When Iris failed to respond to the summons for dinner, Miss Darrel waited a few moments and then took her own place at the table.

"Go and find Miss Clyde," she said to Agnes; "I do wish people would be prompt at meals, especially when they're guests."

Lucille never allowed any one of her household to forget that she was now mistress of Pellbrook, and she longed for the time when the mystery would be cleared up and she might be left to the possession of her new home.

Being Sunday, it was a case of midday dinner, and, as Iris was usually prompt, Lucille was surprised at the length of time Agnes remained out of the room. At last she returned with the word that she could not find Miss Clyde anywhere in the house. "But," she added, "maybe she went away in the little car that was here a while ago."

"What little car?" demanded Lucille.

"I don't know whose it was, and I don't know that Miss Iris was in it, but I just caught sight of it as it whizzed through the gate."

"When?"

"About an hour ago. I didn't think much about it. I saw a man driving it, and I think there was a lady on the back seat——"

"Agnes, you're crazy! Miss Clyde wouldn't go out anywhere on Sunday morning without telling me. She didn't go to church?"

"Oh, no, ma'am, it was much too late for that."

"Well, that was some stranger's car. You didn't see Iris in it?"

"No, ma'am, I didn't."

However, as there was no Iris on the premises, Lucille Darrel concluded she had gone off on some sudden and unexpected errand—perhaps to see Winston Bannard.

So Miss Darrel ate her dinner alone, with no feeling of alarm, but a slight annoyance at the episode.

She thought over the story Iris had told her of the intruder of the night before, and slowly a vague suggestion of something wrong shaped itself in her brain. She realized that if Iris had gone on an errand, or had gone for a ride with Roger Downing, or any other friend or caller, she would certainly have told Lucille she was going. For Iris was punctilious in her courtesy, and the two 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, 'cept I'm thinking it's a lucky pin."

"Oh, how ridiculous! Why, you're not even sure the pin is in existence—I mean, that anybody knows of."

"Oh, yes, ma'am, I just gave that pin to Miss Iris this morning."

"You did! Where did you get it?"

"Well, I hooked it offen Agnes."

"What does this all mean? Why did you take it from Agnes? And where did she get it?"

"Well, Miss Darrel, ma'am, it's all mighty queer. I don't say's there's any such thing as luck, and then, I don't say as there isn't. Anyway, Mrs. Pell guarded that pin like everything while she was alive, and she left it to Miss Iris when she died. Don't that look like it was a Luck?"

"Oh, that bequest business was a joke. Surely you know that."

"Not altogether it wasn't. The dime part was, maybe, but that pin—why, I know that pin, I tell you!"

"Do you mean you'd know that pin apart from a lot of other common pins?"

"No'm—I don't know as I can say that—but, well, maybe I could tell it."

"Polly, you're out of your head! But never mind all that now, tell me what you think of Miss Iris' absence? You know her. Would she run off anywhere just before dinner on Sunday, without telling anyone?"

"That she would not! Miss Iris is most considerate and thoughtful. She'd never go away without seeing you first."

"That's what I think. Then where is she?"

"I don't know, ma'am, but—but I'm—I'm awful scared!"

And flinging her apron over her face, as she burst into sobs, Polly ran out of the room.

Thoroughly alarmed, Lucille spoke again to Agnes.

"You're 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 Win Bannard, and that it was all disclosed in the will's directions. She gave me to understand that the box for Iris and the pocket-book for Win held directions for the possessing of her fortune."

"Was her money all in the jewels?"

"All but a few shares of stock, and a little real estate. Those, however, will help along, for they belong to Iris and young Bannard as her immediate heirs, aside from her will."

"Well, I should think you would have insisted on knowing a little more about things than that!"

"Why should I? I drew her will, I attended to such matters as she asked me to, and it was not my affair where she chose to conceal her wealth, especially as she had given me a sealed box to hand over to her heiress at her death. And, too, Miss Darrel, you didn't know my late client as well as I did. Indeed, I doubt if many people knew her as I did! A lawyer often has queer clients, but I'm sure she set a record for eccentricities! I suppose I drew up a score of wills for her, and Lord knows how many codicils were added! Then, too, I never knew when she would perpetrate one of her silly jokes on me. I've been called over here late at night, to take her dying testamentary directions, only to arrive and find her perfectly well, and laughing at me! I've been given an extra fee for some trifling service, only to find that payment had been stopped at the bank before I could present the check."

