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Diamond Pin

<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> <h3>FIBSY AND SAM</h3> "There are two things to find," Fleming Stone said, "the murderer and the pin. There are two things to find out, how the murderer got away, and why the pin is valuable." Stone persisted in his belief that the pin was of value, and that in some way it would lead to the discovery of the jewels. He had read all of Ursula Pell's diary, and though it gave no definite assurance, there were hints in it that strengthened his theory. Before he had been in the Pell house twenty-four hours, he had learned all he could from the examination of the whole premises and the inspection of all the papers and books in Mrs. Pell's desk. He declared that the murderer was after the pin, and that, failing to find it, he had maltreated Ursula Pell in a fit of rage at his failure. "She was of an irritating nature, you tell me," Stone said, "and it may well be that she not only refused to give up the pin, but teased and tantalized the intruder who sought it." "But what use could the pin be as a clue to the[Pg 217] jewels?" Lucille Darrel asked. "I can't imagine any theory that would explain that." "I can imagine a theory," Stone responded, "but it is merely a theory—a surmise, rather; and it is so doubtful, at best, I'd rather not divulge it at present. But the pin must be found." "I haven't found it, but I've a notion of which way to look," said Fibsy, who had just entered the room. It was Mrs. Pell's sitting room, and Fleming Stone was still fingering some packets of papers in the desk. "Out with it, Fibs, for I'm going over to see Mr. Bannard now, and I want all your information before I go." So Fibsy told of what Sam had said, and of the snatch of song he had sung. "Good enough as far as it goes," commented Stone, "but your source of knowledge seems a bit uncertain." "That's just it," said Fibsy. "That's why I didn't tell you this last night. I thought I'd tackle friend Boobikins this morning and see if I could get more of the real goods. But, nixie. Sam says he has the pin, but he doesn't know where it is." "I'm afraid you're trying to draw water from[Pg 218] an empty well, son; better try some other green fields and pastures new." "I know it, Mr. Stone, but s'pose you just speak to the innocent before you go away. You can tell if he knows anything." "Why should Sam steal the pin?" Iris asked, her eyes big with amazement. "You can't tell what such people will do," Fibsy returned. "He may have seen you hiding it, as he says he did, and he may have come in and stolen it, just because of a mere whimsey in his brain. Is he around here much?" "Quite a good deal, of late. He's fond of Agnes, and he trails her about, like a dog after its master. Aunt Ursula wouldn't have him around much when she was here, but Miss Darrel doesn't mind." "I don't like him," said Lucille, "but I am sorry for him, and he does adore Agnes. I think he ought to be put in an institution." "Oh, no," said Iris, "he isn't bad enough for that. He's not really insane, just feeble-minded. He's perfectly harmless." "Bring him in here," suggested Stone. Fibsy ran out, and came back with the half-witted boy. "Hello, Sam," said Stone, in an off-handed,[Pg 219] kindly way, "you're the boy for us. Now, where did you say you found that pin?" "Here," and Sam pushed his hand down in the big chair, in the very spot where Iris had concealed it. "Good boy! How'd you get in this room?" "Through window in other room—walked in here!" He spoke with pride in his achievement. But at Stone's next question, a look of deep cunning came into his eyes, and he shook his head. For the detective said, "Where is the pin now, Sam?" The lack-luster eyes gleamed with an uncanny wisdom, and the stupid face showed a stubborn denial, as he said, "I donno, I donno, I donno." And then he broke forth again into the droning song: "It is a sin to steal a pin, As well as any greater thing!" This couplet he repeated, in his peculiarly insistent way, until they were all nearly frantic. "Stop that!" ordered Lucille. "Put him out of the room, somebody. Hush up, Sam!" "Wait a minute," said Stone, "listen, Sam, what will you take to show me where the pin is?" "Dollars, dollars—a lot of dollars!" "Two?" and Stone drew out his wallet.