"The check-book," said Chapin, gravely. "Be careful, Iris. Everything does seem to point to Win, you know."
"It seems to, yes, but does it? You know yourself, Mr. Chapin, anybody might have a New York Sunday paper—oh, well, I'm going ahead, because I know Win is innocent, and these seeming clues may help to find the real villain."
"Good stuff, you are, Iris!" declared the lawyer, looking at her admiringly. "Go in and win!"
"Win for Win!" and Iris smiled brightly.
"Are you in love with him?" cried Lucille, who had not thought of such a thing.
"Yes," said Iris, simply. "Now, Mr. Chapin, are you going to help me?"
"Certainly I am, if I can. How?"
"Well, first of all, I've changed my mind about that pin. I don't think I'll leave it where it is. I did think it wise, but it seems to me that anyone searching thoroughly, desperately, would look in the chair cushions, and so, I think I'll ask you to put it in your safe, but—don't tell Mr. Hughes we've changed its hiding-place."
"Very well, Iris; the pin is certainly yours, and if you give it to me for safe-keeping, I'll do my best to protect it."
"And don't tell Mr. Hughes, for he's liable to want to see what it's made of. I'll give it to you now."