"The murder mystery is bad enough," said Hughes, "but this disappearance of Miss Clyde is also alarming. There is deep deviltry 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 Darrel.

"They may be working in collusion——" began Hughes, but Mr. Chapin interrupted. "Don't use such an expression! Working in collusion implies wrong-doing. 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 coupÉ 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 of 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 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 radium, 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 Darrel'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 Chapin. "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 plait! 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 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 Darrel. "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 to-day."

"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 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?"

"Fairly 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 especial 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 Darrel 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 wherein 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 any 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——"

"I don't know what you're getting at," said Chapin, "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 to-day 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——"

"Weight!" exclaimed Hughes; "suppose a certain weight, goldsmith's scales, you know—would open a delicately adjusted lode 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've 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. Chapin.

"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'm not afraid. If Miss Darrel 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 more than you'd think!"

"Now, I want to go and see Win, 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 Darrel 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 dunno's they do, but they've got to be looked into. That pin's safe for the present, I think, safer'n it'd be in a bank. That is, unless somebody was lookin' in the window. Miss Clyde was mighty careful to draw the shades in 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 Win 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'd touch his aunt for five thousand on Sunday! How's that?"

"Did he really?"

"He really did. And we've more counts 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?"

"By inquiries I got afoot, and they panned out pretty good. Why, I've got a witness to prove that he stopped at the Red Fox Inn 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've a heap to see to. Tell the ladies good-bye for me."

The detective went off and Lawyer Chapin, with the privilege of a family friend, went to 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 Darrel 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' inheritance, she won't mind the cost."

"And if he doesn't succeed?"

"Then I'll pay it!" Lucille 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 Win 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 Chapin, "even a great detective would find this a hard case, I'm sure."

"But if he fails, Miss Darrel 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 Win," 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 come to be 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 pocket-book, 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 Win 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 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!