[Pg 220] "Yes, 'two, three, four—lot of dollars!" "And then you'll tell us where the pin is?" "Yes, Sam tell then—it is a sin——" "Don't sing that again. Look, here's four nice dollar bills; now where's the pin?" "Where?" Sam looked utterly blank. "Where's the pin? Nice pin, oh, pinny, pin, pin! Where's the pin? Oh, I know!" "All right, where?" "Forgot! All forgot. Nice pin forgot—forgot—forgot——" "Oh, pshaw!" exclaimed Lucille, "he doesn't know anything! I don't believe he really took the pin at all. He heard Agnes and Polly talking about it and he thinks he did." "Oh, yes, Sam took pin!" declared the idiot boy, himself. "Yes, Sam took pin—pinny-pin—beautiful day, beautiful day, beautiful—beautiful day!" The boy stood babbling. He was not ill-looking, and the pathos of it all made him far from ridiculous. A tall, well-formed lad, his face would have been really attractive, had the light of intelligence blessed it. But his blue eyes were vacant, his lips were not firm, and his head turned unsteadily from side to side. Yet, now and again, a gleam of cunning[Pg 221] showed in his expression, and Fibsy, watching such moments, tried to make him speak rationally. "Think it up, Sam," he said, kindly. "There! You remember now! So you do! Where did you put the nice pin?" "In the crack of the floor! In the crack of the floor! In the——" "Yes, of course you did!" encouraged Stone. "That was a good place. Now, what floor was it? This room?" "No, oh, nony no! Not this floor, no, no, no—'nother floor." But all further effort to learn what floor was unsuccessful. Indeed, they didn't really think the boy had hidden the pin in a floor crack, or at least they could not feel sure of it. "He never had the pin at all," Lucille asserted, "he heard the others talking about it, probably they said it might be in a crack, and he remembered the idea." "Keep him on the place," Stone told them, as he prepared to go to see Bannard. "Don't let Sam get away, whatever you do." <hr style='width: 45%;' /> The call on Winston Bannard was preceded by a short visit to Detective Hughes. While the lesser detective was not annoyed or[Pg 222] offended at Stone's taking up the case, yet it was part of his professional pride to be able to tell his more distinguished colleague any new points he could get hold of. And, to-day, Hughes had received back from a local handwriting expert the letter that had been sent to Iris. "And he says," Hughes told the tale, "he says, Barlow does, that that letter is in Win Bannard's writing, but disguised!" "What!" and Stone eyed the document incredulously. "Yep, Barlow says so, and he's an expert, he is. See, those twirly y's and those extra long-looped g's are just like these here in a lot of letters of Bannard's." "Are these in Bannard's writing?" "Yes, those are all his. You can see from their contents. Now, this here note signed William Ashton has the same peculiarities." "Yes, I see that. Do you believe Bannard wrote this letter to his cousin?" "She ain't exactly his cousin, only a half way sort of one." "I know; never mind that now. Do you think Bannard wrote the note?" "Yes, I do. I believe Win Bannard is after that pin, so's he can find them jewels——"[Pg 223] "Oh, then you think the pin is a guide to the jewels?" "Well, it must be, as you say so. 'Tenny rate, the murderer wanted something, awful bad. It never seemed like he was after just money, or he'd 'a' come at night, don't you think so?" "Perhaps." "Well, say it was Win, there's nothing to offset that theory. And everything to point toward it. Moreover, there's no other suspect." "William Ashton? Rodney Pollock?" "All the same man," opined Hughes, "and all—Winston Bannard!" "Oh, I don't know——" "How you going to get around that letter? Can't you see yourself it's Bannard's writing disguised? And not very much disguised, at that. Why, look at the capital W! The one in William and this one in his own signature are almost identical." "Why didn't he try to disguise them?" "He did disguise the whole letter, but he forgot now and then. They always do. It's mighty hard, Barlow says, to keep up the disguise all through. They're sure to slip up, and return to their natural formation of the letters here and there."