“Yes. Significant, in view of the poetic words of your young friend at the college.” Galen’s voice changed. “Damn you for mentioning it, Michael; I should be immune to that kind of verbal magic, but when I think of what that poor devil sees, when the lights go out…”

“It isn’t only the dark Gordon fears.” For once Linda was immune to that kind of magic. “He’s afraid of flying. He doesn’t drive a car. He quit smoking.”

“No contact sports,” Michael muttered. “Even then…Swimming? Lots of other people around, spectators, competitors, just in case…”

“I believe that Elliott Jacques is correct when he states that this particular anxiety comes to its peak during the crisis of middle life. Randolph is about forty, isn’t he? I’ve seen a number of such cases, since the realization often produces symptoms which require psychotherapeutic treatment-psychosomatic illness, insomnia, claustrophobia, to mention only a few. Randolph’s reactive symptoms are new to me; but they have a dreadful logic of their own. He fears, not only the dark, but the ultimate darkness. He is afraid of dying.”

“And that’s why he turned to Satanism,” Michael muttered. “Those conversations we had about good and evil…He doesn’t believe in God, but he can’t accept the inevitability of death. There’s only one other dispenser of immortality. ‘Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.’”

“Especially if you don’t believe in Heaven,” Galen said. “I hope you’re enjoying your abstract intellectualizing, Michael. You may drown in it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I took a calculated risk with Randolph. We’ve learned some interesting and useful things about him, but we’ve also stirred him up. He left here in a frenzy of rage and fear.”

“You mean-he’ll try something else?”

“Almost immediately, I should say.”

Slowly, the two pairs of eyes turned to focus on Linda.

III

“No,” she said. “No, he wouldn’t dare. He was frightened. “I’ve never seen him so upset.”

“That’s precisely the danger. A man of his temperament doesn’t back down under a challenge. He’ll be all the more eager to strike before, as he thinks, I have time to conjure up all my powers.”

“God damn your arrogant soul,” Michael said softly. “You deliberately, cold-bloodedly, stirred up that rattlesnake, knowing he can-”

“It had to be done.” Galen’s seldom-aroused temper showed in his flushed cheeks. “Oh, hell…I ought to know better. One of the basic rules of this trade is not to meddle with your friends’ problems… Tell him, Linda.”

“Michael, he’s right. How long could we go on, with this hanging over us? Watching each other out of the corners of our eyes, afraid to sleep… Twice I’ve tried to kill someone,” she said, feeling Galen’s silent commendation like a rock at her back. “If I have to go on dreading that, I’d rather be dead. Gordon is off balance, for the first time since I’ve known him. We’ve got to keep him on the defensive.”

“How?” Michael demanded.

“Don’t look at me,” Galen snapped.

“He’s afraid of dying,” Michael said. “Why?”

“Give me five years of analysis and maybe I can tell you,” Galen said. “What the hell do you think I am, a mind reader?”

Linda wrapped both arms around her body, but their limited animal warmth did not touch the chill that froze her mind.

“You both know,” she said, shaping the words with difficulty because her lips were stiff with that inner cold. “You know what we have to do. Force the issue, keep him off balance. We’ll have to follow him.”

“Where?” Michael’s voice sounded as stiff and difficult as hers.

“Back home, of course. Back to the house. Galen’s absolutely right, he’ll be wild with anger, he won’t be able to wait; he’ll try something tonight. And all his-his materials are back there.”

“Doesn’t he have a place here in town?” It was Galen who spoke; Michael was visibly struggling with conflicting emotions.

“A small apartment. He couldn’t keep anything concealed there.”

“Especially a large black dog,” Galen murmured.

Michael, who had arranged a truce in his internal civil war, nodded thoughtfully. Having scaled one barrier, Linda faced the next.

“Doctor. I don’t-I don’t want to say this, but I must, I can’t keep anything back now. Your theory appeals to me a great deal. If Gordon is a conscious villain, that makes me innocent, not only of intent to harm, but of serious mental instability. I’d like-oh, how I’d like!-to believe it. But I don’t.”

Galen nodded. She knew that she had told him nothing he hadn’t suspected, but that he was relieved by her candor. He turned to the other man.

“How about you, Michael?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Galen got to his feet, rather heavily; for the first time Linda was conscious of his real age. “We’ll go after Randolph. I have a few business matters to arrange before we leave, though. You two had better have some food. I ate on the plane.”

Michael shook his head.

“I have some matters to arrange too. Can I borrow your car?”

“What for?”

“Never mind, then. I’ll take a taxi.”

“I’m incurably nosy,” Galen said mildly. “Here, take the keys.”

Michael caught the bright jingle out of the air with one hand. He looked at Linda with an expression that she was to remember, often, in the next hours. Then he turned on his heel and was gone.

Chapter 12

I

BY THE TIME MICHAEL RETURNED WITH THE CAR, the other two were ready and waiting. The night had turned clear and chilly; Linda was wrapped in a huge cloak, which the doctor had mysteriously produced from some vast storehouse of improbable needs. Galen wore no coat, and his silvery head was bare. He carried a small flat case, like a briefcase.

As soon as the car stopped, Galen led Linda down the steps. He opened the back door of the car.

“You drive,” he said to Michael, who was brooding over the wheel. “We’ll sit in back where-For God’s sake!”

Linda flexed her muscles just in time. From under her skirts came a wail of protest, and she reached down and lifted a dangling, muttering bundle of fur.

“Why the hell?” Galen demanded, slamming the car door.

His haste was unnecessary; Napoleon had no intention of going anywhere. He subsided onto Linda’s lap and looked abused.

“He likes to ride in cars. Besides,” Michael said, in a voice that ended Galen’s objections, “I have a feeling he might be useful.”

Fondling the scarred ears, Linda did not look up.

“The canary in the coal mine,” she said. “Michael, I wish you hadn’t.”

“If he goes berserk, he can wreck the damned car,” Galen said. “Haven’t you got a carrying case for him?”

“On the floor,” Michael said briefly, and put the car into gear.

They made good time; the streets were emptying. Staring out through the closed windows, Linda remembered that other, recent night drive. Night and darkness, the recurring motifs; there had been sunshine, once, but she could hardly remember that such a phenomenon existed. She was tired, so tired; not only in body but in every cell of brain and nerve. Desire for the endless sleep of death was comprehensible to her now; perhaps, she thought, it was not grief or despair that prompted suicide, but only sheer exhaustion.

Her eyes fixed unseeingly on the flashing, multi-colored lights of the city, Linda knew that that was the solution none of them would admit. Sick or sane, right or wrong, she was not normal, and perhaps she never would be. While she lived, Michael would not abandon her-and neither would Gordon. Even if Gordon were defeated, Michael would be stuck with her and her inability to love; he was a stubborn man, he would keep on trying even though it was hopeless. But without her, Gordon would have no reason to attack Michael. He would be safe; and she could rest.