"Never mind what for. Are you going to hand it over?" "I suppose you are making a collection of dramatic trifles, like Mr. Pollock. It seems to be a popular pursuit, this gathering material for a miniature junk-shop!" "So? Well, are you going to give it to me? Why didn't you put it on the gate post to-night?" "For the very good reason that I haven't got it." "Don't talk that useless chatter. Of course you have it." "But I haven't. I threw it away, when the lawyer gave it to me, and----" "No; you didn't. You only pretended to. Come; now, where is it?" "Will you go away if I give it to you?" Iris was struck with an idea. "If you give me your word of honor that you're giving me the right one." This dissuaded her, for she had intended to give him one from her belt ribbon. "I tell you I don't _know_ where it is. Now, cease this useless interview, please, and leave me." "I'll do nothing of the sort! You know where that pin is, and I am sure it's hidden in this room--" "How utterly absurd you are! Why, _why_ do you want it? I believe you're crazy!" "I'm not, as you'll find out! But I intend to have the pin, so make up your mind to that!" He sprang toward her, laying his automatic on a table, and with a single gesture, it seemed to Iris, he had a soft silk handkerchief tied over her mouth, and around her head, in such fashion that she couldn't utter a sound. "I'm sorry, as I told you," he went on, in a business-like voice, "but I _must_ obtain that little piece of property. Will you change your mind and tell me where it is?" Iris shook her head vigorously, meaning that she did not know where it was, but he chose to think she meant a mere negative. "Then I'll make you!" and he took hold of her arm and twisted it. She moaned with pain, but he picked up the revolver and threatened her. Iris was now really frightened, and realized that his gentler mood had passed, and she was in desperate danger. She cast appealing glances at him, but he was oblivious to her piteous eyes, and demanded the pin. Suddenly the thought came to her that the man was crazy, really a maniac, and in view of this she determined to use her wits to extricate herself from this dangerous situation. If demented, he might shoot her as likely as not, and she thought deeply and carefully what it was best to do. He was distinctly clever, as she had heard maniacs often are, so she dared not fool him too openly. Therefore, she acted rather defiantly, until, as she had hoped, this attitude on her part brought a rough, hard twist of her slender arm, that really brought the tears to her eyes. With a limp gesture of surrender, she nodded her head at him, while pain contorted her face. "Sorry," he said, again, "but there's no other way. Does that mean you're going to give me the pin?" Iris nodded acquiescence, and he stipulated, "The real one?" Again she nodded, salving her conscience by the thought that her falsehood was told in self-defence.