[Pg 224] "I suppose that's so. Shall I confront Bannard with this?" "If you like. You're in charge. At least, I'm in with you. I don't want to run counter to your ideas in any way." "Thank you, Mr. Hughes. I appreciate the justice and courtesy of your attitude toward me, and I thank you for it." "But it don't extend to that boy—that cub of yours!" "Terence?" Fleming Stone laughed. "All right, I'll tell him to keep out of your way. He'll not bother you, Mr. Hughes." "Thank you, sir. Shall I go over to the jail with you?" "No, I'd rather go alone. But as to this theory of yours. You blame Bannard for all the details of this thing? Do you think he kidnapped Miss Clyde last Sunday?" "I think it was his doing. Of course, the two people who carried her off were merely tools of the master mind. Bannard could have directed them as well as anybody else." "He could, surely. Now, here's another thing—I want to trace the house where Miss Clyde was taken. Seems to me that would help a lot." "Lord, man! How can you find that?"[Pg 225] "Do you know any nearby town where there's an insurance agent named Clement Foster?" "Sure I do; he lives over in Meadville." "Then Meadville is very likely the place where that house is." "How do you know?" "I don't know. But I asked Miss Clyde to think of anything in the room she was in that might be indicative, and she told of a calendar with that agent's name on it. It's only a chance, but it is likely that the calendar was in the same town that the agent lives and works in." "Of course it is! Very likely! You are a smart chap, ain't you!" Mr. Hughes' admiration was so full and frank that Stone smiled. "That isn't a very difficult deduction," he said, "but we must verify it. This afternoon, we'll drive over there with Miss Clyde, and see if we can track down the house we're after." <hr style='width: 45%;' /> Fleming Stone went alone to his interview with Winston Barnard. He found the young man willing to talk, but hopelessly dejected. "There's no use, Mr. Stone," he said, after some roundabout conversation, "I'll be railroaded through. I didn't kill my aunt, but the circumstantial[Pg 226] evidence is so desperately strong against me that nobody will believe me innocent. They can't prove it, because they can't find out how I got in, or rather out, but as there's nobody else to suspect, they'll stick to me." "How did you get out?" "Not being in, I didn't get out at all." "I mean when you were there in the morning!" Winston Bannard turned white and bestowed on his interlocutor a glance of utter despair. "For Heaven's sake!" he exclaimed, "you've been in Berrien less than two days, and you've got that, have you?" "I have, Mr. Bannard, and before we go further, let me say that I am your friend, and that I do not think you are guilty of murder or of theft." "Thank you, Mr. Stone," and Bannard interrupted him to grasp his hand. "That's the first word of cheer I've had! My lawyer is a half-hearted champion, because he believes in his soul that I did it!" "Have you told him the whole truth?" "I have not! I couldn't! Every bit of it would only drag me deeper into the mire of inexplicable mystery." "Will you tell it all to me?" "Gladly, if you'll promise to believe me."[Pg 227] "I can't promise that, blindly, but I'll tell you that I think I Shall be able to recognize the truth as you tell it. Did you write the letter signed William Ashton?" "Lord, no! Why would I do that?" "To get the pin——" "Now, hold on, before we go further, Mr. Stone, do satisfy my curiosity. Is that pin, that foolish, common little pin of any value?" "I think so, Mr. Bannard. I can't tell until I see it——" "But man, why see it? It's just like any common pin! I examined it myself, and it isn't bent or twisted, or different in any way from millions of other pins." "Quite evidently then, you've not tried to get possession of it. Your scorn of it is sincere, I'm certain." "You may be! I've no interest in that pin, for I know it was only a fool joke of Aunt Ursula's to tease poor little Iris." "Her joking habit was most annoying, was it not?" "All of that, and then some! She was a terror! Why, I simply couldn't keep on living with her. She made my life a burden. And she did the same by Iris. What that girl has suffered! But the last[Pg 228] straw was the worst. Why, for years and years Aunt Ursula told of the valuable diamond pin she had bequeathed to Iris; at least, we thought she said diamond pin, but she said dime an' pin, I suppose." "Yes, I know all about that; it was a cruel jest, unless—as I hope—the pin is really of value. But never mind that now. Tell me your story of that fatal Sunday." "Here goes, then. I was out with the boys the night before, and I lost a lot of money at bridge. I was hard up, and I told one of the fellows I'd