He grasped her
wrist, tugging her to an unsteady standing position. "Come on," he said. "Dress!" He snatched the red checked table cloth from its place, precipitating
bottles, ash-tray, and glasses into an indiscriminate pile, and threw
the stained and odorous fabric across her shoulders. She gathered it
about her like a toga; it hung at most points barely below her waist,
but it satisfied the urge of her muddled mind for a covering of some
sort. "We'll go through the rear," her companion said. "Into the alley. I
want no trouble with that rat in the bar--yet!" He still held Pat's wrist; she stumbled after him as he dragged her
into the darkness of the hall. They moved through it blindly to a door
at the far end; Nicholas swung it open upon a dim corridor flanked by
buildings on either side, with a strip of star-sprinkled sky above. Pat's legs were somehow incapable of their usual lithe grace; she
failed to negotiate the single step, and crashed heavily to the
concrete paving. The shock and the cooler air of the open steadied her
momentarily; she felt no pain from her bruised knees, but a temporary
rift in the fog that bound her mind. She gathered the red-checked cloth
more closely about her shoulders as her companion, still clutching her
wrist, jerked her violently to her feet. They moved into the gulch of the alley, and here she found difficulty
in following. Her tiny high-heeled pumps slipped at every step on
the uneven cobbles of the paving, and the unsteady footing made her
lurch and stumble until the dusty stretch of the alley was a writhing
panorama of shadows and lighted windows and stars. Nicholas Devine
turned an impatient glare on her, and here in the semi-darkness, his
face was again the face of the red-eyed demon. She dragged him to a
halt, laughing strangely. "There it is!" she cried, pointing at him with her free hand. He turned
again, staring at her with grim features. "What?" "There! Your face--the face of evil!" Again she laughed hysterically. The other stepped to her side; the disturbing eyes were inches from
her own. He raised his hand as she laughed, slapped her sharply, so
that her head reeled. He seized her shoulders, shaking her until the
checkered cloth billowed like a flag in a wind. "Now come!" he muttered. But the girl, laughing no longer, leaned pale and weak against a
low board fence. Her limbs seemed paralyzed, and movement was quite
impossible. She was conscious of neither the blow nor the shaking, but
only of a devastating nausea and an all-encompassing weakness. She bent
over the fence; she was violently ill.

Then the nausea had vanished, and a weariness, a strange lassitude, was
all that remained. Nicholas Devine stood over her; suddenly he pressed
her body to him in a convulsive embrace, so that her head dropped back,
and his face loomed above her, obliterating the stars. "Ah!" he said. He seemed about to kiss her when a
sound--voices--filtered out of somewhere in the maze of dark courts
and littered yards along the alley. He released her, seized her wrist,
and once more she was stumbling wretchedly behind him over the uneven
surface of the cobblestones. A numbness had come over her; consciousness burned very low as she
wavered doggedly along through the darkness. She perceived dimly that
they were approaching the end of the alley; the brighter glow of the
street loomed before them, and a passing motor car cut momentary
parallel shafts of luminescence across the opening. Nicholas Devine slowed his pace, still clutching her wrist in a cold
grip; he paused, moving cautiously toward the corner of the building. He peered around the edge of the structure, surveying the now deserted
street, while Pat stood dully behind him, incapable alike of thought or
voluntary movement, clutching desperately at the dirty cloth that hung
about her shoulders. Her companion finished his survey; apparently satisfied that progress
was safe, he dragged her after him, turning toward the corner beyond
which his car was parked. The girl staggered behind him with
diminishing vigor; consciousness was very nearly at the point of
disappearance, and her steps were wavering unsteadily, and doggedly
slow. She dragged heavily on his arm; he gave a gesture of impatience
at her weakness. "Come on!" he growled. "We're just going to the corner." His voice rose
slightly in pitch, still sounding harsh as rasping metals. "There still
remains the ultimate evil!" he said. "There is still a depth of beauty
unplumbed, a pain whose exquisite pleasure is yet to find!" They approached the corner; abruptly Nicholas Devine drew back as two
figures came unexpectedly into view from beyond it. He turned back
toward the alley-way, dragging the girl in a dizzy circle. He took a
few rapid steps. But Pat was through, exhausted. At his first step she stumbled and
sprawled, dragging prone behind him. He released her hand and turned
defiantly to face the approaching men, while the girl lying on the
pavement struggled to a sitting posture with her back against the wall. She turned dull, indifferent eyes on the scene, then was roused to a
somewhat higher pitch of interest by the sound of a familiar voice. "There he is! I told you it was his car." Dr. Horker! She struggled for clarity of thought; she realized dimly
that she ought to feel relief, happiness--but all she could summon
was a faint quickening of interest, or rather, a diminution of the
lassitude that held her. She drew the rag of a table cloth about her
and huddled against the wall, watching. The Doctor and some strange
man, burly and massive in the darkness, dashed upon them, while
Nicholas Devine waited, his red-orbed face a demoniac picture of cold
contempt. Then the Doctor glanced at her huddled, bedraggled figure;
she saw his face aghast, incredulous, as he perceived the condition of
her clothing. "Pat! My God, girl! What's happened? Where've you been?" She found a hidden reserve somewhere within her. Her voice rose, shrill
and hysterical. "We've been in Hell!" she said. "You came to take me back, didn't you? Orpheus and Eurydice!" She laughed. "Dr. Orpheus Horker!" The Doctor flashed her another incredulous glance and a grim and very
terrible expression flamed in his face. He turned toward Nicholas
Devine, his hands clenching, his mouth twisting without utterance,
with no sound save a half-audible snarl. Then he spoke, a low, grating
phrase flung at his thick-set companion. "Bring the car," was all he said. The man lumbered away toward the
corner, and he turned again toward Nicholas Devine, who faced him
impassively. Suddenly his fist shot out; he struck the youth or demon
squarely between the red eyes, sending him reeling back against the
building. Then the Doctor turned, bending over Pat; she felt the
pressure of his arms beneath knees and shoulders. He was carrying her
toward a car that drew up at the curb; he was placing her gently in the
back seat.