As Stone surmised, Iris was kidnapped again. When she leaned down to gather in her arms the little, yelping dog, a figure sprang from the shrubbery, and pressing a cloth into and over her mouth a man lifted her from the ground and carried her swiftly away.

Iris was a slender girl and the man had no difficulty in carrying her to a small motor car, which was waiting out in the main road. The dusk rendered them nearly invisible, and the detention of Stone by Lucille precluded what might have been a capture of the invader.

Placed in the car, Iris recognized at once that it was the same one in which she had been carried off before, and she well knew it was for the same purpose – to get possession of the pin.

But now that Stone had told her it was valuable, she had no mind to let it go easily. She sat quietly, as the car flew along, thinking hard what she would better do. She knew Stone would follow and rescue her if he had heard any signs of her departure. But the car made little noise, and the whole affair had been so quickly accomplished that Iris feared Stone knew nothing of it all. She assumed that he would naturally follow her out-of-doors, to learn what had happened to her pet dog, but he might not hasten on that errand, and a delay of a minute would make his advent of small use to her.

They had gone a mile or so, when the car turned into a little used path through the woods. Another man was driving the car, and her captor sat in the back with Iris. He still held her and kept the cloth, which smelled faintly of chloroform, over her mouth.

At last, when well into the woods, the car stopped, and the man got out, and ordered Iris to get out, too.

Her mind was made up now; she meant secretly to draw the pin from her belt, and drop it on the ground. It was running a risk of losing it, but it was a worse risk to have this man take it from her, and, too, after Fibsy's successful search of the coal bin, she felt pretty sure the boy could find the pin in the woods. She was carefully noting the trees and stones about, when the low voice of her tormentor said, "You will hand that pin over at once, if you please."

"I'll do no such thing," Iris retorted with spirit. "I am not afraid of you."

"Nor have you reason to be, if you give up the pin quietly; otherwise, you will find yourself in a sorry predicament."

"I haven't the pin with me," declared Iris, feeling the falsehood justifiable in the circumstances.

"I regret to contradict a lady, but I don't believe you."

The man was masked, but Iris recognized his voice and form and she well knew it was the man who had intruded upon her in her aunt's room that night, and she was sure it was the man who had instigated the kidnapping and search by Flossie. Moreover, she realized it was the man she had seen in Chicago.

She felt an anxiety to detain him and somehow to get him in the grip of the law, but she could think of no way to do that.

She dared not take the pin from her belt, for his eyes were upon her, and the dusk, though deepening, left sufficient light for him to observe her movements.

"Now, look here," he said, speaking more roughly, "there's no Flossie here. You don't want me to take all the pins you have in your clothing, do you?"

This suggestion, and the threatening tone of the man, frightened Iris more than all that had gone before. She was not afraid of physical violence, something in the man's manner precluded that, but she sensed his desperate determination to secure the pin, and she knew he would search her clothing for it, if she refused to hand it over.

Also, she knew there was small use in trying to fool him. Since Stone had verified the fact that there was something about that special pin that made it of value, since this man had tried devious ways to get it, and since she was absolutely at his mercy, the outlook was pretty black.

A vague hope that Fleming Stone would come to her rescue was not well founded, for how could he know that the car that carried her off had turned into that little woodland road?

She thought of appealing to the manliness or better nature of her enemy, but she knew that he would only reply that if she would give him the pin he would not trouble her further. An idea of asking help from the man who was in the driver's seat of the car brought only the same conclusion.

"Come, now," said Pollock, for it was by that name she thought of him. "I can't waste any more time. If you don't give me that pin in two seconds, I'll take it."

"Don't you dare!" exclaimed Iris, trying the effect of sheer bravado.

"Two seconds I'll give you, and they've passed. You needn't scream, for we're far from any habitation."

He came nearer to her, and touched the frill that was about the neck of her gown.

Iris was at her wits' end. She knew she would give up the pin rather than have him search her clothing for it, and yet, she meant to put off her surrender as long as possible.

His own words gave her a hint, and though knowing it could do no good, she screamed loud and long.

The sound infuriated the man, and he sprang at her, grasping her round the waist.

"Stop that!" he cried, "Stop or I'll kill you!"

His fingers were at her throat, and his frenzy was such that Iris feared he would carry out his threat on a sudden impulse.

But the strangle-hold he had on her brought his body near hers, and by chance Iris' hand was flung against his side coat pocket, where she felt what was indubitably an automatic pistol.

