"A wild goose chase, probably," Stone conceded, "but we'll make a stab at it. You see, Miss Clyde, I'm getting the thing narrowed down to a few main propositions. There is, first, a master mind at the head of all the mystery. He is the murderer, he is your caller, Pollock, he is William Ashton, he is the man you saw in Chicago, who attacked you that night in Mrs. Pell's room, who kidnapped you that Sunday--in fact, he is the man at the helm. He has underlings, but I do not think they are accomplices or confederates, they are merely hirelings. Now, of course, Pollock is not this man's real name, but we will call him that for identification among ourselves. This Pollock wanted the pin, we'll say, and not only the pin, but the paper, the receipt that was in the Florentine pocket-book, and that was definitely bequeathed to Mr. Bannard. That paper is quite as valuable as the pin, and he did get that." "Why, that was just a receipt----" "Yes, and the pin was just a pin! But we want them both, and therefore we want the man, Pollock." "This is Meadville, but I don't see any house that could possibly be the one they took me to. It had rather high stone front steps, with brick uprights to them." They soon went through the little town, but no such peculiarity was to be found. "Don't give up the ship too easily," said Stone, smiling at Iris' frown of disappointment, "we haven't exhausted our resources yet." A few inquiries showed him the office of Clement Foster, the insurance agent. Here Iris saw a calendar exactly like the one that had been in the room where Flossie searched her. After a little talk, Fleming Stone discovered that the agent had given out few of those calendars outside his home town, but he mentioned some names that he remembered. "Do any of these people live in a house with high stone steps?" the detective queried. "Lemme see; yes, Joe Young, over to East Fallville, has stone steps." "With brick uprights?" asked Iris, eagerly. "Yes, that's right. Nice little house it is, too. Right on Maple Avenue, the prettiest street in that village." Thanking the agent, the inquiring pair went on their way, rejoicing. And sure enough the house of Joe Young proved to be the very one where Iris had been taken. They went in, and after introducing himself Stone learned that Mr. Young was decidedly interested in the Pellbrook mystery, and that his father had built the well-safe in Mrs. Pell's room. Moreover, Young had attended the inquest, and had kept in touch with all the developments so far as he could learn them. But it was impossible to associate him with the kidnapping of Iris. He was too frankly interested and sympathetic to be suspected of playing a part or deceiving them in his attitude toward them. "Where were you a week ago Sunday?" Stone asked him suddenly. "Why, let me think. Oh, yes, my wife and I went over to Meadville and spent the day with her mother's folks. Yes, that's what we did. Why?"