"I can't imagine any way that it could. The idea of its being made of radium is ridiculous. The idea of its being a weight or a measure is silly, too; and how else could it be indicative? No, the pin part of the performance is a ruse, the thieves are after something else. If they stole the receipt in question, it was, as I said, because there were instructions on it. Your man Pollock is doubtless the head of the gang. He's no important collector, or I should know of him. And probably his whole collection story was a falsehood. He read of the pin in the paper and used that to distract your mind from what he really was after."
"Very likely," and Iris sighed. "What would you advise me to do?"
"It's too big a case for a layman's advice, and, pardon me, too big a case for a young girl to manage."
"Oh, I know that. I've a very good lawyer, and the police are at work, but nobody seems able to accomplish anything."
"I hope and trust somebody will," said Reed, heartily; "that lot of jewels is too big a loot for crooks to get hold of! I'd be sorry indeed to learn they have done so!"
Iris went away, and as her work in Chicago was done, she decided to start at once for home.
Entering the hotel, she found a telegram from Lucille Darrel. It read:
"Come home at once. I've engaged F. S. and he will arrive to-morrow."
Now, F. S. meant the great detective, Fleming Stone.