“Good enough for the first time,” said the Doctor briskly. “Wait a few weeks; we’ll have your life’s history out of you. It takes practice.”
“Is that all?” queried Pat in astonishment.
“All for the first time. Later we’ll let him talk half an hour at a stretch, but it takes practice, as I’ve mentioned. You run along home now,” he said to Nick.
“But it’s early!” objected Pat.
“Early or not,” said the Doctor, “I’m tired, and you two aren’t to see each other except here. You remember that.”
Nick rose from his seat in the depths of the great chair. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I don’t know why, but I feel easier in your presence. The—the struggle disappears while I’m here.”
“Well,” said Horker with a smile, “I like patients with confidence in me. Good night.”
At the door Nick paused, turning wistful eyes on Pat. “Good night,” he said, leaning to give her a light kiss. A rush of some emotion twisted his features; he stared strangely at the girl. “I’d better go,” he said abruptly, and vanished through the door.
“Well?” said Pat questioningly, turning to the Doctor. “Did you learn anything from that?”
“Not much,” the other admitted, yawning. “However, the results bear out my theory.”
“How?”
“Did you notice how he harped on the undeserved punishment theme? He was punished for another’s mischief?”
“Yes. What of that?”
“Well, picture him as a timid, sensitive child, rather afraid of being punished. Afraid, say, of being locked up in a dark closet. Now, when he inadvertently commits a mischief, as all children do, he tries desperately to divert the blame from himself. But there’s no one else to blame! So what does he do?”
“What?”
“He invents this other, the mischievous one, and blames him. And now the other has grown to the proportions of a delusion, haunting him, driving him to commit acts apart from his normal inclinations. Understand? Because I’m off to bed whether you do or not.”
“I understand all right,” murmured Pat uncertainly as she moved to the door. “But somehow, it doesn’t sound reasonable.”
“It will,” said the Doctor. “Good night.”
Pat wandered slowly down the steps and through the break in the hedge, musing over Doctor Horker’s expression of opinion. Then, according to him, the devil was nothing more than an invention of Nick’s mind, the trick of a cowardly child to evade just punishment. She shook her head; it didn’t sound like Nick at all. For all his gentleness and sensitivity, he wasn’t the one to hide behind a fabrication. He wasn’t a coward; she was certain of that. And she was as sure as she could ever be that he hated, feared, loathed this personality that afflicted him; he couldn’t have created it.
She sighed, mounted the steps, and fumbled for her key. The sound of a movement behind her brought a faint gasp of astonishment. She turned to see a figure materializing from the shadows of the porch. The light from the hall fell across its features, and she drew back as she recognized Nicholas Devine—not the being she had just kissed good night, but in the guise of her tormentor, the red-eyed demon!
XXV
The Demon Lover
Pat drew back, leaning against the door, and her key tinkled on the concrete of the porch. She was startled, shocked, but not as completely terrified as she might have expected. After all, she thought rapidly, they were standing in full view of a public street, and Dr. Carl’s residence was but a few feet distant. She could summon his help by screaming.
“Well!” she exclaimed, eyeing the figure inimically. “Your appearances and disappearances are beginning to remind me of the Cheshire Cat.”
“Except for the grin,” said the other in his cold tones.
“What do you want?” snapped Pat.
“You know what I want.”
“You’ll not get it,” said the girl angrily. “You—you’re doomed to extinction, anyway! Go away!”
“Suppose,” said the other with a strange, cold, twisted smile, “it were he that’s doomed to extinction—what then?”
“It isn’t!” cried Pat. “It isn’t!” she repeated, while a quiver of uncertainty shook her. “He’s the stronger,” she said defiantly.
“Then where is he now?”
“Dr. Carl will help us!”
“Doctor!” sneered the other. “He and his clever theory! Am I an illusion?” he queried sardonically, thrusting his red-glinting eyes toward her. “Am I the product of his puerile, vacillating nature? Bah! I gave you the clue, and your Doctor hasn’t the intelligence to follow it!”
“Go away!” murmured Pat faintly. The approach of his face had unnerved her, and she felt terror beginning to stir within her. “Go away!” she said again. “Why do you have to torment me? Anyone would serve your purpose—any woman!”
“You have an aesthetic appeal, as I’ve told you before,” replied the other in that toneless voice of his. “There is a pleasure in the defacement of black hair and pale skin, and your body is seductive, most seductive. Another might afford me less enjoyment, and besides, you hate me. Don’t you hate me?” He peered evilly at her.
“Oh, God—yes!” The girl was shuddering.
“Say it, then! Say you hate me!”
“I hate you!” the girl cried vehemently. “Will you go away now?”
“With you!”
“I’ll scream if you come any closer. You don’t dare touch me; I’ll call Dr. Horker.”
“You’ll only damage him—your lover.”
“Then I’ll do it! He’ll understand.”
“Yes,” said the other reflectively. “He’s fool enough to forgive you. He’ll forgive you anything—the weakling!”
“Go away! Get away from here!”
The other stared at her out of bloodshot eyes. “Very well,” he said in his flat tones. “This time the victory is yours.”
He backed slowly toward the steps. Pat watched him as he moved, feeling a surge of profound relief. As his shadow shifted, her key gleamed silver at her feet, and she stooped to retrieve
