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THE DIAMOND PIN
* * * * *
CAROLYN WELLS'
_Baffling detective stories in which Fleming Stone, the
great American Detective, displays his remarkable ingenuity
for unravelling mysteries_
VICKY VAN $1.35 net
THE MARK OF CAIN $1.35 net
THE CURVED BLADES $1.35 net
THE WHITE ALLEY $1.25 net
ANYBODY BUT ANNE $1.25 net
THE MAXWELL MYSTERY $1.25 net
A CHAIN OF EVIDENCE $1.25 net
THE CLUE $1.25 net
THE GOLD BAG $1.25 net
EACH WITH FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR.
12MO. CLOTH.
* * * * *
[Illustration: FIBSY AIMED IT STRAIGHT AT THE MASKED MAN--_Page 258_]
THE DIAMOND PIN
by
CAROLYN WELLS
Author of "A Chain of Evidence," "Vicky Van," etc.
With a Frontispiece in Color by Gayle Hoskins
[Illustration]
Philadelphia and London
J. B. Lippincott Company
1919
Copyright, 1919, by J. B. Lippincott Company
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A CERTAIN DATE 7
II. THE LOCKED ROOM 24
III. THE EVIDENCE OF THE CHECKBOOK 40
IV. TIMKEN AND HIS INQUIRIES 56
V. DOWNING'S EVIDENCE 71
VI. LUCILLE 87
VII. THE CASE AGAINST BANNARD 103
VIII. RODNEY POLLOCK APPEARS 119
IX. IRIS IN DANGER 135
X. FLOSSIE 151
XI. GONE AGAIN! 167
XII. IN CHICAGO 183
XIII. FLEMING STONE COMES 200
XIV. FIBSY AND SAM 216
XV. IN THE COLOLE 233
XVI. KIDNAPPED AGAIN 250
XVII. THE CIPHER 266
XVIII. SOLUTION AT LAST 282
CHAPTER I
A CERTAIN DATE
"Well, go to church then, and I hope to goodness you'll come back in a
more spiritual frame of mind! Though how you can feel spiritual in that
flibbertigibbet dress is more than I know! An actress, indeed! No
mummers' masks have ever blotted the scutcheon of my family tree. The
Clydes were decent, God-fearing people, and I don't propose, Miss, that
you shall disgrace the name."
Ursula Pell shook her good-looking gray head and glowered at her pretty
niece, who was getting into a comfortable though not elaborate motor
car.
"I know you didn't propose it, Aunt Ursula," returned the smiling girl,
"I thought up the scheme myself, and I decline to let you have credit of
its origin."
"Discredit, you mean," and Mrs. Pell sniffed haughtily. "Here's some
money for the contribution plate. Iris; see that you put it in, and
don't appropriate it yourself."
The slender, aristocratic old hand, half covered by a falling lace
frill, dropped a coin into Iris' out-held palm, and the girl perceived
it was one cent.
She looked at her aunt in amazement, for Mrs. Pell was a millionaire;
then, thinking better of her impulse to voice an indignant protest, Iris
got into the car. Immediately, she saw a dollar bill on the seat beside
her and she knew that was for the contribution plate, and the penny was
a joke of her aunt's.
For Ursula Pell had a queer twist in her fertile old brain that made her
enjoy the temporary discomfiture of her friends, whenever she was able
to bring it about. To see anyone chagrined, nonplused, or made suddenly
to feel ridiculous, was to Mrs. Pell an occasion of sheer delight.
To do her justice, her whimsical tricks usually ended in the
gratification of the victim in some way, as now, when Iris, thinking her
aunt had given her a penny for the collection, found the dollar ready
for that worthy cause. But such things are irritating, and were
particularly so to Iris Clyde, whose sense of humor was of a different
trend.
In fact, Iris' whole nature was different from her aunt's, and therein
lay most of the difficulties of their living together. For there were
difficulties. The erratic, emphatic, dogmatic old lady could not
sympathize with the high-strung, high-spirited young girl, and as a
result there was more friction than should be in any well-regulated
family.
And Mrs. Pell had a decided penchant for practical jokes--than which
there is nothing more abominable. But members of Mrs. Pell's household
put up with these because if they didn't they automatically ceased to be
members of Mrs. Pell's household.
One member had made this change. A nephew, Winston Bannard, had resented
his aunt's gift of a trick cigar, which blew up and sent fine sawdust
into his eyes and nose, and her follow-up of a box of Perfectos was
insufficient to keep him longer in the uncertain atmosphere of her
otherwise pleasant country home.
And now, Iris Clyde had announced her intention of leaving the old roof
also. Her pretext was that she wanted to become an actress, and that was
true, but had Mrs Pell been more companionable and easy to live with,
Iris would have curbed her histrionic ambitions. Nor is it beyond the
possibilities that Iris chose the despised profession, because she knew
it would enrage her aunt to think of a Clyde going into the depths of
ignominy which the stage represented to Mrs. Pell.
