The moment I was out in the street, volition, power of movement, returned to me. In an abrupt rush of
rage, I turned to re-enter the shop. A foot from it, I was brought up as against an invisible wall. I could
not advance a step, could not even raise my hands to touch the door. It was as though at that point my
will refused to function, or rather that my legs and arms refused to obey my will. I realized what it
was-post-hypnotic suggestion of an extraordinary kind, part of the same phenomena which had held me
motionless before the doll-maker, and had sent me like a robot out of her lair. I saw McCann coming
toward me, and for an instant had the mad idea of ordering him to enter and end Madame Mandilip with
a bullet. Common sense swiftly told me that we could give no rational reason for such killing, and that we
would probably expiate it within the same apparatus of execution with which I had threatened her.
McCann said: "I was getting worried, Doc. Just about to break in on you."
I said: "Come on, McCann. I want to get home as quickly as possible."
He looked at my face, and whistled.
"You look like you been through a battle, Doc."
I answered: "I have. And the honors are all with Madame Mandilip-so far."
"You came out quiet enough. Not like the boss, with the hag spitting hell in your face. What happened?"
"I'll tell you later. Just let me be quiet for awhile. I want to think."
What I actually wanted was to get back my self-possession. My mind seemed half-blind, groping for the
tangible. It was as if it had been enmeshed in cobwebs of a peculiarly unpleasant character, and although
I had torn loose, fragments of the web were still clinging to it. We got into the car and rolled on for some
minutes in silence. Then McCann's curiosity got the better of him.
"Anyway," he asked, "what did you think of her?"
By this time I had come to a determination. Never had I felt anything to approach the loathing, the cold
hatred, the implacable urge to kill, which this woman had aroused in me. It was not that my pride had
suffered, although that was sore enough. No, it was the conviction that in the room behind the doll-shop
dwelt blackest evil. Evil as inhuman and alien as though the doll-maker had in truth come straight from
that hell in which Ricori believed. There could be no compromise with that evil. Nor with the woman in
whom it was centered.
I said: "McCann, in all the world there is nothing so evil as that woman. Do not let the girl slip through
your fingers again. Do you think she knew last night that she had been seen?"
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"Increase the guards in front and back of the place at once. Do it openly, so that the women cannot help
noticing it. They will think, unless the girl is aware that she was observed, that we are still in ignorance of
the other exit. They will think we believe she managed to slip out unseen either at front or back. Have a
car in readiness at each end of the street where she keeps the coupe. Be careful not to arouse their
suspicions. If the girl appears, follow her-" I hesitated.
McCann asked: "And then what?"
"I want her taken-abducted, kidnapped-whatever you choose to call it. It must be done with the utmost
quietness. I leave that to you. You know how such things are done better than I. Do it quickly and do it
quietly. But not too near the doll-shop-as far away from it as you can. Gag the girl, tie her up if
necessary. But get her. Then search the car thoroughly. Bring the girl to me at my house-with whatever
you find. Do you understand?"
He said: "If she shows, we'll get her. You going to put her through the third degree?"
"That-and something more. I want to see what the doll-maker will do. It may goad her into some action
which will enable us to lay hands on her legitimately. Bring her within reach of the law. She may or may
not have other and invisible servants, but my intention is to deprive her of the visible one. It may make the
others visible. At the least, it will cripple her."
He looked at me, curiously; "She musta hit you pretty hard, Doc."
"She did," I answered curtly. He hesitated.
"You going to tell the boss about this?" he asked at last.
"I may or I may not-tonight. It depends upon his condition. Why?"
"Well, if we're going to pull off anything like a kidnapping, I think he ought to know."
I said, sharply: "McCann, I told you Ricori's message was that you were to obey orders from me as
though they were from him. I have given you your orders. I accept all the responsibility."
"Okay," he answered, but I could see that his doubt still lingered.
Now, assuming Ricori had sufficiently recovered, there was no real reason why I should not tell him what
had happened during my encounter with Madame Mandilip. It was different with Braile. More than
suspecting, as I did, the attachment between him and Walters, I could not tell him of the crucified
doll-and even now I thought of it not as a doll crucified, but as Walters crucified. If I told him, I knew
well that there would be no holding him back from instant attack upon the doll-maker. I did not want
that.