"And you stood for such treatment?"

"What could I do? She was an old and valued client; she paid well, and the checks were always honored later, after she had had her fun out of me. And, of course, her tricks were merely tricks. She never did anything dishonest or dishonorable. Then, too, I liked the old lady. Aside from her one foolish fad, she was intelligent and interesting. Oh, Ursula Pell was all right, except for that one bee in her bonnet. Now, I am perfectly certain her hoard of jewels is safely secreted and I think—I hope, she has left directions telling where they are. But if she hasn't, if, dying so unexpectedly, she has neglected to leave the secret, then I fear Iris will never get her inheritance. Why, they may be within a few feet of us, even now, and yet be so slyly hidden as to be irrecoverable."

"I think that's what the man was after last night."

"I daresay. But who was the man?"

"Not an ordinary burglar, for Iris declared he was a gentleman——"

"Gentlemen don't conduct themselves as——"

"You know what I mean! She said he was educated and cultured of speech and manner. Of course, he was a thief. He pretended he 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 acquaintances, brought forth positively no results. Nobody had seen or heard from Iris that day.

At last they telephoned to Hughes, and the detective said he would come to Pellbrook at once.

When Iris realized that she had been actually kidnapped, her feelings were of anger, rather than of fright. The indignity of the thing loomed above her sense of danger or fear of personal injury. The little car, a landaulet, ran smoothly and rapidly, and as soon as they were well away from Pellbrook the stifling cloth was partially removed from her head, and Iris discovered that beside her was a young woman, whose face, though determined, was not at all awe-inspiring. She even smiled at Iris' furious expression, and said, "Now, now, what's the use? You may as well take it quietly."

"Take kidnapping quietly!" blazed Iris. "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' cheerful companion, "you mind your business, and I'll mind mine."

Then, she took the covering entirely off Iris' head, but at the same time she drew down the silk shades to the windows of the car.

"Sorry," she said, blithely, "but it must be did!"

"Where am I? Where am I going?" and Iris frowned at her.

"You dunno where you're going, but you're on your way," sang the strange girl, for she was little more than a girl. "Now, don'tee fight—just take it pleasant-like, and it will be lots better for you."

"I don't care for your advice, thank you; I ask you what it means that I am forcibly carried off in this way?"

"It means we wanted you, see? Now, Miss Clyde—or, may I call you Iris?"

"You may not!"

"Oh, very well—ve-ry well! But you call me Flossie, won't you?"

"I've no desire to call you anything——"

"Fie, fie! What a temper! Or doesn't your 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."

"Oho! Of course you do, usually. But this is an unusual incident. An out-of-the-way occurrence, if I may say so."

Iris preserved a stony silence.

"All right, Miss Clyde. Here's your last chance. Be a little more friendly with me, and I assure you you'll get off much more easily. Continue to rebuff me with these crool, crool 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 o' talk is most certainly better. Now, maybe we can hit it off. What do you want to know?"

"Why I was carried off in this manner! Who did it? Where am I being taken? Why?"

"The questions put by thee, dear heart,
Are as a string of pearls to me——"

The lilting voice was true, and the soft tones very sweet. Iris was attracted, in spite of herself, to this strange person.

"I'll answer separately—every one apart——" she twittered on. "First, you were—ahem—accumulated, for a good and wise purpose. The principal actor, who could be said to answer your question of who did it, is not in our midst at present. You are being taken to a house. Why? Ah, if I tell you, you will know, won't you?"

Flossie looked provoking, but good-natured, and Iris deemed it wiser not to rouse her ire again.

"You haven't really answered, but I suppose you won't. Well, when can I go back home?"

"If you're goody-girl, you can return in, say, a couple of hours. If not—ah, if not!"