For Iris Clyde at twenty-two had quite as strong a will and inflexible a
determination as her aunt at sixty-two, and though they oftenest ran
parallel, yet when they criss-crossed, neither was ready to yield the
fraction of a point for the sake of peace in the family.
And it was after one of their most heated discussions, after a duel of
words that flicked with sarcasm and rasped with innuendo, that Iris,
cool and pretty in her summer costume, started for church, leaving Mrs.
Pell, irate and still nervously quivering from her own angry tirade.
Iris smiled and waved the bill at her aunt as the car started, and then
suddenly looked aghast and leaned over the side of the car as if she had
dropped the dollar. But the car sped on, and Iris waved frantically,
pointing to the spot where she had seemed to drop the bill, and
motioning her aunt to go out there and get it.
This Mrs. Pell promptly did, only to be rewarded by a ringing laugh from
Iris and a wave of the bill in the girl's hand, as the car slid through
the gates and out of sight.
"Silly thing!" grumbled Ursula Pell, returning to the piazza where she
had been sitting. But she smiled at the way her niece had paid her back
in her own coin, if a dollar bill can be considered coin.
This, then, was the way the members of the Pell household were expected
to conduct themselves. Nor was it only the family, but the servants also
were frequent butts for the misplaced hilarity of their mistress.
One cook left because of a tiny mouse imprisoned in her workbasket; one
first-class gardener couldn't stand a scarecrow made in a ridiculous
caricature of himself; and one small scullery maid objected to
unexpected and startling "Boos!" from dark corners.
But servants could always be replaced, and so, for that matter, could
relatives, for Mrs. Pell had many kinsfolk, and her wealth would prove a
strong magnet to most of them.
Indeed, as outsiders often exclaimed, why mind a harmless joke now and
then? Which was all very well--for the outsiders. But it is far from
pleasant to live in continual expectation of salt in one's tea or cotton
in one's croquettes.
So Winston had picked up his law books and sought refuge in New York
City and Iris, after a year's further endurance, was thinking seriously
of following suit.
And yet, Ursula Pell was most kind, generous and indulgent. Iris had
been with her for ten years, and as a child or a very young girl, she
had not minded her aunt's idiosyncrasy, had, indeed, rather enjoyed the
foolish tricks. But, of late, they had bored her, and their constant
recurrence so wore on her nerves that she wanted to go away and order
her life for herself. The stage attracted her, though not insistently.
She planned to live in bachelor apartments with a girl chum who was an
artist, and hoped to find congenial occupation of some kind. She rather
harped on the actress proposition because it so thoroughly annoyed her
aunt, and matters between them had now come to such a pass, that they
teased each other in any and every way possible. This was entirely Mrs.
Pell's fault, for if she hadn't had her peculiar trait of practical
joking, Iris never would have dreamed of teasing her.
On the whole, they were good friends, and often a few days would pass in
perfect harmony by reason of Ursula not being moved by her imp of the
perverse to cut up any silly prank. Then, Iris would drink from a glass
of water, to find it had been tinctured with asafetida, or brush her
hair and then learn that some drops of glue had been put on the bristles
of her hairbrush.
Anger or sulks at these performances were just what Mrs. Pell wanted, so
Iris roared with laughter and pretended to think it all very funny,
whereupon Mrs. Pell did the sulking, and Iris scored.
So it was not, perhaps, surprising that the girl concluded to leave her
aunt's home and shift for herself. It would, she knew, probably mean
disinheritance; but after all money is not everything, and as the old
lady grew older, her pranks became more and more an intolerable
nuisance.
And Iris wanted to go out into the world and meet people. The neighbors
in the small town of Berrien, where they lived, were uninteresting, and
there were few visitors from the outside world. Though less than fifteen
miles from New York, Iris rarely invited her friends to visit her
because of the probability that her aunt would play some absurd trick on
them. This had happened so many times, even though Mrs. Pell had
promised that it should not occur, that Iris had resolved never to try
it again.
The best friends and advisers of the girl were Mr. Bowen, the rector,
and his wife. The two were also friends of Mrs. Pell, and perhaps out of
respect for his cloth, the old lady never played tricks on the Bowens.
It was their habit to dine every Sunday at Pellbrook, and the occasion
was always the pleasantest of the whole week.
The farm was a large one, about a mile from the village, and included
old-fashioned orchards and hayfields as well as more modern greenhouses
and gardens. There was a lovely brook, a sunny slope of hillside, and a
delightful grove of maples, and added to these a long-distance view of
hazy hills that made Pellbrook one of the most attractive country places
for many miles around.