come up to Berrien the next day and touch Aunt Ursula for a present. She often gave me a check, if I could catch her in the right mood. So, next day, Sunday morning, I started on my bicycle and came up here." "What time did you leave New York?" "'Long about nine, I guess. It was a heavenly day, and I dawdled some, for I wanted to get here after Iris had gone to church. I wanted to see Aunt Ursula alone, and then if I got the money, I wanted to go back to New York and not spend the day here." "Pardon this question—are you in love with Miss Clyde?" "I am, Mr. Stone, but she doesn't care for me. She thinks me a ne'er-do-well, and perhaps I am,[Pg 229] but truly, I had turned over a new leaf and, if Iris would have smiled on me, I was going to live right ever after. But I knew she wasn't overanxious to see me, so I planned to make my call at Pellbrook and get away while she was absent at church." "You reached the house, then, after Miss Clyde had gone?" "Yes, and the servants had all gone; at least, I didn't see any of them. I went in at the front door, and I found Aunt Pell in her own sitting-room. She was glad to see me, she was in a very amiable mood, and when I asked her for some money, she willingly took her check-book and drew me a check for five thousand dollars. I was amazed, for I had expected to have to coax her for it." "And then?" "Then I stayed about half an hour, not longer, for Aunt Ursula, though kind enough, seemed absent-minded, or rather, wrapped in her own thoughts, and when I said I'd be going, she made no demur, and I went." "At what time was this?" "I've thought the thing over, Mr. Stone, and though I'm not positive I think I reached Pellbrook at quarter before eleven and left it about quarter after eleven."[Pg 230] "Leaving your aunt perfectly well and quite as usual?" "Yes, so far as I know, save that, as I told you, she was preoccupied in her manner." "You had a New York paper?" "Yes, a Herald." "Where did you buy it?" "Nowhere. I have one left at my door every morning. I read it before I left my rooms, but I put part of it in my pocket, as I usually do, in case I wanted to look at it again." "You know there was a Herald found in the room after the murder?" "Of course I do, but it was not mine." "What became of yours?" "I haven't the least idea, I never thought of it again." "Quite a coincidence, that a Herald should have been left there when your aunt took quite another New York paper!" "I'm telling you this thing just as it happened, Mr. Stone." Bannard spoke sternly, and with such a straightforward glance that Fleming Stone said, "I beg your pardon—proceed." "I went down to New York," Bannard resumed, "and I stopped at the Red Fox Inn for lunch."[Pg 231] "At what time?" "About noon, or a bit later. I don't know these hours exactly for I had no notion I'd be called to account for them, and I paid little heed to the time. I had the money I wanted, Aunt Ursula had given it to me willingly, I could pay off my debts, and I meant then to live a less haphazard life. I was making all sorts of plans to make good, and so gain Iris Clyde's favor, and perhaps, later, her love. I've not told her of this, for next thing I knew, I was suspected of killing my aunt!" "But I'm told that the detectives have inquired, and the waiter who served you at the inn, says you were on your way toward Berrien, not from it." "Then that waiter lies. I was on my way back to New York. I lunched at the inn, and proceeded on my way. I reached town about three or later, and when I finally got back to my rooms, I found a telegram from Iris to come right up here. I did so, and the rest of my story is public information. Now, the murderer, whoever he may have been, came to the house long after I left it. Oh, I can't say that, for he may have been hidden in the house when I was there. But, anyway, he killed Aunt Ursula about the middle of the afternoon, so I supposed my true story would be sufficient alibi. But it hasn't proved so, and now, if they say the Inn people[Pg 232] declare I was coming north instead of going south, as I was, then I can only say that the villain who did the deed is trying to make it seem to have been me." "That's my belief," agreed Stone; "the whole affair is a carefully planned and deep-laid scheme, and concocted in a clever and diabolically ingenious brain."[Pg 233] <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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