The Diamond Pin Part 33

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 a.s.surance, 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 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 s.n.a.t.c.h 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 b.o.o.bikins 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 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 inst.i.tution."

"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.

"h.e.l.lo, Sam," said Stone, in an off-handed, 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-l.u.s.ter 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.

"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 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 a.s.serted, "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."