"I don't know."

"Then, I fear, Miss Clyde, we're wasting time in looking for a person so vaguely identified. If you say so, I can go over the hardware people for a Pollock, but it will be an unsatisfactory and expensive process."

"I don't want that," and Iris looked perplexed. "Oh, I don't know what I _do_ want! But it's maddening to see him, and then have him get away!

He's also a collector."

"Ah, that helps. A collector of what?"

"Of mementoes of crimes----"

"Of what?"

"It sounds silly, I know, but he told me so. Not exactly crimes, more of prominent people. Like a pencil that belonged to President Garfield, and such things."

"Oh, a freak! I hoped you meant a prominent collector of valuable things; then we might trace him."

"No; he collects queer things, it is a sort of harmless mania, I think.

Well, if we can't find him, we can't. How much do I owe you?"

This matter was adjusted, and Iris turned disconsolately back to her hotel. She had accomplished nothing on her Chicago trip, and unless the Craig people could give her information of importance, there was no use prolonging her visit.

The rest of that day, and the morning of the next, she spent in the vicinity of the restaurant, hoping Pollock would return.

But she didn't see him, and in the afternoon she went back to Craig, Marsden & Co.

Mr. Reed greeted her pleasantly, but he had no important information.

"We've many records of sales to Mrs. Pell," he related, "and, if you desire, I can give you a memorandum of them. Presumably, she had receipts in every case, but as I do not know the particular receipt you want, I can't offer you any data concerning it."

"What are the transactions?" asked Iris. "Jewels she bought?"

"Yes; and setting, and engraving. Mrs. Pell had a great deal of engraving done."

"What sort of engraving?"

"On silver or gold trinkets and ornaments."

"Oh, yes, I know. All her silver has not only initials, but names and dates, and sometimes quotations or lines of poetry."

"Yes, and she was most particular about that work. It was always done by our best engraver, and unless it just suited her we were treated to her finest sarcasm. Mrs. Pell was a wealthy and extravagant patron, but not affable or easy to please."

"I know that, but she was a remarkable woman and a strong character often has peculiar ways. I am heir to half her fortune, and that gives me a sense of obligation that will never be canceled until I have avenged my aunt's death."

Iris did not tell this man about the missing jewels, for it seemed of no use. But they discussed at length the jewels that he knew that Mrs. Pell had possessed, and Iris was amazed at the size and value of the amount.

"Really!" she exclaimed. "Do you _know_ that my aunt had such an enormous fortune as that, in gems?"

"I know that she had at the time of her dealings with us. That was ten years ago, or so, but then we had the handling of more than a million dollars' worth, and I know she added to her store after that."

"Oh, where are they?" cried Iris forgetting her determination not to discuss this matter here.

"Do you mean to say you don't know?" exclaimed Mr. Reed, astounded.

So Iris told him about the will.

"What an extraordinary tale," he commented as she finished. "I wish I could help you out, I'm sure. Now, no receipt of ours would be of importance in and of itself. It must have had a memorandum scribbled on it, or something of that sort."

"Yes," agreed Iris, thoughtfully, "that must be it. In that case the murderer wanted it because it told where the jewels are hidden."

"And he has already secured them! Oh, no!"

Mr. Reed's interest was so sincere that Iris told him a little more. She told him of the pin, and of her being kidnapped in an attempt to get it.

"You are in danger," Reed said, warningly. "Until they get what they want you will continue to be molested. It isn't the pin--that's too absurd! But they're after something that has to do with the secret of the hiding place of those jewels. On that you may depend."

"But couldn't the pin have some bearing on that?"

"I can't imagine any way that it could. The idea of its being made of radium is ridiculous. The idea of its being a weight or a measure is silly, too; and how else could it be indicative? No, the pin part of the performance is a ruse, the thieves are after something else. If they stole the receipt in question, it was, as I said, because there were instructions on it. Your man Pollock is doubtless the head of the gang.

He's no important collector, or I should know of him. And probably his whole collection story was a falsehood. He read of the pin in the paper and used that to distract your mind from what he really was after."

"Very likely," and Iris sighed. "What would you advise me to do?"

"It's too big a case for a layman's advice, and, pardon me, too big a case for a young girl to manage."

"Oh, I know that. I've a very good lawyer, and the police are at work, but n.o.body seems able to accomplish anything."

"I hope and trust somebody will," said Reed, heartily; "that lot of jewels is too big a loot for crooks to get hold of! I'd be sorry indeed to learn they have done so!"

Iris went away, and as her work in Chicago was done, she decided to start at once for home.

Entering the hotel, she found a telegram from Lucille Darrel. It read:

"Come home at once. I've engaged F. S. and he will arrive to-morrow."

Now, F. S. meant the great detective, Fleming Stone.

CHAPTER XIII

FLEMING STONE COMES

Fleming Stone carried his years lightly. Except for the slight graying at his temples, no one would think that he had arrived, as he had, at the years that are called middle-aged.

But an especially interesting problem so stirred his enthusiasm and roused his energies that he grew young again, and his dark eyes fairly scintillated with eagerness and power.

"Tell me everything," he repeated, even after he had heard all the details over and over again. "Omit nothing--no tiniest point. It all helps."