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diff --git a/4920-h/4920-h.htm b/4920-h/4920-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..177e7d0 --- /dev/null +++ b/4920-h/4920-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,17131 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Blind Spot, by Austin Hall and Homer Eon Flint + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .side { float: right; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; margin-left: 0.8em; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Blind Spot, by Austin Hall and Homer Eon Flint + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Blind Spot + +Author: Austin Hall + Homer Eon Flint + +Commentator: Forrest J Ackerman + + +Release Date: January, 2004 [EBook #4920] +[This file was first posted on March 27, 2002] +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLIND SPOT *** + + + + +Text file produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE BLIND SPOT + </h1> + <h2> + By Austin Hall and Homer Eon Flint + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PROL"> PROLOGUE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> I. — RHAMDA AVEC </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> II. — THE PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> III. — “NOW THERE ARE TWO” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> IV. — GONE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> V. — FRIENDS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VI. — CHICK WATSON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> VII. — THE RING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> VIII. — THE NERVINA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> IX. — “NOW THERE ARE THREE” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> X. — MAN OR PHANTOM </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XI. — BAFFLED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XII. — A DEAL IN PROPERTY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XIII. — ALBERT JEROME </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XIV. — A NEW ELEMENT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XV. — AGAIN THE NERVINA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XVI. — CHARLOTTE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XVII. — THE SHEPHERD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XVIII. — CHARLOTTE'S STORY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XIX. — HOBART FENTON TAKES UP THE TALE + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XX. — THE HOUSE OF MIRACLES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXI. — OUT OF THIN AIR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXII. — THE ROUSING OF A MIND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXIII. — THE RHAMDA AGAIN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXIV. — THE LIVING DEATH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXV. — AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXVI. — DIRECT FROM PARADISE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XXVII. — SOLVED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> XXVIII. — THE MAN FROM SPACE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> XXIX. — THE OCCULT WORLD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> XXX. — THE PLUNGE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> XXXI. — UP FOR BREATH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> XXXII. — THROUGH UNKNOWN WATERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> XXXIII. — A LONG WAY FROM SHORE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> XXXIV. — THE BAR SENESTRO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> XXXV. — THE PERFECT IMPOSTOR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> XXXVI. — AN ALLY, AND SOLID GROUND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> XXXVII. — LOOKING DOWN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> XXXVIII. — THE VOICE FROM THE VOID </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> XXXIX. — WHO IS THE JARADOS? </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> XL. — THE TEMPLE OF THE BELL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> XLI. — THE PROPHECY </a> + </p> +<p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044b"> XLII. — PAT MACPHERSON'S STORY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> XLIII. — THE HOME OF THE JARADOS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> XLIV. — DR. HOLCOMB'S STORY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> XLV. — THE ARADNA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> XLVI. — OUT OF THE OCCULT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> XLVII. — THE LAST LEAF </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> XLVIII. — THE UNACCOUNTABLE </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <h3> + THE LURE AND LORE OF “THE BLIND SPOT” + </h3> + <h3> + BY FORREST J ACKERMAN + </h3> + <p> + The Blind Spot opens with the words: “Perhaps it were just as well to + start at the beginning. A mere matter of news.” Suppose I use them in the + same sense: + </p> + <p> + A mere matter of news: The first instalment of this fabulous novel was + featured in Argosy-All-Story-Weekly for May 14, 1921. Described as a + “different” serial, it was introduced by a cover by Modest Stein. In the + foreground was the profile of a girl of another dimension—ethereal, + sensuous, the eternal feminine—the Nervina of the story. Filmy + crystalline earrings swept back over her bare shoulders. Dominating the + background was a huge flaming yellow ball, like our Sun as seen from the + hypothetical Vulcan—splotched with murky, mysterious globii vitonae. + There was an ancient quay, and emerging from the ultramarine waters about + it a silhouetted metropolis of spires, domes, and minarets. It was 1921, + and that generation thus received its first glimpse of the alien landscape + of The Blind Spot and the baroque beauty of an immortal woman of fantasy + fiction. + </p> + <p> + The authors? Homer Eon Flint was already a reigning favourite with + post-World-War-I enthusiasts of imaginative literature, who had eagerly + devoured his QUEEN OF LIFE and LORD OF DEATH, his KING OF CONSERVE ISLAND + and THE PLANETEER. Austin Hall was well known and popular for his ALMOST + IMMORTAL, REBEL SOUL, and INTO THE INFINITE. + </p> + <p> + Then came this epoch-making collaboration. When Mary Gnaedinger launched + Famous Fantastic Mysteries magazine she early presented THE BLIND SPOT, + and printed it again in that magazine's companion Fantastic Novels. These + reprints are now collectors' items, almost unobtainable, and otherwise the + story has long been out of print. Rumour says an unauthorised German + version of THE BLIND SPOT, has been published in book form. There is + another book called THE BLIND SPOT, and also a magazine story, and a major + movie studio was to produce a film of the same title. However, here is + presented the only hard-cover version of the only BLIND SPOT of + consequence to lovers of fantasy. + </p> + <p> + Who wrote the story? When I first looked into the question, as a 15 year + old boy, Homer Eon Flint (he originally spelled his name with a “d”) was + already dead of a fall into a canyon. In 1949 his widow told me: “I think + Homer's father contributed that middle name”—the same name (with + slightly different spelling) that the Irish poet George Russell took as + his pen-name, which became known by its abbreviation AE. Mrs. Flindt said + of Flint's father: “He was a very deep thinker, and enjoyed reading heavy + material.” Like father, like son. “Homer always talked over his ideas with + me, and although I couldn't always follow his thoughts it seemed to help + him to express them to another—it made some things come more clearly + to him.” + </p> + <p> + Flint was a great admirer of H. G. Wells (this little + grandmother-schoolteacher told me) and had probably read all his works up + to the time when he (Flint) died in 1924. He had read Doyle and Haggard, + but: “Wells was his favourite—the real thinker.” + </p> + <p> + Flint found a fellow-thinker in Austin Hall, whom he met in San Jose, + California, while working at a shop where shoes were repaired electrically—“a + rather new concept at the time.” Hall, learning that Flint lived in the + same city, sought him out, and they became fast friends. Each stimulated + the other. As Hall told me twenty years ago of the origin of THE BLIND + SPOT: + </p> + <p> + “One day after we had lunched together, I held my finger up in front of + one of my eyes and said: 'Homer, couldn't a story be written about that + blind spot in the eye?' Not much was said about it at the time, but four + days later, again at lunch, I outlined the whole story to him. I wrote the + first eighteen chapters; Homer took up the tale as 'Hobart Fenton' and + wrote the chapters about the house of miracles, the living death, the + rousing of Aradna's mind, and so forth, up to 'The Man from Space,' where + once again I took over.” + </p> + <p> + To THE BLIND SPOT Hall contributed a great knowledge of history and + anthropology, while Flint's fortes were physics and medicine. Both had a + great fund of philosophy at their command. + </p> + <p> + When I met Hall (about four years older than Flint) he was in his fifties: + a devil-may-care old codger (old to a fifteen-year-old, that is) full of + good humour and indulgence for a youthful admirer who had journeyed far to + meet him. He casually referred to his 600 published stories, and I carried + away the impression of one who resembled both in output and in looks that + other fiction-factory of the time, Edgar Wallace. + </p> + <p> + Finally: Several years ago, before I knew anything about the present + volume, I had an unusual experience. (At that time I had no reason to + think THE BLIND SPOT would ever become available as a book, for the + location of the heirs proved a Herculean task by itself; publishers had + long wanted to present this amazing novel but could not do so until I + located Mrs. Mae Hall and Mrs. Mabel Flindt.) While, unfortunately, I did + not take careful notes at the time, the gist of the occurrence was this: + </p> + <p> + I visited a friend whose hobby (besides reading fantasy) was the occult, + who volunteered to entertain me with automatic writing and the + ouija-board. Now, I share Lovecraft's scepticism towards the supernatural, + regarding it as at best a means of amusement. When the question arose of + what spirits we should try to lure to our planchette, the names of + Lovecraft, Merritt, Hall, and Flint popped into my pixilated mind. So I + set my fingers on the wooden heart and, since my host was also a Flint + admirer, we asked about Flint's fatal accident. The ouija spelled out: + </p> + <h3> + N-O A-C-C-I-D-E-N-T—R-O-B-B-E-R-Y + </h3> + <p> + There followed something about being held up by a hitch-hiker. Then Hall + (or at least some energy-source other than my own conscious mind) came + through too, and when I asked if he had left any work behind he replied: + </p> + <h3> + Y-E-S—T-H-E L-A-S-T G-O-D-L-I-N-G + </h3> + <p> + Later I asked his son about this (without revealing the title) and Javen + Hall told me of the story his father had been plotting when he died: THE + HIDDEN EMPIRE, or THE CHILD OF THE SOUTHWIND. Whatever was pushing the + planchette failed to inform me that when I found Austin Hall's son and + widow, they would put into my hands an unknown, unpublished fantasy novel + by Hall: THE HOUSE OF DAWN! Some day it may appear in print. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile you are getting understandably impatient to explore that unknown + realm of the Blind Spot. Be on your way, and bon voyage! + </p> + <p> + FORREST J ACKERMAN, Beverley Hills, Calif. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PROL" id="link2H_PROL"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PROLOGUE + </h2> + <p> + Perhaps it were just as well to start at the beginning. A mere matter of + news. + </p> + <p> + All the world at the time knew the story; but for the benefit of those who + have forgotten I shall repeat it. I am merely giving it as I have taken it + from the papers with no elaboration and no opinion—a mere statement + of facts. It was a celebrated case at the time and stirred the world to + wonder. Indeed, it still is celebrated, though to the layman it is + forgotten. + </p> + <p> + It has been labelled and indexed and filed away in the archives of the + profession. To those who wish to look it up it will be spoken of as one of + the great unsolved mysteries of the century. A crime that leads two ways, + one into murder—sordid, cold and calculating; and the other into the + nebulous screen that thwarts us from the occult. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it is the character of Dr. Holcomb that gives the latter. He was a + great man and a splendid thinker. That he should have been led into a maze + of cheap necromancy is, on the face, improbable. He had a wonderful mind. + For years he had been battering down the scepticism that had bulwarked + itself in the material. + </p> + <p> + He was a psychologist, and up to the day the greatest, perhaps, that we + have known. He had a way of going out before his fellows—it is the + way of genius—and he had gone far, indeed, before them. If we would + trust Dr. Holcomb we have much to live for; our religion is not all + hearsay and there is a great deal in science still unthought of. It is an + unfortunate case; but there is much to be learned in the circumstance that + led the great doctor into the Blind Spot. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. — RHAMDA AVEC + </h2> + <p> + On a certain foggy morning in September, 1905, a tall man wearing a black + overcoat and bearing in one hand a small satchel of dark-reddish leather + descended from a Geary Street tram at the foot of Market Street, San + Francisco. It was a damp morning; a mist was brooding over the city + blurring all distinctness. + </p> + <p> + The man glanced about him; a tall man of trim lines and distinctness and a + quick, decided step and bearing. In the shuffle of descending passengers + he was outstanding, with a certain inborn grace that without the blood + will never come from training. Men noticed and women out of instinct cast + curious furtive glances and then turned away; which was natural, inasmuch + as the man was plainly old. But for all that many ventured a second glance—and + wondered. + </p> + <p> + An old man with the poise of twenty, a strange face of remarkable + features, swarthy, of an Eastern cast, perhaps Indian; whatever the + certainty of the man's age there was still a lingering suggestion of + splendid youth. If one persisted in a third or fourth look this suggestion + took an almost certain tone, the man's age dwindled, years dropped from + him, and the quizzical smile that played on the lips seemed a foreboding + of boyish laughter. + </p> + <p> + We say foreboding because in this case it is not mistaken diction. + Foreboding suggests coming evil; the laughter of boys is wholehearted. It + was merely that things were not exactly as they should be; it was not + natural that age should be so youthful. The fates were playing, and in + this case for once in the world's history their play was crosswise. + </p> + <p> + It is a remarkable case from the beginning and we are starting from facts. + The man crossed to the window of the Key Route ferry and purchased a + ticket for Berkeley, after which, with the throng, he passed the turnstile + and on to the boat that was waiting. He took the lower deck, not from + choice, apparently, but more because the majority of his fellow + passengers, being men, were bound in this direction. The same chance + brought him to the cigar-stand. The men about him purchased cigars and + cigarettes, and as is the habit of all smokers, strolled off with + delighted relish. The man watched them. Had anyone noticed his eyes he + would have noted a peculiar colour and a light of surprise. With the prim + step that made him so distinctive he advanced to the news-stand. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me; but I would like to purchase one of those.” Though he spoke + perfect English it was in a strange manner, after the fashion of one who + has found something that he has just learned how to use. At the same time + he made a suggestion with his tapered fingers indicating the tobacco in + the case. The clerk looked up. + </p> + <p> + “A cigar, sir? Yes, sir. What will it be?” + </p> + <p> + “A cigar?” Again the strange articulation. “Ah, yes, that is it. Now I + remember. And it has a little sister, the cigarette. I think I shall take + a cigarette, if—if—if you will show me how to use it.” + </p> + <p> + It was a strange request. The clerk was accustomed to all manner of men + and their brands of humour; he was about to answer in kind when he looked + up and into the man's eyes. He started. + </p> + <p> + “You mean,” he asked, “that you have never seen a cigar or cigarette; that + you do not know how to use them? A man as old as you are.