The wailing vehicle ahead of them swung
rapidly out of sight into an alley, and Horker halted his car before
the gray facade of Briggs General. "Come in here," he said, helping Pat to alight. "You'll want to wait,
won't you?" "How long," she queried listlessly, "before--before you'll know?" "Perhaps immediately. The only chance is to get that bullet out at
once--if there's still time for it." She followed him into the building, past a desk where a white-clad girl
regarded her curiously, and up an elevator. He led her into a small
office. "Sit here," he said gently, and disappeared. She sat dully in the chair he had indicated, and minutes passed. She
made no attempt to think; the long, cataclysmic night had exhausted her
powers. She simply sat and suffered; the deep scratches of fingernails
burned in the flesh of her back, her cheek pained from the violent
slap, and her head and jaw ached from that first blow, the one that had
knocked her unconscious last evening. But these twinges were minor;
they were merely physical, and the hurts of the demon had struck far
deeper than any physical injury. The damage to her spirit was by all
odds the more painful; it numbed her mind and dulled her thoughts, and
she simply sat idle and stared at the blank wall. She had no conception of the interval before Dr. Horker returned. He
entered quietly, and began rinsing his hands at a basin in the corner. "Is it over?" she asked listlessly. "Not even begun," he responded. "However, it isn't too late. He'll be
ready in a moment or so." "I wish it were over," she murmured. "One way or the other." "I too!" said the Doctor. "With all my heart, I wish it were over! If
there were anyone within call who could handle it, I'd turn it to him
gladly. But there isn't!" He moved again toward the door, leaning out and glancing down the hall. "You stay here," he admonished her. "Don't try to find us; I want no
interruptions, no matter what enters that mind of yours!" "You needn't worry," she said soberly. "I'm not fool enough for that." She leaned wearily back in the chair, closing her eyes. A long interval
passed; she was vaguely surprised to see the Doctor still standing in
the doorway when she opened her eyes. She had fancied him already in
the midst of his labor. "What will you do?" she asked. "About what?" "I mean what sort of operation will it need? Probing or what?" "Oh," he said. "I'll have to trephine him. Must get that bullet." "What's that--trephine?" He glanced down the hall. "They're ready," he said, and turned to go. At the door he paused. "Trephining is to open a little door in the
skull. If your devil is in his head, we'll have it out along with the
bullet." His footsteps receded down the hall. Revelation


"Is it over now?" queried Pat tremulously as the Doctor finally
reappeared. The interminable waiting had left her even more worn, and
her pallid features bore the marks of strain. "Twenty minutes ago," said Horker. His face too bore evidence of
tension; moreover, there was a puzzled, dubious expression in his eyes
that frightened Pat. She was too apprehensive to risk a question as to
the outcome, and simply stared at him with wide, fearful, questioning
eyes. "I called up your home," he said irrelevantly. "I told them you left
with me early this morning. Your mother's still in bed, although it's
after ten." He paused. "Slip in without anyone seeing you, will you,
Honey? And rumple up your bed." "If I haven't lost my key," she said, still with the question in her
eyes. "It's in the mail-box. Magda found it on the porch this morning. I
talked to her." She could bear the uncertainty no longer. "Tell me!" she demanded. "It's all right, I think." "You mean--he'll live?" The Doctor nodded. "I think so." He turned his puzzled eyes on her. "Oh!" breathed Pat. "Thank God!" "You wanted him back, Honey, didn't you?" Horker's tone was gentle. "Oh, yes!" "Devil and all?" "Yes--devil and all!" she echoed. Suddenly she sensed something strange
in the other's manner. She perceived the uncertainty in his visage, and
felt a rising trepidation. "What's the matter?" she queried anxiously. "You're not telling me everything! Tell me, Dr. Carl!" "There's something else," he said. "I'm not sure, Pat, but I think--I
hope--you've got him back without the devil!" "He's cured?" Her voice was incredulous; she did not dare accept the
Doctor's meaning. "I hope so. At least I located the cause." "What was it?" she demanded, an unexpected vigor livening her tired
body. "What was that devil? Tell me! I want to know, Dr. Carl!" "I think the best name for it is a tumor," he said slowly. "I told them
in there it was a tumor. I wish I knew myself." "A tumor! I don't understand!" "I don't either, Pat--not fully. It's something on or beyond the border
of medical knowledge. I don't think any living authority could classify
it definitely." "But tell me!" she cried fiercely. "Tell me!" "Well, Honey--I'll try." He paused thoughtfully. "Cancers and
tumors--sarcomas--are curious things, Dear. Doctors aren't at all
sure just what they are. And one of their peculiarities is that they
sometimes seem to be trying to develop into separate entities, trying
to become human by feeding like parasites on their hosts. Do you
understand?" "No," said the girl. "I'm sorry, Dr. Carl, but I don't." "I mean," he continued, "that sometimes these growths seem to be trying
to develop into--into organisms. I've seen them, for instance--every
surgeon has--with bones developing. I've seen one with a rather perfect
jaw-bone, and little teeth, and hair. As if," he added, "it were
making a sort of attempt to become human, in a primitive, disorganized
fashion. Now do you see what I mean?" "Yes," said the girl, with a violent shudder. "Dr. Carl, that's
horrible!" "Life sometimes is," he agreed. "Well," he continued slowly, "I opened
up our patient's skull at the point where the fluoroscope indicated the
bullet. I trephined it, and there, pierced by the shot, was this--" He
hesitated, "--this tumor." "Did you--remove it?" "Of course. But it wasn't a natural sort of brain tumor, Honey. It was
a little cerebrum, apparently joined to a Y-shaped branch of the spinal
cord. A little brain, Pat--no larger than your small fist, but deeply
convoluted, and with the pre-Rolandic area highly developed." "What's pre-Rolandic, Dr. Carl?" asked Pat, shivering. "The seat of the motor nerves. The home, you might say, of the will. This brain was practically all will--and I wonder," he said musingly,
"if that explains the ungodly, evil fascination the creature could
command. A brain that was nothing but pure will-power, relieved by
its parasitic nature of all the distractions of a directing body! I
wonder--" He fell silent. "Tell me the rest!" she said frantically. "That's all, Honey. I removed it, and I guess I'm the only surgeon in
the world who ever removed a brain from a human skull without killing
the patient! Luckily, he had two of them!" "Oh God!"