Nicholas Devine shifted his eyes for the
barest instant to her face; she felt the strength drain out of her
body, and she sank weakly to her chair. "It's useless," she murmured hopelessly to the Doctor. "He's--he's just
what I told you--a devil!" "I guess you were right," mumbled Horker dazedly. There was a burst of demonic mirth from the being on the couch. "Merely
a matter of synapses," he rasped, chuckling. His face changed, took
on the familiar coldness, the stony expression Pat had observed there
before. "This palls!" he snapped. "I've better amusement--after we've
rendered your friend merely an interested on-looker." He narrowed his
red eyes as if in thought. "Take off a stocking," he ordered. "Tie his
hands to the back of the chair." "I won't!" said the girl. The eyes shifted to her face. "I won't!" she
repeated tremulously as she kicked off a diminutive pump. She shuddered
at the gleam in the evil eyes as she stripped the long silken sheath
from a white, rounded limb. She slipped a bare foot into the pump and
moved reluctantly behind the chair that held the groaning Horker. She
took one of the clenched, straining hands, and drew it back, fumbling
with shaking fingers as she twisted the strip of thin chiffon. The
demon moved closer, standing over her. "Loose knots!" he snarled abruptly. He knocked her violently away with
a stinging slap across her cheek, and seized the strip in his own
hands. He drew the binding tight, twisting it about the lowest rung of
the chair's ladder back. Horker was forced to lean awkwardly to the
rear; in this unbalanced position it was quite impossible to rise. Nicholas Devine turned away from the straining, perspiring Doctor, and
advanced toward Pat, who cowered against the shattered cabinet. "Now!" he muttered. "The experiment!" He chuckled raspingly. "What
delicacy of degradation! Your lover and your guardian angel--both
helpless watchers! Excellent! Oh, very excellent!" He grasped her wrist, drawing her after him to the center of the room,
into the full view of the horrified, staring eyes of Horker. "Always before," continued her tormentor, "these hands have prepared
you for the rites--the ceremony that failed on two other occasions
to transpire. Would it add a poignancy to the torture if I made you
strip this body of yours with your own hands? Or will they suffer more
watching me? Which do you think?" Pat closed her eyes in helpless resignation to her fate. "Nick!" she
moaned. "Oh, Nick dearest!" "Not this time!" sneered the other. "Your friend and protector, the
Doctor, has thoughtfully eliminated your sweetheart as a factor. He
struggles too feebly for me to feel." "Nick!" she murmured again. "Dr. Carl!" But the Doctor, now pulling painfully at his bonds, could only groan in
distraction, and curse the unsuspected strength of sheer chiffon. He
writhed miserably at the chafing of his wrists; his strange paralysis
had departed, but he was quite helpless to assist Pat. "I think," said the cold tones of Nicholas Devine, "that the more
delicate torture lies in your willingness. Let us see." He drew her into his arms. He twisted a hand in her hair, jerked her
head violently backward, and pressed avid lips to hers. She struggled a
little, but hopelessly, automatically. At last she lay quite passive,
quite motionless, supported by his arms, and making not the slightest
response to his kiss. "Are you mine?" he queried fiercely, releasing her lips. "Are you mine
now?" She shook her head without opening her eyes. "No," she said dully. "Not
now, or ever." Again he crushed her, while the Doctor looked on in helpless,
bewildered, voiceless anger. This time his kiss was painful, burning,
searing. Again that unholy fascination and unnatural delight in her own
pain stirred her, and it took what little effort she was able to make
to keep from responding. After a long interval, his lips again withdrew. "Are you mine?" he repeated. She made no answer; she was gasping,
and tears glistened under her closed eye-lids, from the pain of her
crushed lips. Again he kissed her, and again the wild abandonment to
evil suffused her. She was suddenly responding to his agonizing caress;
she was clinging fiercely to his torturing lips, feeling an unholy
exaltation in the pain of his tearing fingers in the flesh of her back. "Yours!" she murmured in response to his query. She heard her voice
repeat madly, "Yours! Yours! Yours!" "Do you yield willingly?" came the icy tones of the demon. "Yes--yes--yes! Willingly!" "Take off your clothes!" sounded the terrible, overpowering voice. He
thrust her from him, so that she staggered dizzily backward. She stood
swaying; the voice repeated its command. The girl's eyes widened wildly; she had the appearance of one in an
ecstasy, a religious fervor. She raised her hand with a jerky impulsive
gesture to the neck of her frock, still pinned together in the
makeshift repairs of the evening. There came a strange interruption. The Doctor, helpless on-looker,
had at length evolved an idea out of the bewilderment in his mind. He
opened his mouth and emitted a tremendous, deep, ear-shattering bellow! Nicholas Devine sent the girl spinning to the floor with a vicious
shove, and turned his blazing eyes on Horker, who was drawing in his
breath for a repetition of his roar. "Quiet!" he rasped, his red orbs
boring down at the other. "Quiet, or I'll muffle you!" Closing his
eyes, the Doctor repeated his mighty shout. The demon snatched the blanket from the couch, tossing it over the
figure of the Doctor, where it became a billowing, writhing heap of
brown wool. He turned his gaze on Pat, who was just struggling to her
feet, and moved as if to advance toward her. He paused. She had retrieved the Doctor's revolver from the floor, and
now faced him with the madness gone out of her eyes, supporting the
weapon with both hands, the muzzle wavering toward his face. "Drop it!" he commanded. She felt a recurrence of fascination, and an
impulse to obey. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Doctor's
head emerging from the blanket as he shook it off. "Drop it!" repeated Nicholas Devine. She closed her eyes, shutting out the vision of his dominant visage. With a surge of terror, she squeezed the trigger, staggering back to
the couch at the roar and the recoil. She opened her eyes. Nicholas Devine lay in the center of the room on
his face; a crimson spot was matting the hair on the back of his head. She saw the Doctor raise a free hand; he was working clear of his bonds. "Pat!" he said softly. He looked at her pale, sickened features. "Honey," he said, "sit down till I get free. Sit down, Pat; you look
faint." "Never faint!" murmured the girl, and pitched backward to the couch,
with one clad and one bare leg hanging in curious limpness over the
edge. 31

"Not Humanly Possible"


Pat opened weary eyes and gazed at a blank, uninformative ceiling. It
was some moments before she realized that she was lying on the couch in
the room of Nicholas Devine.