"Bah! Every psychiatrist uses hypnotism in his business; it's part of some treatments. There's nothing of fascination about it; no dominance of one will over another, despite the popular view. That's natural and understandable; this was like--well, like the exploded claims of Mesmerism. I tell you, it's not humanly possible--and yet I felt it!" "Not _humanly_ possible," murmured Pat. "That's the answer, then, Dr. Carl. Maybe now you'll believe in my devil." "I'm tempted to." "You'll have to! Can't you see it, Dr. Carl? Even his name, Nick--that's a colloquialism for the devil, isn't it?" "And Devine, I suppose," said Horker, "refers to his angelic ancestry. Devils are only fallen angels, aren't they?" "All right," said Pat wearily. "Make fun of it. You'll see!" "I'm not making fun of your theory, Honey. I can't offer a better one myself. I never saw nor heard of anything similar, and I'm not in position to ridicule any theory." "But you don't believe me." "Of course I don't, Pat. You're weaving an intricate fairy tale about a pathological condition and a fortuitous suggestiveness in names. Whatever the condition is--and I confess I don't understand it--it's something rational, and those things can be treated." "Treated by exorcism," said the girl. "That's the only way anyone ever succeeded in casting out a devil." The Doctor made no answer. The wailing vehicle ahead of them swung rapidly out of sight into an alley, and Horker halted his car before the gray facade of Briggs General. "Come in here," he said, helping Pat to alight. "You'll want to wait, won't you?" "How long," she queried listlessly, "before--before you'll know?" "Perhaps immediately. The only chance is to get that bullet out at once--if there's still time for it." She followed him into the building, past a desk where a white-clad girl regarded her curiously, and up an elevator. He led her into a small office. "Sit here," he said gently, and disappeared. She sat dully in the chair he had indicated, and minutes passed. She made no attempt to think; the long, cataclysmic night had exhausted her powers. She simply sat and suffered; the deep scratches of fingernails burned in the flesh of her back, her cheek pained from the violent slap, and her head and jaw ached from that first blow, the one that had knocked her unconscious last evening. But these twinges were minor; they were merely physical, and the hurts of the demon had struck far deeper than any physical injury. The damage to her spirit was by all odds the more painful; it numbed her mind and dulled her thoughts, and she simply sat idle and stared at the blank wall. She had no conception of the interval before Dr. Horker returned. He entered quietly, and began rinsing his hands at a basin in the corner. "Is it over?" she asked listlessly. "Not even begun," he responded. "However, it isn't too late. He'll be ready in a moment or so." "I wish it were over," she murmured. "One way or the other."