"Well?" said Pat questioningly, turning to the Doctor. "Did you learn anything from that?" "Not much," the other admitted, yawning. "However, the results bear out my theory." "How?" "Did you notice how he harped on the undeserved punishment theme? He was punished for another's mischief?" "Yes. What of that?" "Well, picture him as a timid, sensitive child, rather afraid of being punished. Afraid, say, of being locked up in a dark closet. Now, when he inadvertently commits a mischief, as all children do, he tries desperately to divert the blame from himself. But there's no one else to blame! So what does he do?" "What?" "He invents this _other_, the mischievous one, and blames him. And now the other has grown to the proportions of a delusion, haunting him, driving him to commit acts apart from his normal inclinations. Understand? Because I'm off to bed whether you do or not." "I understand all right," murmured Pat uncertainly as she moved to the door. "But somehow, it doesn't sound reasonable." "It will," said the Doctor. "Good night." Pat wandered slowly down the steps and through the break in the hedge, musing over Doctor Horker's expression of opinion. Then, according to him, the devil was nothing more than an invention of Nick's mind, the trick of a cowardly child to evade just punishment. She shook her head; it didn't sound like Nick at all. For all his gentleness and sensitivity, he wasn't the one to hide behind a fabrication. He wasn't a coward; she was certain of that. And she was as sure as she could ever be that he hated, feared, loathed this personality that afflicted him; he _couldn't_ have created it. She sighed, mounted the steps, and fumbled for her key. The sound of a movement behind her brought a faint gasp of astonishment. She turned to see a figure materializing from the shadows of the porch. The light from the hall fell across its features, and she drew back as she recognized Nicholas Devine--not the being she had just kissed good night, but in the guise of her tormentor, the red-eyed demon! 25 The Demon Lover Pat drew back, leaning against the door, and her key tinkled on the concrete of the porch. She was startled, shocked, but not as completely terrified as she might have expected. After all, she thought rapidly, they were standing in full view of a public street, and Dr. Carl's residence was but a few feet distant. She could summon his help by screaming. "Well!" she exclaimed, eyeing the figure inimically. "Your appearances and disappearances are beginning to remind me of the Cheshire Cat." "Except for the grin," said the other in his cold tones. "What do you want?" snapped Pat. "You know what I want." "You'll not get it," said the girl angrily. "You--you're doomed to extinction, anyway! Go away!" "Suppose," said the other with a strange, cold, twisted smile, "it were _he_ that's doomed to extinction--what then?"