"We won't see a moon tonight," said Pat in a small voice, after an interval. "We'll never check up on Dr. Carl's astronomy."
"You don't want to tonight, Pat, do you?"
"I guess perhaps we'd better not," she replied. "We're both upset, and there'll be other nights."
Again they were silent. Pat felt strained, shaken; there was something uncanny about the occurrence that puzzled her. The red eyes that had glared out of Nick's face perplexed her, and the curious rasping voice he had used still sounded inhumanly in her memory. Out of recollection rose still another mystery.
"Nick," she said, "what did you mean — then —when you said there was danger and you came to save me?”
"Nothing," he said sharply.
"And then, afterwards, you started to say something about 'He couldn't have —'. Who's 'he'?"
"It meant nothing, I tell you. I was frantic to think you might have been hurt. That's all."
"I believe you, Honey," she said, wondering whether she really did. The thing was beginning to grow hazy; already it was assuming merely the proportions of an upheaval of youthful fervor. Such occurrences were not unheard of, though never before had it happened to Patricia Lane! Still, even that was conceivable, far more conceivable than the dark, unformed, inchoate suspicions she had been harboring. They hadn't even been definite enough to be called suspicions; indefinite apprehensions came closer.
And yet — that strange, wild face that had formed itself of Nick's fine features, and the terrible red eyes! Were they elements in a picture conjured out of her own imagination? They must be, of course. She had been frightened by that hair-breadth escape, and had seen things that didn't exist. And the rest of it —well, that might be natural enough. Still, there was something — she knew that; Nick had admitted it.
Horker's words concerning Nick's father rose in her mind. Suspected of being crazy! Was that it? Was that the cause of Nick's curious reluctance where she was concerned? Was the face that had glared at her the visage of a maniac? It couldn't be. It couldn't be, she told herself fiercely. Not her fine, tender, sensitive Nick! And besides, that face, if she hadn't imagined it, had been the face, not of a lunatic, but of a devil. She shook her head, as if to deny her thoughts, and placed her hand impulsively on Nick's.
"I don't care," she said. "I love you, Nick."
"And I you," he murmured. "Pat, I'm sorry about spoiling this evening. I'm sorry and ashamed."
"Never mind, Honey. There'll be others."
"Tomorrow?”
"No," she said. "Mother and I are going out to dinner. And Friday we're having company."
"Really, Pat? You're not just trying to turn me off gently."
"Really, Nick. Try asking me for Saturday evening and see!"
"You're asked, then."
"And it's a date." Then, with a return of her usual insouciance, she added. "If you're on good behavior."
"I will be. I promise."
"I hope so," said Pat. An inexplicable sense of foreboding had come over her; despite her self-given assurances, something unnameable troubled her. She gave a mental shrug, and deliberately relegated the unpleasant cogitations to oblivion.
The car turned into Dempster Road; the lights of the teeming roadhouses, dance halls, road-side hamburger and barbecue stands flashed by. There were many cars here; there was no longer any impression of solitude now, in the overflow from the vast city in whose shadow they moved. The incessant flow of traffic gave the girl a feeling of security; these were tangible things about her, and once more the memory of that disturbing occurrence became dim and dreamlike. This was Nick beside her, gentle, intelligent, kind; had he ever been other-wise? It seemed highly unreasonable, a fantasy of fear and the hysteria of the moment.
"Hungry?" asked Nick unexpectedly.
"I could use a barbecue, I guess. Beef."
The car veered to the graveled area before a brightly lit stand. Nick gave the order to an attendant. He chuckled as Pat, with the digestive disregard of youth attacked the greasy combination.
"That's like a humming bird eating hay!" he said.
"Or better, like a leprechaun eating that horse-meat they can for dogs."
"You might as well discover that I don't live on honey and rose-petals," said Pat. "Not even on caviar and terrapin — at least, not exclusively. I leave the dainty palate for Mother to indulge."
"Which is just as well. Hamburger and barbecue are more easily budgeted."