Pretending to faint, she let her head sink backward, and he involuntarily put his hand back of her neck to support her.

With a quick motion she snatched the pistol from his pocket without his knowledge.

Exultant, and feeling herself safe, Iris commanded him to release her.

He only laughed, and she whispered faintly, "Let me go, and I'll – "

Her voice died away as if from weakness, and he partially released his hold on her, which freed entirely her right arm.

With a wrench, she stepped back, and aiming the automatic at him, she said, quietly, "Step toward me, and I'll fire!"

With a profane exclamation, Pollock clapped his hand to his side pocket and fell back a pace or two.

"You little vixen!" he cried. "Give me that! You'll harm yourself!"

"Oh, no, I won't. But I'll harm you. Unless you give your driver orders to take me straight back home, I shall make this little weapon give good account of itself."

From where Iris now stood, she covered the two men, and her manner showed no signs of fear, as she calmly informed them that a move on the part of either would be followed by a shot.

"And," she said, "while I'm not an expert, I can manage to hit at this short range."

"Come, come, now, let's arbitrate," said Pollock, who, evidently, knew when he was cornered. "Give me the pin and I'll go halves with you."

"Halves of what?"

"Of the treasure. Oh, don't pretend you don't know all about it! Didn't that old smarty-cat you've got on the job tell you what the pin means?"

"If he did, you don't know," said Iris, talking blindly, for she could make no guess why the pin was a factor in the case at all.

"Don't I? I'm the only one who does know! Your Stone detective can never get a cent's worth of good out of that pin without my help. I'm the only one on earth who knows its secret, or who can turn it to use. So, now, miss, will you make terms? Wait! You needn't take my word for this. Will you agree that if you return safe home with your precious pin, and when your precious detective fails to utilize the pin's secret, you'll let me disclose it to you, and you'll give me half the value of the jewels?"

"I most certainly will not!"

"Then, listen. I swear to you that you will never find those hidden jewels. Only I can tell you what the pin means, and how it leads to your aunt's fortune. Refuse my offer, and neither you nor anyone else will ever see one tiniest gem of your aunt's hoard."

There was something in the man's voice that carried conviction. Iris was a good reader of human nature, and a surety of his truthfulness came over her.

But she was far from willing to accede to his terms.

"I do not entirely disbelieve you," she said, "but I most certainly will not give you the pin – "

"You said you didn't have it!"

"You interrupted me! I was about to say I will not give it to you, even after my return home."

"Then we'll take it now! Come on, Bob."

Evading the pointed pistol by a quick jump, Pollock dashed it from Iris' hand, having really caught her off her guard as she grew interested in their conversation. The driver, Bob, sprang toward them both, and they seized Iris between them.

A terrific scream from the girl rang through the silent woods and as the pistol struck the ground it went off with a fairly loud report.

Iris felt her senses going as the two men clutched her roughly, but managed, in spite of a restraining hand, to give another loud scream.

And it was these sounds that guided Fibsy's flying feet toward the scene of conflict.

He had come with Stone in the car that the detective had used to follow Iris from Pellbrook, but as no one knew which way to look for the kidnapper's car, they had separated, and Stone with Campbell went hunting the highroads, while Fibsy, scenting the truth, had dived into the wood.

He had heard Iris' last scream, also the noise of the automatic, and he blew a loud blast on a shrill whistle, as he hurried to the girl.

Nearing the three, Fibsy's quick eyes saw the pistol on the ground, and he snatched it up, and aimed it straight at the masked man.

"Hands up!" he cried, and Pollock turned to see a small but dauntless-looking boy threatening him.

Again endangered by his own firearm, Pollock stood at bay, raging but impotent in the face of the steady aim of the boy.

In another moment Stone came, with Campbell, in the Pell car and Iris breathed freely once more, as she felt stealthily for the pin in her belt ribbon. It was safe, and she sank down on the ground, satisfied to let the newcomers take charge of the whole matter.

This they did with neatness and dispatch.

Bidding Fibsy keep the two men covered with the small but efficacious weapon, Stone and Campbell tied the hands of Pollock and his man Bob, using the dustrobe from Pollock's car, cut into strips for the purpose.

Then they bundled them unceremoniously into their own car and Stone himself took the wheel.

Campbell drove Iris home, but Fibsy traveled with his chief.

The boy was thrilling with satisfaction at the way things were turning out, and not at all vain-glorious over his own part in the affair.

