"Why? Because I don't like the company you keep. Is that reason enough?"
She still resisted his insistent tug. "Nick hasn't done anything," she
said defiantly, with a side glance at the youth's flushed, unhappy
features.
"He hasn't? Look at yourself, girl! Look at your clothes, and your
forehead! What's more, I saw enough from my window; I saw him bundle
you into that car!" His eyes were flashing angrily, and his grip on her
arm tightened, while his free hand clenched into an enormous fist.
"That wasn't Nick!"
"No. It was your devil, I suppose!" said Horker sarcastically. "Anyway,
Pat, you're coming with me before I do violence to what remains of your
devil!"
Nick spoke for the first time since the Doctor's entrance. "Please do,
Pat," he said softly. "Please go with him."
"I won't!" she snapped. The sudden shifts of situation during the long
hours of that terrible evening were irritating her. She had alternated
so rapidly between horror and hope and despair that her frayed nerves
had seized now at the same reality of anger.
Her mind, so long overstrained, was now deliberately forgetting her
swing from the pit of terror to the verge of death. "You come up like a
hero to the rescue!" she taunted the doctor. "Hairbreadth Horker!"
"You little fool!" growled the Doctor. "A fine reception, after
losing a night's sleep! I'll drag you home, if I have to!" He moved
ponderously toward the door; she gave a violent wrench and freed her
arm from his grasp.
"If you can, you mean!" she jeered. She looked at his exasperated face,
and suddenly, with one of her abrupt changes of mood, she softened.
"Dr. Carl, Honey," she said in apologetic tones, "I'm sorry. You're
very sweet, and I'm really grateful, but I can't leave Nick now." Her
eyes turned troubled. "Not now."
"Why, Pat?" Mollified by the change in her mien, his voice rumbled in
sympathetic notes.
"I can't," she repeated. "It's--it's getting worse."
"Bah!"
"So it's 'Bah'!" she flared. "Well, if you're so contemptuous of the
thing, why don't you cure it? What good did your psychoanalysis do? You
don't even know what it is!"
"What do you expect?" roared the Doctor. "Can I diagnose it by absent
treatment? I haven't had a chance to see the condition active yet!"
"All right!" said Pat, her strained nerves driving her to impatience.
"You're here and Nick's here! Go on with your diagnosis; get it over
with, and let's see what you can do. _You_ ought at least to be able
to name the condition--the outstanding authority in the Middle West on
neural and mental pathology!" Her tone was sardonic.
"Listen, Pat," said Horker with exaggerated patience, in the manner of
one addressing a stupid child, "I've explained before that I can't get
at the root of a mental aberration when the subject's as unstrung as
your young man here seems to be. Psychoanalysis just won't work unless
the subject is calm, composed, and not in a nervous state. Can you
comprehend that?"
"Just dimly!" she snapped. "You ought to know another way--you, the
outstanding authority--"
"Be still!" he interrupted gruffly. "Of course I know another way,
if I wanted to drag all of us back to my office, where I have the
equipment!--which I won't do tonight," he finished grimly.
"Then do it here."
"I haven't what I need."
"There's everything upstairs," said Pat. "It's all there, all Nick's
father's equipment."
"Not tonight! That's final."
The girl's manner changed again. She turned troubled, imploring eyes
on Horker. "Dr. Carl," she said plaintively, "I can't leave Nick now."
She seized the arm of the silent, dejected youth, who had been standing
passively by. "I can't leave him, really. I'd not be sure of seeing him
again, ever. Please, Dr. Carl!"
"If these frenzies of yours," rumbled Horker, "are so violent and
malicious, you ought to be confined. Do you know that, young man?"
"Yes, sir," mumbled Nick wretchedly.
"And I've thought of it," continued the Doctor. "I've thought of it!"
"Please!" cried Pat imploringly. "Won't you try, Dr. Carl?"
"The devil!" he growled. "All right, then."
He followed the girl up the stairs, while Nick trailed disconsolately
behind. She led him back into the chamber they had quitted, where a
curious odor of peach pits seemed to scent the air. Horker sniffed
suspiciously, then seized the remaining beaker, raising it cautiously
to his nostrils.
"Damnation!" he exploded. "Prussic acid--or cyanide! What in--" He
caught sight of Pat's tragic eyes, and suddenly replaced the container.
"Pat!" he groaned. "Pat, Honey!" He drew her into the circle of his
great arm. "I'll help you, dear! All I can, with all my heart, since
it means that much to you!" He groaned again under his breath. "Oh, my
God!"
He held her a moment, patting her tousled black head with his massive,
delicate fingered hand. Then he released her, turning to Nick.
"This the stuff?" he asked, brusquely, indicating the cabinet of
bottles, with its splintered front.
Nick nodded. Pat sank to the chair beside the table and watched Horker
as he scanned the array of containers. He pulled out a tiny wooden case
and snapped it open to reveal a number of steel needles that glinted
brightly in the yellow light. He grunted in satisfaction and continued
his inspection.
"Atropine," he muttered, reading the labeled boxes. "Cocaine, daturine,
hyoscine, hyoscyamine--won't do!"
"What do you need?" the girl queried faintly.
"A mild hypnotic," said the Doctor abstractedly, still searching.
"Pretty good substitutes for psychoanalysis--certain drugs. Dulls the
conscious mind, but not to complete unconsciousness. Good means of
getting at the subconscious. See?"
"Sort of," said Pat. "If it only works!"
"Oh, it'll work if we can find--ah!" He seized a tiny cardboard box.
"Scopolamine! This'll do the work."
He extracted a tiny glassy something from one or other of the boxes he
held, and frowned down at it. He seized the carafe of water, plunged
something pointed and shiny into it.
"Antiseptic," he muttered thoughtfully. He seized a brown bottle from
the case, held it toward the light, and shook it. "Peroxide's gone
flat," he growled. "Nothing but water."
He pulled a silver cigar-lighter from his pocket and snapped a yellow
flame to it. He passed the point of the hypodermic rapidly back and
forth through the little spear of fire. Finally he turned to Nick.
"Take off your coat," he ordered. "Roll up your shirt sleeve--the left
one. And sit over there." He indicated the couch along the wall.
The youth obeyed without a word. The only indication of emotion was a
long, miserable, wistful look at Pat as he seated himself impassively
on the spot that the girl had so recently occupied.
"Now!" said the Doctor briskly, approaching the youth. "This will make
you drowsy, sleepy. That's all it'll do. Don't fight the effect. Just
relax, let the thing take its course, and I'll see what I can get out
of you."
Pat gasped and Nick winced as he drove the needle into the bared arm.
"So!" he said. "Now relax. Lean back and close your eyes."
He stepped to the door, dragged in a battered chair from the hall,
and occupied it. He sat beside Pat, watching the pale features of the
youth, who sat quietly with closed eyes, breathing slowly, heavily.
"Long enough," muttered Horker. He raised his voice. "Can you hear me?"
he called to the motionless figure on the couch. There was no response,
but Pat fancied she saw a slight change in Nick's expression.
"Can you hear me?" repeated Horker in louder tones.
"Yes, I can hear you," came in icy tones from the figure on the couch.
Pat started violently as the voice sounded. The eyes opened, and she
saw in sudden terror the ruddy orbs of the demon!
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