Burn, Witch, Burn!

examination. Although still somewhat weak, he could be discharged as a patient. I congratulated him on

what was truly a remarkable recovery. I whispered to him:

"I've seen your witch and talked to her. I have much to tell you. Bid your guards take their stations

outside the door. I will dismiss the nurse for a time."

When guards and nurse were gone, I launched into an account of the day's happenings, beginning with

my summons to the Gilmore apartment by McCann. Ricori listened, face grim, as I repeated Mollie's

story. He said:

"Her brother and now her husband! Poor, poor Mollie! But she shall be avenged! Si! — greatly so! Yes!"

I gave my grossly incomplete version of my encounter with Madame Mandilip. I told Ricori what I had

bidden McCann to do. I said:

"And so tonight, at least, we can sleep in peace. For if the girl comes out with the dolls, McCann gets

her. If she does not, then nothing can happen. I am quite certain that without her the doll-maker cannot

strike. I hope you approve, Ricori."

He studied me for a moment, intently.

"I do approve, Dr. Lowell. Most greatly do I approve. You have done as I would have done. But-I do

not think you have told us all that happened between you and the witch."

"Nor do I," said Braile.

I arose.

"At any rate, I've told you the essentials. And I'm dead tired. I'm going to take a bath and go to bed. It's

now nine-thirty. If the girl does come out it won't be before eleven, probably later. I'm going to sleep until

McCann fetches her. If he doesn't, I'm going to sleep all night. That's final. Save your questions for the

morning."

Ricori's searching gaze had never left me. He said:

"Why not sleep here? Would it not be safer for you?"

I succumbed to a wave of intense irritation. My pride had been hurt enough by my behavior with the

doll-maker and the manner she had outwitted me. And the suggestion that I hide from her behind the

guns of his men opened the wound afresh.

"I am no child," I answered angrily. "I am quite able to take care of myself. I do not have to live behind a

screen of gunmen-"

I stopped, sorry that I had said that. But Ricori betrayed no anger. He nodded, and dropped back on his

pillows.

"You have told me what I wanted to know. You fared very badly with the witch, Dr. Lowell. And you

have not told us all the essentials."

I said: "I am sorry, Ricori!"

"Don't be." For the first time he smiled. "I understand, perfectly. I also am somewhat of a psychologist.

But I say this to you-it matters little whether McCann does or does not bring the girl to us tonight.

Tomorrow the witch dies-and the girl with her."

I made no answer. I recalled the nurse, and re-stationed the guards within the room. Whatever

confidence I might feel, I was taking no chances with Ricori's safety. I had not told him of the

doll-maker's direct threat against him, but I had not forgotten it.

Braile accompanied me to my study. He said, apologetically:

"I know you must be damned tired, Lowell, and I don't want to pester you. But will you let me stay in

your room with you while you are sleeping?"

I said with the same stubborn irritability:

"For God's sake, Braile, didn't you hear what I told Ricori? I'm much obliged and all of that, but it applies

to you as well."

He said quietly: "I am going to stay right here in the study, wide-awake, until McCann comes or dawn

comes. If I hear any sounds in your room, I'm coming in. Whenever I want to take a look at you to see

whether you are all right, I'm coming in. Don't lock your door, because if you do I'll break it down. Is

that all quite clear?"

I grew angrier still. He said:

"I mean it."

I said: "All right. Do as you damned please."

I went into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. But I did not lock it.

I was tired, there was no doubt about that. Even an hour's sleep would be something. I decided not to

bother with the bath, and began to undress. I was removing my shirt when I noticed a tiny pin upon its left

side over my heart. I opened the shirt and looked at the under side. Fastened there was one of the

knotted cords!

I took a step toward the door, mouth open to call Braile. Then I stopped short. I would not show it to

Braile. That would mean endless questioning. And I wanted to sleep.

God! But I wanted to sleep!

Better to burn the cord. I searched for a match to touch fire to it-I heard Braile's step at the door and

thrust it hastily in my trousers' pocket.

"What do you want?" I called.

"Just want to see you get into bed all right."

He opened the door a trifle. What he wanted to discover, of course, was whether I had locked it. I said

nothing, and went on undressing.

My bedroom is a large, high-ceilinged room on the second floor of my home. It is at the back of the

house, adjoining my study. There are two windows which look out on the little garden. They are framed

by the creeper. The room has a chandelier, a massive, old-fashioned thing covered with prisms-lusters I

think they are called, long pendants of cut-glass in six circles from which rise the candle-holders. It is a