The red eyes that had
glared out of Nick's face perplexed her, and the curious rasping voice
he had used still sounded inhumanly in her memory. Out of recollection
rose still another mystery. "Nick," she said, "what did you mean--then--when you said there was
danger and you came to save me?" "Nothing," he said sharply. "And then, afterwards, you started to say something about 'He couldn't
have--'. Who's 'he'?" "It meant nothing, I tell you. I was frantic to think you might have
been hurt. That's all." "I believe you, Honey," she said, wondering whether she really did. The
thing was beginning to grow hazy; already it was assuming merely the
proportions of an upheaval of youthful fervor. Such occurrences were
not unheard of, though never before had it happened to Patricia Lane! Still, even that was conceivable, far more conceivable than the dark,
unformed, inchoate suspicions she had been harboring. They hadn't even
been definite enough to be called suspicions; indefinite apprehensions
came closer. And yet--that strange, wild face that had formed itself of Nick's fine
features, and the terrible red eyes! Were they elements in a picture
conjured out of her own imagination? They must be, of course. She had
been frightened by that hairbreadth escape, and had seen things that
didn't exist. And the rest of it--well, that might be natural enough. Still, there was something--she knew that; Nick had admitted it. Horker's words concerning Nick's father rose in her mind. Suspected
of being crazy! Was that it? Was that the cause of Nick's curious
reluctance where she was concerned? Was the face that had glared
at her the visage of a maniac? It couldn't be. It couldn't be, she
told herself fiercely. Not her fine, tender, sensitive Nick! And
besides, that face, if she hadn't imagined it, had been the face, not
of a lunatic, but of a devil. She shook her head, as if to deny her
thoughts, and placed her hand impulsively on Nick's. "I don't care," she said. "I love you, Nick." "And I you," he murmured. "Pat, I'm sorry about spoiling this evening. I'm sorry and ashamed." "Never mind, Honey. There'll be others." "Tomorrow?" "No," she said. "Mother and I are going out to dinner. And Friday we're
having company." "Really, Pat? You're not just trying to turn me off gently." "Really, Nick. Try asking me for Saturday evening and see!" "You're asked, then." "And it's a date." Then, with a return of her usual insouciance, she
added. "If you're on good behavior." "I will be. I promise." "I hope so," said Pat. An inexplicable sense of foreboding had come
over her; despite her self-given assurances, something unnameable
troubled her. She gave a mental shrug, and deliberately relegated the
unpleasant cogitations to oblivion. The car turned into Dempster Road; the lights of the teeming
roadhouses, dance halls, road-side hamburger and barbecue stands
flashed by. There were many cars here; there was no longer any
impression of solitude now, in the overflow from the vast city in
whose shadow they moved. The incessant flow of traffic gave the girl
a feeling of security; these were tangible things about her, and once
more the memory of that disturbing occurrence became dim and dreamlike. This was Nick beside her, gentle, intelligent, kind; had he ever been
otherwise? It seemed highly unreasonable, a fantasy of fear and the
hysteria of the moment. "Hungry?" asked Nick unexpectedly. "I could use a barbecue, I guess. Beef." The car veered to the graveled area before a brightly lit stand. Nick
gave the order to an attendant. He chuckled as Pat, with the digestive
disregard of youth attacked the greasy combination. "That's like a humming bird eating hay!" he said. "Or better, like a
leprechaun eating that horse-meat they can for dogs." "You might as well discover that I don't live on honey and
rose-petals," said Pat. "Not even on caviar and terrapin--at least, not
exclusively. I leave the dainty palate for Mother to indulge." "Which is just as well. Hamburger and barbecue are more easily
budgeted." "Nicholas," said the girl, tossing the paper napkin out of the car
window, "is that an indirect and very evasive proposal of marriage?" "You know it could be, if you wished it!" "And do I?" she said, assuming a pensive air. "I wonder. Suppose we say
I'll let you know later." "And meanwhile?" "Oh, meanwhile we can be sort of engaged. Just the way we've been." "You're sweet, Pat," he murmured, as the car edged into the line of
traffic. "I don't know just how to convey my appreciation, but it's
there!" The buildings drew more closely together; the road was suddenly a
lighted street, and then, almost without realizing it, they were before
Pat's home. Nick walked beside her to the door; he stood facing her
hesitantly. "Good night, Pat," he said huskily. He leaned down, kissing her very
gently, turned, and departed. The girl watched him from the open doorway, following the lights of
his car until they vanished down the street. Dear, sweet Nick! Then
the disturbing memory of that occurrence of the evening returned; she
frowned in perplexity as the thought rose. That was all of a piece with
the puzzling character of him, and the curious veiled references he'd
made. References to what? She didn't know, couldn't imagine. Nick had
said he didn't know either, which added still another quirk to the maze. She thought of Dr. Horker's words. With the thought, she glanced at his
house, adjacent to her own home. A light gleamed in the library; he
was still awake. She closed the door behind her, and darted across the
narrow strip of lawn to his porch. She rang the bell. "Good evening, Dr. Carl," she said as the massive form of Horker
appeared. She puckered her lips impudently at him as she slipped by him
into the house. 6

A Question of Science


"Not that I'm displeased at this visit, Pat," rumbled the Doctor,
seating himself in one of the great chairs by the fireplace, "but I'm
curious. I thought you were dating your ideal tonight, yet here you
are, back alone a little after eleven. How come?" "Oh," said the girl nonchalantly, dropping crosswise in the other
chair, "we decided we needed our beauty sleep." "Then why are you here, you young imp?" "Thought you might be lonesome." "I'll bet you did! But seriously, Pat, what is it? Any trouble?" "No-o," she said dubiously. "No trouble. I just wanted to ask you a few
hypothetical questions. About science." "Go to it, then, and quickly. I was ready to turn in." "Well," said Pat, "about Nick's father. He was a doctor, you said, and
supposed to be cracked. Was he really?" "Humph! That's curious. I just looked up a brochure of his tonight in
the American Medical Journal, after our conversation of this afternoon. Why do you ask that?" "Because I'm interested, of course." "Well, here's what I remember about him, Pat. He was an M.D., all
right, but I see by his paper there--the one I was reading--that he was
on the staff of Northern U.