Suddenly a light broke upon Iris.

It was that pin! These strange people were after the pin!

And it was sticking in her shirtwaist frill, just where she had put it when Polly gave it to her. They must not get it! Now, if ever, she must use her wits. For, if anybody wanted that pin so desperately, it was, it must be valuable. Also, if Ursula Pell had cherished that pin as old Polly described, it surely was valuable.

Iris thought quickly. This sharp-eyed girl would be difficult to hoodwink, yet it must be done. 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, the others had not been, and these people who were after it knew that. What the pin meant, or why they wanted it, must be left undecided, but the pin must be made safe.

Iris thought of dropping it out of the window, which was open, though the shade was down, but concluded that her ever finding it again would be too doubtful. She thought of concealing it in her abundant hair—but suppose she were made to take down her hair! A sort of intuition told her that she would be searched, and she must be ready.

At last she thought of a hiding-place, and as a start she drew Flossie's attention to a slightly loose shade tassel, while, with a gesture as of straightening a tiny velvet bow at her throat, she drew her hand down the frill, and brought the pin with it.

Concealed in her left hand, and stealthily watching her companion's eyes, she waited her chance, and then, unnoticed, she thrust it, head end first, into the hem of her white serge skirt. The loose weave of the material made this possible, and the pin disappeared into the inch wide hem. It might be safe there and it might not. Iris thought it would, and at any rate she could think of no better place to conceal it.

Also, getting another pin from her belt she placed it where the "valuable" pin had been, for further precaution.

Nor did she accomplish her work much too soon, for very shortly they drove in at a gate and stopped at the door of a small house.

There was no attempt at hiding now, and Iris was handed out of the car by the man who had driven them. With no appearance of stealth, Flossie ushered her into the house, which proved to be an ordinary, middle-class dwelling of country people.

The sitting room they went into had a table with a red cover, some books of no interest, and an old-fashioned lamp on a wool-work mat. The patent rocker and a few other worn chairs betokened family furnishings bought in the eighties, and not renewed since.

Flossie closed the door, and spoke to Iris, in a new and very decided tone.

"Miss Clyde," she said, with respect and politeness, "I'm truly sorry, but you are here and I 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 Flossie, gravely. "I'm afraid you don't understand——"

"I'm sure I don't!" interrupted Iris. "What about a pin?"

"I won't waste words with you, if you please. I am here to take from you every pin you have in your clothing. You will please undress slowly, that I may get them all. Here is a paper of new ones to replace them. Will you please take off your shirtwaist, or shall I?"

Iris looked aghast. Then she concluded it would be best to submit.

"Will you lock the door?" she said, haughtily.

"It is locked. We are quite safe from intrusion or interruption. Please proceed."

Iris proceeded. But as she removed her shirtwaist, she furtively, yet careful that Flossie should see her, glanced at the pin in its frill. She laid the garment on a chair, and went on to disrobe, with the cold dignity of a queen on the scaffold.

Flossie was kind and delicately courteous.

"Not your underclothing, of course," she said. "I have reason to think you secreted the pin I want in your clothes, a few moments before you—before you left home, and I think it must be in your frock or petticoats. Or, perhaps, in your camisole."

She examined the dainty lingerie with scrutinizing care, and extracted every pin—of which she found several. Each one she carefully laid aside, and gravely offered Iris a new pin in its place.

Pretty sure, now, that her pin would not be found, Iris let herself be amused at the whole performance.

"Do you do this as a profession," she asked, "or are you an amateur?"

"Both," was the unsmiling answer. "Will you give me your word there are no more pins on you?"

"I will give you my word there is only this one, and you are welcome to it." Iris took a pin from a loop of ribbon that adorned her petticoat ruffle, "but I must ask for one to replace it. I'm a shockingly careless mortal, and I fully meant to sew that bow on, but I didn't."

Flossie stared at her hard, but Iris didn't quiver an eyelash of fear or apprehension, and the other allowed her to dress herself again.

"That is all," Flossie said, shortly, as once more Iris was in full costume. "We will go now."

They re-entered the car, which was still at the door, and started back the way they had come.