The Diamond Pin

The voice was that of an educated man, but entirely unfamiliar to Iris. Her terror left her, as she realized that at least she hadn't to deal with a low-class, uncouth ruffian.

"Why should I call help, since you say I've nothing to fear?" she said, trying to speak coolly, but still watching the carefully held pistol.

"Nothing to fear if you do as I say."

"And what do you say?"

The masked figure came a little nearer. "I say – " he began, but Iris interrupted.

"Stay where you are! I am not afraid of your pistol; your voice tells me you would not shoot a defenceless woman, but I command you to keep your distance."

"My voice belies me, then," he returned coolly. "I'd shoot you quicker'n a wink, were it necessary to make my getaway. But, listen; you will be immediately unmolested, if you give me what I have come here to get. I advise you to give it willingly, but if not – then I must get it as best I can."

"Take off your mask, won't you?" and Iris' tone was almost formal. "I know you, don't I?"

"You do not, and something tells me you never will. Pardon me, if I retain my protecting decoration – "

"Scarcely a decoration," murmured Iris, who was striving to think quickly what to do.

"Thank you; that implies your belief in a fair share of good looks on my part. But that's a matter of no moment. And time passes. I am here to ask you for a matter of no great moment after all. I want the pin that your late aunt left you in her will."

"Oh, then you are William Ashton?"

"Careful! Not so loud. Yes – I am none other than he." A mock dramatic gesture accompanied the phrase, and Iris involuntarily smiled.

"You are charming when you smile," the visitor went on. "I may say that, since I am not making a social call – "

"You seem to be, I think," Iris interrupted him.

"Far from it! You are under a distinct misapprehension. But, alas! your smiles and charms are not the prize I'm seeking. I want that pin," for the first time he spoke a little roughly, "and I'm going to have it!"

"What under the heavens do you want of that pin?" exclaimed Iris, surprised beyond all thought of fear. She had at first supposed he was after the jewels, or money, at least.

"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.

"Where is it? No, you needn't speak yet, indicate where it is, and I'll get it."

Iris nodded her head toward the desk, and the man went to it. He ran his fingers lightly over the various compartments, watching her the while, and as he touched one, she nodded.

She had remembered a small packet of papers, pinned with an old and somewhat rusty pin, and she determined to pass this pin off on him, if she could make herself dramatically convincing.

"I've always thought I could be an actress," the poor child said to herself, "now's my time to make good."

So, by dint of indicative nods and glances, she easily made her visitor discover the packet and the pin. The papers were valueless, and the pin, which held a paper band round them, was an ordinary, dull, old-looking one.

It was Iris' clever play of her eyes and her hands, – that betokened a great unwillingness to part with it, but did so under duress – that succeeded in making the thief believe it was the pin he was after. He scrutinized the papers, and threw them aside.

"A good hiding-place," he said, putting the papers back where they had been. "As obvious as Poe's 'Purloined Letter.' I don't ask you if this is the pin, for your speaking countenance has told me it is. I only bid you a very good evening."

He rose quickly, and without a further glance at Iris, he turned off the electric light on the table, and she heard him step softly through the living room, and out of one of the low windows that gave on to the verandah.

She sat where he had left her, not really in pain, but in some discomfort. Then, lifting her hands she managed to untie the handkerchief gag. It wasn't difficult, though the tight knot took a few moments to loosen.