CHAPTER XV
IN THE COLOLE
Fibsy stuck to half-witted Sam like a leech. The boy's theory was thatSam had stolen the pin, as he said, and that he had hidden it with thecunning of a defective mind, in a place most unlikely to be suspected.So Fibsy cultivated the lackwit's acquaintance and established friendlyrelations.
Agnes rather resented Fibsy's attitude, but his wheedlesome ways won herheart, too, and the three were often together.
In fact, Fibsy enlisted Agnes on his side, and convinced her that theymust learn from Sam where the pin was hidden, if he had really stolenit.
It was difficult to get information from Sam himself, for his statementswere contradictory and misleading. But, by watching him closely, Fibsyhoped to catch him off guard, and make him reveal his secret.
Sam babbled of the pin continually. As Agnes said, whenever he got a newtopic in his poor, disordered brain, he harped on it day and night.
"Pinny, pin, pin," he would chant, in his sing-song way, "nice pinny,pin, pin, where are you? Where are you? Nice pinny-pin, where are you?"
It was enough to drive one frantic, but Fibsy encouraged it as a meanstoward an end.
And one day he found Sam down on his knees poking a sharp-pointed stickin between the boards of the kitchen floor. The cracks were wide in theold house, and Fibsy held his breath as he, himself unseen, watched theidiot boy diligently digging.
But it amounted to nothing. After turning out many little piles of dustand dirt, Sam rose, and said, dejectedly, "No pinny-pin there! Where isit? Oh, oh, oh--_where_ is it?"
Fibsy had learned the workings of the queer mind, and he was sure nowthat Sam had hidden the pin, but not in a floor crack. The mention ofthat hiding-place had been made by Sam to turn suspicion from the realone, and then the idea had stuck in his head, and, Fibsy feared, he hadforgotten the true place of concealment.
This would be a catastrophe, for it might then be the pin would never befound! So Fibsy stuck to his self-imposed task of standing by Sam,hoping for a chance revelation.
"Go ahead," Fleming Stone told him, "do all you can with Sam. I, too,feel sure he took the pin from the chair, where Miss Clyde put it. Findthe pin, Fibsy boy, find the pin, and I'll do the rest."
Stone spent an entire morning in Mrs. Pell's room, going over her oldletters and getting every possible light on her earlier life.
He learned that she had been born and reared in a small town in Maine,that she had married and gone abroad for a stay of several years, thatafter that she had lived in Chicago, and for the past ten years hadresided at Pellbrook. Her husband had died fifteen years ago, and lefther his great fortune, mostly in precious stones. Ten years ago, whenshe came to Berrien, she had taken all the jewels from the bankers' andhad concealed them in some place of safety which was not known to anyone but herself.
Her diary attested this fact, over and over again. But it gave no hintas to where the hiding-place might be.
Stone pondered long and deeply over the statement that the gems were insome crypt, and, as he thought, a great inspiration came to him.
"Of course!" he said to himself, "it _is_ that! It can be nothing else!"
But he confided his new theory to nobody; he only began to ask morequestions.
He quizzed Iris as to her Chicago visit, and wanted a detailed accountof every minute she had spent there. Then he asked her more particularlyabout the house where she was taken in the little motor car.
"Let's try to find it," Stone said, "let's go now."
They started off in a runabout, which Stone drove himself. Knowing thatthe house might be in Meadville, they went that way.
Iris was unable to verify the route, so they went there on the chance.
"A wild goose chase, probably," Stone conceded, "but we'll make a stabat it. You see, Miss Clyde, I'm getting the thing narrowed down to a fewmain propositions. There is, first, a master mind at the head of all themystery. He is the murderer, he is your caller, Pollock, he is WilliamAshton, he is the man you saw in Chicago, who attacked you that night inMrs. Pell's room, who kidnapped you that Sunday--in fact, he is the manat the helm. He has underlings, but I do not think they are accomplicesor confederates, they are merely hirelings. Now, of course, Pollock isnot this man's real name, but we will call him that for identificationamong ourselves. This Pollock wanted the pin, we'll say, and not onlythe pin, but the paper, the receipt that was in the Florentinepocket-book, and that was definitely bequeathed to Mr. Bannard. Thatpaper is quite as valuable as the pin, and he did get that."