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger laughed. It was rather resentful, but for all that of a + hearty taint of humour. + </p> + <p> + “So old? Would you say that I am as old as that; if you will look again—” + </p> + <p> + The young man did and what he beheld is something that he could not quite + account for: the strange conviction of this remarkable man; of age melting + into youth, of an uncertain freshness, the smile, not of sixty, but of + twenty. The young man was not one to argue, whatever his wonder; he was + first of all a lad of business; he could merely acquiesce. + </p> + <p> + “The first time! This is the first time you have ever seen a cigar or + cigarette?” + </p> + <p> + The stranger nodded. + </p> + <p> + “The first time. I have never beheld one of them before this morning. If + you will allow me?” He indicated a package. “I think I shall take one of + these.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk took up the package, opened the end, and shook out a single + cigarette. The man lit it and, as the smoke poured out of his mouth, held + the cigarette tentatively in his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Like it?” It was the clerk who asked. + </p> + <p> + The other did not answer, his whole face was the expression of having just + discovered one of the senses. He was a splendid man and, if the word may + be employed of the sterner sex, one of beauty. His features were even; + that is to be noted, his nose chiselled straight and to perfection, the + eyes of a peculiar sombreness and lustre almost burning, of a black of + such intensity as to verge into red and to be devoid of pupils, and yet, + for all of that, of a glow and softness. After a moment he turned to the + clerk. + </p> + <p> + “You are young, my lad.” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-one, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You are fortunate. You live in a wonderful age. It is as wonderful as + your tobacco. And you still have many great things before you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The man walked on to the forward part of the boat; leaving the youth, who + had been in a sort of daze, watching. But it was not for long. The whole + thing had been strange and to the lad almost inexplicable. The man was not + insane, he was certain; and he was just as sure that he had not been + joking. From the start he had been taken by the man's refinement, + intellect and education. He was positive that he had been sincere. Yet— + </p> + <p> + The ferry detective happened at that moment to be passing. The clerk made + an indication with his thumb. + </p> + <p> + “That man yonder,” he spoke, “the one in black. Watch him.” Then he told + his story. The detective laughed and walked forward. + </p> + <p> + It was a most fortunate incident. It was a strange case. That mere act of + the cigar clerk placed the police on the track and gave to the world the + only clue that it holds of the Blind Spot. + </p> + <p> + The detective had laughed at the lad's recital—almost any one had a + patent for being queer—and if this gentleman had a whim for a + certain brand of humour that was his business. Nevertheless, he would + stroll forward. + </p> + <p> + The man was not hard to distinguish; he was standing on the forward deck + facing the wind and peering through the mist at the grey, heavy heave of + the water. Alongside of them the dim shadow of a sister ferry screamed its + way through the fogbank. That he was a landsman was evidenced by his way + of standing; he was uncertain; at every heave of the boat he would shift + sidewise. An unusually heavy roll caught him slightly off-balance and + jostled him against the detective. The latter held up his hand and caught + him by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “A bad morning,” spoke the officer. “B-r-r-r! Did you notice the Yerbe + Buena yonder? She just grazed us. A bad morning.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger turned. As the detective caught the splendid face, the + glowing eyes and the youthful smile, he started much as had done the cigar + clerk. The same effect of the age melting into youth and—the officer + being much more accustomed to reading men—a queer sense of latent + and potent vision. The eyes were soft and receptive but for all that of + the delicate strength and colour that comes from abnormal intellect. He + noted the pupils, black, glowing, of great size, almost filling the iris + and the whole melting into intensity that verged into red. Either the man + had been long without sleep or he was one of unusual intelligence and + vitality. + </p> + <p> + “A nasty morning,” repeated the officer. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Er, yes—did you say it was a nasty morning? Indeed, I do not + know, sir. However, it is very interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “Stranger in San Francisco?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes. At least, I have never seen it.” + </p> + <p> + “H-m!” The detective was a bit nonplussed by the man's evident evasion. + “Well, if you are a stranger I suppose it is up to me to come to the + defence of my city. This is one of Frisco's fogs. We have them + occasionally. Sometimes they last for days. This one is a low one. It will + lift presently. Then you will see the sun. Have you ever seen Frisco's + sun?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir”—this same slow articulation—“I have never seen + your sun nor any other.” + </p> + <p> + “Hum!” + </p> + <p> + It was an answer altogether unexpected. Again the officer found himself + gazing into the strange, refined face and wonderful eyes. The man was not + blind, of that he was certain. Neither was his voice harsh or testy. + Rather was it soft and polite, of one merely stating a fact. Yet how could + it be? He remembered the cigar clerk. Neither cigar nor sun! From what + manner of land could the man come? A detective has a certain gift of + intuition. Though on the face of it, outside of the man's personality, + there could be nothing to it but a joke, he chose to act upon the impulse. + He pulled back the door which had been closed behind them and re-entered + the boat. When he returned the boat had arrived at the pier. + </p> + <p> + “You are going to Oakland?” + </p> + <p> + It was a chance question. + </p> + <p> + “No, to Berkeley. I take a train here, I understand. Do all the trains go + to Berkeley?” + </p> + <p> + “By no means. I am going to Berkeley myself. We can ride together. My name + is Jerome. Albert Jerome.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. Mine is Avec. Rhamda Avec. I am much obliged. Your company may be + instructive.” + </p> + <p> + He did not say more, but watched with unrestrained interest their + manoeuvre into the slip. A moment later they were marching with the others + down the gangways to the trains waiting. Just as they were seated and the + electric train was pulling out of the pier the sun breaking through the + mist blazed with splendid light through the cloud rifts. The stranger was + next to the window where he could look out over the water and beyond at + the citied shoreline, whose sea of housetops extended and rose to the + peaks of the first foothills. The sun was just coming over the mountains. + </p> + <p> + The detective watched. There was sincerity in the man's actions. It was + not acting. When the light first broke he turned his eyes full into the + radiance. It was the act of a child and, so it struck the officer, of the + same trust and simplicity—and likewise the same effect. He drew away + quickly: for the moment blinded. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said. “It is so. This is the sun. Your sun is wonderful!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed it is,” returned the other. “But rather common. We see it every + day. It's the whole works, but we get used to it. For myself I cannot see + anything strange in the 'sun's still shining.' You have been blind, Mr. + Avec? Pardon the question. But I must naturally infer. You say you have + never seen the sun. I suppose—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped because of the other's smile; somehow it seemed a very superior + one, as if predicting a wealth of wisdom. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mr. Jerome,” he spoke, “I have never been blind in my life. I say + it is wonderful! It is glorious and past describing. So is it all, your + water, your boats, your ocean. But I see there is one thing even stranger + still. It is yourselves. With all your greatness you are only part of your + surroundings. Do you know what is your sun?” + </p> + <p> + “Search me,” returned the officer. “I'm no astronomer. I understand they + don't know themselves. Fire, I suppose, and a hell of a hot one! But there + is one thing that I can tell.” + </p> + <p> + “And this—” + </p> + <p> + “Is the truth.” + </p> + <p> + If he meant it for insinuation it was ineffective. The other smiled + kindly. In the fine effect of the delicate features, and most of all in + the eyes was sincerity. In that face was the mark of genius—he felt + it—and of a potent superior intelligence. Most of all did he note + the beauty and the soft, silky superlustre of the eyes. + </p> + <p> + We have the whole thing from Jerome, at least this part of it; and our + interest being retrospect is multiplied far above that of the detective. + The stranger had a certain call of character and of appearance, not to say + magnetism. The officer felt himself almost believing and yet restraining + himself into caution of unbelief. It was a remark preposterous on the face + of it. What puzzled Jerome was the purpose; he could think of nothing that + would necessitate such statements and acting. He was certain that the man + was sane. + </p> + <p> + In the light of what came after great stress has been laid by a certain + class upon this incident. We may say that we lean neither way. We have + merely given it in some detail because of that importance. We have yet no + proof of the mystic and until it is proved, we must lean, like Jerome, + upon the cold material. We have the mystery, but, even at that, we have + not the certainty of murder. + </p> + <p> + Understand, it was intuition that led Jerome into that memorable trip to + Berkeley; he happened to be going off duty and was drawn to the man by a + chance incident and the fact of his personality. At this minute, however, + he thought no more of him than as an eccentric, as some refined, strange + wonderful gentleman with a whim for his own brand of humour. Only that + could explain it. The man had an evident curiosity for everything about + him, the buildings, the street, the cars, and the people. Frequently he + would mutter: “Wonderful, wonderful, and all the time we have never known + it. Wonderful!” + </p> + <p> + As they drew into Lorin the officer ventured a question. + </p> + <p> + “You have friends in Berkeley? I see you are a stranger. If I may presume, + perhaps I may be of assistance?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, if—if—do you know of a Dr. Holcomb?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean the professor. He lives on Dwight Way. At this time of the day + you would be more apt to find him at the university. Is he expecting you?” + </p> + <p> + It was a blunt question and of course none of his business. Yet, just what + another does not want him to know is ever the pursuit of a detective. At + the same time the subconscious flashing and wondering at the name Rhamda + Avec—surely neither Teutonic nor Sanskrit nor anything between. + </p> + <p> + “Expecting me? Ah, yes. Pardon me if I speak slowly. I am not quite used + to speech—yet. I see you are interested. After I see Dr. Holcomb I + may tell you. However, it is very urgent that I see the doctor. He—well, + I may say that we have known each other a long time.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you know him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in a way; though we have never met. He must be a great man. We have + much in common, your doctor and I; and we have a great deal to give to + your world. However, I would not recognise him should I see him. Would you + by any chance—” + </p> + <p> + “You mean would I be your guide? With pleasure. It just happens that I am + on friendly terms with your friend Dr. Holcomb.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. — THE PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY + </h2> + <p> + And now to start in on another angle. There is hardly any necessity for + introducing Dr. Holcomb. All of us, at least, those who read, and, most of + all, those of us who are interested in any manner of speculation, knew him + quite well. He was the professor of philosophy at the University of + California: a great man and a good one, one of those fine academic souls + who, not only by their wisdom, but by their character, have a way of + stamping themselves upon generations; a speaker of the upstanding class, + walking on his own feet and utterly fearless when it came to dashing out + on some startling philosophy that had not been borne up by his forebears. + </p> + <p> + He was original. He believed that the philosophies of the ages are but + stepping stones, that the wisdom of the earth looked but to the future, + and that the study of the classics, however essential, is but the ground + work for combining and working out the problems of the future. He was + epigrammatic, terse, and gifted with a quaint humour, with which he was + apt, even when in the driest philosophy, to drive in and clinch his + argument. + </p> + <p> + Best of all, he was able to clothe the most abstract thoughts in language + so simple and concrete that he brought the deepest of all subjects down to + the scope of the commonest thinker. It is needless to say that he was + 'copy.' The papers about the bay were ever and anon running some startling + story of the professor. + </p> + <p> + Had they stuck to the text it would all have been well; but a reporter is + a reporter; in spite of the editors there were numerous little + elaborations to pervert the context. A great man must be careful of his + speech. Dr. Holcomb was often busy refuting; he could not understand the + need of these little twistings of wisdom. It kept him in controversy; the + brothers of his profession often took him to task for these little + distorted scraps of philosophy. He did not like journalism. He had a way + of consigning all writers and editors to the devil. + </p> + <p> + Which was vastly amusing to the reporters. Once they had him going they + poised their pens in glee and began splashing their venomous ink. It was + tragic; the great professor standing at bay to his tormentors. One and all + they loved him and one and all they took delight in his torture. It was a + hard task for a reporter to get in at a lecture; and yet it was often the + lot of the professor to find himself and his words featured in his + breakfast paper. + </p> + <p> + On the very day before this the doctor had come out with one of his terse + startling statements. He had a way of inserting parenthetically some of + his scraps of wisdom. It was in an Ethics class. We quote his words as + near as possible: + </p> + <p> + “Man, let me tell you, is egotistic. All our philosophy is based on ego. + We live threescore years and we balance it with all eternity. We are it. + Did you ever stop and think of eternity? It is a rather long time. What + right have we to say that life, which we assume to be everlasting, + immediately becomes restrospect once it passes out of the conscious + individuality which is allotted upon this earth? The trouble is ourselves. + We are five-sensed. We weigh everything! We so measure eternity. Until we + step out into other senses, which undoubtedly exist, we shall never arrive + at the conception of infinity. Now I am going to make a rather startling + announcement. + </p> + <p> + “The past few years have promised a culmination which has been guessed at + and yearned for since the beginning of time. It is within, and still + without, the scope of metaphysics. Those of you who have attended my + lectures have heard me call myself the material idealist. I am a mystic + sensationalist. I believe that we can derive nothing from pure + contemplation. There is mystery and wonder in the veil of the occult. The + earth, our life, is merely a vestibule of the universe. Contemplation + alone will hold us all as inapt and as impotent as the old Monks of Athos. + We have mountains of literature behind us, all contemplative, and whatever + its wisdom, it has given us not one thing outside the abstract. From Plato + down to the present our philosophy has given us not one tangible proof, + not one concrete fact which we can place our hands on. We are virtually + where we were originally; and we can talk, talk, talk from now until the + clap of doomsday. + </p> + <p> + “What then? + </p> + <p> + “My friends, philosophy must take a step sidewise. In this modern age + young science, practical science, has grown up and far surpassed us. We + must go back to the beginning, forget our subjective musings and enter the + concrete. We are five-sensed, and in the nature of things we must bring + the proof down into the concrete where we can understand it. Can we pierce + the nebulous screen that shuts us out of the occult? We have doubted, + laughed at ourselves and been laughed at; but the fact remains that always + we have persisted in the believing. + </p> + <p> + “I have said that we shall never, never understand infinity while within + the limitations of our five senses. I repeat it. But that does not imply + that we shall never solve some of the mystery of life. The occult is not + only a supposition, but a fact. We have peopled it with terror, because, + like our forebears before Columbus, we have peopled it with imagination. + </p> + <p> + “And now to my statement. + </p> + <p> + “I have called myself the Material Idealist. I have adopted an entirely + new trend of philosophy. During the past years, unknown to you and unknown + to my friends, I have allied myself with practical science. I desired + something concrete. While my colleagues and others were pounding out tomes + of wonderful sophistry I have been pounding away at the screen of the + occult. This is a proud moment. I have succeeded. Tomorrow I shall bring + to you the fact and the substance. I have lifted up the curtain and + flooded it with the light of day. You shall have the fact for your senses. + Tomorrow I shall explain it all. I shall deliver my greatest lecture; in + which my whole Me has come to a focus. It is not spiritualism nor + sophistry. It is concrete fact and common sense. The subject of my lecture + tomorrow will be: 'The Blind Spot.'” + </p> + <p> + Here begins the second part of the mystery. + </p> + <p> + We know now that the great lecture was never delivered. Immediately the + news was scattered out of the class-room. It became common property. It + was spread over the country and was featured in all the great metropolitan + dailies. In the lecture-room next morning seats were at a premium; + students, professors, instructors and all the prominent people who could + gain admission crowded into the hall; even the irrepressible reporters had + stolen in to take down the greatest scoop of the century. The place was + jammed until even standing room was unthought of. The crowd, dense and + packed and physically uncomfortable, waited. + </p> + <p> + The minutes dragged by. It was a long, long wait. But at last the bell + rang that ticked the hour. Every one was expectant. And then fifteen + minutes passed by, twenty—the crowd settled down to waiting. At + length one of the colleagues stepped into the doctor's office and + telephoned to his home. His daughter answered. + </p> + <p> + “Father? Why he left over two hours ago.” + </p> + <p> + “About what time?