"It's just this way," said Lucille Darrel, positively, "this house is mine, and I want it to myself. Ursula Pell is dead and buried and she can't play any more tricks on anybody. I admit that was a hard joke on you, Iris, to get a dime and pin, when for years you've been expecting a diamond pin! I can't help laughing every time I think of it! But all the same, that's your business, not mine. And, of course, you and Mr. Bannard will get your jewels yet, somehow. That woman left some explanation or directions how to find her hoard of gems. You needn't tell me she didn't."

"That's just it, Miss Darrel," and Iris looked deeply perplexed, "I've never known Aunt Ursula to play one of her foolish tricks but what she 'made it up' as she called it, to her victim. Why, her diary is full of planned jokes and played jokes, but always it records the amends she made. I think yet, that somewhere in that diary we'll find the record of where her jewels are."

"I don't," declared Bannard. "I've read the thing through twice; and it does seem to have vague hints, but nothing of real importance."

"I've read it too, at least some of it," and Miss Darrel looked thoughtful, "and I think the reference to the crypt is of importance. Also, I think her idea of having a jeweled chalice made is in keeping with the idea of a crypt as a hiding-place. What more like Ursula Pell than to manage to hide her gems in the crypt of a church and then desire to leave a chalice to that church."

"There's no crypt in the Episcopal church here," objected Iris.

"I didn't say here. The church, I take it, is in some other place. She had no notion of giving a chalice to Mr. Bowen, she just teased him about that, but she meant it for some church in Chicago, where she used to live, or up in that little Maine town where she was brought up and where her father was a minister."

"This may all be so," Bannard admitted, "but it's pure supposition on your part."

"Have you any better supposition? Any other theory? Any clear direction in which to look?"

"No;" and the young man frowned; "I haven't. I think that dime and pin business unspeakably small and mean! I put up with those tricks as long as I could stand them, but to have them pursue me after Mrs. Pell is dead is a little too much! It's none of it her family's fortune, anyway. My uncle, Mr. Pell, owned the jewels and left them to her. She did quite right in dividing them between her own niece and myself, but far from right in so secreting them that they can't be found. And they never will be found! Of that I'm certain. The will itself said they would doubtless be discovered! What a way to put it!"

"That's all so, Win," Iris spoke wearily, "but we must try to find them. Couldn't that crypt be in this house, not in any church?"

Bannard looked at the girl curiously. "Do you think so?" he said, briefly.

"You mean a concealed place, I suppose," put in Miss Darrel. "Well, remember this house is mine, now, and I don't want any digging into its foundations promiscuously. If you can prove to me by some good architect's investigation that there is such a place or any chance of such a place, you may open it up. But I won't have the foundations undermined and the cellars dug into, hunting for a crypt that isn't there!"

"Of course we can't prove it's here until we find it, or find some indications of it," Iris agreed. "But you've invited us both to stay here for a week or two – "

"I know I did, but I wish I hadn't, if you're going to tear down my house – "

"Now, now, Miss Darrel," Bannard couldn't help laughing at her angry face, "we're not going to pull the house down about your ears! And if you don't want Iris and me to visit you, as you asked us to, just say so and we'll mighty soon make ourselves scarce! We'll go to the village inn to-day, if you like."

"No, no; don't be so hasty. Take a week, Iris, to get your things together, and you stay that long, too, Mr. Bannard; but, of course, it isn't strange that I should want my house to myself after a time."

"Not at all, Miss Lucille," Iris smiled pleasantly, "you are quite justified. I will stay a few days, and then I shall go to New York and live with a girl friend of mine, who will be very glad to have me."

"And I will remain but a day or two here," said Bannard, "and though I may be back and forth a few times, I'll stay mostly in my New York rooms. I admit I rather want to look around here, for it seems to me that, as heirs to a large fortune of jewels, it's up to Iris and myself to look first in the most likely hiding-places for them; and where more probable than the testator's own house? Also, Miss Darrel, there will yet be much investigation here, in an endeavor to find the murderer; you will have to submit to that."

"Of course, I shall put no obstacles in the way of the law. That detective Hughes is a most determined man. He said yesterday, just before the funeral, that to-day he should begin his real investigations."

And the detective made good his promise. He arrived at Pellbrook and announced his determination to make a thorough search of the place, house and grounds.