But I was aware of a most stubborn reluctance to tell Ricori the details of my visit. The same held good
for Braile in other matters besides the Walters doll. And why did I feel the same way about McCann? I
set it down to wounded vanity.
We stopped in front of my house. It was then close to six. Before getting out of the car I repeated my
instructions. McCann nodded.
"Okay, Doc. If she comes out, we get her."
I went into the house, and found a note from Braile saying that he would not be in to see me until after
dinner. I was glad of that. I dreaded the ordeal of his questions. I learned that Ricori was asleep, and that
he had been regaining strength with astonishing rapidity. I instructed the nurse to tell him, should he
awaken, that I would visit him after I had dined. I lay down, endeavoring to snatch a little sleep before
eating.
I could not sleep-constantly the face of the doll-maker came before me whenever I began to relax into a
doze, throwing me into intense wakefulness.
At seven I arose and ate a full and excellent dinner, deliberately drinking at least twice the amount of wine
I ordinarily permit myself, finishing with strong coffee. When I arose from the table I felt distinctly better,
mentally alert and master of myself once more-or so I believed. I had decided to apprise Ricori of my
instructions to McCann concerning the abduction of the girl. I realized that this was certain to bring down
upon me a minute catechism concerning my visit to the doll-shop, but I had formulated the story I
intended to tell-
It was with a distinct shock that I realized that this story was all that I could tell! Realized that I could not
communicate to the others the portions I had deleted, even if I desired. And that this was by command of
the doll-maker-post-hypnotic suggestion which was a part of those other inhibitions she had laid upon
my will; those same inhibitions which had held me powerless before her, had marched me out of her shop
like a robot and thrust me back from her door, when I would have re-entered!
During that brief tranced sleep she had said to me: "This and this you must not tell. This and this you
may."
I could not speak of the child-doll with the angelic face and the dagger-pin which had pricked the bubble
of Gilmore's life. I could not speak of the Walters doll and its crucifixion. I could not speak of the
doll-maker's tacit admission that she had been responsible for the deaths that had first led us to her.
However, this realization made me feel even better. Here at last was something understandable-the
tangibility for which I had been groping; something that had in it nothing of sorcery-nor of dark power;
something entirely in the realm of my own science. I had done the same thing to patients, many times,
bringing their minds back to normality by these same post-hypnotic suggestions.
Also, there was a way by which I could wash my own mind clean of the doll-maker's suggestions, if I
chose. Should I do this? Stubbornly, I decided I would not. It would be an admission that I was afraid of
Madame Mandilip. I hated her, yes-but I did not fear her. Knowing now her technique, it would be folly
not to observe its results with myself as the laboratory experiment. I told myself that I had run the gamut
of those suggestions-that whatever else it had been her intention to implant within my mind had been
held back by my unexpected awakening-
Ah, but the doll-maker had spoken truth when she called me fool!
When Braile appeared, I was able to meet him calmly. Hardly had I greeted him when Ricori's nurse
called up to say her patient was wide-awake and anxious to see me.
I said to Braile: "This is fortunate. Come along. It will save me from telling the same story twice over."
He asked: "What story?"
"My interview with Madame Mandilip."
He said, incredulously: "You've seen her!"
"I spent the afternoon with her. She is most interesting. Come and hear about it."
I led the way rapidly to the Annex, deaf to his questions. Ricori was sitting up. I made a brief
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
small replica of one of the lovely Colonial chandeliers in Independence Hall at Philadelphia, and when I
bought the house I would not allow it to be taken down, nor even be wired for electric bulbs. My bed is
at the end of the room, and when I turn upon my left side I can see the windows outlined by faint
reflections. The same reflections are caught by the prisms so that the chandelier becomes a nebulously
glimmering tiny cloud. It is restful, sleep-inducing. There is an ancient pear tree in the garden, the last
survivor of an orchard which in spring, in New York's halcyon days, lifted to the sun its flowered arms.
The chandelier is just beyond the foot of the bed. The switch which controls my lights is at the head of my
bed. At the side of the room is an old fireplace, its sides of carved marble and with a wide mantel at the
top. To visualize fully what follows, it is necessary to keep this arrangement in mind.
