The Diamond Pin. Wells Carolyn

the check, which this stub shows to have been drawn to-day to you. Where is that?"

      "Not in my possession. If my aunt made that out to me it was doubtless for a present and she may have sent it to me in a letter; in which case it will reach my city address to-morrow morning, or she may have put it somewhere up here for safe keeping.

      "All most unlikely," said Mr. Chapin, shaking his head. "Did Mrs. Pell send any letters to the post-office to-day, does any one know?"

      Campbell was called, and he said that his mistress had given him a number of letters to mail when he took Miss Clyde to church that morning.

      "Was one of them directed to Mr. Bannard," asked Hughes.

      "How should I know?" said the chauffeur, turning red.

      "Oh, it's no crime to glance at the addresses on envelopes," said Hughes, encouragingly. "Curiosity may not be an admirable trait, but it isn't against the law. And it will help us a lot if you can answer my question."

      "Then, no, sir, there wasn't," and Campbell looked ashamed but positive.

      "And there was no other chance for Mrs. Pell to mail a letter to-day?" went on Hughes.

      "No, sir; none of us has been to the village since, and the post-office closes at noon on Sunday anyhow."

      "All that proves nothing," said Bannard, impatiently. "If my aunt drew that check to me it is probably still in this room somewhere, and if not it is quite likely she destroyed it, in a sudden change of mind. She has done that before, in my very presence. You know, Mr. Chapin, how uncertain her decisions are."

      "That's true," the lawyer agreed, "I've drawn up papers for her often, only to have her tear them up before my very eyes, and demand a document of exactly opposite intent."

      "So, you see," insisted Bannard, who had regained his composure, "that check means nothing, the New York newspaper is not incriminating and the cigarette is not enough to prove my guilty presence at the time of this crime. Unless the police force of Berrien can do better than that, I suggest getting a worthwhile detective from the city."

      Hughes looked angrily at the speaker, but said nothing.

      "That is not a bad suggestion," said Chapin. "This is a big crime and a most mysterious one. It involves the large fortune of Mrs. Pell, which, I happen to know, was mostly invested in jewels. These gems she has so secretly and securely hidden that even I have not the remotest idea where they are. Is it not conceivable that they were in that wall-safe, and have been stolen by the murderer?"

      "Good Lord!" exclaimed Hughes. "I didn't know she kept her fortune here!"

      "Nor do I know it," returned Chapin. "But, doubtless, something of value was in that safe, now empty, and I only surmise that it may have been her great collection of precious stones."

      "Have you her will?" asked Bannard, abruptly.

      "Yes, her latest one," replied Chapin. "You know she made a new one on the average of once a month or so."

      "Who inherits?"

      "I don't know. A box, bequeathed to Miss Clyde and a – something similar to you, probably contain her principal bequests. This house, however, she has left to another relative, and there are other bequests. I do not deny the will is that of an eccentric woman, as will be shown at its reading, in due time."

      "That's all right," broke in the coroner, "but what I'm interested in is catching the murderer."

      "And solving the mystery of his getting in," supplemented Hughes.

      "She might have let him in," assumed Timken.

      "All right, but how did he get out?"

      "That's the mystery," mused Chapin. "I can see no light on that question, whatever, can you, Winston?"

      "No," said Bannard, shortly. "There's no secret entrance to this room, of that I'm positive. And with the windows barred, and those people at the door, as it was broken open, there seems no explanation."

      "Oh, pshaw," said Timken, "that's all for future consideration. The lady couldn't have killed herself. Somebody got in and the same somebody got out. It's up to the detectives to find out how. If a human being could do it, and did do it, another human being can find out how. But let us get at the possible criminal. Motive is the first consideration."

      "The heirs are always looked upon as having motive," said Lawyer Chapin, "but, in this case, I feel sure the principal heirs are Miss Clyde and Mr. Bannard, and I cannot suspect either of them."

      "Iris – ridiculous!" exclaimed Bannard. "For Heaven's sake, don't drag her name in!"

      "Where is Miss Clyde's bedroom?" asked Hughes, suddenly.

      "Directly above this room," returned Bannard. "Are you going to suggest that she came down here by a concealed staircase, and maltreated her aunt in this ferocious manner? Mr. Hughes, do confine yourself to theories that at least have a slight claim to common sense!"

      And yet, when the coroner held his inquest next day, more than one who listened to the evidence leaned toward the suggestion of Iris Clyde's possible connection with the crime.

      The girl's own manner was against her, or rather against her chance of gaining the sympathies of the audience.

      The inquest was held in Pellbrook. The big living room was filled with interested listeners, who also crowded the hall, and drifted into the dining room. The room where Mrs. Pell had died was closed to all, but curiosity-seekers hovered around it outside, and inspected the steel protected windows, and discoursed wisely of secret passages and concealed exits.

      As the one known to have last spoken with her aunt, Iris was closely questioned. But her replies were of no help in getting at the truth. She admitted that she and her aunt quarreled often, and agreed that that was the real reason she had decided to go to New York to live.

      But her answers were curt, even angry at times, and her manner was haughty and resentful.

      Great emphasis was laid by the coroner on the tenor of the last words that passed between Iris and her aunt.

      The girl admitted that they were quarrelsome words, but declared she did not remember exactly what had been said.

      Something in the expression of the maid, Agnes, caught the eye of the coroner, and he suddenly turned to her, saying, "Did you overhear this conversation?"

      Taken aback by the unexpected question, Agnes stammered, "Yes, sir, I did."

      "Where were you?"

      "In the dining room, clearing the table."

      "Where was Miss Clyde?"

      "In the hall, just about to go upstairs."

      "And Mrs. Pell?"

      "In the hall, by the living-room door."

      "Why were they in the hall?"

      "Mr. and Mrs. Bowen had just left, and the ladies had said good-bye to them at the front door, and then they stood talking to each other a few moments."

      "What were they talking about?"

      Agnes hesitated, but on further insistence of the coroner she said, "Miss Iris was complaining to Mrs. Pell about her habit of playing tricks."

      "Was Miss Clyde angry at her aunt?"

      "She sounded so."

      "Certainly I was," broke in Iris. "I had stood that foolishness just as long as I could – "

      "You are not the witness, for the moment, Miss Clyde," said the coroner, severely. "Agnes, what did Mrs. Pell say to her niece in response to her chiding?"

      "She only laughed, and said that Miss Iris looked like a circus clown."

      "Then what did Miss Clyde say?"

      "She said that Mrs. Pell was a fiend in human shape and that she hated her. Then she ran upstairs and went into her own room and slammed the door."

      "Have you any reason to think, Agnes, that there is any secret mode of connection between Mrs. Pell's sitting room and Miss Clyde's bedroom, directly above it?"

      "Why,