The girl sniffed contemptuously, and strode silently along. The other's presence irritated her; she wanted time and solitude to consider the amazing story Nicholas Devine had given her. She wanted to analyze her own feelings, and most of all she wanted just a place of privacy to cry out her misery. For now the loss of Nicholas Devine had changed from a fortunate escape to a tragedy, and liar, madman, or devil, she wanted him terribly, with all the power of her tense little heart. So she moved as swiftly as she could, ignoring the silent companionship of Mueller.
They reached her home; the light in the living room window was evidence that the bridge game was still in progress. She mounted the steps, Mueller watching her silently from the walk; she fumbled for her key.
Suddenly she snapped her hand-bag shut; she couldn't face her mother and the two spinster Brocks and elderly, inquisitive Carter Henderson. They'd suggest that she cut into the game, and they'd argue if she refused, and she couldn't play bridge now! She glanced at the impassive Mueller, turned and crossed the strip of lawn to Dr. Horker's residence, where the light still glowed in the library, and rang the bell. She saw the figure on the sidewalk move away as the shadow of the Doctor appeared on the lighted square of the door.
"Hello," boomed the Doctor amiably. "Come in."
Pat stalked into the library and threw herself angrily into Dr. Horker's particular chair. The other grinned, and chose another place.
"Well," he said, "What touched off the fuse this time?"
"Why are you spying on my friends?" snapped the girl. "By what right?"
"So he's spotted Mueller, eh? That lad's diabolically clever, Pat—and I mean diabolic."
"That's no answer!"
"So it isn't," agreed the Doctor. "Say it's because I'm acting in loco parentis."