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it was about seven-thirty. You know he was to deliver his lecture + today on the Blind Spot. I wanted to hear it, but he told me I could have + it at home. He said he was to have a wonderful guest and I must make ready + to receive him. Isn't father there?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. Who was this guest? Did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes! In a way. A most wonderful man. And he gave him a wonderful name, + Rhamda Avec. I remember because it is so funny. I asked father if he was + Sanskrit; and he said he was much older than that. Just imagine!” + </p> + <p> + “Did your father have his lecture with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. He glanced over it at breakfast. He told me he was going to + startle the world as it had never been since the day of Columbus.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And he was terribly impatient. He said he had to be at the college + before eight to receive the great man. He was to deliver his lecture at + ten. And afterward he would have lunch at noon and he would give me the + whole story. I'm all impatience.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + Then he came back and made the announcement that there was a little delay; + but that Dr. Holcomb would be there shortly. But he was not. At twelve + o'clock there were still some people waiting. At one o'clock the last man + had slipped out of the room—and wondered. In all the country there + was but one person who knew. That one was an obscure man who had yielded + to a detective's intuition and had fallen inadvertently upon one of the + greatest mysteries of modern times. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. — “NOW THERE ARE TWO” + </h2> + <p> + The rest of the story is unfortunately all too easily told. We go back to + Jerome and his strange companion. + </p> + <p> + At Centre Street station they alighted and walked up to the university. + Under the Le Conte oaks they met the professor. He was trim and happy, his + short, well-built figure clothed in black, his snow-white whiskers trimmed + to the usual square crop and his pink skin glowing with splendid health. + The fog had by this time lifted and the sun was just beginning to overcome + the chilliness of the air. There was no necessity for an introduction. + </p> + <p> + The two men apparently recognised each other at once. So we have it from + the detective. There was sincerity in the delight of their hand-clasp. A + strange pair, both of them with the distinction and poise that come from + refinement and intellectual training; though in physique they were almost + opposite, there was still a strange, almost mutual, bond between them. Dr. + Holcomb was beaming. + </p> + <p> + “At last!” he greeted. “At last! I was sure we could not fail. This, my + dear Dr. Avec, is the greatest day since Columbus.” + </p> + <p> + The other took the hand. + </p> + <p> + “So this is the great Dr. Holcomb. Yes, indeed, it is a great day; though + I know nothing about your Columbus. So far it has been simply wonderful. I + can scarcely credit my senses. So near and yet so far. How can it be? A + dream? Are you sure, Dr. Holcomb?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Rhamda, I am sure that I am the happiest man that ever lived. It + is the culmination. I was certain we could not fail; though, of course, to + me also it is an almost impossible climax of fact. I should never have + succeeded without your assistance.” + </p> + <p> + The other smiled. + </p> + <p> + “That was of small account, my dear doctor. To yourself must go the + credit; to me the pleasure. Take your sun, for instance, I—but I + have not the language to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + But the doctor had gone in to abstraction. + </p> + <p> + “A great day,” he was beaming. “A great day! What will the world say? It + is proved.” Then suddenly: “You have eaten?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. You must allow me a bit of time. I thought of it; but I had not + quite the courage to venture.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we shall eat,” said the other man. “Afterward we shall go up to the + lecture-room. Today I shall deliver my lecture on the Blind Spot. And when + I am through you shall deliver the words that will astonish the world.” + </p> + <p> + But here it seems there was a hitch. The other shook his head kindly. It + was evident that while the doctor was the leader, the other was a + co-worker who must be considered. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid, professor, that you have promised a bit too much. I am not + entirely free yet, you know. Two hours is the most that I can give you; + and not entirely that. There are some details that may not be neglected. + It is a far venture and now that we have succeeded this far there is + surely no reason why we cannot go on. However, it is necessary that I + return to the house on Chatterton Place. I have but slightly over an hour + left.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor was plainly disappointed. + </p> + <p> + “But the lecture?” + </p> + <p> + “It means my life, professor, and the subsequent success of our + experiment. A few details, a few minutes. Perhaps if we hurry we can get + back in time.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor glanced at his watch. “Twenty minutes for the train, twenty + minutes for the boat, ten minutes; that's an hour, two hours. These + details? Have you any idea how long, Rhamda?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not more than fifteen minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “We have still two hours. Fifteen minutes; perhaps a little bit late. Tell + you what. I shall go with you. You can get on the boat.” + </p> + <p> + We have said that the detective had intuition. He had it still. Yet he had + no rational reason for suspecting either the professor or his strange + companion. Furthermore he had never heard of the Blind Spot in any way + whatsoever; nor did he know a single thing of philosophy or anything else + in Holcomb's teaching. He knew the doctor as a man of eminent standing and + respectability. It was hardly natural that he should suspect anything + sinister to grow out of this meeting of two refined scholars. He attached + no great importance to the trend of their conversation. It was strange, to + be sure; but he felt, no doubt, that living in their own world they had a + way and a language of their own. He was no scholar. + </p> + <p> + Still, he could think. The man Rhamda had made an assertion that he could + not quite uncover. It puzzled him. Something told him that for the safety + of his old friend it might be well for him to shadow the strange pair to + the city. + </p> + <p> + When the next train pulled out for the pier the two scholars were seated + in the forward part of the car. In the last seat was a man deeply immersed + in a morning paper. + </p> + <p> + It is rather unfortunate. In the natural delicacy of the situation Jerome + could not crowd too closely. He had no certainty of trouble; no proof + whatever; he was known to the professor. The best he could do was to keep + aloof and follow their movements. At the ferry building they hailed a taxi + and started up Market Street. Jerome watched them. In another moment he + had another driver and was winding behind in their wheel tracks. The cab + made straight for Chatterton Place. In front of a substantial two-story + house it drew up. The two men alighted. Jerome's taxi passed them. + </p> + <p> + They were then at the head of the steps; a woman of slender beauty with a + wonderful loose fold of black hair was talking. It seemed to the detective + that her voice was fearful, of a pregnant warning, that she was + protesting. Nevertheless, the old men entered and the door slammed behind + them. Jerome slipped from the taxi and spoke a few words to the driver. A + moment later the two men were holding the house under surveillance. + </p> + <p> + They did not have long to wait. The man called Rhamda had asked for + fifteen minutes. At the stroke of the second the front door re-opened. + Someone was laughing; a melodious enchanting laugh and feminine. A woman + was speaking. And then there were two forms in the doorway. A man and a + woman. The man was Rhamda Avec, tall, immaculate, black clad and + distinguished. The woman, Jerome was not certain that she was the same who + opened the door or not; she was even more beautiful. She was laughing. + Like her companion she was clad in black, a beautiful shimmering material + which sparkled in the sun like the rarest silk. The man glanced carelessly + up and down the street for a moment. Then he assisted the lady down the + steps and into the taxi. The door slammed; and before the detective could + gather his scattered wits they were lost in the city. + </p> + <p> + Jerome was expecting the professor. Naturally when the door opened he + looked for the old gentleman and his companion. It was the doctor he was + watching, not the other. Though he had no rational reason for expecting + trouble he had still his hunch and his intuition. The man and woman + aroused suspicion; and likewise upset his calculation. He could not follow + them and stay with the professor. It was a moment for quick decision. He + wondered. Where was Dr. Holcomb? This was the day he was to deliver his + lecture on the Blind Spot. He had read the announcement in the paper on + the way back, together with certain comments by the editor. In the lecture + itself there was mystery. This strange one, Rhamda, was mixed in the Blind + Spot. Undoubtedly he was the essential fact and substance. Until now he + had not scented tragedy. Why had Rhamda and the woman come out together? + Where was the professor? + </p> + <p> + Where indeed? + </p> + <p> + At the end of a half-hour Jerome ventured across the street. He noted the + number 288. Then he ascended the steps and clanged at the knocker. From + the sounds that came from inside, the place was but partly furnished. + Hollow steps sounded down the hallway, shuffling, like weary bones + dragging slippers. The door opened and an old woman, very old, peered out + of the crack. She coughed. Though it was not a loud cough it seemed to the + detective that it would be her last one; there was so little of her. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, but is Dr. Holcomb here?” + </p> + <p> + The old lady looked up at him. The eyes were of blank expressionless blue; + she was in her dotage. + </p> + <p> + “You mean—oh, yes, I think so, the old man with the white whiskers. + He was here a few minutes ago, with that other. But he just went out, sir, + he just went out.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't think so. There was a man went out and a woman. But not Dr. + Holcomb.” + </p> + <p> + “A woman? There was no woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, there was a woman—a very beautiful one.” + </p> + <p> + The old lady dropped her hand. It was trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear,” she was saying. “This makes two. This morning it was a man and + now it is a woman, that makes two.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to the man as he looked down in her eyes that he was looking + into great fear; she was so slight and frail and helpless and so old; such + a fragile thing to bear burden and trouble. Her voice was cracked and just + above a shrill whisper, almost uncanny. She kept repeating: + </p> + <p> + “Now there are two. Now there are two. That makes two. This morning there + was one. Now there are two.” + </p> + <p> + Jerome could not understand. He pitied the old lady. + </p> + <p> + “Did you say that Dr. Holcomb is here?” + </p> + <p> + Again she looked up: the same blank expression, she was evidently trying + to gather her wits. + </p> + <p> + “Two. A woman. Dr. Holcomb. Oh, yes, Dr. Holcomb. Won't you come in?” + </p> + <p> + She opened the door. + </p> + <p> + Jerome entered and took off his hat. Judicially he repeated the doctor's + name to keep it in her mind. She closed the door carefully and touched his + arm. It seemed to him that she was terribly weak and tottering; her old + eyes, however expressionless, were full of pitiful pleading. She was + scarcely more than a shadow. + </p> + <p> + “You are his son?” + </p> + <p> + Jerome lied; but he did it for a reason. “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then come.” + </p> + <p> + She took him by the sleeve and led him to a room, then across it to a door + in the side wall. Her step was slow and feeble; twice she stopped to sing + the dirge of her wonder. “First a man and then a woman. Now there is one. + You are his son.” And twice she stopped and listened. “Do you hear + anything? A bell? I love to hear it: and then afterward I am afraid. Did + you ever notice a bell? It always makes you think of church and the things + that are holy. This is a beautiful bell—first—” + </p> + <p> + Either the woman was without her reason or very nearly so: she was very + frail. + </p> + <p> + “Come, mother, I know, first a bell, but Dr. Holcomb?” + </p> + <p> + The name brought her back again. For a moment she was blank trying to + recall her senses. And then she remembered. She pointed to the door. + </p> + <p> + “In there—Dr. Holcomb. That's where they come. That's where they go. + Dr. Holcomb. The little old man with the beautiful whiskers. This morning + it was a man; now it is a woman. Now there are two. Oh, dear; perhaps we + shall hear the bell.” + </p> + <p> + Jerome began to scent a tragedy. Certainly the old lady was uncanny; the + house was bare and hollow; the scant furniture was threadbare with age and + mildew; each sound was exaggerated and fearful, even their breathing. He + placed his hand on the knob and opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “Now there are two. Now there are two.” + </p> + <p> + The room was empty. Not a bit of furniture; a blank, bare apartment with + an old-fashioned high ceiling. Nothing else. Whatever the weirdness and + adventure, Jerome was getting nowhere. The old lady was still clinging to + his arm and still droning: + </p> + <p> + “Now there are two. Now there are two. This morning a man; now a woman. + Now there are two.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, mother, come. This will not do. Perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + But just then the old lady's lean fingers clinched into his arm; her eyes + grew bright; her mouth opened and she stopped in the middle of her drone. + Jerome grew rigid. And no wonder. From the middle of the room not ten feet + away came the tone of a bell, a great silvery voluminous sound—and + music. A church bell. Just one stroke, full toned, filling all the air + till the whole room was choked with music. Then as suddenly it died out + and faded into nothing. At the same time he felt the fingers on his arm + relax; and a heap was at his feet. He reached over. The life and + intelligence that was so near the line was just crossing over the border. + The poor old lady! Here was a tragedy he could not understand. He stooped + over to assist her. He was trembling. As he did so he heard the drone of + her soul as it wafted to the shadow: + </p> + <p> + “Now there are two.