“You could not keep us away,” murmured Tanner. Klein, who had been watching her closely, suddenly spoke. “I notice, after all, Miss Lydecker, that you have taken heed of my warning.” “What warning?” she asked, frowning. “About the brooch. You have put it away.” The girl’s hand went quickly to her collar, and instantly she paled. “The—the brooch,” she gasped; “it’s—gone.” “You didn’t take it off yourself?” cried Klein. “No,” she faltered; “I—I—it’s lost.” “Good Lord!” broke from Tanner’s lips. “You haven’t been out of this room since you spoke with me last, have you?” inquired Klein. She shook her head. “Then it must be in here—some place!” Tanner gripped Klein’s arms. “Do you think some one might——” “We’ll have to find that out,” said Klein. “I’ve been sitting here for the past half hour. Not one of the guests passed out; I’m positive of that.” Tanner’s eyes narrowed as he caught Klein’s meaning. “I understand. We’ll keep them all here until——” A few minutes later the whole room was made aware of the discovery. The girls huddled together in a frightened group, while the men gathered around Tanner and Klein. “I saw the brooch barely fifteen minutes ago,” Klein said, addressing them. “And Miss Lydecker has not been out of this room. The brooch must be in here.” Under his direction the room was gone over, inch by inch. Nothing was found. After that, at Tanner’s suggestion, each of the men submitted himself to a search. Tanner allowed Klein to search him, and then the process was reversed. Following this, Klein assured himself that none of the other men present had the jewel upon him. Klein walked over to Miss Lydecker and spoke to her. “Don’t give up so readily, Miss Lydecker. Your brooch cannot be far away. Every man here, I am sure, will make a determined effort to——” “What—what’ll daddy say?” she moaned. “He told me not to wear it.” “Cheer up!” exclaimed Klein. “I’ll wager you’ll be wearing it before next Saturday night.” Miss Lydecker finally calmed herself, and offered a limp hand to the departing guests. The machines drew up at the door, and the girls and their escorts silently took their seats. “Don’t worry too much,” Klein said, smiling into her white face; “things may brighten to-morrow. Good-by.” CHAPTER XXIII. THE ARDENT SLEUTH. Irving Hamilton Tod, man of means and colt reporter for the New York _Morning News_, realized, after his painful interview with the warden at the Newport jail, that for the second time in almost as many days he had been outwitted. The warden at the jail had never heard of a detective by the name of Jarge. Where, then, had this black-eyed sleuth disappeared to, and what had been his object in lying? Had he taken Klein back to New York?