Ursula Pell sat on her verandah quite contentedly gazing over the
landscape and thinking about her multitudinous affairs.
"I s'pose I oughtn't to tease that child," she thought, smiling at the
recollection; "I don't know what I'd do, if she should leave me! Win
went, but, land! you can't keep a young man down! A girl, now, 's
different. I guess I'll take Iris to New York next winter and let her
have a little fling. I'll pretend I'm going alone, and leave her here to
keep the house, and then I'll take her too! She'll be so surprised!"
The old lady's eyes twinkled and she fairly reveled in the joke she
would play on her niece. And, not to do her an injustice, she meant no
harm. She really thought only of the girl's glad surprise at learning
she was to go, and gave no heed to the misery that might be caused by
the previous disappointment.
A woman came out from the house to ask directions for dinner.
"Yes, Polly," said Ursula Pell, "the Bowens will dine here as usual.
Dinner at one-thirty, sharp, as the rector has to leave at three, to
attend some meeting or other. Pity they had to have it on Sunday."
There was some discussion of the menu and then Polly, the old cook,
shuffled away, and again Ursula Pell sat alone.
"An actress!" she ruminated, "my little Iris an actress! Well, I guess
not! But I can persuade her out of that foolishness, I'll bet! Why, if I
can't do it any other way, I'll take her traveling,--I'll--why, I'll
give her her inheritance now, and let her amuse herself being an heiress
before I'm dead and gone. Why should I wait for that, any way? Suppose I
give her the pin at once--I'd do it to-day, I believe, while the
notion's on me, if I only had it here. I can get it from Mr. Chapin in a
few days, and then--well, then, Iris would have something to interest
her! I wonder how she'd like a whole king's ransom of jewels! She's like
a princess herself. And, then, too, that girl ought to marry, and marry
well. I suppose I ought to have been thinking about this before. I must
talk to the Bowens--of course, there's no one in Berrien--I did think
one time Win might fall in love with her, but then he went away, and
now he never comes up here any more. I wonder if Iris cares especially
for Win. She never says anything about him, but that's no sign, one way
or the other. I'd like her to marry Roger Downing, but she snubs him
unmercifully. And he is a little countrified. With Iris' beauty and the
fortune I shall leave her, she could marry anybody on earth! I believe
I'll take her traveling a bit, say, to California, and then spend the
winter in New York and give the girl a chance. And I must quit teasing
her. But I do love to see that surprised look when I play some
outlandish trick on her!"
The old lady's eyes assumed a vixenish expression and her smile widened
till it was a sly, almost diabolical grin. Quite evidently she was even
then planning some new and particularly disagreeable joke on Iris.
At length she rose and went into the house to write in her diary. Ursula
Pell was of most methodical habits, and a daily journal was regularly
kept.
The main part of the house was four square, a wide hall running straight
through the center, with doors front and back. On the left, as one
entered, the big living room was in front, and behind it a smaller
sitting room, which was Mrs. Pell's own. Not that anyone was unwelcome
there, but it held many of her treasures and individual belongings, and
served as her study or office, for the transaction of the various
business matters in which she was involved. Frequently her lawyer was
closeted with her here for long confabs, for Ursula Pell was greatly
given to the pleasurable entertainment of changing her will.
She had made more wills than Lawyer Chapin could count, and each in turn
was duly drawn up and witnessed and the previous one destroyed. Her
diary usually served to record the changes she proposed making, and when
the time was ripe for a new will, the diary was requisitioned for
direction as to the testamentary document.
The wealth of Ursula Pell was enormous, far more so than one would
suppose from the simplicity of her household appointments. This was not
due to miserliness, but to her simple tastes and her frugal early life.
Her fortune was the bequest of her husband, who, now dead more than
twenty years, had amassed a great deal of money which he had invested
almost entirely in precious stones. It was his theory and belief that
stocks and bonds were uncertain, whereas gems were always valuable. His
collection included some world-famous diamonds and rubies, and a set of
emeralds that were historic.
But nobody, save Ursula Pell herself, knew where these stones were.
Whether in safe deposit or hidden on her own property, she had never
given so much as a hint to her family or her lawyer. James Chapin knew
his eccentric old client better than to inquire concerning the
whereabouts of her treasure, and made and remade the wills disposing of
it, without comment. A few of the smaller gems Mrs. Pell had given to
Iris and to young Bannard, and some, smaller still, to more distant
relatives; but the bulk of the collection had never been seen by the
present generation.
She often told Iris that it should all be hers eventually, but Iris
didn't seriously bank on the promise, for she knew her erratic aunt
might quite conceivably will the jewels to some distant cousin, in a
moment of pique at her niece.
For Iris was not diplomatic. Never had she catered to her aunt's whims
or wishes with a selfish motive. She honestly tried to live peaceably
with Mrs. Pell, but of late she had begun to believe that impossible,
and was planning to go away.
