Horning's head reeled. He tried to twist free.
But Myrtle's hand was still locked in his shirt-front. Savagely, she jerked him back and hit him again.
Horning staggered. His shirt ripped. Margaret's portrait fluttered from his pocket to the floor.
Myrtle went rigid. Eyes dilating, she stared at the fallen picture.
Horning tore loose her hand and scooped the photo from the floor.
Teeth bared, nostrils flaring, Myrtle closed in upon him. "So that's it!" she cried shrilly.
"So you thought you'd go back to her, that's what! You figured you'd find her in another world--"
A chill ran up and down Horning's spine. He tucked the picture back in his pocket. "Myrtle, you don't know what you're saying--"
"Oh, don't I?" His wife laughed wildly. Grey hair fell across her forehead in snarled disarray. "Maybe I know more than you think, Doctor Raymond X. Horning! I've read those things you wrote--all that craziness about the other worlds. But I didn't know _why_ you wanted to go there till now."
Horning fumbled with the transdimensional registration unit's straps. Unslinging the bulky case, he lowered it to the floor. He dared not trust himself to speak.
But Myrtle closed in upon him, clawing at him. "Admit it!" she shrieked. "Go ahead! Tell me to my face you'd rather have that--that slut than me--"
Horning wheeled. His hands shook. "Myrtle, I've taken every word from you that I intend to," he said tightly. "Get out of my laboratory! Now! This instant!" Myrtle's nails raked at his eyes.
Before he could recover from fending off the blow, she had snatched Margaret's picture from his pocket.
"I'll show you!" she cried, shrill and strident. "I'll let you see what I think of her, the dirty little tramp!"
She spat full in the face of the picture.
She lurched back two tottering steps, tripped, and sprawled on the floor.
Horning strode to her, jerked Margaret's photo from her hand, and wiped it clean.
He said: "I'm through. Whether you like it or not, I'm filing for divorce tomorrow."
His wife dragged herself up to a sitting position, her face a mask of hate and cunning.
"Go ahead," she goaded. "Go _right_ ahead, Doctor Raymond X. Horning." Her voice rose, took on new and even more bitter overtones of malice. "But ... just don't blame anyone but yourself for whatever happens to your precious apparatus."