"That crypt business," he declared, for he had read the diary, "means a whole lot. It's no church vault, my way of thinking, it's a crypt in this here house and the jewels are there. Mark that. Also, the concealed crypt is part of or connected with the secret passage that leads into that room, where the windows are barred, and that's how the murderer got in – or, at least, how he got out."

"But – but there isn't any such crypt," and Iris looked at him imploringly. "If there were, don't you suppose I'd know it?"

"You might, and then, again, you mightn't," returned Hughes; then he added, "and then again, mebbe you do."

A painful silence followed, for the detective's tone and glance, even more than his words, hinted an implication.

"And I wish you'd tell me," he went on, to Iris, "just what that funny business about the ten cent piece means. Did your aunt tell you she was going to leave you a real diamond?"

"Yes; for years Mrs. Pell has repeatedly told me that in her will she had directed that I was to receive a small box from her lawyer, which contained a diamond pin. That is, I thought she said a diamond pin; but of course I know now that she really said, 'a dime and pin.' That is not at all surprising, for it was the delight of her life to tease people in some such way."

"But she knew you thought she meant a diamond pin?"

"Of course, she did."

"She never put it in writing?"

"No; then she would have had to spell it, and spoil the joke. I don't resent that little trick, it was part of her nature to do those things."

"Did she never refer to its value?"

"Not definitely. She sometimes spoke of the valuable pin that would some day be mine, or the important legacy I should receive, or the great treasure she had bequeathed to me, but I never remember of hearing her say it was a costly gem or a valuable stone. She was always particular to tell the literal truth, while intentionally misleading her hearer. You see I am so familiar with her jests that I know all these details. It seems to me, now, that I ought to have realized from the way she said 'dime an' pin' that she was tricking me. But few people pronounce diamond with punctilious care; nearly everybody says 'di'mond'."

"Not in New England," observed Lucille Darrel, positively.

"Perhaps not," agreed Iris. "But anyway, it never occurred to me that she meant anything else than a diamond pin, and one of her finest diamonds at that. However, as I said, it isn't that joke of hers that troubles me, so much as the thought that she left her entire collection of jewels to Mr. Bannard and myself and gave us no instructions where to find them. It isn't like her to do that. Either she has left directions, which we must find, or she fully intended to do so, and her sudden death prevented it. That's what I'm afraid of. She was of rather a procrastinating nature, and also, greatly given to changing her mind. Now, she distinctly states in her diary that the jewels are all in the crypt, and I am firmly convinced that she intended to, or did, tell where that crypt is. If we can't find any letter or other revelation, we must look for the crypt itself, but I confess I think that would be hunting a needle in a haystack; for Aunt Ursula had a varied life, and before she settled down here she lived in a dozen different cities in many parts of the world."

"You're right, Miss Clyde," and Hughes nodded, "she prob'ly left some paper telling where that crypt is situated. Me, I believe it's in this house, but all the same, we've got to look mighty sharp. I don't want to miss it, I can tell you. Sorry, Miss Darrel, but we'll have to go through your cellar with a keen search."

"That's all right," Miss Darrel acquiesced. "I'm more than willing to allow a police hunt, but I don't want every Tom, Dick and Harry pulling my house to pieces."

"Lucky my name's Winston," said Bannard, good-naturedly. "Do you mind if I go with the strong arm of the law?"

"No," said his hostess, "and don't misunderstand me, young man. I've nothing against you, personally, but I don't admit your rights, as I do those of the police."

"I know; I understand," and Bannard followed the detective down the cellar stairs.

All this occurred the day after Ursula Pell's funeral. In the four days that had elapsed since her inexplicable death, no progress had been made toward solving the mystery. The coroner's inquest had brought out no important evidence, there were no clues that promised help, and though the police were determined and energetic, they had so little to work on that it was discouraging.

But Hughes was a man of bull-dog grit and perseverance. He argued that a mysterious murder had been committed and the mystery had to be solved and the murderer punished. That was all there was about it. So, to work. And his work began, in accordance with the dictates of his judgment, in the cellar of Ursula Pell's house.

And it ended there, for that day. No amount of scrutiny, of sounding walls or measuring dimensions brought forth the slightest suspicion, hope, or even possibility of a secret vault or crypt within the four walls. Hughes had two assistants, skilled builders both. Bannard added his efforts, but no stone or board was there that hadn't its own honest use and place.

