"Merely a matter of degree, my dear."
Patricia said in irritation, "Why in the world did we have to bring him to New York where he could pull such childish tricks? We could have performed the experiment right there in Far Cry, Nebraska."
Dr. Braun abruptly ceased the pacing he had begun and found a chair. He absently stuck a hand into a coat pocket, pulled out a crumbled piece of paper, stared at it for a moment, as though he had never seen it before, grunted, and returned it to the pocket. He looked at Patricia O'Gara. "We felt that on completely unknown territory he would feel less constrained, don't you remember? In his home town, his conscience would be more apt to restrict him."
Something suddenly came to her. She looked at her older companion suspiciously. "That newscast. Was there anything else on it? Don't look innocent, you know what I mean."
"Well, there was one item."
"Out with it," she demanded.
"The Hotel Belefonte threatens to sue that French movie star, Brigette whatever-her-name is."
"Brigette Loren," Patricia said, staring. "What's that got to do with Donald Crowley?"
The good doctor was embarrassed. "It seems that she came running out of her suite, umah, semi-dressed and screaming that the hotel was haunted."
"Good heavens," Patricia said with sudden vision. "That's one aspect I hadn't thought of."