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?
With a dozen other questions hammering at his brain, Tod walked slowly back to the hotel. Passing the telegraph office recalled to his mind the hopeful message he had sent to Reed, the city editor. It was like salt to an open wound.