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. — GONE + </h2> + <p> + Jerome was a strong man, of iron nerve, and well set against emotion; in + the run of his experience he had been plumped into many startling + situations; but none like this. The croon of the old lady thrummed in his + ears with endless repetition. He picked her up tenderly and bore her to + another room and placed her on a ragged sofa. There were still marks on + her face of former beauty. He wondered who she was and what had been her + life to come to such an ending. + </p> + <p> + “Now there are two,” the words were withering with oppression. + Subconsciously he felt the load that crushed her spirit. It was as if the + burden had been shifted; he sensed the weight of an unaccountable + disaster. + </p> + <p> + The place was musty and ill-lighted. He looked about him, the dank, close + air was unwashed by daylight. A stray ray of sunshine filtering through + the broken shutter slanted across the room and sought vainly to dispel the + shadow. He thought of Dr. Holcomb and the old lady. “Now there are two.” + Was it a double tragedy? First of all he must investigate. + </p> + <p> + The place was of eleven rooms, six downstairs and five on the upper story. + With the exception of one broken chair there was no furniture upstairs; + four of the rooms on the lower floor were partly furnished, two not at + all. A rear room had evidently been to the old lady the whole of her + habitation, serving as a kitchen, bedroom, and living-room combined. + Except in this room there were no carpets what-ever. His steps sounded + hollow and ghostly; the boards creaked and each time he opened a door he + was oppressed by the same gloom of dankness and stagnation. There was no + trace of Dr. Holcomb. + </p> + <p> + He remembered the bell and sought vainly on both floors for anything that + would give him a clue to the sound. There was nothing. The only thing he + heard was the echoing of his own creaking footsteps and the unceasing tune + that dinned in his spirit, “Now there are two.” + </p> + <p> + At last he came to the door and looked out into the street. The sun was + shining and the life and pulse was rising from the city. It was daylight; + plain, healthy day. It was good to look at. On the threshold of the door + he felt himself standing on the border of two worlds. What had become of + the doctor and who was the old lady; and lastly and just as important, who + was the Rhamda and his beautiful companion? + </p> + <p> + Jerome telephoned to headquarters. + </p> + <p> + It was a strange case. + </p> + <p> + At the precise minute when his would-be auditors were beginning to fidget + over his absence, the police of San Francisco had started the search for + the great doctor. Jerome had followed his intuition. It had led him into a + tragedy and he was ready to swear almost on his soul that it was twofold. + The prominence of the professor, together with his startling announcement + of the day previous and the world-wide comment that it had aroused, + elevated the case to a national interest. + </p> + <p> + What was the Blind Spot? The world conjectured, and like the world has + been since beginning, it scoffed and derided. Some there were, however, + men well up in the latest discoveries of science, who did not laugh. They + counselled forbearance; they would wait for the doctor and his lecture. + </p> + <p> + There was no lecture. In the teeth of our expectation came the startling + word that the doctor had disappeared. Apparently when on the very verge of + announcing his discovery he had been swallowed by the very force that he + had loosened. There was nothing in known science outside of optics, that + could in any way be blended with the Blind Spot. There were but two + solutions; either the professor had been a victim of a clever rogue, or he + had been overcome by the rashness of his own wisdom. At any rate, it was + known from that minute on as “THE BLIND SPOT.” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it is just as well to take up the findings of the police. The + police of course never entertained any suggestion of the occult. They are + material; and were convinced from the start that the case had its origin + in downright villainy. Man is complex; but being so, is oft overbalanced + by evil Some genius had made a fool of the doctor. + </p> + <p> + In the first place a thorough search was made for the professor. The house + at No. 288 Chatterton Place was ransacked from cellar to attic. The + records were gone over and it was found that the property had for some + time been vacant; that the real ownership was vested in a number of heirs + scattered about the country. + </p> + <p> + The old lady had apparently been living on the place simply through + sufferance. No one could find out who she was. A few tradesman in the + vicinity had sold her some scant supplies and that was all. The stress + that Jerome placed upon her actions and words was; given its due account. + There were undoubtedly two villains; but there were two victims. That the + old lady was such as well as the professor no one has doubted. The whole + secret lay in the gentleman with the Eastern cast and complexion. Who was + Rhamda Avec? + </p> + <p> + And now comes the strangest part of the story. Ever, when we re-count the + tale, there is something to overturn the theories of the police. It has + become a sort of legend in San Francisco; one to be taken with a grain of + salt, to be sure, but for all that, one at which we may well wonder. Here + the supporters of the professor's philosophy hold their strongest point—if + it is true. Of course we can venture no private opinion, never having been + a witness. It is this: + </p> + <p> + Rhamda Avec is with us and in our city. His description and drawn likeness + have been published many times. There are those who aver that they have + seen him in reality of the flesh walking through the crowds of Market + Street. + </p> + <p> + He is easily distinguished, tall and distinctive, refined to a high + degree, and with the poise and alertness of a gentleman of reliance and + character. Women look twice and wonder; he is neither old nor young; when + he smiles it is like youth breaking in laughter. And with him often is his + beautiful companion. + </p> + <p> + Men vouch for her beauty and swear that it is of the kind that drives to + distraction. She is fire and flesh and carnal—she is more than + beauty. There is allurement about her body; sylph-like, sinuous; the olive + tint of her complexion, the wonderful glory of her hair and the glowing + night-black of her eyes. Men pause; she is of the superlative kind that + robs the reason, a supreme glory of passion and life and beauty, at whose + feet fools and wise men would slavishly frolic and folly. She seldom + speaks, but those who have heard her say that it is like rippling water, + of gentleness and softness and of the mellow flow that comes from love and + passion and from beauty. + </p> + <p> + Of course there is nothing out of the ordinary in their walking down the + streets. Anybody might do that. The wonder comes in the manner in which + they elude the police. They come and go in the broad, bright daylight. + Hundreds have seen them. They make no effort at concealment, nor disguise. + And yet no phantoms were ever more unreal than they to those who seek + them. Who are they? The officers have been summoned on many occasions; but + each and every time in some manner or way they had contrived to elude + them. There are some who have consigned them to the limbo of illusion. But + we do not entirely agree. + </p> + <p> + In a case like this it is well to take into consideration the + respectability and character of those who have witnessed. Phantoms are not + corporeal; these two are flesh and blood. There is mystery about them; but + they are substance, the same as we are. + </p> + <p> + And lastly: + </p> + <p> + If you will take the Key Route ferry some foggy morning you may see + something to convince you. It must be foggy and the air must be grey and + drab and sombre. Take the lower deck. Perhaps you will see nothing. If not + try again; for they say you shall be rewarded. Watch the forward part of + the boat; but do not leave the inner deck. The great Rhamda watching the + grey swirl of the water! + </p> + <p> + He stands alone, in his hands the case of reddish leather, his feet + slightly apart and his face full of a great hungry wonder. Watch his + features: they are strong and aglow with a great and wondrous wisdom; mark + if you see evil. And remember. Though he is like you he is something + vastly different. He is flesh and blood; but perhaps the master of one of + the greatest laws that man can attain to. He is the fact and the substance + that was promised, but was not delivered by the professor. + </p> + <p> + This account has been largely taken from one of the Sunday editions of our + papers. I do not agree with it entirely. Nevertheless, it will serve as an + excellent foundation for my own adventures; and what is best of all, save + labour. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. — FRIENDS + </h2> + <p> + My name is Harry Wendel. + </p> + <p> + I am an attorney and until recently boasted of a splendid practice and an + excellent prospect for the future. I am still a young man; I have had a + good education and still have friends and admirers. Such being the case, + you no doubt wonder why I give a past reference to my practice and what + the future might have held for me. Listen: + </p> + <p> + I might as well start 'way back. I shall do it completely and go back to + the fast-receding time of childhood. + </p> + <p> + There is a recollection of childish disaster. I had been making strenuous + efforts to pull the tail out of the cat that I might use it for a feather + duster. My desire was supreme logic. I could not understand objection; the + cat resisted for certain utilitarian reasons of its own and my mother + through humane sympathy. I had been scratched and spanked in addition: it + was the first storm centre that I remember. I had been punished but not + subdued. At the first opportunity, I stole out of the house and onto the + lawn that stretched out to the pavement. + </p> + <p> + I remember the day. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and everything + was green with springtime. For a minute I stood still and blinked in the + sunlight. It was beautiful and soft and balmy; the world at full + exuberance; the buds upon the trees, the flowers, and the songbirds + singing. I could not understand it. It was so beautiful and soft. My heart + was still beating fiercely, still black with perversity and stricken + rancour. The world had no right to be so. I hated with the full rush of + childish anger. + </p> + <p> + And then I saw. + </p> + <p> + Across the street coming over to meet me was a child of my age. He was fat + and chubby, a mass of yellow curls and laughter; when he walked he held + his feet out at angles as is the manner of fat boys and his arms away from + his body. I slid off the porch quietly. Here was something that could + suffer for the cat and my mother. At my rush he stopped in wonder. I + remember his smiling face and my anger. In an instant I had him by the + hair and was biting with all the fury of vindictiveness. + </p> + <p> + At first he set up a great bawl for assistance. He could not understand; + he screamed and held his hands aloft to keep them out of my reach. Then he + tried to run away. But I had learned from the cat that had scratched me. I + clung on, biting, tearing. The shrill of his scream was music: it was + conflict, sweet and delicious; it was strife, swift as instinct. + </p> + <p> + At last I stopped him; he ceased trying to get away and began to struggle. + It was better still; it was resistance. But he was stronger than I; though + I was quicker he managed to get my by the shoulders, to force me back, and + finally to upset me. Then in the stolid way, and after the manner of fat + boys, he sat upon my chest. When our startled mothers came upon the scene + they so found us—I upon my back, clinching my teeth and threatening + all the dire fates of childhood, and he waiting either for assistance or + until my ire should retire sufficiently to allow him to release me in + safety. + </p> + <p> + “Who did it? Who started it?” + </p> + <p> + That I remember plainly. + </p> + <p> + “Hobart, did you do this?” The fat boy backed off quietly and clung to his + mother; but he did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Hobart, did you start this?” + </p> + <p> + Still no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Harry, this was you; you started it. Didn't you try to hurt Hobart?” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. + </p> + <p> + My mother took me by the hand and drew me away. + </p> + <p> + “He is a rascal, Mrs. Fenton, and has a temper like sin; but he will tell + the truth, thank goodness.” + </p> + <p> + I am telling this not for the mere relation, but by way of introduction. + It was my first meeting with Hobart Fenton. It is necessary that you know + us both and our characters. Our lives are so entwined and so related that + without it you could not get the gist of the story. In the afternoon I + came across the street to play with Hobart. He met me smiling. It was not + in his healthy little soul to hold resentment. I was either all smiles or + anger. I forgot as quickly as I battled. That night there were two happy + youngsters tucked into the bed and covers. + </p> + <p> + So we grew up; one with the other. We played as children do and fought as + boys have done from the beginning. I shall say right now that the fights + were mostly my fault. I started them one and all; and if every battle had + the same beginning it likewise had the same ending. The first fight was + but the forerunner of all the others. + </p> + <p> + Please do not think hardly of Hobart. He is the kindest soul in the world; + there never was a truer lad nor a kinder heart. He was strong, healthy, + fat, and, like fat boys, forever laughing. He followed me into trouble and + when I was retreating he valiantly defended the rear. Stronger, sturdier, + and slower, he has been a sort of protector from the beginning. I have + called him the Rear Guard; and he does not resent it. + </p> + <p> + I have always been in mischief, restless, and eager for anything that + would bring quick action; and when I got into deep water Hobart would come + along, pluck me out and pull me to shore and safety. Did you ever see a + great mastiff and a fox terrier running together? It is a homely + illustration; but an apt one. + </p> + <p> + We were boys together, with our delights and troubles, joys and sorrows. I + thought so much of Hobart that I did not shirk stooping to help him take + care of his baby sister. That is about the supreme sacrifice of a boy's + devotion. In after years, of course, he has laughed at me and swears I did + it on purpose. I do not know, but I am willing to admit that I think a + whole lot of that sister. + </p> + <p> + Side by side we grew up and into manhood. We went to school and into + college. Even as we were at odds in our physical builds and our + dispositions, so were we in our studies. From the beginning Hobart has had + a mania for screws, bolts, nuts, and pistons. He is practical; he likes + mathematics; he can talk to you from the binomial theorem up into + Calculus; he is never so happy as when the air is buzzing with a + conversation charged with induction coils, alternating currents, or atomic + energy. The whole swing and force of popular science is his kingdom. I + will say for Hobart that he is just about in line to be king of it all. + Today he is in South America, one of our greatest engineers. He is + bringing the water down from the Andes; and it is just about like those + strong shoulders and that good head to restore the land of the Incas. + </p> + <p> + About myself? I went into the law. I enjoy an atmosphere of strife and + contention. I liked books and discussion and I thought that I would like + the law. On the advice of my elders I entered law college, and in due time + was admitted to practice. It was while studying to qualify that I first + ran into philosophy. I was a lad to enjoy quick, pithy, epigrammatic + statements. I have always favoured a man who hits from the shoulder. + Professor Holcomb was a man of terse, heavy thinking; he spoke what he + thought and he did not quibble. He favoured no one. + </p> + <p> + I must confess that the old white-haired professor left his stamp upon me. + I loved him like all the rest; though I was not above playing a trick on + the old fellow occasionally. Still he had a wit of his own and seldom came + out second best, and when he lost out he could laugh like the next one. I + was deeply impressed by him. As I took course after course under him I was + convinced that for all of his dry philosophy the old fellow had a trick up + his sleeve; he had a way of expounding that was rather startling; + likewise, he had a scarcely concealed contempt for some of the demigods of + our old philosophy. + </p> + <p> + What this trick was I could never uncover. I hung on and dug into great + tomes of wisdom. I became interested and gradually took up with his + speculation; for all my love of action I found that I had a strong + subcurrent for the philosophical. + </p> + <p> + Now I roomed with Hobart. When I would come home with some dry tome and + would lose myself in it by the hour he could not understand it. I was + preparing for the law. He could see no advantage to be derived from this + digging into speculation. He was practical and unless he could drive a + nail into a thing or at least dig into its chemical elements it was hard + to get him interested. + </p> + <p> + “Of what use is it, Harry? Why waste your brains? These old fogies have + been pounding on the question for three thousand years. What have they + got? You could read all their literature from the pyramids down to the + present sky-scrapers and you wouldn't get enough practical wisdom to drive + a dump-cart.” + </p> + <p> + “That's just it,” I answered. “I'm not hankering for a dump-cart. You have + an idea that all the wisdom in the world is locked up in the concrete; + unless a thing has wheels, pistons, some sort of combustion, or a chemical + action you are not interested. What gives you the control over your + machinery? Brains! But what makes the mind go?” + </p> + <p> + Hobart blinked. “Fine,” he answered. “Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I answered, “that's what I am after.