Somebody had placed her there, presumably,
since she was quite unaware of the circumstances of her awakening. Then
recollection began to form--Dr. Carl, the _other_, the roar of a shot. After that, nothing save a turmoil ending in blankness. A sound of movement beside her drew her attention. She turned her head
and perceived Dr. Horker kneeling over a form on the floor, fingering
a white bandage about the head of the figure. Her recollections took
instant form; she remembered the catastrophes of the evening--last
night, rather, since dawn glowed dully in the window. She had shot
Nick! She gave a little moan and pushed herself to a sitting position. The Doctor glanced at her with a sick, shaky smile. "Hello," he
said. "Come to, have you? Sorry I couldn't give you any attention." He gave the bandage a final touch. "Here's a job I had no heart
for," he muttered. "Better for everyone to let things happen without
interference." The girl, returning to full awareness, noticed now that the bandage
consisted of strips of the Doctor's shirt. She glanced fearfully at the
still features of Nicholas Devine; she saw pale cheeks and closed eyes,
but indubitably not the grim mien of the demon. "Dr. Carl!" she whispered. "He isn't--he isn't--"

"Not yet." "But will he--?" "I don't know. That's a bad spot, a wound in the base of the brain. You'd best know it now, Pat, but also realize that nothing can happen
to you. I'll see to that!" "To me!" she said dully. "What difference does that make? It's Nick I
want saved." "I'll do my best for you, Honey," said Horker with almost a hint of
reluctance. "I've phoned Briggs General for an ambulance. Your faint
lasted a full quarter hour," he added. "What can we tell them?" asked the girl. "What can we say?" "Don't you say anything, Pat. I'm not on the board for nothing." He
rose from his knees, glancing out of the window into the cool dawn. "Queer neighborhood!" he said. "All that yelling and a shot, and still
no sign of interest from the neighbors. That's Chicago, though," he
mused. "Lucky for us, Pat; we can handle the thing quietly now." But the girl was staring dully at the still figure on the floor. "Oh
God!" she said huskily. "Help him, Dr. Carl!" "I'll do my best," responded Horker gloomily. "I was a good surgeon
before I specialized in psychiatry. Brain surgery, too; it led right
into my present field." Pat said nothing, but dropped her head on her hands and stared vacantly
before her. "Better for you, and for him too, if I fail," muttered the Doctor. His words brought a reply. "You won't fail," she said tensely. "You
won't!" "Not voluntarily, I'm afraid," he growled morosely. "I've still a
little respect for medical ethics, but if ever a case--" His voice
trailed into silence as from somewhere in the dawn sounded the wail of
a siren. "There's the ambulance," he finished. Pat sat unmoving as the sounds from outdoors detailed the stopping
of the vehicle before the house. She heard the Doctor descending the
steps, and the creak of the door. Though it took place before her eyes,
she scarcely saw the white-coated youths as they lifted the form of
Nicholas Devine and bore it from the room on a stretcher, treading
with carefully broken steps to prevent the swaying of the support. Dr.
Horker's order to follow made no impression on her; she sat dully on
the couch as the chamber emptied. Why, she wondered, had the thought of Nick's death disturbed her so? Wasn't it but a short time since they had both contemplated it? What
had occurred to alter that determination? Nick was dying, she thought
mournfully; all that remained was for her to follow. There on the
floor lay the revolver, and on the table, glistening in the wan light,
reposed the untouched lethal draft. That was the preferable way, she
mused, staring fixedly at its glowing contour. But suppose Nick weren't to die--she'd have abandoned him to his
terrible doom, left him to face a situation far more ominous than any
unknown terrors beyond death. She shook her head distractedly, and
looked up to meet the eyes of Dr. Horker, who was watching her gravely
in the doorway. "Come on, Pat," he said gently. She rose, followed him down the stairs and out into the morning light. The driver of the ambulance stared curiously at her dishevelled,
bedraggled figure, but she was so weary and forlorn that even the
effort of brushing away the black strands of hair that clouded her
smoke-dark eyes was beyond her. She slumped into the seat of the
Doctor's car and sighed in utter exhaustion. "Rush it!" Horker called to the driver ahead. "I'll follow you." The car swept into motion, and the swift cool morning air beating
against her face from the open window restored some clarity to her
mind. She fixed her eyes on the rear of the speeding vehicle they
followed. "Is there any hope at all?" she queried despondently. "I don't know, Pat. I can't tell yet. When you closed your eyes, he
half turned, dodged; the bullet entered his skull near the base,
near the cerebellum. If it had pierced the cerebellum, his heart and
breathing must have stopped instantly. They didn't, however, and that's
a mildly hopeful sign. Very mildly hopeful, though." "Do you know now what that devil--what the attack was?" "No, Pat," Horker admitted. "I don't. Call it a devil if you like;
I can't name it any better." His voice changed to a tone of wonder. "Pat, I can't understand that paralyzing fascination the thing exerted. I--any medical man--would say that mental dominance of that sort
doesn't exist." "Hypnotism," the girl suggested. "Bah! Every psychiatrist uses hypnotism in his business; it's part of
some treatments. There's nothing of fascination about it; no dominance
of one will over another, despite the popular view. That's natural
and understandable; this was like--well, like the exploded claims of
Mesmerism. I tell you, it's not humanly possible--and yet I felt it!" "Not _humanly_ possible," murmured Pat. "That's the answer, then, Dr.
Carl. Maybe now you'll believe in my devil." "I'm tempted to." "You'll have to! Can't you see it, Dr. Carl? Even his name,
Nick--that's a colloquialism for the devil, isn't it?" "And Devine, I suppose," said Horker, "refers to his angelic ancestry. Devils are only fallen angels, aren't they?" "All right," said Pat wearily. "Make fun of it. You'll see!" "I'm not making fun of your theory, Honey. I can't offer a better one
myself. I never saw nor heard of anything similar, and I'm not in
position to ridicule any theory." "But you don't believe me." "Of course I don't, Pat. You're weaving an intricate fairy tale about
a pathological condition and a fortuitous suggestiveness in names. Whatever the condition is--and I confess I don't understand it--it's
something rational, and those things can be treated." "Treated by exorcism," said the girl. "That's the only way anyone ever
succeeded in casting out a devil." The Doctor made no answer.