By the time I had undressed, Braile, evidently assured of my docility, had closed the door and gone back
into the study. I took the knotted cord, the witch's ladder, and threw it contemptuously on the table. I
suppose there was something of bravado in the action; perhaps, if I had not felt so sure of McCann, I
would have pursued my original intention of burning it. I mixed myself a sedative, turned off the lights and
lay down to sleep. The sedative took quick effect.
I sank deep and deeper into a sea of sleep deeper…and deeper…
I awoke.
I looked around me…how had I come to this strange place? I was standing within a shallow circular pit,
grass lined. The rim of the pit came only to my knees. The pit was in the center of a circular, level
meadow, perhaps a quarter of a mile in diameter. This, too, was covered with grass; strange grass,
purple flowered. Around the grassy circle drooped unfamiliar trees…trees scaled with emeralds green
and scarlet…trees with pendulous branches covered with fernlike leaves and threaded with slender vines
that were like serpents. The trees circled the meadow, watchful, alert…watching me…waiting for me to
move…
No, it was not the trees that were watching! There were things hidden among the trees,
lurking…malignant things…evil things…and it was they who were watching me, waiting for me to move!
But how had I gotten here? I looked down at my legs, stretched my arms…I was clad in the blue
pajamas in which I had gone to bed…gone to my bed in my New York house…in my house in New
York…how had I come here? I did not seem to be dreaming…
Now I saw that three paths led out of the shallow pit. They passed over the edge, and stretched, each in
a different direction, toward the woods. And suddenly I knew that I must take one of these paths, and
that it was vitally important that I pick the right one…that only one could be traversed safely…that the
other two would lead me into the power of those lurking things.
The pit began to contract. I felt its bottom lifting beneath my feet. The pit was thrusting me out! I leaped
upon the path at my right, and began to walk slowly along it. Then involuntarily I began to run, faster and
faster along it, toward the woods. As I drew nearer I saw that the path pierced the woods straight as an
arrow flight, and that it was about three feet wide and bordered closely by the trees, and that it vanished
in the dim green distance. Faster and faster I ran. Now I had entered the woods, and the unseen things
were gathering among the trees that bordered the path, thronging the borders, rushing silently from all the
wood. What those things were, what they would do to me if they caught me I did not know…I only knew
that nothing that I could imagine of agony could equal what I would experience if they did catch me.
On and on I raced through the wood, each step a nightmare. I felt hands stretching out to clutch
me…heard shrill whisperings…Sweating, trembling, I broke out of the wood and raced over a vast plain
that stretched, treeless, to the distant horizon. The plain was trackless, pathless, and covered with brown
and withered grass. It was like, it came to me, the blasted heath of Macbeth's three witches. No
matter…it was better than the haunted wood. I paused and looked back at the trees. I felt from them the
gaze of myriads of the evil eyes.
I turned my back, and began to walk over the withered plain. I looked up at the sky. The sky was misty
green. High up in it two cloudy orbs began to glow…black suns…no, they were not suns…they were
eyes…The eyes of the doll-maker! They stared down at me from the misty green sky…Over the horizon
of that strange world two gigantic hands began to lift…began to creep toward me…to catch me and hurl
me back into the wood…white hands with long fingers…and each of the long white fingers a living thing.
The hands of the doll-maker!
Closer came the eyes, and closer writhed the hands. From the sky came peal upon peal of laughter…The
laughter of the doll-maker!
That laughter still ringing in my ears, I awakened-or seemed to awaken. I was in my room sitting bolt
upright in my bed. I was dripping with sweat, and my heart was pumping with a pulse that shook my
body. I could see the chandelier glimmering in the light from the windows like a small nebulous cloud. I
could see the windows faintly outlined. It was very still…
There was a movement at one of the windows. I would get up from the bed and see what it was-I could
not move!
A faint greenish glow began within the room. At first it was like the flickering phosphorescence one sees
upon a decaying log. It waxed and waned, waxed and waned, but grew ever stronger. My room became
plain. The chandelier gleamed like a decaying emerald-
There was a little face at the window! A doll's face! My heart leaped, then curdled with despair. I
thought: "McCann has failed! It is the end!"
The doll looked at me, grinning. Its face was smooth shaven, that of a man about forty. The nose was
long, the mouth wide and thin-lipped. The eyes were close-set under bushy brows. They glittered, red as
rubies.
