29

Scopolamine for Satan


The glass was struck from Pat's hand, and the water-clear contents
streamed into pools and darkening blots over the table and its litter
of papers. She stared unseeingly at the mess, without realizing
that it was Nick who had dashed the draught from her very lips. She
felt neither anger nor relief, but only a numbness, and a sense of
anti-climax. Somewhere below the bell was ringing again, and a door was
resounding to violent blows, but she only continued her bewildered,
questioning gaze. "I can't let you, Pat!" he muttered, answering her unspoken query. "But Nick--why?" "There's somebody at the door, isn't there? Mustn't we find out who?" "What difference can it make?" she asked wearily. "I don't know. I want to find out." "It's that illusion of hope again," she murmured. "That's all it is,
Nick--and it means now that it's all to do over again! The whole thing,
from the beginning--and we were so near--the end!" "I know," he said miserably. "I know all that, but--" He paused as the
insistent racket below was redoubled. "I'm going to answer that bell,"
he ended. He moved away from her, vanishing through the room's single door. She
watched his disappearance without moving, but no sooner had he passed
from sight than a curious feeling of fear oppressed her. She cast off
the numbness and languor, and darted after him into the darkness of the
hall. "Nick!" she called. Somewhere ahead a light flashed on; she saw the
well of a stair-case, and heard his footsteps descending. She followed
in frantic haste, gaining the top step just as the pounding below
ceased. She heard the click of the door, and paused suddenly at the
sound of a familiar voice. "Where's Pat?" The words drifted up in low, rumbling, ominous tones. "Dr. Carl!" she shrieked. She ran swiftly down the stairs to Nick's
side, where he stood facing the great figure of the Doctor. "Dr. Carl! How'd you find me?" The newcomer gave her a long, narrow-eyed, speculative survey. "I
spent nearly the whole night doing it," he growled at last. "It took
me hours to locate Mueller and get this address from him." He stepped
forward, taking the girl's arm. "Come on!" he said gruffly, without a
glance at Nick standing silently beside her. "I'm taking you home!" She held back. "But why?" "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!"