Stone turned the two men over to the police on a charge of kidnapping and then, elated, returned to Pellbrook.

"How can I be grateful enough to you," Iris cried at sight of the detective, "for coming to my aid! And Fibsy, too! Oh, what should I have done if you hadn't arrived just as you did? But how did you know where we were?"

"I didn't," said Stone; "it was Fibsy's idea that the man would take to the woods. But your screams and the noise of the revolver led us at the last. I congratulate you, Miss Clyde, on a pretty narrow escape. Those men were desperate."

"Oh, I know it! Pollock began by being fairly courteous, but when I wouldn't give up the pin, he grew rough and rude."

"Miss Clyde, we must look out for that pin. Though, now that the one who wants it is in safe-keeping himself, there's not so much danger. But he may have clever assistants. By the way, there's no doubt that this so-called Pollock is Charlie Young. Hughes is putting him through a third degree, and I think we need not concern ourselves about him just now. He won't escape from his present quarters easily."

"This child must go to bed now," said Lucille Darrel, with an affectionate glance at Iris. "She's had enough to upset any ordinary set of nerves, and she must rest."

"Yes, Miss Clyde, go now, and I think, if you leave the pin with me I'll keep it safely, and moreover, to-morrow morning, I'll tell you its secret."

"Oh, tell me now! Please do, Mr. Stone. What can it be that makes it a key to the jewels' hiding-place?"

"Not to-night. Indeed, I don't yet know its secret myself, but I hope to find it out. If I may, I'll stay alone in Mrs. Pell's sitting-room for a time, until I puzzle it out."

Iris reluctantly went off with Lucille, and the detective locked himself in the room where Mrs. Pell had met her tragic death.

He had, as his working implements, the pin, a strong magnifying glass, a thick pad of paper and a lead pencil.

As the first streaks of dawn began to show in the eastern heavens, Fleming Stone had, as results of his night's work, forty or fifty scribbled pages of the pad, all of which were in the waste basket, a small, remaining stub of lead pencil and the pin and the magnifying glass.

Also he had a heavy heart and a feeling of despair and dejection.

He went to his room for a few hours' sleep before breakfast time and when he met the family at table, he said shortly, "Finding a needle in a haystack is child's play compared to the task ahead of us."

He refused to explain until after breakfast, and then, Iris and Lucille went with him to the sitting room and the door was closed upon them. Fibsy was there, too, as the boy was never excluded from important conferences.

Stone locked the door, and then said, impressively, "The dime and pin bequeathed you by your aunt, Miss Clyde, form a far more valuable inheritance than any diamond pin I have ever seen. I congratulate you on the possession of the pin, and I ask you where the dime is."

"Gracious, I don't know," replied Iris. "I threw it out of the window the day I received it, and I've never thought of it since."

"The pin is a key to the hiding-place of the jewels, as I will explain fully in a few minutes," Stone proceeded, "but it may be necessary to recover the dime also, before we can utilize the information given us by the pin."

Iris looked bewildered, but repeated her statement as to the whereabouts of the dime.

"And again," Stone said, "the dime may be of no importance in the matter. I'm inclined to think it is not, because Pollock – or Young rather – made no effort to gain possession of the dime, did he?"

"No; I think not. That first day he called on me, as Mr. Pollock, and wanted the pin, I told him he might search the lawn for the dime if he chose, but I don't think he did so."

"I'll find the dime if it's out in the side yard," Fibsy volunteered.

"Now, I'll tell you what this pin is," resumed Stone, holding up the mysterious bit of brass. "It contains a cipher – a cryptogram."

"How can it?" asked Iris, blankly.

"On the head of this pin is engraved a series of letters which form a cipher message telling of the hiding-place of your aunt's jewels."

"On the head of that little pin! Impossible!"

"It does seem impossible, but I assure you that on the surface of the head of this pin there are thirty-nine letters, which, meaningless in themselves, form a cipher statement. If we can solve their message – "

"If we can!" cried Iris. "We must!"

"You bet Mr. Stone will work it out, if it's a cipher," Fibsy declared, looking with pride and confidence at his employer's face.