Coal bins, ash pits, wood boxes, cupboards and portable receptacles were investigated with meticulous care, and the result was absolutely nothing to bear out the theory of a crypt of any sort or size, concealed or otherwise.

"And that settles that notion," summed up Hughes, as he made his report to the two interested women. "Of course, you must see, there's two ways to approach this case – one being from the question of how the murderer got in and out of that room, and the other being who the murderer was. Of course, if we find out either of those things, we're a heap forrader toward finding out the other. See?"

"I see," said Miss Darrel, "but I should think you'd find it easier to work on your first question. For here's the room, the door, the lock, and all those things. But as to the murderer, he's gone!"

"Clearly put, ma'am! And quite true. But the room and lock – in plain sight though they are – don't seem to be of any help. Whereas, the murderer, though he's gone, may not be able to stay gone."

"Just what do you mean by that?" asked Bannard.

"Two things, sir. One is, that they do say a murderer always returns to the scene of his crime."

"Rubbish! I've heard that before! It doesn't mean a thing, any more than the old saw that 'murder will out' is true."

"All right, sir, that's one; then, again, there's a chance that said murderer may not be able to stay away because we may catch him."

"That's the talk!" said Bannard. "Now you've said something worth while. Get your man, and then find out from him how he accomplished the impossible. Or, rather, the seemingly impossible. For, since somebody did enter that room, there was a way to enter it."

"It isn't the entering, you know, Mr. Bannard. Everybody was out of the living room at the time, and the intruder could have walked right in the side door of that room, and through into Mrs. Pell's sitting room. The question is, how did he get out, after ransacking the room and killing the lady, and yet leave the door locked after him."

"All right, that's your problem then. But, as I said, if he did do it, or since he did do it, somebody ought to be able to find out how."

"I'll subscribe to that, somebody ought to be able to, but who is the somebody?"

"Don't ask me, I'm no detective."

"No, sir. Now, Mr. Bannard, what about this? Do you think that Florentine pocket-book, that was found emptied, as if by the robber, is the one that your aunt left you in her will?"

"I think it is, Mr. Hughes. But I am by no means certain. Indeed, I suppose it, only because it looks as if it had held something of value which the intruder cared enough for to carry off with him."

"You think it looks that way?"

"I don't," interposed Iris. "I think there was nothing in it, and that's why it was flung down. If it had had contents the thief would have taken pocket-book and all."

"Not necessarily," said Bannard. "But it's all supposition. If that's the pocket-book my aunt willed to me, it's worthless now. If there is another Florentine pocket-book, I hope I can find it. You see, Miss Darrel, we'll have to make a search of my aunt's belongings. Why all the jewels may be hidden in among her clothing."

"No," and Iris shook her head decidedly. "Aunt Ursula never would have done that."

"Oh, I don't think so, either, but we must hunt up things. She may have had a dozen Florentine pocket-books, for all I know."

"But the will said, in the desk," Iris reminded him. "And there's no other in the desk, and that one has been there for a long time. I've often seen it there."

"You have?" said Hughes, a little surprised. "What was in it?"

"I never noticed. I never thought anything about it, any more than I thought of any other book or paper in Mrs. Pell's desk. She didn't keep money in it, that I know. But she did keep money in that little handbag, quite large sums, at times."

"Well," Hughes said, at last, by way of a general summing up, "I've searched the cellar, and I've long since searched the room where the lady died, and now I must ask permission to search the room above that one."

"Of course," agreed Miss Darrel. "That's your room, Iris."

"Yes; the detective is quite at liberty to go up there at once, so far as I am concerned."

The others remained below while Hughes and Iris went upstairs.

But after a few minutes they returned, and Hughes declared that all thought of any secret passage from Iris' room down to her aunt's sitting room was absolutely out of the question.

"This house is built about as complicatedly as a packing-box!" he laughed. "There's no cubby or corner unaccounted for. There are no thickened walls or unexplained bulges, or measurements that don't gee. No, sir-ee! However that wretch got out of that locked room, it was not by means of a secret exit. I'll stake my reputation on that! Now, having for the moment dismissed the question of means or method from my mind, I want to ask a few questions of one concerning whom, I frankly admit, I am in doubt. Mr. Bannard, you've no objection, of course, to replying?"

"Of course not," returned Bannard, but he suddenly paled.