As usual on Sunday morning, Ursula Pell had her house to herself.
Her modest establishment consisted of only four servants, who engaged
additional help as their duties required. Purdy, the old gardener, was
the husband of Polly, the cook; Agnes, the waitress, also served as
ladies' maid when occasion called for it. Campbell, the chauffeur,
completed the menage, and all other workers, and there were a good many,
were employed by the day, and did not live at Pellbrook.
Mrs. Pell rarely went to church, and on Sunday mornings Campbell took
Iris to the village. Agnes accompanied them, as she, too, attended the
Episcopal service.
Purdy and his wife drove an old horse and still older buckboard to a
small church nearby, which better suited their type of piety.
Polly was a marvel of efficiency and managed cleverly to go to meeting
without in any way delaying or interfering with her preparations for the
Sunday dinner. Indeed, Ursula Pell would have no one around her who was
not efficient. Waste and waste motion were equally taboo in that
household.
The mistress of the place made her customary round of the kitchen
quarters, and, finding everything in its usual satisfactory condition,
returned to her own sitting room, and took her diary from her desk.
At half-past twelve the Purdys returned, and at one o'clock the motor
car brought its load from the village.
"Well, well, Mr. Bowen, how do you do?" the hostess greeted them as they
arrived. "And dear Mrs. Bowen, come right in and lay off your bonnet."
The wide hall, with its tables, chairs and mirrors offered ample
accommodations for hats and wraps, and soon the party were seated on the
front part of the broad verandah that encircled three sides of the
house.
Mr. Bowen was stout and jolly and his slim shadow of a wife acted as a
sort of Greek chorus, agreeing with and echoing his remarks and
opinions.
Conversation was in a gay and bantering key, and Mrs. Pell was in high
good humor. Indeed, she seemed nervously excited and a little
hysterical, but this was not entirely unusual, and her guests fitted
their mood to hers.
A chance remark led to mention of Mrs. Pell's great fortune of jewels,
and Mr. Bowen declared that he fully expected she would bequeath them
all to his church to be made into a wonderful chalice.
"Not a bad idea," exclaimed Ursula Pell; "and one I've never thought of!
I'll get Mr. Chapin over here to-morrow to change my will."
"Who will be the loser?" asked the rector. "To whom are they willed at
present?"
"That's telling," and Mrs. Pell smiled mysteriously.
"Don't forget you've promised me the wonderful diamond pin, auntie,"
said Iris, bristling up a little.
"What diamond pin?" asked Mrs. Bowen, curiously.
"Oh, for years, Aunt Ursula has promised me a marvelous diamond pin, the
most valuable of her whole collection--haven't you, auntie?"
"Yes, Iris," and Mrs. Pell nodded her head, "that pin is certainly the
most valuable thing I possess."
"It must be a marvel, then," said Mr. Bowen, his eyes opening wide, "for
I've heard great tales of the Pell collection. I thought they were all
unset jewels."
"Most of them are," Mrs. Pell spoke carelessly, "but the pin I shall
leave to Iris----"
At that moment dinner was announced, and the group went to the dining
room. This large and pleasant room was in front on the right, and back
of it were the pantries and kitchens. A long rear extension provided the
servants' quarters, which were numerous and roomy. The house was
comfortable rather than pretentious, and though the village folk
wondered why so rich a woman continued to live in such an old-fashioned
home, those who knew her well realized that the place exactly met Ursula
Pell's requirements.
The dinner was in harmony with the atmosphere of the home. Plentiful,
well-cooked food there was, but no attempt at elaborate confections or
any great formality of service.
One concession to modernity was a small dish of stuffed dates at each
cover, and of these Mrs. Pell spoke in scornful tones.
"Some of Iris' foolishness," she observed. "She wants all sorts of
knick-knacks that she considers stylish!"
"I don't at all, auntie," denied the girl, flushing with annoyance, "but
when you ate those dates at Mrs. Graham's the other day, you enjoyed
them so much I thought I'd make some. She gave me her recipe, and I
think they're very nice."
"I do, too," agreed Mrs. Bowen, eating a date appreciatively, and
feeling sorry for Iris' discomfiture. For though many girls might not
mind such disapproval, Iris was of a sensitive nature, and cringed
beneath her aunt's sharp words.
In an endeavor to cover her embarrassment, she picked up a date from her
own portion and bit off the end.
From the fruit spurted a stream of jet black ink, which stained Iris'
lips, offended her palate, and spilling on her pretty white frock,
utterly ruined the dainty chiffon and lace.
She comprehended instantly. Her aunt, to annoy her, had managed to
conceal ink in one of the dates, and place it where Iris would naturally
pick it up first.
With an angry exclamation the girl left the table and ran upstairs.