"Not so easy, Fibs," Stone returned. "It's a cryptogram which necessitates another bit of information, a keyword, before it can possibly be solved. By the way, Miss Clyde, that's what your aunt's diary means by its reference to the jewels being hidden in a crypt. If you read her diary carefully, you'll see that she very frequently abbreviates her words, not only Tues., for Tuesday, and Dec., for December, but other words, just as the whim took her. So, as we may conclude, the word crypt stands for cryptogram. And here's the cryptogram. Now, to explain this seemingly miraculous feat of engraving thirty-nine letters on the head of an ordinary pin, I'll say that it is not an unheard-of accomplishment. Several years ago, I saw on exhibition a pin with forty-five letters to it, and I have seen one or two other similar marvels. They are done, in every instance, by a most expert engraver, who has much time and infinite patience and capacity for carefulness. Indeed, it is an art all by itself, and I doubt if there are many people in the world who could accomplish it at all."

"Can you show them to me?" Iris asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

"Oh, yes, you can see them with this glass, though even with its aid you may have difficulty in making out the letters."

Iris looked long and carefully through the powerful lens, and finally declared that she could discern the letters, but could not read them clearly.

Stone passed the pin and glass to Miss Darrel, and continued, "I spent nearly the whole night over it. I have copied off the letters, so now, if the pin should be stolen, at least we have its secret. Though, I confess the secret is still a secret."

"Lemme see it," begged Fibsy, as Miss Darrel gave up the effort to make out the letters at all.

The younger eyes of the boy read them with comparative ease.

"O, I, N, V, L, D, L," he spelled out "Sounds like gibberish, but all ciphers do that – why, Mr. Stone, the letters are clear enough and you can read any cipher that ever was made up, I'll bet! You know, you first see what letter's used most, and that's E – "

"Hold on, Terence, not so fast. That's one kind of a cipher, to be sure. But this is another sort. These are the letters:

"O I N V L D L Q P S V T H P J R C R N O X X I V B A Y O D I J Y A W W K M E U

"There's no division into words, which, of course, makes it infinitely more difficult."

"Aunt Ursula was crazy over ciphers!" exclaimed Iris, "she was always making them up. But she always called them ciphers, never cryptograms, or perhaps I might have thought that crypt. was an abbreviation. But can't you guess it, Mr. Stone?"

"One doesn't guess ciphers, they must be solved. And this one is of that peculiar kind that needs an arbitrary keyword for its solution, without the knowledge of which there is little hope of ever getting the answer."

"And you give it up?"

"Oh, no, indeed? I shall solve it, but we must find the word we need to make it clear."

CHAPTER XVII
THE CIPHER

"And how would the dime help, if we had it?" Iris pursued the subject.

"I'm not at all sure that it would," Stone replied, "but there must be some hint on it as to the keyword. I tried an ordinary dime, thinking the word we need might be 'Liberty' or 'United' or 'America,' But none of those would work. I tried to think out a way where the date on the dime would help – "

"But you don't know the date!"

"No; but I tried to find a way where a date would apply, but I can't think figures are needed, it's a word we must have."

"Words on dimes are all alike," suggested Lucille.

"Yes, but suppose a word had been engraved on this particular dime as these letters are engraved on the pin."

"Aunt Ursula would have been quite capable of such a scheme," Iris averred, "for she had most ingenious notions about puzzles and ciphers. Sometimes she would offer me a bill of large denomination, or a check for a goodly sum, if I could guess from the data she gave me what the figures were."

"And did you?"

"Never! I have no head for that sort of thing. It made my brain swim when she finally explained it to me."

"And yet I can't think the dime is necessary for the solution of this cryptogram," Stone went on, "or Young would have tried to get that also. However, now we have the man himself, he must be made to give up whatever knowledge he possesses."

"He won't," Iris said, positively.

Fibsy was poring over the string of letters, which he had copied from Stone's paper.

"That's so, F. S." he said, blinking thoughtfully, "there aren't enough duplicates of any letter to mean E. This is a square alphabet with a key word, sure."

"Good for you, Terence!" and Stone smiled approvingly. "You're a real genius for ciphers! Now, where's the key word to be looked for?"

"On that paper Mrs. Pell left to Mr. Bannard," and Fibsy's eyes sparkled at the idea that suddenly sprang to his brain. "Why, of course, Mr. Stone! I didn't know I was going to say that, till it just came of itself. But, don't you see? She left the pin to Miss Clyde, and the receipt to Mr. Bannard and it takes them both to solve the cipher!"

"And that receipt was stolen by the man who murdered Ursula Pell!" said Miss Darrel; "he must have known its value!"

