that now, Miss Iris," Polly said; "I've gotter set this custard——"

"Behave yourself, Polly! It won't hurt your old custard to take one minute to answer my question. Did you take a pin out of the under side of Agnes' pincushion?"

"Come outside here," and the cook drew Iris out to the kitchen porch. "Now," she whispered, "don't you talk so free 'bout that pin. Yes, Miss Iris, I got it, and you kin be mighty glad. That's a vallyble pin, that is, and don't you fergit it!"

"Valuable, how? And where is it?"

"Well, you know, Mrs. Pell, she set great store by that pin. Many's the time, when she's been goin' to New York or somewhere, she's said to me, 'Polly, you keep this safe till I get home,' and she'd hand me that self-same pin. And would I guard it? Well, wouldn't I!"

"But why, why, Polly, did she set such store by it?"

"It was her Luck, Miss Iris——"

"Luck, fiddlesticks! Aunt Ursula wasn't a fool! If she'd kept that pin for luck, she'd have stuck it away and left it alone."

"Now, you know there's no telling what Mrs. Pell would do! Anybody else might have done this or that, but there's no use sayin' she would. She was a law unto herself. But, anyway, that pin's valuable, and it don't matter for what reason! So, I got it away from Agnes, who hasn't a mite of right to it, and saved it for you. Why, Miss Iris, didn't your aunt, time and again, say she was goin' to leave you a valuable pin? Her little joke was neither here nor there. She said she'd leave you a valuable pin—and she did!"

"You're crazy too, Polly. Well, give me the pin; let me see if I can discover its great value. Perhaps if I rub it a Slave of the Pin will appear, to grant my wishes!"

"Here it is, Miss Iris," and Polly drew a pin from her bodice, "but for the land's sake be careful of it! Do, now!"

"I will, honest, I will," and Iris smiled as she took the common pin from the trembling fingers of the old woman.

"Lemme keep it for you, Miss Iris, dear. Won't you?"

"Maybe I will, later, Polly. I'll enjoy my valuable possession awhile, myself, first."

Iris went around the lawn toward the side door of the house. As she went, she looked curiously at the pin and then stuck it carefully in her shirtwaist frill.

As she neared the side door, she noticed a small motor car standing there. It was empty, and even as she looked, someone came up stealthily behind her, threw a thick, dark cloth over her head, picked her up and lifted her into the little car, and drove rapidly away.

She tried to scream, but a hand was held tightly over her mouth, and try as she would she could make no sound. She felt the familiar curve as they drove through the gateway, and turned off on the road that led away from the village, and Iris realized she was being kidnapped.