"Why, that was just a receipt----"
"Yes, and the pin was just a pin! But we want them both, and thereforewe want the man, Pollock."
"This is Meadville, but I don't see any house that could possibly be theone they took me to. It had rather high stone front steps, with brickuprights to them."
They soon went through the little town, but no such peculiarity was tobe found.
"Don't give up the ship too easily," said Stone, smiling at Iris' frownof disappointment, "we haven't exhausted our resources yet."
A few inquiries showed him the office of Clement Foster, the insuranceagent.
Here Iris saw a calendar exactly like the one that had been in the roomwhere Flossie searched her.
After a little talk, Fleming Stone discovered that the agent had givenout few of those calendars outside his home town, but he mentioned somenames that he remembered.
"Do any of these people live in a house with high stone steps?" thedetective queried.
"Lemme see; yes, Joe Young, over to East Fallville, has stone steps."
"With brick uprights?" asked Iris, eagerly.
"Yes, that's right. Nice little house it is, too. Right on Maple Avenue,the prettiest street in that village."
Thanking the agent, the inquiring pair went on their way, rejoicing. Andsure enough the house of Joe Young proved to be the very one where Irishad been taken.
They went in, and after introducing himself Stone learned that Mr. Youngwas decidedly interested in the Pellbrook mystery, and that his fatherhad built the well-safe in Mrs. Pell's room.
Moreover, Young had attended the inquest, and had kept in touch with allthe developments so far as he could learn them.
But it was impossible to associate him with the kidnapping of Iris. Hewas too frankly interested and sympathetic to be suspected of playing apart or deceiving them in his attitude toward them.
"Where were you a week ago Sunday?" Stone asked him suddenly.
"Why, let me think. Oh, yes, my wife and I went over to Meadville andspent the day with her mother's folks. Yes, that's what we did. Why?"
"Who was here in this house?" Stone went on.
"Nobody. It was locked up all day."
"Has anyone a key to it, excepting yourself?"
"No, nobody. Oh, yes, my brother has, but he's in Chicago."
"Was he in Chicago then?"
"Why, yes, I s'pose so. I don't know. Why?"
"Could he have come here that day, without your knowing it?"
"Of course he could have done so, and now you speak of it, I remember mywife said she smelt cigar smoke when we came home. I didn't notice itmyself."
"What's your brother's name?"
"Young, Charlie Young. Is he up to anything wrong?"
"Is he apt to be?"
"Well, I wouldn't put it past him. Charlie's a case! I've tried to dowell by him, but he's been a thorn in my side for years. I'm alwaysexpecting to have him turn up in trouble of one sort or another. Yes, ifyou ask me, he might have been here that day, and cut up any sort ofmonkey-shines!"
"Do you know any young lady named Flossie?"
"Nope, never heard of any, that I remember. But Charlie has queerfriends, if that's what you're getting at. Say, tell me more about thePell case, if you're from Berrien. How did the murderer get out?"
"I haven't discovered that yet, but I hope to do so. I understand yourfather was an expert carpenter and joiner?"
"Yes, sir
, he was that. He died some four years ago, but I've manyexamples of his fine work. Want to see some?"
But Stone could not stay to gratify the son's pride in the paternalaccomplishments and the two callers left and went back to Pellbrook.
"There's the man," said Stone, briefly. "Charlie Young is the mastermind behind all this deviltry."
"Did he kill Aunt Ursula?" asked Iris with angry eyes.
"I don't say that, yet," Stone said, cautiously, "but he's the man whois after the pin and----"
The detective fell into a deep study and Iris, busy with her ownthoughts, did not interrupt him.
She positively identified the house as the one to which she had beentaken, and if Mr. Stone said that Charlie Young was the villain who haddirected the kidnapping, though he did not appear himself, she had nodoubt Stone wad right.
"And I've got a letter that Charlie Young wrote," Stone exulted. "Irather think that will go far toward freeing Mr. Bannard!"
"Oh, how?"
"I believe that Young wrote that letter signed William Ashton, andpurposely made it look like the disguised hand of Winston Bannard."
"It was exactly like Win's writing, but different, too. The long-tailedletters were just like Win's."
"Yes, and that helps prove it. If Bannard had tried to disguise his ownwriting, the first thing he would have thought of would be _not_ to makethose peculiar long loops. Now their presence shows a clever trickster'seffort to make the writing suggest Bannard at once, but also to suggesta disguised hand."