"It may be you've had an inspiration, Fibsy," conceded Stone, "and it may be the word is not on that receipt after all. But we must use every effort to get the paper and, also, to find that dime. It may well be a word is engraved on the coin, in the same microscopic letters as these on the pinhead. We must try both means of solution. Will you hunt the dime, Fibs?"

"Sure, but I'll bet the word is on the paper. Else why'd the old lady say that Mr. Bannard would find that receipt of interest to him? And, too, as she left the jewels to two heirs, fifty-fifty, it stands to reason part of the means of finding them should be given to each party."

"That's mere conjecture," Stone said, "but we'll look up both. I've worked hours over the cipher, and I've proved to my own satisfaction that it cannot be solved without the knowledge of the one word needed. It's like the combination of a safe, you have to know the word or you can never open the door."

"Tell me a little about it, just what you mean by key word," begged Lucille, "I know nothing of ciphers."

"I make it out that this cryptogram is built on what we call the Confederacy Cipher," Stone informed her. "It is a well known plan and is much used by our own government and by others. It is the safest sort of a cipher if the key word is carefully guarded. To make it clear to you, I will put on this paper the alphabet block."

Stone took a large sheet of paper, and wrote the alphabet straight across its top. He then wrote the alphabet straight down the left hand side. He then filled in the letters in their correct rotation until he had this result

"The way to use this," he explained, "is to take a keyword – let us say, Darrel. Then let us suppose this message reads, 'The jewels are hidden in – .' Of course, I'm only supposing this to show you our difficulties. I write the message and place the code word, or keyword above it, thus:

"Dar relDar rel Darrel Da
The jewels are hidden in

"we repeat the keyword over and over as may be necessary. Then we take the first letter, D, and find it in the line across the top of our alphabet square, and the letter under D, which is T we find in the left hand perpendicular line. Now trace the D line down, and the T line across, until the two meet, which gives us W. This would be the first letter of the cipher message if the key word were Darrel, and the message like our suggested one. But the first letter of the cipher we have to solve is O, and no possible amount of guessing can go any further unless we have the key word Mrs. Pell used to guide us. See?"

"Yes, I see," and Miss Darrel nodded her head. "It's most interesting. But, as the first letter of the cipher is O, why can't you find O in your alphabet and go ahead?"

"Because there are twenty-six O's in the square, and it needs the key word to tell which of the twenty-six we want."

"It's perplexing, but I see the plan," and Lucille studied the paper, "however, I doubt if I could make it out, even if I had the word."

"Oh, yes, you could, and if we get the dime and the receipt that was in the pocket-book we can try every word on them both, and I feel sure we'll get the answer. Now, since Pollock, or Young, rather, was so desirous of getting the pin, I argue that he had the necessary key word. Therefore we must get it from him, if we can't get it ourselves, and I doubt if he'll give it up willingly."

"Of course he has the key word," Iris said, "for he told me he could find the jewels and no one else could, if I'd hand over the pin. And he offered to go halves with me! The idea!"

"And yet, if he has the key word, and won't give it up, you can never find the jewels," observed Stone.

"You don't advise me to accept his offer, do you?"

"No; Miss Clyde, I certainly do not. But there is another phase of this matter, you know. If Charlie Young stole that paper from the pocket-book he was the one who attacked your aunt – "

"And Winston Bannard is in jail in his place! Oh, Mr. Stone, let the jewels be a secondary consideration, get Win freed and Charles Young accused of the murder – he must be the guilty man!"

"It looks that way," Stone mused; "and yet, Bannard admits he was here that Sunday morning, and had an interview with his aunt. May he not have obtained possession of the receipt – oh, don't look like that! Perhaps his aunt gave it to him willingly, perhaps she told him of its value – "

"Oh, no," cried Iris, "if all that had happened, Win would have told me. No; when he discovered that the receipt was left to him and was especially referred to in the will, he was amazed and disappointed to find that old pocket-book empty."

"He seemed to be," said Stone, but his manner gave no hint of accusation of Bannard's insincerity.

"Mr. Bannard, he ain't the murderer," declared Fibsy; "and that Young, he ain't neither. Because – how'd they get out?"

"How did the murderer get out, whoever he was?" countered Stone.

"He didn't," said the boy, simply.

It was soon after that, that Hughes came to Pellbrook to report progress.

"That Charlie Young," he said, "he's a queer dick."

"Will he talk?" asked Stone.

