“It’s stupid,” Michael burst out. “You can untie it yourself any time you want to.”

“But it would take time. You’d have some warning.”

“For God’s sake-”

“What time is it?’”

“About two.”

“Don’t lie.”

“All right! Three. Well, maybe three thirty…”

“Another hour,” she said. “We must leave a wide margin.”

“I’ll call Galen again.”

“You’ve called twice in the last hour. They’ll give him your message.”

“And if he doesn’t come by the time your deadline is up?”

“I won’t stay here tonight.”

“A hotel room won’t be any safer,” Michael said, deliberately misunderstanding her.

“It’s not a hotel room I’m contemplating.”

“Linda, you can’t do that! If you get yourself committed to some hospital, the only one who could possibly get you out is Gordon himself. I don’t even have the legal right to ask questions. You can’t lock yourself into a room and throw away the key.”

“I will not stay here tonight.”

“You’ll have to,” Michael said. “I won’t let you go.”

She looked up at him, a pale ghost of humor in her face.

“Funny. You’re driven to the same extremity I tried to force you to earlier. Yes, you can keep me here. Bound and gagged…Have you thought about how it would look, if someone forced his way in and found me like that?”

“Constantly,” Michael said with a groan.

“And you’d risk that?”

Michael reached out for her, compulsively, but she fended him off with a strength that had panic behind it.

“Don’t, don’t ever do that! You kissed me last night, before-”

“You don’t mean…” Michael hesitated. He was surprised, and disgusted, to realize that his predominant emotion was jealousy.

“There may be a connection,” she said. Her eyes refused to meet his. “I won’t…go into details. But there may be.”

“I see.”

“That would have to be one of the conditions we must agree to, if I do stay.”

“I’m not that big a fool,” Michael said roughly. “Even if I do act like it most of the time. What other conditions?”

“Have you got any sleeping pills?”

“Never use the things. What makes you think they would help? I’d be inclined to suspect the reverse. The less control you have over your conscious mind…”

“Since you don’t have any, there’s not much point in debating that.”

“How true. Anything else?”

“Find a key for that door. And barricade it.”

“Honey, for the love of Mike-what if there’s a fire, or a burglar, or-something else? We can’t anticipate his moves; he might do anything. If I couldn’t get to you-”

“It’s a risk we must take.” Her eyes were hard as stone; the eyes of a fanatic. “Another thing. I want you to search this place from top to bottom. Make sure Gordon hasn’t left any other little souvenirs, like the notebook.”

“You think…?”Michael cogitated. “I wonder.”

“I’m not thinking, I’m just grasping at straws. But according to some occult theories, there must be a physical connection between the spell and the person whom it is meant to affect-like the doll, which uses the victim’s own hair or nail clippings. Why not a physical connection, a focus, for the warlock’s spells? Gordon isn’t careless about his belongings. That notebook was left here deliberately.”

“I agree. I’m sloppy, but not unconscious; the book was planted under a pile of material I wouldn’t ordinarily refer to. Wait a minute. If your theory is right, he must have planted something at Andrea’s house.”

“He’s been there any number of times.”

“He went there looking for you, before you came here the first time,” Michael said. “He admitted entering the house.”

“So it’s possible. I’m not sure of this, Michael. I think it’s worth checking, though.”

“I’m trying to figure out when he could have hidden the notebook.”

“Hiding it wouldn’t take more than a few seconds. It must have been here for several days, Michael. Because the summoning that brought you to Andrea’s didn’t come from me. There’s only one person who could have sent it.”

“The idea had occurred to me. But I can’t think of any reason why he should do such a thing.”

“His reasons aren’t comprehensible to normal people. I can think of an analogy, though: the pathologically jealous husband who keeps accusing his wife of infidelity until finally, in sheer desperation, she goes out and acquires a lover.”

“Yeah, I knew a guy like that. His wife finally left him, and he took it as proof that he’d been right about her all along. All right.” Michael stood up. “I’ll search the place. The fact that Briggs was so ostentatious about removing the notebook might have been a bluff, to conceal the existence of something else.”

He was not willing to admit, even to himself, the flaw in his reasoning: that if Briggs had removed the notebook, it might be because Gordon no longer needed it. Once the link was established…

When he had finished his search, the apartment was neater than it had been for months. He found nothing, but he was aware that the negative results were not conclusive. Unless he tore furniture and walls to pieces, he could not be sure that some small object was not still concealed.

He searched the bedroom last, at Linda’s request; he knew that, as twilight closed in, she wanted him near by, where he could watch her. She seemed convinced of her theory of a physical link; Michael found it weaker and less convincing the longer he thought about it.

Napoleon, fully restored to health and malevolence, was still with them. Curled up on the foot of the bed, he watched Michael suspiciously.

Michael backed out of the interior of the wardrobe, carrying the pile of dirty shirts he had inspected several times before. He shook each one out, feeling in the pockets, and dropping them one by one to the floor as he finished. He viewed the untidy pile indecisively, and then shrugged and left it there.

“Can you think of any place I missed?” he asked.

“No.” Linda’s voice was strained. “Michael, it’s almost dark.”

“Not yet.”

“Yes. Now.” She held out her hands.

When he had done it, Michael was shaking. It got worse every time he did it. Napoleon’s disapproval didn’t help matters. The cat protested so violently that Michael finally had to shut him in the bathroom.

“All right,” he said, straightening up after he had tied the final knot. “That’s it. I’m not going to gag you, I don’t see the need for it; and anyhow, it is simply too goddamn much for me to stomach.”

“Okay,” she said submissively.

Michael had turned on the lights; the darkness outside was complete. The lamp by the bed cast a warm glow on Linda’s face, and he was outraged to see that she was smiling. Maybe she felt better this way. He sure as hell didn’t.

He couldn’t look at her any longer. He couldn’t stand the thoughts that kept worming into his mind. Abruptly, he turned and blundered out of the room; when he was out of her sight he leaned up against the wall, his head resting on his arm. It was barely seven o’clock. How in the name of God was he going to get through the rest of the night?

It was the hour of midnight he dreaded most. Superstition…but no more mad than any of the other things that had happened. He forced himself back to Linda and found, as people usually do, that he could stand it, and would stand it, because he had to.

They talked, but no longer of theories and interpretations. They spoke of defense, like the decimated garrison of a beleaguered fortress. But the weapons they discussed were not in any modern arsenal.

“I don’t happen to have any holy water on hand,” Michael said, driven to a fruitless sarcasm. “Ran out last week…It didn’t help Andrea, remember?”

“Could you-could you pray?” she asked diffidently.

“No.” Michael looked at her. “Yes. I could pray. If I knew What to pray to.”

The idea came into both their minds at the same moment, or else she read his face with uncanny quickness.