"That is clever! How can you ever catch such an ingenious villain? Shallyou arrest him at once?"
"Oh, no, to suspect is not to accuse, until we have incontrovertibleproof. But we'll get it! Lord, what a brain! And, yet, it may be easierto catch a smarty like that than a duller, more plodding mind. You see,he is so brilliant of scheme, so quick of execution, that he may welloverreach himself, and tumble into a trap or two I shall set for him."
"Doubtless he knows you are here, doesn't he?"
"Surely; but that doesn't matter. If things are going as I hope, I'llbag him soon!"
"And yet you're not sure he's the murderer?"
"No, Miss Clyde, and I'm inclined to think he was not. However, we mustproceed with caution, but we can work swiftly, and, I hope, reach theend soon. Matters are coming to a focus."
As they drove under the Pellbrook _porte cochere_, a strange-lookingfigure ran to greet them.
"Hello, darkey boy, who are _you_?" sang out Stone, as the blackamoorgrinned at them.
Iris stared, and then burst out, laughing. "Why, it's Terence!" shecried. "For goodness' sake, Fibsy, what _have_ you been doing?"
The boy was quite as black as any chimney sweep--indeed, as anyfull-blooded negro. He had run up from the cellar at the approach of themotor, and stood grinning at Iris and Stone.
"I'm on a trail," he said, "and it's a mighty dark one.
"Where will it lead you--to light?" asked Stone, smiling at the earnest,blackened face.
"I hope so, oh, Mr. Stone, I hope so! For the trail is somepin' fierce,be-lieve me!"
"Well, look out, don't get near Miss Clyde, nor me, either! You're asight, Fibsy!"
"Yessir, I know it," and, without another word, the boy turned anddisappeared down the cellar entrance.
Iris went into the house, but Stone went down to the cellar to see whatFibsy was doing. He found the boy diligently shoveling coal from onelarge coal bin to another. Nearby was Sam, quite as black as Fibsy, andthe two were a comical sight.
Sam was seated on a box, rocking back and forth in an ecstasy of glee,and crooning, "Colole, colole, pinny-pin in colole!"
"That's what he says, Mr. Stone," Fibsy defended himself, "so ifpinny-pin _is_ in the coal-hole, I'm going to get her out! And if not,then Sam's fooled me again, that's all!"
"Terence Maguire! Do you mean to say you're going to hunt for a needlein a haystack--I mean a pin in a coal-hole?"
"Just that, sir. I'm onto friend Boobikins' curves, now, and I fullybelieve that his present dope is the answer! Anyway, I'm taking nochances."
"But, Fibs, it's impossible----"
"Sure it is, that's why I'm doing it. You run away and play, Mr. Stone,and let me work out this end. Didn't you tell me to find the pin? Well,I'm obeyin' orders."
Fibsy turned to his task again, and Stone watched him for a few minutes.The boy laboriously took up the coal in a small shovel, looked it overwith sharpest scrutiny and then dumped it into the other bin.
By good luck the bins adjoined and the task was one of patience andperseverance rather than of difficulty.
Stepping toward his faithful assistant, Fleming Stone held out his hand,and said, quietly, "Put it there, Terence!"
Eagerly the little black paw slipped into the big, strong white one, andthe handshake that ensued was all the reward or recognition the happyboy wanted.
Stone went upstairs again, and Fibsy whistled gaily as he continued hisself-chosen task.
Sam, sitting by, cheered him on by continued assertions that he _had_thrown the pin in the coal-bin, and had _not_ buried it in a crack ofthe floor.
And, as Fibsy had declared, he knew the half-wit now well enough to feelpretty sure when he was telling the truth and when not.
Meantime, Stone was pursuing his investigations. That afternoon he droveto Red Fox Inn. He went alone, and by dint of bribes and threats helearned that Charlie Young had been there since the day of the murder,and had instructed the waiter who had served Bannard at his Sundayluncheon to say that Bannard was coming from New York and not going toit. These instructions were made as commands and were backed up bycertain forcible arguments that insured their carrying out.
It became clear, therefore, that Young was interested in making it seemthat Bannard was at Pellbrook on Sunday afternoon instead of Sundaymorning, which latter Stone firmly believed to be the case.