"Talk? Nothing but! He tells the most astonishing things. He vows he's in cahoots with Winston Bannard."

"That isn't true!" Iris cried out "Win isn't guilty himself, of course, but he isn't mixed up with a man like Charlie Young, either!"

"Young says," Hughes went on, "that the note asking for the pin is in Bannard's disguised writing. He says that Bannard put him up to kidnapping Miss Clyde and getting the pin from her so they two could get the jewels and – "

"What utter rubbish!" Iris said, disdainfully. "Do you mean that Mr. Bannard wanted to get the jewels away from me? And have both his share and my own? Ridiculous!"

"It seems, Miss Clyde," Hughes stated, "that Young has part of some directions or something like that, as to where to find the jewels; and he made it up with Bannard to get the pin, which he claims is a key to their hiding-place, and the two men were to share the loot."

"I never heard such absurdity!" Iris' eyes blazed with anger. "Mr. Stone, won't you go and interview this Young, and tell him he lies?"

"I'll assuredly interview him, Miss Clyde, but suppose Mr. Bannard did have that paper – that receipt – "

"He didn't! Why, if he had, why would he confer with that bad man? Why not by means of his paper, which is, you know, lawfully his, and my pin, which was bequeathed to me, why not, those two things are all that is necessary, find the jewels by their aid?"

"That's the point," Stone said. "It does seem as if Young possesses some information of importance."

"Well," Iris went on, angrily, "now they've got the two of them there, why can't you confront Winston with Young and let them tell the truth?"

"Perhaps they won't," Hughes put in, "you know, Miss Clyde, we didn't arrest Mr. Bannard without thinking there was enough evidence against him to warrant it."

"You did! That's just what you did! There wasn't any evidence – that is, none of importance! Mr. Stone, you don't think Win guilty, do you?"

Here Iris broke down, and shaking with convulsive sobs she let Lucille lead her from the room.

"Of course she's upset," Hughes said, with sympathy in his hard voice. "But she's got trouble ahead. I think she's in love with Winston Bannard – "

"Oh, do you!" chirped Fibsy, unable to control his sarcasm. "Why, what perspicaciousness you have got! And you are quite right, Mr. Hughes, Miss Clyde is so much in love with that suspect of yours that she can't think straight. Now, looky here, Mr. Bannard didn't kill his aunt."

"Is that so, Bub? Well, as Mr. Dooley says, your opinion is interestin' but not convincin'."

"All right, go ahead in your own blunderin' way! But how did Mr. Bannard get out of the locked room?"

"Always fall back on that, son! It's a fine climax where you don't know what to say next! I'll answer, as I always do, how did any other murderer get out of the room?"

"He didn't," said Fibsy.

"Oho! And is he in there yet?"

"Nope. But I can't waste any more time on you, friend Hughes, I've sumpthing to attend to. Mr. Stone, I'll go and get that dime now, shall I?"

"Go ahead, Fibs," Stone returned, absently, "and I'll go along with you, Hughes, and see if I can make anything out of your new prisoner."

Fibsy went first in search of Sam, and having found that defective-minded but sturdy-bodied lad, undertook to inform him as to their immediate occupation.

"See," and Fibsy showed Sam a dime, "you find me one like that in the grass, and I'll give you two of 'em!"

"Two – two for Sam!"

"Yes, three if you find one quick! Now, get busy."

Fibsy showed him how to search in the short grass of the well-kept lawn, and he himself went to work also, diligently seeking the dime Iris had flung out of the window in her irritation.

While Sam lacked intellect, he had a dogged perseverance, and he kept on grubbing about after Fibsy had become so weary and cramped that he was almost ready to postpone further search until afternoon.

They had pretty well scoured the area in which the flung coin would be likely to fall, and just as Fibsy sang out, "Give it up, Samivel, until this afternoon," the lad found it.

"Here's dime!" he cried, picking it from the grass. "Sammy find it all aloney!"

"Good for you, old chap! You're a trump! Hooray!"

"But give Sammy dimes – two – three dimes."

"You bet I will! Here – here are five dimes for Sammy!"

Eagerly the innocent received the coins, and scampered away, having no further interest in the one he had found.

Fibsy examined the dime, but could see no engraving on it, nor any letters other than those the United States Mint had put there.

The date was 1892, if that meant anything.

Carefully wrapping it in a bit of paper, Fibsy stowed it in his pocket and went into the house to await Fleming Stone's return.