"Nicholas," said the girl, tossing the paper napkin out of the car window, "is that an indirect and very evasive proposal of marriage?”
"You know it could be, if you wished it!"
"And do I?” she said, assuming a pensive air. "I wonder. Suppose we say I'll let you know later."
"And meanwhile?”
"Oh, meanwhile we can be sort of engaged. Just the way we've been."
"You're sweet, Pat," he murmured, as the car edged into the line of traffic. "I don't know just how to convey my appreciation, but it's there!"
The buildings drew more closely together; the road was suddenly a lighted street, and then, almost without realizing it, they were before Pat's home. Nick walked beside her to the door; he stood facing her hesitantly.
"Good night, Pat," he said huskily. He leaned down, kissing her very gently, turned, and departed. The girl watched him from the open doorway, following the lights of his car until they vanished down the street. Dear, sweet Nick! Then the disturbing memory of that occurrence of the evening returned; she frowned in perplexity as the thought rose. That was all of a piece with the puzzling character of him, and the curious veiled references he'd made. References to what? She didn't know, couldn't imagine. Nick had said he didn't know either, which added still another quirk to the maze.
She thought of Dr. Horker's words. With the thought, she glanced at his house, adjacent to her own home. A light gleamed in the library; he was still awake. She closed the door behind her, and darted across the narrow strip of lawn to his porch. She rang the bell.
"Good evening, Dr. Carl," she said as the massive form of Horker appeared. She puckered her lips impudently at him as she slipped by him into the house.
6
A Question of Science
OT THAT I'M DISPLEASED AT THIS VISIT, PAT," rumbled the Doctor, seating himself in one of the great chairs by the fireplace, "but I'm curious. I thought you were dating your ideal tonight, yet here you are, back alone a little after eleven. How come?"
"Oh," said the girl nonchantly, dropping crosswise in the other chair, "we decided we needed our beauty sleep."
"Then why are you here, you young imp?"
"Thought you might be lonesome."
"I'll bet you did! But seriously, Pat, what is it? Any trouble?”
"No-o," she said dubiously. "No trouble. I just wanted to ask you a few hypothetical questions. About science."
"Go to it, then, and quickly. I was ready to turn in."
"Well," said Pat, "about Nick's father. He was a doctor, you said, and supposed to be cracked. Was he really?”
"Humph! That's curious. I just looked up a brochure of his tonight in the American Medical Journal, after our conversation of this afternoon. Why do you ask that?”
"Because I'm interested, of course."
"Well, here's what I remember about him, Pat. He was an M.D., all right, but I see by his paper there — the one I was reading — that he was on the staff of Northern U. He did some work at the Cook County Asylum, some research work, and there was a bit of talk about his maltreating the patients. Then, on top of that, he published a paper that medical men considered crazy, and that started talk of his sanity. That's all I know."
"Then Nick —."
"I thought so! So it's come to the point where you're investigating his antecedents, eh? With an eye to marriage, or what?”
"Or what!" snapped Pat. "I was curious to know, naturally."
"Naturally." The Doctor gave her a keen glance from his shrewd eyes. "Did you think you det
ected incipient dementia in your ideal?”
"No," said the girl thoughtfully. "Dr. Carl, is there any sort of craziness that could take an ordinarily shy person and make a passionate devil of him? I don't mean passionate, either," she added. "Rather cold, ruthless, domineering."
"None that I know of," said Horker, watching her closely. "Did this Nick of yours have one of his masterful moments?"
"Worse than that," admitted Pat reluctantly. "We had a near accident, and it startled both of us, and then suddenly, he was looking at me like a devil, and then —" She paused. "It frightened me a little."
"What's he do?" demanded Horker sharply.
"Nothing." She lied with no hesitation.
"Were there any signs of Satyromania?”
"I don't know. I never heard of that."
"I mean, in plain Americanese, did he make a pass at you?"
"He — no, he didn't."
"Well, what did he do?"
"He just looked at me." Somehow a feeling of disloyalty was rising in her; she felt a reluctance to betray Nick further.
