"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.