"Yes, someone besides us. I think, don't you, that we ought to be her principal heirs? But she promised me, always, her wonderful diamond pin." "Huh! I don't think one diamond pin so much! Why, she has----" "I know, but she always spoke of this particular diamond pin that she destined for me as something especially valuable. I expect it is a sort of Kohinoor." "Oh, I didn't know about that. And what is she going to leave me, to match up to that?" "I don't know, I'm sure. But we sound very mercenary, talking like this, before the poor lady is even buried." "To be honest, Iris, I'm terribly sorry for the way the poor thing was killed, but I can't grieve very deeply, unless I'm a hypocrite. As you know, Aunt Ursula and I weren't good friends----" "Who could be friends with Aunt Ursula? I tried my best, Win, my very best, but she was too trying to live with! You've no idea what I went through!" "Oh, yes, I've an idea. I lived with her some years myself. Well, we'll say nothing but good of her now she's gone. I say, Iris, let's take a walk down to the village and see Browne, the jeweler." "What for?" "Ask him about her jewels." "Oh, no, I think that would be horrid. You go, if you like. I shan't." But Iris went out on the verandah with Bannard, and they ran into Sam Torrey, the brother of Agnes. "Hello, Sam," said Bannard. "What's that you were saying about seeing a man around here Sunday morning." "Not morning, but noon," declared Sam, gazing with lack-luster eyes at his questioner. "Brace up, now, Sam, tell me all you know," and Bannard looked the boy squarely in the eye. Sam, about seventeen, or so, was of undeveloped intellect, called by the neighbors half-witted. But if pinned down to a subject and his attention kept on it, he could talk pretty nearly rationally. "Know lots. Saw man here--there--near edge of woods--nice little car, oh, awful nice little car----" "Yes, go on, what did he do?" "Do? Do? Oh, nothing. Walked around----" "Hold on, you said he was in a car." "No, walked around, sly--oh, so sly----" "Rubbish! you're making up!" "Of course he is," said Iris, "he can't tell a connected story. Who was the man, Sam?" "Don't know name. But--he was at the show to-day." "At the inquest! No!" Bannard exclaimed. "Yes, he was. Same man. Oh, I know him, he killed Missy Pell." "How did he get in the house," Bannard tried to draw him on to further absurd assertions. "Dunno," and Sam shook his uncertain head. "But he did, and he kill--and kill--and so, he come to show." "Fool talk!" and Bannard scowled at the defective lad. "No, sir! Sam no fool." "Yes, you are, and you know it," Iris declared, but she smiled at him, for she had known the unfortunate boy a long time, and always treated him kindly, but not as a rational human being. And just then, Browne, the local jeweler, appeared.