"What did he say, then? And don't lie this time."
"He just said — He just looked at my legs and said something about their being beautiful, and that was all. After that, the look on his face faded into the old Nick."
"Old Nick is right — the impudent scoundrel!" Horker's voice rumbled angrily.
"Well, they're nice legs," said Pat defiantly, swinging them as evidence. "You've said it yourself. Why shouldn't he say it? What's to keep him from it?”
"The code of a gentleman, for one thing!"
"Oh, who cares for your Victorian codes! Anyway, I came here for information, not to be cross-examined. I want to ask the questions myself."
"Pat, you're a reckless little spit-fire, and you're going to get burned some day, and deserve it," the Doctor rumbled ominously. "Ask your fool questions, and then I'll ask mine."
"All right," said the girl, still defiant. "I don't guarantee to answer yours, however."
"Well, ask yours, you imp!"
"First, then — Is that Satyro-stuff you mentioned intermittent or continuous?”
"It's necessarily intermittent, you numb-skull! The male organism can't function continuously!"
"I mean, does the mania lie dormant for weeks or months, and then flare up?”
"Not at all. It's a permanent mania, like any other psychopathic sex condition."
"Oh," said Pat thoughtfully, with a sense of relief.
"Well, go on. What next?"
"What are these dual personalities you read about in the papers?"
"They're aphasias. An individual forgets his name, and he picks, or is given, another, if he happens to wander among strangers. He forgets much of his past experience; the second personality is merely what's left of the first — sort of a vestige of his normal character. There isn't any such thing as a dual personality in the sense of two distinct characters living in one body."
"Isn't there?" queried the girl musingly. "Could the second personality have qualities that the first one lacked?"
"Not any more than it could have an extra finger! The second is merely a split off the first, a forgetfulness, a loss of memory. It couldn't have more qualities than the whole, or normal, character; it must have fewer."
"Isn't that just too interesting!" said Pat in a bantering tone. "All right, Dr. Carl. It's your turn."
"Then what's the reason for all this curiosity about perversions and aphasias? What's happened to your genius now?”
"Oh, I'm thinking of taking up the study of psychiatry," replied the girl cheerfully.
"Aren't you going to answer me seriously?"
"No."
"Then what's the use of my asking questions?"
"I know the right answer to that one. None!"
"Pat," said Horker in a low voice, "you're an impudent little hoyden, and too clever for your own good, but you and your mother are very precious to me. You know that."
"Of course I do, Dr. Carl," said the girl, relenting. "You're a dear, and I'm crazy about you, and you know that, too."
"What I'm trying to say," proceeded the other, "is simply that I'm trying to help you. I want to help you, if you need help. Do you?"
"I guess I don't, Dr. Carl, but you're sweet."
"Are you in love with this Nicholas Devine?"
"I think perhaps I am," she admitted softly.
"And is he in love with you?"
"Frankly, could he help being?”
"Then there's something about him that worries you. That's it, isn't it?"
"I thought there was, Dr. Carl. I was a little startled by the change in him right after we had that narrow escape, but I'm sure it was nothing — just imagination. Honestly, that's all that troubled me."
"I believe you, Pat," said the Doctor, his eyes fixed on hers. "But guard yourself, my dear. Be sure he's what you think he is; be sure you know him rightly."
"He's clean and fine," murmured the girl. "I am sure."
"But this puzzling yourself about his character, Pat — I don't like it. Make doubly sure before you permit your feelings to become too deeply involved. That's only common sense, child, not psychiatry or magic."
"I'm sure," repeated Pat. "I'm not puzzled or troubled any more. And thanks, Dr. Carl. You run along to bed and I'll do likewise."
He rose, accompanying her to the door, his face unusually grave.
"Patricia," he said, "I want you to think over what I've said. Be sure, be doubly sure, before you expose yourself to the possibility of suffering. Remember that, won't you?”
"I'll try to. Don't fret yourself about it, Dr. Carl; I'm a hard-boiled young modern, and it takes a diamond to even scratch me."
