te road, and for miles, neither of them speaking, the car streaked
over what might have been the surface of the river of Lethe, or the strata
of mist lying above Niflheim, for all the feeling of reality and substance
it gave. He had the eery sensation that he might be forced to keep on and
on till the end of the world, like the Flying Dutchman. He wondered what
sin of his own or some one's else he might be expiating. They passed no
living or mechanical thing; they had the road, the night, the storm to
themselves. They might have gone ten miles or thirty before Doctor
Brainard broke the silence.

"Gad! but you can drive!"

"Thank you. Like it?"

"Not exactly. But it's better than thinking."

"Works the other way with me; this sets me thinking." A sudden, heavier
gust sent the car skidding across the road, and Peter's attention went to
his wheel. Righting it, he went on, "This is the second time in my life
I've felt something controlling me that was stronger than my own will."

"Nasty feeling. Lucky man if you've only felt it twice. What was it the
first time?"

"Fear. That's what brought me here."

Peter felt the eyes of the doctor studying him in the dark. "I heard about
your case. It was Leerie brought you through, too, wasn't it?"

Quick as a flash Peter turned. For the instant he forgot they were
speeding at a forbidden rate down slippery macadam in a tempest, with his
hand as the only controlling force. He almost dropped his wheel. "Why
'_too_'? Is she pulling you through something?"

He could hear a heavy intake of breath beside him. Unconsciously he knew
that his companion was no longer sitting limp with relaxed muscles. He
seemed to feel every nerve and fiber in the body of the surgeon growing
tense, which made his careless, inconsequential tone sound the more
strange when he finally spoke:

"That's an odd question to put to a doctor. I was referring to Leerie's
cases. She's pulled through hundreds of patients, you know; she's famous
for it."

"Yes, I know," answered Peter. His voice sounded just as careless, but the
hands that gripped the wheel were as taut as steel.

They swept on for another half-hour, the silence broken by an occasional
yawn from the surgeon. At last Peter slowed down and looked at his watch.
"Eleven-thirty. If we turn now we'll make the San about one. How's that
for bedtime?"

"Gad! I'm ready now," and the doctor yawned again.

Peter timed it to a nicety. It was five minutes