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He did not wish to disturb the others whom he believed to be sleeping somewhere
within the structure--a low, rambling bungalow of eight rooms.
Cautiously he approached one of the four doors which opened from the living
room. Gently he turned the knob and pushed the door ajar. The interior of the
apartment beyond was in inky darkness, but Number Thirteen's greatest fear was
that he might have stumbled upon the sleeping room of Virginia Maxon, and that
if she were to discover him there, not only would she be frightened, but her cries
would alarm the other inmates of the dwelling.
The thought of the horror that his presence would arouse within her, the
knowledge that she would look upon him as a terrifying monstrosity, added new
fuel to the fires of hate that raged in his bosom against the man who had created
him. With clenched fists, and tight set jaws the great, soulless giant moved
across the dark chamber with the stealthy noiselessness of a tiger. Feeling before
him with hands and feet he made the circuit of the room before he reached the
bed.
Scarce breathing he leaned over and groped across the covers with his fingers in
search of his prey--the bed was empty. With the discovery came a sudden
nervous reaction that sent him into a cold sweat. Weakly, he seated himself upon
the edge of the bed. Had his fingers found the throat of Professor Maxon beneath
the coverlet they would never have released their hold until life had forever left
the body of the scientist, but now that the highest tide of the young man's hatred
had come and gone he found himself for the first time assailed by doubts.
Suddenly he recalled the fact that the man whose life he sought was the father of
the beautiful creature he adored. Perhaps she loved him and would be unhappy
were he taken away from her. Number Thirteen did not know, of course, but the
idea obtruded itself, and had sufficient weight to cause him to remain seated
upon the edge of the bed meditating upon the act he contemplated. He had by no
means given up the idea of killing Professor Maxon, but now there were doubts
and obstacles which had not been manifest before.
His standards of right and wrong were but half formed, from the brief attempts of
Professor Maxon and von Horn to inculcate proper moral perceptions in a mind
entirely devoid of hereditary inclinations toward either good or bad, but he
realized one thing most perfectly--that to be a soulless thing was to be damned in
the estimation of Virginia Maxon, and it now occurred to him that to kill her
father would be the act of a soulless being. It was this thought more than
another that caused him to pause in the pursuit of his revenge, since he knew
that the act he contemplated would brand him the very thing he was, yet wished
not to be.
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