than any other feature his eyes
impressed Parker: they were steady, penetrating, and absolutely black.
But for a thread of gray here and there his well-kept beard and hair
were black. He might have been any age from forty to sixty, so
deceptive was his appearance.

"Come in, if you please," he said, before Parker could speak. Von
Stein's voice was rich and deep, but with a metallic quality which
somehow corresponded with his mechanical smile. Except for the
guttural r's there was hardly a hint of the foreigner in his speech.
"It is Mr. and Mrs. Parker, I believe? I am Dr. von Stein."

* * * * *

He stood aside for them to pass into the hallway, and while they
murmured their thanks he shot a volley of German at the man, whom he
called Heinrich. The frightened servant vanished; and the Parkers were
taken into a living room furnished carelessly, but in good enough
taste. Betty took her place on a couch, to which the doctor led her
with a bow. Parker sank into an overstuffed chair not far from a
window.

"I learned your names because of the beauty of madame," said Von
Stein, as he stood looming above the mantel. Again he bowed. "One
could not see her without wishing to know how such a charming woman
was called. You are my neighbors from down the street, I believe."

"Yes," replied Allen. He wanted to be agreeable, but found it
difficult. "And I think Mrs. Parker has developed a great admiration
for you. She persuaded me to come here to-day. Are you, by chance, a
psycho-analyst? I don't even know that you are a doctor of medicine,
but--"

"I know a very great deal about the human mind," interrupted Dr. von
Stein calmly. "I know a great deal about many things. I am not going
to practice medicine here in Pine Hills because I have research work
to do, but I will help you if I can. What is your trouble?"

* * * * *

The question brought back to Parker the mood of half an hour ago.
Almost savagely he snapped the portfolio open and spread out a few of
his recent drawings, with some of the earlier ones for comparison.

"Look!" he cried. "These vicious things are what I am doing now! I
can't help myself! The pencil does not obey me! Apparently I have no
emotional control. It's as though my normal ideas were shouldered
aside, like people in a crowd. And my writing to-day was as bad as
these illustrations. I'm doing a book. Consider these things
carefully, Docto