But I distinctly saw her wrench the
wheel around, and I know she deliberately tried to hit me--why, God
alone knows. "Still I refused to let my mind follow the channel it was getting into. Evelyn had never given any evidence of any psychological weakness or
'nerves'; she's always been a level-headed girl, wholesome and natural. But I began to think she was subject to crazy impulses. Most of us have
felt the impulse to leap from tall buildings. And sometimes a person
feels a blind, childish and utterly reasonless urge to harm someone. We pick up a pistol, and the thought suddenly enters our mind how easy
it would be to send our friend, who sits smiling and unaware, into
eternity with a touch of the trigger. Of course we don't do it, but the
impulse is there. So I thought perhaps some lack of mental discipline
made Evelyn susceptible to these unguided impulses, and unable to
control them." "Nonsense," I broke in. "I've known her since she was a baby. If she
has any such trait, she's developed it since she married you." It was an unfortunate remark. Gordon caught it up with a despairing
gleam in his eyes. "That's just it--since she married me! It's a
curse--a black, ghastly curse, crawling like a serpent out of the past! I tell you, I was Richard Gordon and she--she was Lady Elizabeth, his
murdered wife!" His voice sank to a blood-freezing whisper. I shuddered; it is an awful thing to look upon the ruin of a keen clean
brain, and such I was certain that I surveyed in James Gordon. Why or
how, or by what grisly chance it had come about I could not say, but I
was certain the man was mad. "You spoke of three attempts." It was John Kirowan's voice again, calm
and stable amid the gathering webs of horror and unreality. "Look here!" Gordon lifted his arm, drew back the sleeve and displayed
a bandage, the cryptic significance of which was intolerable. "I came into the bathroom this morning looking for my razor," he said. "I found Evelyn just on the point of using my best shaving implement
for some feminine purpose--to cut out a pattern, or something. Like
many women she can't seem to realize the difference between a razor and
a butcher-knife or a pair of shears. "I was a bit irritated, and I said: 'Evelyn, how many times have I told
you not to use my razors for such things? Bring it here; I'll give you
my pocket-knife.' "'I'm sorry, Jim,' she said. 'I didn't know it would hurt the razor. Here it is.' "She was advancing, holding the open razor toward me. I reached for
it--then something warned me. It was the same look in her eyes, just
as I had seen it the day she nearly ran over me. That was all that
saved my life, for I instinctively threw up my hand just as she slashed
at my throat with all her power. The blade gashed my arm as you see,
before I caught her wrist. For an instant she fought me like a wild
thing; her slender body was taut as steel beneath my hands. Then she
went limp and the look in her eyes was replaced by a strange dazed
expression. The razor slipped out of her fingers. "I let go of her and she stood swaying as if about to faint. I went to
the lavatory--my wound was bleeding in a beastly fashion--and the next
thing I heard her cry out, and she was hovering over me. "'Jim!' she cried. 'How did you cut yourself so terribly?'" *       *       *       *       *

Gordon shook his head and sighed heavily. "I guess I was a bit out of
my head. My self-control snapped. "'Don't keep up this pretense, Evelyn,' I said. 'God knows what's got
into you, but you know as well as I that you've tried to kill me three
times in the past week.' "She recoiled as if I'd struck her, catching at her breast and staring
at me as if at a ghost. She didn't say a word--and just what I said I
don't remember. But when I finished I left her standing there white and
still as a marble statue. I got my arm bandaged at a drug store, and
then came over here, not knowing what else to do. "Kirowan--O'Donnel--it's damnable! Either my wife is subject to fits
of insanity----" He choked on the word. "No, I can't believe it. Ordinarily her eyes are too clear and level--too utterly sane. But
every time she has an opportunity to harm me, she seems to become a
temporary maniac." He beat his fists together in his impotence and agony. "But it isn't insanity! I used to work in a psychopathic ward, and I've
seen every form of mental unbalance. My wife is _not_ insane!" "Then what----" I began, but he turned haggard eyes on me. "Only one alternative remains," he answered. "It is the old curse--from
the days when I walked the earth with a heart as black as hell's
darkest pits, and did evil in the sight of man and of God. _She_
knows, in fleeting snatches of memory. People have _seen_ before--have
glimpsed forbidden things in momentary liftings of the veil which bars
life from life. She was Elizabeth Douglas, the ill-fated bride of
Richard Gordon, whom he murdered in jealous frenzy, and the vengeance
is hers. I shall die by her hands, as it was meant to be. And she----"
he bowed his head in his hands. "Just a moment." It was Kirowan again. "You have mentioned a strange
look in your wife's eyes. What sort of a look? Was it of maniacal
frenzy?" Gordon shook his head. "It was an utter blankness. All the life and
intelligence simply vanished, leaving her eyes dark wells of emptiness." Kirowan nodded, and asked a seemingly irrelevant question. "Have you
any enemies?" "Not that I know of." "You forget Joseph Roelocke," I said. "I can't imagine that elegant
sophisticate going to the trouble of doing you actual harm, but I have
an idea that if he could discomfort you without any physical effort on
his part, he'd do it with a right good will." Kirowan turned on me an eye that had suddenly become piercing. "And who is this Joseph Roelocke?" "A young exquisite who came into Evelyn's life and nearly rushed her
off her feet for a while. But in the end she came back to her first
love--Gordon here. Roelocke took it pretty hard. For all his suaveness
there's a streak of violence and passion in the man that might have
cropped out but for his infernal indolence and blasé indifference." "Oh, there's nothing to be said against Roelocke," interrupted Gordon
impatiently. "He must know that Evelyn never really loved him. He
merely fascinated her temporarily with his romantic Latin air." "Not exactly Latin, Jim," I protested. "Roelocke does look foreign, but
it isn't Latin. It's almost Oriental." "Well, what has Roelocke to do with this matter?" Gordon snarled with
the irascibility of frayed nerves. "He's been as friendly as a man
could be since Evelyn and I were married. In fact, only a week ago
he sent her a ring which he said was a peace-offering and a belated
wedding gift; said that after all, her jilting him was a greater
misfortune for her than it was for him--the conceited jackass!" "A ring?" Kirowan had suddenly come to life; it was as if something
hard and steely had been sounded in him. "What sort of a ring?"