But the strangle-hold he had on her brought his body near hers, and by chance Iris' hand was flung against his side coat pocket, where she felt what was indubitably an automatic pistol.
Pretending to faint, she let her head sink backward, and he involuntarily put his hand back of her neck to support her.
With a quick motion she snatched the pistol from his pocket without his knowledge.
Exultant, and feeling herself safe, Iris commanded him to release her.
He only laughed, and she whispered faintly, "Let me go, and I'll——"
Her voice died away as if from weakness, and he partially released his hold on her, which freed entirely her right arm.
With a wrench, she stepped back, and aiming the automatic at him, she said, quietly, "Step toward me, and I'll fire!"
With a profane exclamation, Pollock clapped his hand to his side pocket and fell back a pace or two.
"You little vixen!" he cried. "Give me that! You'll harm yourself!"
"Oh, no, I won't. But I'll harm you. Unless you give your driver orders to take me straight back home, I shall make this little weapon give good account of itself."