Iris, too, turned white, and caught her breath quickly. "Don't you answer, Win," she cried; "don't you say a word without counsel!"

"Why, Iris, nonsense! Mr. Hughes isn't – isn't accusing me – "

"I'll put the questions, and you can do as you like about answering." Hughes spoke a little more gruffly than he had been doing, and looked sternly at his man.

"Were you up in this locality on Sunday afternoon, Mr. Bannard?"

"I was not. I've told you so before."

"That doesn't make it true. How do you explain the fact that Mrs. Pell made out to you a check dated last Sunday?"

"I've already discussed that," Bannard spoke slowly and even hesitatingly, but he looked Hughes in the eye, and his glance didn't falter. "My aunt drew that check and sent it to me by mail – "

"We've proved she sent no letter to you on Sunday – "

"Oh, no, you haven't. You've only proved that Campbell didn't mail a letter from her to me."

Hughes paused, then went on slowly.

"All right, when did you get that letter?"

"How do you know I got it at all?"

"Because you've deposited the check in your bank in New York."

"And how did I deposit it?"

"By mail, from here, day before yesterday."

"Certainly I did. Well?"

But Bannard's jauntiness was forced. His voice shook and his fingers were nervously twisting.

Hughes continued sternly. "I ask you again, Mr. Bannard, how did you receive that check? How did it come into your possession?"

"Easily enough. I wrote to my hotel to forward my mail, and they did so. There were two or three checks, the one in question among them, and I endorsed them and sent them to the bank by mail. I frequently make my deposits that way."

"But, Mr. Bannard, I have been to your hotel; I have interviewed the clerk who attended to forwarding your mail, and he told me there was no letter from Berrien."

"He overlooked it. You can't expect him to be sure about such a minor detail."

"He was sure. If Mrs. Pell did mail you that check in a letter on Sunday, it would have reached New York on Monday. By that time the papers had published accounts of the mysterious tragedy up here, and any letter from this town would attract attention, especially one addressed to the nephew of the victim of the crime."

"That's what happened, however," and Bannard succeeded in forcing a smile. "If you don't believe it, the burden of proof rests with you."

"No, sir, we don't believe it. We believe that you were up here on Sunday, that you received that check from the lady's own hand, that the half-burned cigarette was left in that room by you, and the New York paper also. In addition to this, we believe that you abstracted the paper of value from the Florentine pocket-book, and that you were the means of Mrs. Pell's death, whether by actual murder, or by attacking her in a fit of anger and cruelly maltreating her, finally flinging her to the floor, with murderous intent! You were seen hanging around the nearby woods about noon, and concealed yourself somewhere in the house while the family were at dinner. These things are enough to warrant us in charging you with this crime, and you are under arrest."

A shrill whistle brought two men in from outside, and Winston Bannard was marched to jail.

CHAPTER VIII
RODNEY POLLOCK APPEARS

The shock of Bannard's arrest caused the complete collapse of Iris. Miss Darrel put the girl to bed and sent for Doctor Littell. He prescribed only rest and quiet and ordinary care, saying that a nurse was unnecessary, as Iris' physical health was unaffected and he knew her well enough to feel sure that she would recuperate quickly.

And she did. A day or two later she was herself again, and ready to follow up her determination to avenge the death of Ursula Pell.

"It's too absurd to suspect Win!" she said to the Bowens, who called often. "That boy is no more guilty than I am! Of course, he wasn't up here last Sunday! But no one will believe in his innocence until the real murderer is found. And I'm going to find him, and find the jewels, and solve the whole mystery!"

"There, there, Iris," Miss Darrel said, soothingly, for she thought the girl still hysterical, "don't think about those things now."

"Not think about them!" cried Iris, "why, what else can I think of? I've thought of nothing else for the whole week. It's Saturday now, and in six days we've done nothing, positively nothing toward finding the criminal."

"Perhaps it would be better not to try," suggested Mr. Bowen, gently.

"You say that because you believe Win guilty!" Iris shot at him. "I know he wasn't! You don't think he was, do you, Mrs. Bowen?"

"I scarcely know what to think, Iris, it is all so mysterious. Even if Winston did commit the crime, how did he get out of the room?"

"That's a secondary consideration – "

"I don't think so," put in the rector. "I think that's the first thing to be decided. Knowing that one could speculate – "

Iris turned away wearily. Though fond of the gentle little Mrs. Bowen, she had never liked the pompous and self-important clergyman, and she rose now to greet someone who appeared at the outer door.