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. “Great. Well, keep at it. It's your funeral, Harry. When you + have found, it let me know and I'll beat you to the patent.” + </p> + <p> + With that he turned to his desk and dug into one of his everlasting + formulas. Just the same, next day when I entered Holcomb's lecture-room I + was in for a surprise. My husky room-mate was in the seat beside me. + </p> + <p> + “What's the big idea?” I asked. “Big idea is right, Harry,” he grinned. + “Just thought I would beat you to it. Had a dickens of a time with Dan + Clark, of the engineering department. Told him I wanted to study + philosophy. The old boy put up a beautiful holler. Couldn't understand + what an engineer would want with psychology or ethics. Neither could I + until I got to thinking last night when I went to roost. Because a thing + has never been done is no reason why it never will be; is it, Harry?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not. I don't know just what you are driving at. Perhaps you + intend to take your notes over to the machine shop and hammer out the + Secret of the Absolute.” + </p> + <p> + He grinned. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty wise head at that, Harry. What did you call it? The Secret of the + Absolute. Will remember that. I'm not much on phrases; but I'm sure the + strong boy with the hammer. You don't object to my sitting here beside + you; so that I, too, may drink in the little drops of wisdom?” + </p> + <p> + It was in this way that Hobart entered into the study of philosophy. When + the class was over and we were going down the steps he patted me on the + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “That's not so bad, Harry. Not so bad. The old doctor is there; he's got + them going. Likewise little Hobart has got a big idea.” + </p> + <p> + Now it happened that this was just about six weeks before Dr. Holcomb + announced his great lecture on the Blind Spot. It was not more than a week + after registration. In the time ensuing Fenton became just as great an + enthusiast as myself. His idea, of course, was chimerical and a blind; his + main purpose was to get in with me where he could argue me out of my + folly. + </p> + <p> + He wound up by being a convert of the professor. + </p> + <p> + Then came the great day. The night of the announcement we had a long + discussion. It was a deep question. For all of my faith in the professor I + was hardly prepared for a thing like this. Strange to say I was the + sceptic; and stranger still, it was Hobart who took the side of the + doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he said. “It merely comes down to this: you grant that a thing + is possible and then you deny the possibility of a proof—outside of + your abstract. That's good paradox, Harry; but almighty poor logic. If it + is so it certainly can be proven. There's not one reason in the world why + we can't have something concrete. The professor is right. I am with him. + He's the only professor in all the ages.” + </p> + <p> + Well, it turned out as it did. It was a terrible blow to us all. Most of + the world took it as a great murder or an equally great case of abduction. + There were but few, even in the university, who embraced the side of the + doctor. It was a case of villainy, of a couple of remarkably clever rogues + and a trusting scholar. + </p> + <p> + But there was one whose faith was not diminished. He had been one of the + last to come under the influence of the doctor. He was practical and + concrete, and not at all attuned to philosophy; he had not the training + for deep dry thinking. He would not recede one whit. One day I caught him + sitting down with his head between his hands. I touched him on the + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “What's the deep study?” I asked him. + </p> + <p> + He looked up. By his eyes I could see that his thoughts had been far away. + </p> + <p> + “What's the deep study?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “I was just thinking, Harry; just thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “I was just thinking, Harry, that I would like to have about one hundred + thousand dollars and about ten years' leisure.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a nice thought,” I answered; “I could think that myself. What + would you do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Do? Why, there is just one thing that I would do if I had that much + money. I would solve the Blind Spot.” + </p> + <p> + This happened years ago while we were still in college. Many things have + occurred since then. I am writing this on the verge of disaster. How + little do we know! What was the idea that buzzed in the head of Hobart + Fenton? He is concrete, physical, fearless. He is in South America. I have + cabled to him and expect him as fast as steam can bring him. The great + idea and discovery of the professor is a fact, not fiction. What is it? + That I cannot answer. I have found it and I am a witness to its potency. + </p> + <p> + Some law has been missed through the ages. It is inexorable and insidious; + it is concrete. Out of the unknown comes terror. Through the love for the + great professor I have pitted myself against it. From the beginning it has + been almost hopeless. I remember that last digression in ethics. “The + mystery of the occult may be solved. We are five-sensed. When we bring the + thing down to the concrete we may understand.” + </p> + <p> + Sometimes I wonder at the Rhamda. Is he a man or a phantom? Does he + control the Blind Spot? Is he the substance and the proof that was + promised by Dr. Holcomb? Through what process and what laws did the + professor acquire even his partial control over the phenomena? Where did + the Rhamda and his beautiful companion come from? Who are they? And lastly—what + was the idea that buzzed in the head of Hobart Fenton? + </p> + <p> + When I look back now I wonder. I have never believed in fate. I do not + believe in it now. Man is the master of his own destiny. We are cowards + else. Whatever is to be known we should know it. One's duty is ever to + one's fellows. Heads up and onward. I am not a brave man, perhaps, under + close analysis; but once I have given my word I shall keep it. I have done + my bit; my simple duty. Perhaps I have failed. In holding myself against + the Blind Spot I have done no more than would have been done by a million + others. I have only one regret. Failure is seldom rewarded. I had hoped + that my life would be the last; I have a dim hope still. If I fail in the + end, there must be still one more to follow. + </p> + <p> + Understand I do not expect to die. It is the unknown that I am afraid of. + I who thought that we knew so much have found it still so little. There + are so many laws in the weave of Cosmos that are still unguessed. What is + this death that we are afraid of? What is life? Can we solve it? Is it + permissible? What is the Blind Spot? If Hobart Fenton is right it has + nothing to do with death. If so, what is it? + </p> + <p> + My pen is weak. I am weary. I am waiting for Hobart. Perhaps I shall not + last. When he comes I want him to know my story. What he knows already + will not hurt repeating. It is well that man shall have it; it may be that + we shall both fail-there is no telling; but if we do the world can profit + by our blunders and guide itself—perhaps to the mastery of the + phenomenon that controls the Blind Spot. + </p> + <p> + I ask you to bear with me. If I make a few mistakes or I am a bit loose, + remember the stress under which I am writing. I shall try to be plain so + that all may follow. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. — CHICK WATSON + </h2> + <p> + Now to go back. + </p> + <p> + In due time we were both of us graduated from college. I went into the law + and Hobart into engineering. We were both successful. There was not a + thing to foreshadow that either of us was to be jerked from his + profession. There was no adventure, but lots of work and reward in + proportion. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps I was a bit more fortunate. I was in love and Hobart was still a + confirmed bachelor. It was a subject over which he was never done joking. + It was not my fault. I was innocent. If the blame ran anywhere it would + have to be placed upon that baby sister of his. + </p> + <p> + It happened as it happened since God first made the maiden. One autumn + Hobart and I started off for college. We left Charlotte at the gate a girl + of fifteen years and ten times as many angles. I pulled one of her + pigtails, kissed her, and told her I wanted her to get pretty. When we + came home next summer I went over to pull the other pigtail. I did not + pull it. I was met by the fairest young woman I had ever looked on. And I + could not kiss her. Seriously, was I to blame? + </p> + <p> + Now to the incident. + </p> + <p> + It was a night in September. Hobart had completed his affairs and had + booked passage to South America. He was to sail next morning. We had + dinner that day with his family, and then came up to San Francisco for a + last and farewell bachelor night. We could take in the opera together, + have supper at our favourite cafe, and then turn in. It was a long hark + back to our childhood; but for all that we were still boys together. + </p> + <p> + I remember that night. It was our favourite opera—“Faust.” It was + the one piece that we could agree on. Looking back since, I have wondered + at the coincidence. The old myth of age to youth and the subcurrent of sin + with its stalking, laughing, subtle Mephistopheles. It is strange that we + should have gone to this one opera on this one evening. I recall our + coming out of the theatre; our minds thrilling to the music and the subtle + weirdness of the theme. + </p> + <p> + A fog had fallen—one of those thick, heavy, grey mists that + sometimes come upon us in September. Into its sombre depths the crowd + disappeared like shadows. The lights upon the streets blurred yellow. At + the cold sheer contact we hesitated upon the pavement. + </p> + <p> + I had on a light overcoat. Hobart, bound for the tropics, had no such + protection. It was cold and miserable, a chill wind stirring from the + north was unusually cutting. Hobart raised his collar and dug his hands + into his pockets. + </p> + <p> + “Brr,” he muttered; “brr, some coffee or some wine. Something.” + </p> + <p> + The sidewalks were wet and slippery, the mists settling under the lights + had the effect of drizzle. I touched Hobart's arm and we started across + the street. + </p> + <p> + “Brr is right,” I answered, “and some wine. Notice the shadows, like + ghosts.” + </p> + <p> + We were half across the street before he answered; then he stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Ghosts! Did you say ghosts, Harry?” I noted a strange inflection in his + voice. He stood still and peered into the fog bank. His stop was sudden + and suggestive. Just then a passing taxicab almost caught us and we were + compelled to dodge quickly. Hobart ducked out of the way and I + side-stepped in another direction. We came up on the sidewalk. Again he + peered into the shadow. + </p> + <p> + “Confound that cab,” he was saying, “now we have gone and missed him.” + </p> + <p> + He took off his hat and then put it back on his head. His favourite trick + when bewildered. I looked up and down the street. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you see him? Harry! Didn't you see him? It was Rhamda Avec!” + </p> + <p> + I had seen no one; that is to notice; I did not know the Rhamda. Neither + did he. + </p> + <p> + “The Rhamda? You don't know him.” + </p> + <p> + Hobart was puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said; “I do not; but it was he, just as sure as I am a fat man.” + </p> + <p> + I whistled. I recalled the tale that was now a legend. The man had an + affinity for the fog mist. To come out of “Faust” and to run into the + Rhamda! What was the connection? For a moment we both stood still and + waited. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder—” said Hobart. “I was just thinking about that fellow + tonight. Strange! Well, let's get something hot—some coffee.” + </p> + <p> + But it had given us something for discussion. Certainly it was unusual. + During the past few days I had been thinking of Dr. Holcomb; and for the + last few hours the tale had clung with reiterating persistence. Perhaps it + was the weirdness and the tremulous intoxication of the music. I was one + of the vast majority who disbelieved it. Was it possible that it was, + after all, other than the film of fancy? There are times when we are + receptive; at that moment I could have believed it. + </p> + <p> + We entered the cafe and chose a table slightly to the rear. It was a + contrast to the cold outside; the lights so bright, the glasses clinking, + laughter and music. A few young people were dancing. I sat down; in a + moment the lightness and jollity had stirred my blood. Hobart took a chair + opposite. The place was full of beauty. In the back of my mind blurred the + image of Rhamda. I had never seen him; but I had read the description. I + wondered absently at the persistence. + </p> + <p> + I have said that I do not believe in fate. I repeat it. Man should control + his own destiny. A great man does. Perhaps that is it. I am not great. + Certainly it was circumstance. + </p> + <p> + In the back part of the room at one of the tables was a young man sitting + alone. Something caught my attention. Perhaps it was his listlessness or + the dreamy unconcern with which he watched the dancers; or it may have + been the utter forlornness of his expression. I noted his unusual pallor + and his cast of dissipation, also the continual working of his long, lean + fingers. There are certain set fixtures in the night life of any city. But + this was not one. He was not an habitue. There was a certain greatness to + his loneliness and his isolation. I wondered. + </p> + <p> + Just then he looked up. By a mere coincidence our eyes met. He smiled, a + weak smile and a forlorn one, and it seemed to me rather pitiful. Then as + suddenly his glance wandered to the door behind me. Perhaps there was + something in my expression that caught Hobart's attention. He turned + about. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Harry, who is that fellow? I know that face, I'm certain.” + </p> + <p> + “Come to think I have seen him myself. I wonder—” + </p> + <p> + The young man looked up again. The same weary smile. He nodded. And again + he glanced over my shoulder toward the door. His face suddenly hardened. + </p> + <p> + “He knows us at any rate,” I ventured. + </p> + <p> + Now Hobart was sitting with his face toward the entrance. He could see + anyone coming or going. Following the young man's glance he looked over my + shoulder. He suddenly reached over and took me by the forearm. + </p> + <p> + “Don't look round,” he warned; “take it easy. As I said—on my honour + as a fat man.” + </p> + <p> + The very words foretold. I could not but risk a glance. Across the room a + man was coming down the aisle—a tall man, dark, and of a very + decided manner. I had read his description many times; I had seen his + likeness drawn by certain sketch artists of the city. They did not do him + justice. He had a wonderful way and presence—you might say, + magnetism. I noticed the furtive wondering glances that were cast, + especially by the women. He was a handsome man beyond denying, about the + handsomest I had ever seen. The same elusiveness. + </p> + <p> + At first I would have sworn him to be near sixty; the next minute I was + just as certain of his youth. There was something about him that could not + be put to paper, be it strength, force or vitality; he was subtle. His + step was prim and distinctive, light as shadow, in one hand he carried the + red case that was so often mentioned. I breathed an exclamation. + </p> + <p> + Hobart nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Am I a fat man? The famous Rhamda! What say! Ah, ha! He has business with + our wan friend yonder. See!” + </p> + <p> + And it was so. He took a chair opposite the wan one. The young man + straightened. His face was even more familiar, but I could not place him. + His lips were set; in their grim line—determination; whatever his + exhaustion there was still a will. Somehow one had a respect for this weak + one; he was not a mere weakling. Yet I was not so sure that he was not + afraid of the Rhamda. He spoke to the waiter. The Rhamda began talking. I + noted the poise in his manner; it was not evil, rather was it calm—and + calculating. He made an indication. The young man drew back. He smiled; it + was feeble and weary, but for all of that disdainful. Though one had a + pity for his forlornness, there was still an admiration. The waiter + brought glasses. + </p> + <p> + The young man swallowed his drink at a gulp, the other picked his up and + sipped it. Again he made the indication. The youth dropped his hand upon + the table, a pale blue light followed the movement of his fingers. The + older man pointed. So that was their contention? A jewel? After all our + phantom was material enough to desire possession; his solicitude was + calmness, but for all that aggression. I could sense a battle, but the + young man turned the jewel to the palm side of his fingers; he shook his + head. + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda drew up. For a moment he waited. Was it for surrender? Once he + started to speak, but was cut short by the other. For all of his weakness + there was spirit to the young man. He even laughed. The Rhamda drew out a + watch. He held up two fingers. I heard Hobart mumble. + </p> + <p> + “Two minutes. Well, I'm betting on the young one. Too much soul. He's not + dead; just weary.” + </p> + <p> + He was right. At exactly one hundred and twenty seconds the Rhamda closed + his watch. He spoke something. Again the young man laughed. He lit a + cigarette; from the flicker and jerk of the flame he was trembling. But he + was still emphatic. The other rose from the table, walked down the aisle + and out of the building. The youth spread out both arms and dropped his + head upon the table. + </p> + <p> + It was a little drama enacted almost in silence. Hobart and I exchanged + glances. The mere glimpse of the Rhamda had brought us both back to the + Blind Spot. Was there any connection? Who was the young man with the life + sapped out? I had a recollection of a face strangely familiar. Hobart + interrupted my thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “I'd give just about one leg for the gist of that conversation. That was + the Rhamda; but who is the other ghost?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think it has to do with the Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think,” averred Hobart. “I know. Wonder what's the time.” He + glanced at his watch. “Eleven thirty.” + </p> + <p> + Just here the young man at the table raised up his head. The cigarette was + still between his fingers; he puffed lamely for a minute, taking a dull + note of his surroundings. In the well of gaiety and laughter coming from + all parts of the room his actions were out of place. He seemed dazed; + unable to pull himself together. Suddenly he looked at us. He started. + </p> + <p> + “He certainly knows us,” I said. “I wonder—by George, he's coming + over.” + </p> + <p> + Even his step was feeble. There was exertion about every move of his body, + the wanness and effort of vanished vitality; he balanced himself + carefully. Slowly, slowly, line by line his features became familiar, the + underlines of another, the ghost of one departed. At first I could not + place him. He held himself up for breath. Who was he? Then it suddenly + came to me—back to the old days at college—an athlete, one of + the best of fellows, one of the sturdiest of men! He had come to this! + </p> + <p> + Hobart was before me. + </p> + <p> + “By all the things that are holy!” he exclaimed. “Chick Watson! Here, have + a seat. In the name of Heavens, Chick! What on earth—” + </p> + <p> + The other dropped feebly into the chair. The body that had once been so + powerful was a skeleton. His coat was a disguise of padding. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Hobart; hello, Harry,” he spoke in a whisper. “Not much like the + old Chick, am I? First thing, I'll take some brandy.” + </p> + <p> + It was almost tragic. I glanced at Hobart and nodded to the waiter. Could + it be Chick Watson? I had seen him a year before, hale, healthy, + prosperous. And here he was—a wreck! + </p> + <p> + “No,” he muttered, “I'm not sick—not sick. Lord, boys, it's good to + meet you. I just thought I would come out for this one last night, hear + some music, see a pretty face, perhaps meet a friend. But I am afraid—” + He dropped off like one suddenly drifting into slumber. + </p> + <p> + “Hustle that waiter,” I said to Hobart. “Hurry that brandy.” + </p> + <p> + The stimulant seemed to revive him. He lifted up suddenly. There was fear + in his eyes; then on seeing himself among friends—relief. He turned + to me. + </p> + <p> + “Think I'm sick, don't you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “You certainly are,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm not.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment silence. I glanced at Hobart. Hobart nodded. + </p> + <p> + “You're just about in line for a doctor, Chick, old boy,” I said. “I'm + going to see that you have one. Bed for you, and the care of mother—” + </p> + <p> + He started; he seemed to jerk himself together. + </p> + <p> + “That's it, Harry; that's what I wanted. It's so hard for me to think. + Mother, mother! That's why I came downtown. I wanted a friend. I have + something for you to give to mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Rats,” I said. “I'll take you to her. What are you talking about?” + </p> + <p> + But he shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I wish that you were telling the truth, Harry. But it's no use—not + after tonight. All the doctors in the world could not save me. I'm not + sick, boys, far from it.” + </p> + <p> + Hobart spoke up. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Chick? I have a suspicion. Am I right?” + </p> + <p> + Chick looked up; he closed his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Hobart, what's your suspicion?” + </p> + <p> + Fenton leaned over. It seemed to me that he was peering into the other's + soul. He touched his forearm. + </p> + <p> + “Chick, old boy, I think I know. But tell me. Am I right? It's the Blind + Spot.” + </p> + <p> + At the words Watson opened his eyes; they were full of hope and wonder, + for a moment, and then, as suddenly of a great despair. His body went to a + heap. His voice was feeble. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered, “I am dying—of the Blind Spot” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. — THE RING + </h2> + <p> + It was a terrible thing; death stalking out of the Blind Spot. We had + almost forgotten. It had been a story hitherto—a wonderful one to be + sure, and one to arouse conjecture. I had never thought that we were to be + brought to its shivering contact. It was out of the occult; it had been so + pronounced by the professor; a great secret of life holding out a guerdon + of death to its votaries. Witness Chick Watson, the type of healthy, + fighting manhood—come to this. He opened his eyes feebly; one could + see the light; the old spirit was there—fighting for life. What was + this struggle of soul and flesh? Why had the soul hung on? He made another + effort. + </p> + <p> + “More drink,” he asked; “more drink. Anything to hold me together. I must + tell you. You must take my place and—and—fight the Blind Spot! + Promise that—” + </p> + <p> + “Order the drinks,” I told Hobart. “I see Dr. Hansen over there. Even if + we cannot save him we must hold him until we get his story.” + </p> + <p> + I went and fetched Hansen over. + </p> + <p> + “A strange case,” he murmured. “Pulse normal; not a trace of fever. Not + sick, you say—” Hobart pointed to his head. “Ah, I see! I would + suggest home and a bed.” + </p> + <p> + Just here Watson opened his eyes again. They rested first upon the doctor, + then upon myself, and finally upon the brandy. He took it up and drank it + with eagerness. It was his third one; it gave him a bit more life. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I tell you, boys, that there is not a doctor on earth that can + save me? Excuse me, doc. I am not sick. I told them. I am far past physic; + I have gone beyond medicine. All I ask is stimulant and life enough to + tell my story.” + </p> + <p> + “My boy,” asked the doctor kindly, “what ails you?” + </p> + <p> + Watson smiled. He touched himself on the forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Up here, doc. There are things in the world with which we may not tamper. + I tried it. Somebody had to do it and somebody has to do it yet. You + remember Dr. Holcomb; he was a great man; he was after the secret of life. + He began it.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Hansen started. + </p> + <p> + “Lord!” he exclaimed, looking at us all; “you don't mean this man is mixed + up in the Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + We nodded. Watson smiled; again he dropped back into inertia; the speech + he had made was his longest yet; the brandy was coming into effect. + </p> + <p> + “Give him brandy,” the doctor said; “it's as good as anything. It will + hold him together and give him life for a while. Here.” He reached into + his pocket and flicked something into the glass. “That will help him. + Gentlemen, do you know what it means? I had always thought! I knew Dr. + Holcomb! Crossing over the border! It may not be done! The secret of life + is impossible. Yet—” + </p> + <p> + Watson opened his eyes again; his spirit seemed suddenly to flicker into + defiance. + </p> + <p> + “Who said it was impossible? Who said it? Gentlemen, it IS possible. Dr. + Holcomb—pardon me. I do not wish to appear a sot; but this brandy is + about the only thing to hold me together. I have only a few hours left.” + </p> + <p> + He took the glass, and at one gulp downed the contents. I do not know what + the doctor had dropped into it. Chick revived suddenly, and a strange + light blazed up in his eyes, like life rekindled. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, now I am better. So?” + </p> + <p> + He turned to us all; then to the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “So you say the secret of life is impossible?” + </p> + <h3> + “I—” + </h3> + <p> + Chick smiled wanly. “May I ask you: what it is that has just flared up + within me? I am weak, anaemic, fallen to pieces; my muscles have lost the + power to function, my blood runs cold, I have been more than two feet over + the border. And yet—a few drinks of brandy, of stimulants, and you + have drawn me back, my heart beats strongly, for an hour. By means of + drugs you have infused a new life—which of course is the old—and + driven the material components of my body into correlation. You are + successful for a time; so long as nature is with you; but all the while + you are held aghast by the knowledge that the least flaw, the least + disarrangement, and you are beaten. + </p> + <p> + “It is your business to hold this life or what you may. When it has gone + your structures, your anatomy, your wonderful human machine is worthless. + Where has it come from? Where has it gone? I have drunk four glasses of + brandy; I have a lease of four short hours. Ordinarily it would bring + reaction; it is poison, to be sure; but it is driving back my spirit, + giving me life and strength enough to tell my story—in the morning I + shall be no more. By sequence I am a dead man already. Four glasses of + brandy; they are speaking. Whence comes this affinity of substance and of + shadow?” + </p> + <p> + We all of us listened, the doctor most of all. “Go on,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you see?” repeated Watson. “There is affinity between substance and + shadow; and therefore your spirit or shadow or what you will is concrete, + is in itself a substance. It is material just as much as you are. Because + you do not see it is no proof that it is not substance. That pot palm + yonder does not see you; it is not blessed with eyes.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor looked at Watson; he spoke gently. + </p> + <p> + “This is very old stuff, my boy, out of your abstract philosophy. No man + knows the secret of life. Not even yourself.” + </p> + <p> + The light in Watson's eyes grew brighter, he straightened; he began + slipping the ring from his finger. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered. “I don't. I have tried and it was like playing with + lightning. I sought for life and it is giving me death. But there is one + man living who has found it.” + </p> + <p> + “And this man?” + </p> + <p> + “Is Dr. Holcomb!” + </p> + <p> + We all of us started. We had every one given the doctor up as dead. The + very presence of Watson was tragedy. We did not doubt that he had been + through some terrible experience. There are things in the world that may + not be unriddled. Some power, some sinister thing was reaching for his + vitality. What did he know about the professor? Dr. Holcomb had been a + long time dead. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen. You must hear my story; I haven't long to tell it. However, + before I start here is a proof for a beginning.” + </p> + <p> + He tossed the ring upon the table. + </p> + <p> + It was Hobart who picked it up. A beautiful stone, like a sapphire; blue + but uncut and of a strange pellucid transparency—a jewel + undoubtedly; but of a kind we have never seen. We all of us examined it, + and were all, I am afraid, a bit disappointed. It was a stone and nothing + else. + </p> + <p> + Watson watched us. The waiter had brought more brandy, and Watson was + sipping it, not because he liked it, he said, but just to keep himself at + the proper lift. + </p> + <p> + “You don't understand it, eh? You see nothing? Hobart, have you a match? + There, that's it; now give me the ring. See—” He struck the match + and held the flame against the jewel. “Gentlemen, there is no need for me + to speak. The stone will give you a volume. It's not trickery, I assure + you, but fact. There, now, perfect. Doctor, you are the sceptic. Take a + look at the stone.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor picked it up casually and held it up before his eyes. At first + he frowned; then came a look of incredulity; his chin dropped and he rose + in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “My God,” he exclaimed, “the man's living! It—he—” + </p> + <p> + But Hobart and I had crowded over. The doctor held the ring so we could + see it. Inside the stone was Dr. Holcomb! + </p> + <p> + It was a strenuous moment, and the most incredible. We all of us knew the + doctor. It was not a photograph, nor a likeness; but the man himself. It + was beyond all reason that he could be in the jewel; indeed there was only + the head visible; one could catch the expression of life, the movements of + the eyelids. Yet how could it be? What was it? It was Hobart who spoke + first. + </p> + <p> + “Chick,” he asked, “what's the meaning? Were it not for my own eyes I + would call it impossible. It's absurd on the face. The doctor! Yet I can + see him—living. Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + Chick nodded. + </p> + <p> + “That's the whole question. Where is he? I know and yet I know nothing. + You are now looking into the Blind Spot. The doctor sought the secret of + life—and found it. He was trapped by his own wisdom!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. — THE NERVINA + </h2> + <p> + For a moment we were silent. The jewel reposed upon the table. What was + the secret of its phenomena? I could think of nothing in science that + would explain it. How had Watson come into its possession? What was the + tale he had to tell? The lean, long finger that clutched for brandy! What + force was this that had driven him to such a verge? He was resigned; + though he was defiant he had already conceded his surrender. Dr. Hansen + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Watson,” he asked, “what do you know about the Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + We all turned to Chick. Hobart ordered more brandy. The doctor's eyes went + to slits. I could not but wonder. + </p> + <p> + “Chick,” I asked, “who is Rhamda Avec?” + </p> + <p> + Watson turned. + </p> + <p> + “You saw him a few minutes ago? You saw him with me? Let me ask you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered, “I saw him. Most people did. Is he invisible? Is he + really the phantom they say?” + </p> + <p> + Somehow the mention of the name made him nervous; he looked cautiously + about the room. + </p> + <p> + “That I don't know, Harry. It—If I can only get my wits together. Is + he a phantom? Yes, I think so. I can't understand him. At least, he has + the powers we attribute to an apparition. He is strange and unaccountable. + Sometimes you see him, sometimes you don't. The first known of him was on + the day Professor Holcomb was to deliver his lecture on the Blind Spot. He + was tracked, you know, to the very act. Then came in the Nervina.” + </p> + <p> + “And who is the Nervina?” + </p> + <p> + Watson looked at me blankly. + </p> + <p> + “The Nervina?” he asked, “The Nervina—what do you know about the + Nervina?