"I hope so," he said soberly. "Run along; I'll watch until you're inside."
Pat darted across the strip of grass, turned at her door to blow a goodnight kiss to the Doctor, and slipped in. She tiptoed quietly to her room, slipped off her dress, and surveyed her long, slim legs in the mirror.
"Why shouldn't he say they were beautiful?” she queried of the image. "I can't see any reason to get excited over a simple compliment like that."
She made a face over her shoulder at the green Buddha above the fireplace.
"And as for you, fat boy," she murmured, "I expect to see you wink at me tonight. And every night hereafter!"
She prepared herself for slumber, slipped into the great bed. She had hardly closed her lids before the image of a leering face with terrible bloody eyes flamed out of memory and set her trembling and shuddering.
7
The Red Eyes Return
SUPPOSE I REALLY OUGHT TO MEET YOUR friends, Patricia," said Mrs. Lane, peering out of the window, "but they all seem to call when I'm not at home."
"I'll have some of them call in February." said Pat. "You're not out as often in February."
"Why do you say I'm not out as often in February?” demanded her mother. "I don't see what earthly difference the month makes."
"There are fewer days in February," retorted Pat airily.
"Facetious brat!"
"So I've been told. You needn't worry, though, Mother; I'm sober, steady, and reliable, and if I weren't, Dr. Carl would see to it that my associates were,"
"Yes; Carl is a gem," observed her mother. "By the way, who's this Nicholas you're so enthusiastic about?"
"He's a boy I met."
"What's he like?"
"Well, he speaks English and wears a hat."
"Imp! Is he nice?"
"That means is his family acceptable, doesn't it? He hasn't any family."
Mrs. Lane shrugged her attractive shoulders. "You're a self-reliant sort, Patricia, and cool as iced lettuce, like your father. I don't doubt that you can manage your own affairs, and here comes Claude with the car." She gave the girl a hasty kiss. "Goodbye, and have a good time, as I'm sure I shan't with Bret Cutter in the game."
Pat watched her mother's trim, amazingly youthful figure as she ente
red the car. More like a companion than a parent, she mused; she liked the independence her mother's attitude permitted her.
"Better than being watched like a prize-winning puppy," she thought. "Maybe Dr. Carl as a father would have a detriment or two along with the advantages. He's a dear, and I'm mad about him, but he does lean to the nineteenth century as far as parental duties are concerned."
She saw Nick's car draw to the curb; as he emerged she waved from the window and skipped into the hall. She caught up her wrap and bounded out to meet him just ascending the steps.
"Let's go!" she greeted him. She cast an apprehensive glance at his features, but there was nothing disturbing about him. He gave her a diffident smile, the shy, gentle smile that had taken her in that first moment of meeting. This was certainly no one but her own Nick, with no trace of the unsettling personality of their last encounter.
He helped her into the car, seating himself at her side. He leaned over her, kissing her very tenderly; suddenly she was clinging to him, her face against the thrilling warmth of his cheek.
"Nick!" she murmured. "Nick! You're just safely you, aren't you? I've been imagining things that I knew couldn't be so!"
He slipped his arm caressingly about her, and the pressure of it was like the security of encircling battlements. The world was outside the circle of his arms; she was within, safe, inviolable. It was some moments before she stirred, lifting her pert face with tear-bright eyes from the obscurity of his shoulder.
"So!" she exclaimed, patting the black glow of her hair into composure. "I feel better, Nick, and I hope you didn't mind."
"Mind!" he ejaculated. "If you mean that as a joke, Honey, it's far too subtle for me."
"Well, I didn't think you'd mind," said Pat demurely, settling herself beside him. "Let's be moving, then; Dr. Carl is nearly popping his eyes out in the window there."
The car hummed into motion; she waved a derisive arm at the Doctor's window by way of indicating her knowledge of his surveillance. "Ought to teach him a lesson some time," she thought. "One of these fine evenings I'll give him a real shock."
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