It was Roger Downing, who, always devoted to Iris, was now striving to earn her gratitude by showing his willingness to be of help in any way he might. He came every day, and though Iris was careful not to encourage him, she eagerly wanted to know just what he knew about Bannard's presence at Pellbrook on the day of the tragedy.

"It's this way," Downing expressed it. "Win was certainly up here last Sunday, for I saw him. Now, Iris, if you want me to say I was mistaken as to his identity, I'll say it – but, I wasn't."

"You mean, sir, you would tell an untruth?" said Mr. Bowen, severely.

"I mean just that," averred Downing; "I care far more for Miss Clyde and her wishes than I do for the Goddess of Truth. I'm sorry if I shock you, sir, but that is the fact."

Mr. Bowen indeed looked shocked, but Iris said, emphatically, "You were mistaken, Roger, you must have been!"

"Very well, then, I was," he returned, but everyone knew he was purposely making a misstatement.

"Where was he?" said Iris, altogether illogically.

"In the woods, near the orchard fence."

"Sunday afternoon?"

"No; not afternoon. I'm not just sure of the time, but it was about noon. I was taking a long walk; I'd been nearly to Felton Falls, and was coming home to dinner. I only caught a glimpse of him, and I didn't think anything about it, until – until he said he hadn't been out of New York city on Sunday."

"Then, if you only caught a glimpse," Iris said quickly, "it may easily have been someone else! And it doubtless was."

"Shall I say so? Or do you want the truth?"

Iris dropped her eyes and said nothing. But Mr. Bowen spoke severely; "Cease that nonsense, Roger. Tell what you saw, and tell it frankly. The truth must be told."

"It's better to tell it anyway," declared Lucille Darrel, "truth can't harm the innocent. But it seems to me Mr. Downing may be mistaken."

"No, I'm not mistaken. Why, he wore that gray suit with a Norfolk jacket, that I've seen him wear before this summer. And he had on a light gray tie, with a ruby stickpin. The sun happened to hit the stone and I saw it gleam. You know that pin, Iris?"

Iris knew it only too well, and she knew, moreover, that when Win came up Sunday evening he wore that same suit, and the same scarf and pin. He had gone back to town the next day for other clothing, but when he had rushed to Berrien in response to Iris' summons, he had not stopped to change.

And yet, she was not ready, quite, to believe Downing's story. Suppose, in enmity to Win, he had made this all up. He might easily describe clothing that he knew Winston possessed, without having seen him as he said he had.

Iris looked at Downing so earnestly that he quailed before her glance.

"I don't believe your story at all!" she said; "you are making it up, because you hate Win, and it's absurd on the face of it! If Win came up here on Sunday at noon, he would come in for dinner, of course – "

"Not if he came with sinister intent," interrupted Downing.

"I don't believe it! You have made up that whole yarn, and let me tell you, you didn't do it very cleverly, either! Why didn't you say you saw him in the afternoon? It would have been more convincing, and quite as true!"

"I wasn't near here myself in the afternoon. But I did pass here just before twelve, and I did see him." Downing's voice had a ring of truth. "However, after this, I shall say I did not see him. I know you prefer that I should."

He looked straight at Iris, and ignored Mr. Bowen's pained exclamation.

"Say whatever you like, it doesn't matter to me," the girl returned haughtily.

"It does matter to you – and to Win. So, I shall say I was mistaken and that I did not see Winston Bannard on Sunday. I shall expect you, Mr. Bowen, and you ladies, not to report this conversation to the police. If you are questioned concerning it, you must say what you choose. But you will not be questioned, unless someone now present tattles."

Later that day, Iris had another caller. He sent up no card, but Agnes told her that a Mr. Pollock wished to see her.

"Don't go down, if you don't want to," urged Lucille, "I'll see what he wants."

But Miss Darrel's presence was not satisfactory to the stranger. He insisted on seeing Miss Clyde.

So Iris came down to find a man of pleasant manner and correct demeanor, who greeted her with dignity.

"I ask but a few moments of your time, Miss Clyde. I am Rodney Pollock, home Chicago, business hardware, but as a recreation I am a collector."