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. You mentioned her just now.” + </p> + <p> + His mind seemed to ramble. He looked about the room rather fearfully. + Perhaps he was afraid. + </p> + <p> + “Did I mention her? I don't know, Harry, my wits are muddled. The Nervina? + She is a goddess. Never was and never will be woman. She loves; she never + hates, and still again she does not love. She is beautiful; too beautiful + for man. I've quit trying.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she Rhamda's wife?” + </p> + <p> + His eyes lit fire. + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you love her?” + </p> + <p> + He went blank again; but at last he spoke slowly. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't love her. What's the use? She's not for me. I did; but I + learned better. I was after the professor—and the Blind Spot. She—” + </p> + <p> + Again that look of haunted pursuit. He glanced about the room. Whatever + had been his experience, it was plain that he had not given up. He held + something and he held it still. What was it? + </p> + <p> + “You say you didn't find the Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I did not find it.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any idea?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Harry,” he answered, “I am full of ideas. That's the trouble. I + am near it. It's the cause of my present condition. I don't know just what + it is nor where. A condition, or a combination of phenomena. You remember + the lecture that was never delivered? Had the doctor spoken that morning + the world would have had a great fact. He had made a great discovery. It + is a terrible thing.” He turned the ring so we could all see it—beyond + all doubt it was the doctor. “There he is—the professor. If he could + only speak. The secret of the ages. Just think what it means. Where is he? + I have taken that jewel to the greatest lapidaries and they have one and + all been startled. Then they all come to the same conclusion—trickery—Chinese + or Hindu work, they say; most of them want to cut.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you taken it to the police?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I would simply be laughed at.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever reported this Rhamda?” + </p> + <p> + “A score of times. They have come and sought; but every time he has gone + out—like a shadow. It's got to be an old story now. If you call them + up and tell them they laugh.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you account for it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't. I—I—I'm just dying.” + </p> + <p> + “And not one member of the force—surely?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. There's one. You have heard of Jerome. Jerome followed the + professor and the Rhamda to the house of the Blind Spot, as he calls it. + He's not a man to fool. He had eyes and he saw it. He will not leave it + till he's dead.” + </p> + <p> + “But he did not see the Blind Spot, did he? How about trickery? Did it + ever occur to you that the professor might have been murdered?” + </p> + <p> + “Take a look at that, Harry. Does that look like murder? When you see the + man living?” + </p> + <p> + Watson reached over and turned up the jewel. + </p> + <p> + Here Hobart came in. + </p> + <p> + “Just a minute, Chick. My wise friend here is an attorney. He's always the + first into everything, especially conversation. It's been my job pulling + Harry out of trouble. Just one question.” + </p> + <p> + “All right.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you—er—keep company, as they say, with Bertha Holcomb + while at college?” + </p> + <p> + A kind look came into the man's eyes; he nodded; his whole face was soft + and saddened. + </p> + <p> + “I see. That naturally brought you to the Blind Spot. You are after her + father. Am I correct?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. Perhaps Bertha has taken you into some of her father's + secrets. He undoubtedly had data on this Blind Spot. Have you ever been + able to locate it?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “I see. This Rhamda? Has he ever sought that data?” + </p> + <p> + “Many, many times.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he know you haven't got it?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “So. I understand. You hold the whip hand through your ignorance. Rhamda + is your villain—and perhaps this Nervina? Who is she?” + </p> + <p> + “A goddess.” + </p> + <p> + Hobart smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” He laughed. “A goddess. Naturally! They all are. There are + about forty in this room at the present moment, my dear fellow. Watch them + dance!” + </p> + <p> + Now I had picked up the ring. It just fitted the natural finger. I tried + it on and looked into the jewel. The professor was growing dimmer. The + marvellous blue was returning, a hue of fascination; not the hot flash of + the diamond, but the frozen light of the iceberg. It was frigid, cold, + terrible, blue, alluring. To me at the moment it seemed alive and + pulselike. I could not account for it. I felt the lust for possession. + Perhaps there was something in my face. Watson leaned over and touched me + on the arm. + </p> + <p> + “Harry,” he asked, “do you think you can stand up under the burden? Will + you take my place?” + </p> + <p> + I looked into his eyes; in their black depths was almost entreaty. How + haunting they were, and beseeching. + </p> + <p> + “Will you take my place?” he begged. “Are you willing to give up all that + God gives to the fortunate? Will you give up your practice? Will you hold + out to the end? Never surrender? Will—” + </p> + <p> + “You mean will I take this ring?” + </p> + <p> + He nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. But you must know beforehand. It would be murder to give it to + you without the warning. Either your death or that of Dr. Holcomb. It is + not a simple jewel. It defies description. It takes a man to wear it. It + is subtle and of destruction; it eats like a canker; it destroys the body; + it frightens the soul—” + </p> + <p> + “An ominous piece of finery,” I spoke. “Wherein—” + </p> + <p> + But Watson interrupted. There was appeal in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Harry,” he went on, “I am asking. Somebody has got to wear this ring. He + must be a man. He must be fearless; he must taunt the devil. It is hard + work, I assure you. I cannot last much longer. You loved the old doctor. + If we get at this law we have done more for mankind than either of us may + do with his profession. We must save the old professor. He is living and + he is waiting. There are perils and forces that we do not know of. The + doctor went at it alone and fearless; he succumbed to his own wisdom. I + have followed after, and I have been crushed down—perhaps by my + ignorance. I am not afraid. But I don't want my work to die. Somebody has + got to take it on and you are the man.” + </p> + <p> + They were all of them looking at me. I studied the wonderful blue and its + light. The image of the great professor had dimmed almost completely. It + was a sudden task and a great one. Here was a law; one of the great + secrets of Cosmos. What was it? Somehow the lure caught into my vitals. I + couldn't picture myself ever coming to the extremity of my companion. + Besides, it was a duty. I owed it to the old doctor. It seemed somehow + that he was speaking. Though Watson did the talking I could feel him + calling. Would I be afraid? Besides, there was the jewel. It was calling; + already I could feel it burning into my spirit. I looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Do you take it, Harry?” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I do. God knows I am worthless enough. I'll take it up. It may give me a + chance to engage with this famous Rhamda.” + </p> + <p> + “Be careful of Rhamda, Harry. And above all don't let him have the ring.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because. Now listen. I'm not laying this absolutely, understand. + Nevertheless the facts all point in one direction. Hold the ring. + Somewhere in that lustre lies a great secret; it controls the Blind Spot. + The Rhamda himself may not take it off your finger. You are immune from + violence. Only the ring itself may kill you.” + </p> + <p> + He coughed. + </p> + <p> + “God knows,” he spoke, “it has killed me.” + </p> + <p> + It was rather ominous. The mere fact of that cough and his weakness was + enough. One would come to this. He had warned me, and he had besought me + with the same voice as the warning. + </p> + <p> + “But what is the Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you take the ring? What is the time? Twelve. Gentlemen—” + </p> + <p> + Now here comes in one of the strange parts of my story—one that I + cannot account for. Over the shoulder of Dr. Hansen I could watch the + door. Whether it was the ring or not I do not know. At the time I did not + reason. I acted upon impulse. It was an act beyond good breeding. I had + never done such a thing before. I had never even seen the woman. + </p> + <p> + The woman? Why do I say it? She was never a woman—she was a girl—far, + far transcendent. It was the first time I had ever seen her—standing + there before the door. I had never beheld such beauty, such profile, poise—the + witching, laughing, night-black of her eyes; the perfectly bridged nose + and the red, red lips that smiled, it seemed to me, in sadness. She + hesitated, and as if puzzled, lifted a jewelled hand to her raven mass of + hair. To this minute I cannot account for my action, unless, perchance, it + was the ring. Perhaps it was. Anyway I had risen. + </p> + <p> + How well do I remember. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me that I had known her a long, long time. There was + something about her that was not seduction; but far, far above it. + Somewhere I had seen her, had known her. She was looking and she was + waiting for me. There was something about her that was super feminine. I + thought it then, and I say it now. + </p> + <p> + Just then her glance came my way. She smiled, and nodded; there was a note + of sadness in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “Harry Wendel!” + </p> + <p> + There is no accounting for my action, nor my wonder; she knew me. Then it + was true! I was not mistaken! Somewhere I had seen her. I felt a vague and + dim rush of dreamy recollections. Ah, that was the answer! She was a girl + of dreams and phantoms. Even then I knew it; she was not a woman; not as + we conceive her; she was some materialisation out of Heaven. Why do I talk + so? Ah! this strange beauty that is woman! From the very first she held me + in the thrall that has no explanation. + </p> + <p> + “Do we dance?” she asked simply. + </p> + <p> + The next moment I had her in my arms and we were out among the dancers. + That my actions were queer and entirely out of reason never occurred to + me. There was a call about her beautiful body and in her eyes that I could + not answer. There was a fact between us, some strange bond that was beyond + even passion. I danced, and in an extreme emotion of happiness. A girl out + of the dreams and the ether—a sprig of life woven out of the + moonbeams! + </p> + <p> + “Do you know me?” she asked as we danced. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered, “and no. I have seen you; but I do not remember; you + come from the sunshine.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed prettily. + </p> + <p> + “Do you always talk like this?” + </p> + <p> + “You are out of my dreams,” I answered: “it is sufficient. But who are + you?” + </p> + <p> + She held back her pretty head and looked at me; her lips drooped slightly + at the corners, a sad smile, and tender, in the soft wonderful depths of + her eyes—a pity. + </p> + <p> + “Harry,” she asked, “are you going to wear this ring?” + </p> + <p> + So that was it. The ring and the maiden. What was the bond? There was + weirdness in its colour, almost cabalistic—a call out of the occult. + The strange beauty of the girl, her remarkable presence, and her concern. + Whoever and whatever she was her anxiety was not personal. In some way she + was woven up with this ring and poor Watson. + </p> + <p> + “I think I shall,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + Again the strange querulous pity and hesitation; her eyes grew darker, + almost pleading. + </p> + <p> + “You won't give it to me?” + </p> + <p> + How near I came to doing it I shall not tell. It would be hard to say it. + I knew vaguely that she was playing; that I was the plaything. It is hard + for a man to think of himself as being toyed with. She was certain; she + was confident of my weakness. It was resentment, perhaps, and pride of + self that gave the answer. + </p> + <p> + “I think I shall keep it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know the danger, Harry? It is death to wear it. A thousand perils—” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall keep it. I like peril. You wish for the ring. If I keep it I + may have you. This is the first time I have danced with the girl out of + the moonbeams.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes snapped, and she stopped dancing. I don't think my words + displeased her. She was still a woman. + </p> + <p> + “Is this final? You're a fine young man, Mr. Wendel. I know you. I stepped + in to save you. You are playing with something stranger than the + moonbeams. No man may wear that ring and hold to life. Again, Harry, I ask + you; for your own sake.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment we passed Watson. He was watching; as our eyes glanced he + shook his head. Who was this girl? She was as beautiful as sin and as + tender as a virgin. What interest had she in myself? + </p> + <p> + “That's just the reason,” I laughed. “You are too interested. You are too + beautiful to wear it. I am a man; I revel in trouble; you are a girl. It + would not be honourable to allow you to take it. I shall keep it.” + </p> + <p> + She had overreached herself, and she knew it. She bit her lip. But she + took it gracefully; so much so, in fact, that I thought she meant it. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” she answered slowly. “I had hopes. It is terrible to look at + Watson and then to think of you. It is, really”—a faint tremor ran + through her body; her hand trembled—“it is terrible. You young men + are so unafraid. It's too bad.” + </p> + <p> + Just then the door was opened; outside I could see the bank of fog; + someone passed. She turned a bit pale. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me. I must be going. Don't you see I'm sorry—” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand—the same sad little smile. On the impulse of + the moment, unmindful of place, I drew it to my lips and kissed it. She + was gone. + </p> + <p> + I returned to the table. The three men were watching me: Watson + analytically, the doctor with wonder, and Hobart with plain disgust. + Hobart spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “Nice for sister Charlotte, eh, Harry?” + </p> + <p> + I had not a word to say. In the full rush of the moment I knew that he was + right. It was all out of reason. I had no excuse outside of sheer insanity—and + dishonour. The doctor said nothing. It was only in Watson's face that + there was a bit of understanding. + </p> + <p> + “Hobart,” he said, “I have told you. It is not Harry's fault. It is the + Nervina. No man may resist her. She is beauty incarnate; she weaves with + the hearts of men, and she loves no one. It is the ring. She, the Rhamda, + the Blind Spot, and the ring. I have never been able to unravel them. + Please don't blame Harry. He went to her even as I. She has but to beckon. + But he kept the ring. I watched them. This is but the beginning.” + </p> + <p> + But Hobart muttered: “She's a beauty all right—a beauty. That's the + rub. I know Harry—I know him as a brother, and I want him so in + fact. But I'd hate to trust that woman.” + </p> + <p> + Watson smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Never fear, Hobart, your sister is safe enough. The Nervina is not a + woman. She is not of the flesh.” + </p> + <p> + “Brr,” said the doctor, “you give me the creeps.” + </p> + <p> + Watson reached for the brandy; he nodded to the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Just a bit more of that stuff if you please. Whatever it is, on the last + night one has no fear of habit. There—Now, gentlemen, if you will + come with me, I shall take you to the house of the Blind Spot.