Further discreet inquiry proved Young to be a frequent visitor at theinn, on occasions when he was in the locality, and that was said to beoften, especially of late.
Stone went back, exultant, his brain working swiftly and steadily towardhis solution of the many still perplexing points.
* * * * *
Later that afternoon, as it was nearing dusk, a yell from the cellartold, without words, that Fibsy's quest had succeeded.
Lucille and Iris followed Fleming Stone's flying footsteps down thestairs and found Fibsy, black but triumphant.
"Here's your pinny-pin, Mr. Stone!" he cried, exhausted from fatigue andexcitement, and with perspiration streaming down his sooty face. "Don'ttell me it mayn't be the one! It's gotter be--oh, F. S., it's _gotter_be!"
Only in moments of strong excitement did Terence address his employer byanything but his dignified name, but this moment was a strenuous one,and Fibsy broke loose. Tears rolled down his cheeks, as he gave thedetective a pleading look.
"All right, Fibs, I've no doubt it's the one. Pins don't grow much incoal-holes, and though it may not be----" a glance at the woefulcountenance made him quickly revise his speech, "But it is! I'm sure itis," he finished, smiling kindly at the big-eyed blackamoor.
"Sure! sure!" cried Sam, capering about, "nice pinny-pin! Sam put itthere after Missy Iris put it in chair."
Fleming Stone looked at the pin curiously. As he had been informed, itwas a common pin, of medium size, with nothing about it to distinguishit from its millions of brothers that are lost every day, everywhere.
"I'll take it up where there's a better light on it," he said, finally."Fibsy, you're a trump, old boy, and after you've sought the assistancethat a bath-tub grants, return to the sitting room, and I'll tell you ofthe value of your find, in words of one syllable."
Elated beyond all words, Fibsy ran away to bathe, and the others went tothe sitting room that had been Ursula Pell's.
With a very strong lens, Fleming Stone examined the pin.
"This pin is worth its weight in gold, a million times over," he said,after th
e briefest examination. "It explains all!--your aunt's bequest,the efforts of Young to get it--but, I say, let's wait till Fibsy comesdown before I tell you the pin's secret. It's his due, after he found itfor us."
"Yes, indeed, wait," agreed Lucille, "he'll be down soon. I'll go andcall to him to make haste."
"Don't tell me all," said Iris to Stone, as the two were left alone, "Iwant to wait till Terence comes--but tell me this, will it freeWinston?"
"I hope so," Stone returned, "though it's another part of the mystery.But, to my mind, Mr. Bannard is freed already."
"Let me see the pin," and Iris took it in her hand. "Why, it is a commonpin! How can you say there's anything peculiar about it?"
"You'll know soon," and Stone smiled at her. "Anyway, whatever else itmeans, it doubtless points the way to the recovery of the fortune ofjewels that was bequeathed to you and Mr. Bannard."
"I don't want the fortune unless Winston is freed," said Iris, sadly;"if you think Charlie Young is the criminal, when are you going to gethim? But you say you're not sure he killed Aunt Ursula."
"No, I'm not at all sure that he did," Stone returned gravely. "In fact,I'm inclined to think he did not."
"Then who did?"
But before Stone could answer, there was an agonized whelp from outside,as of an animal in pain.
"Goodness!" cried Iris, "that's Pom-pom's cry! Oh, my little dogsie!What has happened?"
She flew out of the room, and ran out on the lawn, from which directionshe had heard the terrified cry.
Remembering the pin, as she ran, she stuck it carefully in her belt andhurried to the spot whence the sounds proceeded.
It was nearly dark now, and she sped across the grass, in fear for thesafety of her pet.
Stone started to follow her, but Lucille appeared just then, and hepaused to explain matters to her.
When they reached the lawn, Iris was nowhere to be seen, and the littledog, cruelly beaten, was whining in pain and distress.
Listening intently, Stone heard the last sounds of a disappearing motorcar in the distance.
"Kidnapped again!" he cried, angrily. "And she's got the pin with her!Young, of course! Oh, how careless I've been!" and calling to Campbell,he ran toward the garage for a car.
"But how can you follow?" asked Lucille, distractedly, "you don't knowwhich way they went, after the turn, do you?"
"No," said Stone, despairingly, "I don't."