The doll crept over the sill. It slid, head-first, into the room. It stood for a moment on its head, legs
waving. It somersaulted twice. It came to its feet, one little hand at its lips, red eyes upon mine-waiting.
As though expecting applause! It was dressed in the tights and jacket of a circus acrobat. It bowed to
me. Then with a flourish, it pointed to the window.
Another little face was peering there. It was austere, cold, the face of a man of sixty. It had small side
whiskers. It stared at me with the expression I supposed a banker might wear when someone he hates
applies to him for a loan-I found the thought oddly amusing. Then abruptly I ceased to feel amused.
A banker-doll! An acrobat-doll!
The dolls of two of those who had suffered the unknown death!
The banker-doll stepped with dignity down from the window. It was in full evening dress, swallowtails,
stiff shirt-all perfect. It turned and with the same dignity raised a hand to the windowsill. Another doll
stood there-the doll of a woman about the same age as the banker-doll, and garbed like it in correct
evening dress.
The spinster!
Mincingly, the spinster-doll took the proffered hand. She jumped lightly to the floor.
Through the window came a fourth doll, all in spangled tights from neck to feet. It took a flying leap,
landing beside the acrobat-doll. It looked up at me with grinning face, then bowed.
The four dolls began to march toward me, the acrobats leading, and behind them with slow and stately
step, the spinster-doll and banker-doll-arm in arm.
Grotesque, fantastic, these they were-but not humorous, God-no! Or if there were anything of humor
about them, it was that at which only devils laugh.
I thought, desperately: "Braile is just on the other side of the door! If I could only make some sound!"
The four dolls halted and seemed to consult. The acrobats pirouetted, and reached to their backs. They
drew from the hidden sheaths their dagger-pins. In the hands of banker-doll and spinster-doll appeared
similar weapons. They presented the points toward me, like swords.
The four resumed their march to my bed…
The red eyes of the second acrobat-doll-the trapeze performer, I knew him now to be-had rested on
the chandelier. He paused, studying it. He pointed to it, thrust the dagger-pin back into its sheath, and
bent his knees, hands cupped in front of them. The first doll nodded, then stood, plainly measuring the
height of the chandelier from the floor and considering the best approach to it. The second doll pointed to
the mantel, and the pair of them swarmed up its sides to the broad ledge. The elderly pair watched them,
seemingly much interested. They did not sheath their dagger-pins.
The acrobat-doll bent, and the trapeze-doll put a little foot in its cupped hands. The first doll straightened,
and the second flew across the gap between mantel and chandelier, caught one of the prismed circles,
and swung. Immediately the other doll leaped outward, caught the chandelier and swung beside its
spangled mate.
I saw the heavy old fixture tremble and sway. Down upon the floor came crashing a dozen of the prisms.
In the dead stillness, it was like an explosion.
I heard Braile running to the door. He threw it open. He stood on the threshold. I could see him plainly in
the green glow, but I knew that he could not see-that to him the room was in darkness. He cried:
"Lowell! Are you all right? Turn on the lights!"
I tried to call out. To warn him. Useless! He groped forward, around the foot of the bed, to the switch. I
think that then he saw the dolls. He stopped short, directly beneath the chandelier, looking up.
And as he did so the doll above him swung by one hand, drew its dagger-pin from its sheath and
dropped upon Braile's shoulders, stabbing viciously at his throat!
Braile shrieked-once. The shriek changed into a dreadful bubbling sigh…
And then I saw the chandelier sway and lurch. It broke from its ancient fastenings. It fell with a crash that
shook the house, down upon Braile and the doll-devil ripping at his throat.
Abruptly the green glow disappeared. There was a scurrying in the room like the running of great rats.
The paralysis dropped from me. I threw my hand round to the switch and turned on the lights; leaped
from the bed.
Little figures were scrambling up and out of the window. There were four muffled reports like popguns. I
saw Ricori at the door, on each side of him a guard with silenced automatic, shooting at the window.
I bent over Braile. He was quite dead. The falling chandelier had dropped upon his head, crushing the
skull. But Braile had been dying before the chandelier had fallen…his throat ripped…the carotid artery
severed.
The doll that had murdered him was gone!