"And you are interested in my late aunt's curios," suggested Iris. "I am sorry to disappoint you, but they are not available for sale yet, and, indeed, I doubt if they ever will be."

"Don't go too fast," Mr. Pollock smiled a little, "my collection is not of rare bibelots or valuable curios. Perhaps I'd better confide that I'm an eccentric. I gather things that, while of no real use to others, interest me. Now, what I want from you, and I am willing to pay a price for it, is the ten cent piece and the pin your aunt left to you in her will."

"What!" and Iris stared at him.

"I told you I was eccentric," he said, quietly, "more, I am a monomaniac, perhaps. But, also, I am a philosopher, and I know, that, as old Dr. Coates said, 'If you want to be happy, make a collection.' So I collect trifles, that, valueless in themselves, have a dramatic or historic interest; and I wish," he beamed with pride, "you could see my treasures! Why, I have a pencil that President Garfield carried in his pocket the day he was shot, and I have a shoelace that belonged to Charlie Ross, and – "

"What very strange things to collect!"

"Yes, they are. But they interest me. My business, hardware, is prosaic, and having an imaginative nature I let my fancy stray to these tragic mementoes of crime or disaster. I have a menu card from the Lusitania and a piece of queerly twisted glass from the Big Tom explosion. I look reverently upon the relics of sad disasters, and I value my collection as a numismatist his coins or an art collector his pictures."

"But it seems so absurd to ask for a common pin!"

"It may, but I would greatly like to have it. You see, it was an unusual gift. You didn't care for it, in fact, I have heard you indignantly spurned it."

"I did."

"They say, you expected a diamond pin, and your aunt left you a dime and pin! Is that so?"

"That is so."

"Pardon my smiling, but I think it's the funniest thing I ever heard. And I would greatly like to have that pin and that dime."

"I'm sorry to say it's impossible, as I flung them away, and I've no idea where they landed."

"If you had them would you sell them to me?"

"I'd give them to you, if I had them! Why, it was merely an ordinary dime, not an old or rare coin. And the pin was a common one."

"Yes, I know that, but the idea, you see, the strange bequest – oh, I greatly desire to have one or the other of those two things! Can't we find them? Where did you throw them?"

"The dime I remember throwing out of the window. It must have fallen in the grass, you never could find that! The pin, I tossed on the floor, I think – "

"Has the room been swept since?"

"No, it has not. It should have been, but we have been so upset in the house – "

"I quite understand. I have a home and family, and I know what housekeeping means. However, since the room has not been swept, may I look around a bit in it?"

"It is this room, the room we are in. I sat right here, when I opened the box. I threw the dime out of that window, and I flung the pin over that way. I confess to a quick temper, and I was decidedly indignant. Let us look for the pin, and if we find it you may have it."

Iris was pleasantly impressed by Mr. Pollock's manner and set him down in her mind as a ridiculous but good-natured lunatic – not really insane, of course, but a little hipped on the subject of mementoes.

At her permission, her visitor fell on hands and knees, and went quickly over the floor of the whole room. Iris with difficulty restrained her laughter at the nimble figure hopping about like a frog, and peering into corners and under the furniture.

She looked about also, but from the more dignified position of standing, or sitting on a chair or footstool.

The search grew interesting, and at last they considered it completed. Their joint result was four pins and a needle.

Mr. Pollock presented a chagrined face.

"It may be any one of these," he said, ruefully looking at the four pins.

"That's true," Iris agreed. "But you may have them all, if you wish."

"Can't you judge which it is? See, this one is extra large."

"Then that's not it. I know it was of ordinary size. I scarcely looked at it, but I know that. Nor was it this crooked one. It was straight, I'm sure. But it may easily have been either of these other two."

"Suppose I take these two, then, and put them in my collection, with the surety that one or other is the identical pin."

"Do so, if you like," and Iris gave him a humoring smile. "Now, do you care to hunt for the dime? If you do, there's the lawn. But I won't help you, the sun is too warm."

"I think I won't hunt, or if I do, it will be only a little. I have this pin, and that is sufficient for a memento of this case. I am on my way to a house in Vermont, where I hope to get a button that figured in a sensational tragedy up there. I thank you for being so kind and I would greatly prefer to pay you for this pin. I am not a poor man."

"Nonsense! I couldn't take money for a pin! You're more than welcome to it. And one of those two must be the one, for I'm sure there's no other pin on this floor."