The next morning he breakfasted alone and went directly to the studio, without seeing Betty. Sun streamed into the room; the pencil moved swiftly. For a brief time Parker thought that he was himself again, as Madelon grew upon the block of paper. But the end was terrible. The last few strokes made her grotesque. This time the woman he had drawn was not merely evil; she was a mocking parody of his heroine. He threw drawing and pencil across the room. But no real artist can be discouraged short of death. He went to work again and labored until luncheon time. The results were no better, although they varied. Now it seemed that some malevolent power was playing with him, torturing him to the accompaniment of devilish laughter. He was haggard and actually stooped of body when he bathed his face and went down to the dining room. From across the table Betty regarded him curiously. "Fleming Proctor shot himself last night," she announced, calmly. "This morning they found him dead in his office." "Proctor? You don't mean the president of the Pine Hills National Bank?" "Yes." The expression of Betty's face did not change. "There was a note saying that he was sorry. It seems he'd made a large loan without security to an unknown person, and the bank examiner was coming to-day. Proctor said he couldn't help what he did. The note was confused as though he were trying to tell something and couldn't. They think his mind must have given way, particularly as they can't trace the loan, although the money is undoubtedly gone." * * * * * "That kind of thing doesn't happen!" Parker was stunned. He had known Fleming Proctor, and liked him. They met often at the country club. "Proctor was honest, and a fine business man!" "It did happen, Allen!" "I'd like to know more about it. That would have been a case for Dr. von Stein to take in hand." "Perhaps," said Betty, in a voice like ice. "But I'm more interested in finding out how soon you are going to return to normal. Frankly, I'm beginning to get bored." Without a word Parker rose and left the room. Never before had his wife hurt him like this. Doubly sensitive just now, he was suffering alone in the studio when the telephone rang. "Dr. von Stein speaking. Are you better, Mr. Parker?" "Worse! Much worse!" "Then come to my house this evening at nine. May I expect you? And alone?" "Yes." There was much Parker wanted to say, but he choked the words back. "I'll be there, and alone." "I shall be ready for you. Good-by." Allen Parker hung up the receiver. He did not leave the studio again until evening. * * * * *