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. — “NOW THERE ARE THREE” + </h2> + <p> + I shall never forget that night. When we stepped to the pavement the whole + world was shrouded. The heavy fog clung like depression; life was gone out—a + foreboding of gloom and disaster. It was cold, dank, miserable; one + shuddered instinctively and battered against the wall with steaming + columns of breath. Just outside the door we were detained. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Hansen?” + </p> + <p> + Someone stepped beside us. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Hansen?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “A message, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor made a gesture of impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Bother!” he spoke. “Bother! A message. Nothing in the world would stop + me! I cannot leave.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless he stepped back into the light. + </p> + <p> + “Just a minute, gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + He tore open the envelope. Then he looked up at the messenger and then at + us. His face was startled—almost frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” he said, “I am sorry. Not a thing in the world would detain + me but this. I would go with you, but I may not. My duty as a physician. I + had hopes.” He came over to me and spoke softly. “I am going to send you + one of the greatest specialists in the city in my stead. This young man + should have attention. Have you the address?” + </p> + <p> + “288 Chatterton Place,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Very well. I am sorry, very much disappointed. However, it is my + daughter, and I cannot do otherwise. Continue the brandy for a while—and + this.” He slipped an envelope into my hand. “By that time Dr. Higgins will + be with you.” + </p> + <p> + “You think there is hope?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “There's always hope,” replied the doctor. + </p> + <p> + I returned to my companions. They were walking slowly. It was work for + poor Watson. He dragged on, leaning on Hobart's arm. But at last he gave + up. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, “I can't make it. I'm too far gone. I had thought—Oh, + what a lapse it has been! I am eighty years of age; one year ago I was a + boy. If only I had some more brandy. I have some at the house. We must + make that. I must show you; there I can give you the details.” + </p> + <p> + “Hail a cab,” I said. “Here's one now.” + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later we were before the House of the Blind Spot. It was a + two storey drab affair, much like a thousand others, old-fashioned, and + might have been built in the early nineties. It had been outside of the + fire limits of 1906, and so had survived the great disaster. Chatterton + Place is really a short street running lengthwise along the summit of the + hill. A flight of stone steps descended to the pavement. + </p> + <p> + Watson straightened up with an effort. + </p> + <p> + “This is the house,” he spoke. “I came here a year ago. I go away tonight. + I had hoped to find it. I promised Bertha. I came alone. I had reasons to + believe I had solved it. I found the Rhamda and the Nervina. I had iron + will and courage—also strength. The Rhamda was never able to control + me. My life is gone but not my will. Now I have left him another. Do not + surrender, Harry. It is a gruesome task; but hold on to the end. Help me + up the steps. There now. Just wait a minute till I fetch a stimulant.” + </p> + <p> + He did not ring for a servant. That I noticed. Instead he groped about for + a key, unlocked the door and stumbled into a room. He fumbled for a minute + among some glasses. + </p> + <p> + “Will you switch on a light?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Hobart struck a match; when he found it he pressed the switch. + </p> + <p> + The room in which we were standing was a large one, fairly well furnished, + and lined on two sides with bookshelves; in the centre was an oak table + cluttered with papers, a couple of chairs, and on one of them, a heavy + pipe, which, somehow, I did not think of as Watson's. He noticed my look. + </p> + <p> + “Jerome's,” he explained. “We live here—Jerome, the detective, and + myself. He has been here since the day of the doctor's disappearance. I + came here a year ago. He is in Nevada at present. That leaves me alone. + You will notice the books, mostly occult: partly mine, partly the + detective's. We have gone at it systematically from the beginning. We have + learned almost everything but what would help us. Mostly sophistry—and + guesswork. Beats all how much ink has been wasted to say nothing. We were + after the Blind Spot.” + </p> + <p> + “But what is it? Is it in this house?” + </p> + <p> + “I can answer one part of your question,” he answered, “but not the other. + It is here somewhere, in some place. Jerome is positive of that. You + remember the old lady? The one who died? Her actions were rather positive + even if feeble. She led Jerome to this next room.” He turned and pointed; + the door was open. I could see a sofa and a few chairs; that was all. + </p> + <p> + “It was in here. The bell. Jerome never gets tired of telling. A church + bell. In the centre of the room. At first I didn't believe; but now I + accept it all. I know, but what I know is by intuition.” + </p> + <p> + “Sort of sixth sense?' + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Or foresight.” + </p> + <p> + “You never saw this bell nor found it? Never were able to arrive at an + explanation?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “How about the Rhamda? The Nervina? Do they come to this house?” + </p> + <p> + “Not often.” + </p> + <p> + “How do they come in? Through the window?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled rather sadly. “I don't know. At least they come. You shall see + them yourself. The Rhamda still has something to do with Dr. Holcomb. + Somehow his very concern tells me the doctor is safe. Undoubtedly the + professor made a great discovery. But he was not alone. He had a co-worker—the + Rhamda. For reasons of his own the Rhamda wishes to control the Blind + Spot.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the professor is in this Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “We think so. At least it is our conjecture. We do not know.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don't think it trickery?” + </p> + <p> + “No, hardly. Harry, you know better than that. Can you imagine the great + doctor the dupe of a mere trickster? The professor was a man of great + science and was blessed with an almighty sound head. But he had one + weakness.” + </p> + <p> + Hobart spoke up. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Chick? I think I know what you mean. The old boy was honest?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. He had been a scholar all his life. He taught ethics. He + believed in right. He practised his creed. When he came to the crucial + experiment he found himself dealing with a rogue. The Rhamda helped him + just so far; but once he had the professor in his power it was not his + purpose to release him until he was secure of the Blind Spot.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” I spoke. “The man is a villain. I think we can handle him.” + </p> + <p> + But Watson shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “That's just it, Harry! The man! If he were a man I could have handled him + in short order. That's what I thought at first. Don't make any mistake. + Don't try violence. That's the whole crux of the difficulty. If he were + only a man! Unfortunately, he is not.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a man!” I exclaimed. “What do you mean? Then, what is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a phantom.” + </p> + <p> + I glanced at Hobart and caught his eye. Hobart believed him! The poor + pallid face of Watson, the athlete; there was nothing left to him but his + soul! I shall not forget Watson as he sat there, his lean, long fingers + grasping the brandy glass, his eyes burning and his life holding back from + the pit through sheer will and courage. Would I come to this? Would I have + the strength to measure up to his standard? + </p> + <p> + Hobart broke the tension. + </p> + <p> + “Chick's right. There is something in it, Harry. Not all the secrets of + the universe have been unlocked by any means. Now, Chick, about details. + Have you any data—any notes?” + </p> + <p> + Watson rose. I could see he was grateful. + </p> + <p> + “You believe me, don't you, Hobart? It is good. I had hoped to find + someone, and I found you two. Harry, remember what I have told you. Hold + the ring. You take my place. Whatever happens, stick out to the end. You + have Hobart here to help you. Now just a minute. The library is here; you + can look over my books. I shall return in a moment.” + </p> + <p> + He stepped out into the hall; we could hear his weary feet dragging down + the hallway—a hollow sound and a bit uncanny. Somehow my mind + rambled back to that account I had read in the newspaper—Jerome's + story—“Like weary bones dragging slippers.” And the old lady. Who + was she? Why was everyone in this house pulled down to exhaustion—the + words of the old lady, I could almost hear them; the dank air murmuring + their recollection. “Now there are two. Now there are two!” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, Harry?” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps I was frightened. I do not know. I looked around. The sound of + Watson's footsteps had died away; there was a light in the back of the + building coming toward us. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing! Only—damn this place, Hobart. Don't you notice it? It's + enough to eat your heart out.” + </p> + <p> + “Rather interesting,” said Hobart. It was too interesting for me. I + stepped over to the shelves and looked at the titles. Sanskrit and Greek; + German and French—the Vedas, Sir Oliver Lodge, Besant, Spinoza, a + conglomeration of all ages and tongues; a range of metaphysics that was as + wide as Babel, and about as enlightening. As Babel? Over my shoulders came + the strangest sound of all, weak, piping, tremulous, fearful—“Now + there are two. Now there are two.” My heart gave a fearful leap. “Soon + there will be three! Soon—” + </p> + <p> + I turned suddenly about. I had a fearful thought. I looked at Hobart. A + strange, insidious fear clutched at me. Was the thought intrinsic? If not, + where had it come from? Three? I strained my ears to hear Watson's + footsteps. He was in the back part of the building. I must have some air. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to open the door, Hobart,” I spoke. “The front door, and look + out into the street.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't blame you much. Feel a bit that way myself. About time for Dr. + Higgins. Here comes Chick again. Take a look outside and see if the doc is + coming.” + </p> + <p> + I opened the door and looked out into the dripping fog bank. What a pair + of fools we were! We both knew it, and we were both seeking an excuse. In + the next room through the curtains I could see the weak form of Watson; he + was bearing a light. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the light went out. + </p> + <p> + I was at high tension; the mere fact of the light was nothing, but it + meant a world at that moment—a strange sound—a struggle—then + the words of Watson—Chick Watson's: + </p> + <p> + “Harry! Harry! Hobart! Harry! Come here! It's the Blind Spot!” + </p> + <p> + It was in the next room. The despair of that call is unforgettable, like + that of one suddenly falling into space. Then the light dropped to the + floor. I could see the outlines of his figure and a weird, single string + of incandescence. Hobart turned and I leaped. It was a blur, the form of a + man melting into nothing. I sprang into the room, tearing down the + curtains. Hobart was on top of me. But we were too late. I could feel the + vibrancy of something uncanny as I rushed across the space intervening. + Through my mind darted the thrill of terror. It had come suddenly, and in + climax. It was over before it had commenced. The light had gone out. Only + by the gleam from the other room could we make out each others' faces. The + air was vibrant, magnetic. There was no Watson. But we could hear his + voice. Dim and fearful, coming down the corridors of time. + </p> + <p> + “Hold that ring, Harry! Hold that ring!” Then the faint despair out of the + weary distance, faint, but a whole volume: + </p> + <p> + “The Blind Spot!” + </p> + <p> + It was over as quickly as that. The whole thing climaxed into an instant. + It is difficult to describe. One cannot always analyse sensations. Mine, I + am afraid, were muddled. A thousand insistent thoughts clashed through my + brain. Horror, wonder, doubt! I have only one persistent and predominating + recollection. The old lady! I could almost feel her coming out of the + shadows. There was sadness and pity; out of the stillness and the corners. + What had been the dirge of her sorrow? + </p> + <h3> + “NOW THERE ARE THREE!” + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. — MAN OR PHANTOM + </h2> + <p> + It was Hobart who came to first. His voice was good to hear. It was + natural; it was sweet and human, but it was pregnant with disappointment: + “We are fools, Harry; we are fools!” + </p> + <p> + But I could only stare. I remember saying: “The Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” returned Hobart, “the Blind Spot. But what is it? We saw him go. + Did you see it?” + </p> + <p> + “It gets me,” I answered. “He just vanished into space. It—” Frankly + I was afraid. + </p> + <p> + “It tallies well with the reports. The old lady and Jerome. Remember?” + </p> + <p> + “And the bell?” I looked about the room. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. Phenomena! Watson was right. I just wonder—but the bell? + Remember the doctor? 'The greatest day since Columbus.' No, don't cross + the room, Harry, I'm a bit leery: A great discovery! I should say it was. + How do you account for it?” + </p> + <p> + “Supernatural.” + </p> + <p> + Fenton shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “By no means! It's the gateway to the universe—into Cosmos.” His + eyes sparkled. “My Lord, Harry! Don't you see! Once we control it. The + Blind Spot! What is beyond? We saw Chick Watson go. Before our eyes. Where + did he go to? It beats death itself.” + </p> + <p> + I started across the room, but Hobart caught me with both arms: “No, no, + no, Harry. My Lord! I don't want to lose you. No! You foolhardly little + cuss—stand back!” + </p> + <p> + He threw me violently against the wall. The impact quite took my breath. + </p> + <p> + On the instant the old rush of temper surged up in me. From boyhood we had + these moments. Hobart settled himself and awaited the rush that he knew + was coming. In his great, calm, brute strength there was still a greatness + of love. + </p> + <p> + “Harry,” he was saying, “for the love of Heaven, listen to reason! Have we + got to have a knock-down and drag-out on this of all nights? Have I got to + lick you again? Do you want to roll into the Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + Why did God curse me with such a temper? On such moments as this I could + feel something within me snapping. It was fury and unreason. How I loved + him! And yet we had fought a thousand times over just such provocation. + Over his shoulders I could see the still open door that led into the + street. A heavy form was looming through the opening; out of the corner of + my eye I caught the lines of the form stepping out of the shadows—it + crossed the room and stood beside Hobart Fenton. It was Rhamda Avec! + </p> + <p> + I leaped. The fury of a thousand conflicts—and the exultation. For + the glory of such moments it is well worth dying. One minute flying + through the air—the old catapult tackle—and the next a + crashing of bone and sinew. We rolled over, head on, and across the floor. + Curses and execrations; the deep bass voice of Hobart: + </p> + <p> + “Hold him, Harry! Hold him! That's the way! Hold him! Hold him!” + </p> + <p> + We went crashing about the room. He was the slipperiest thing I had ever + laid hold of. But he was bone—bone and sinew; he was a man! I + remember the wild thrill of exultation at the discovery. It was battle! + And death! The table went over, we went spinning against the wall, a crash + of falling bookcases, books and broken glass, a scurry and a flying heap + of legs and arms. He was wonderfully strong and active, like a panther. + Each time I held him he would twist out like a cat, straighten, and throw + me out of hold. I clung on, fighting, striving for a grip, working for the + throat. He was a man—a man! I remembered that he must never get + away. He must account for Watson. + </p> + <p> + In the first rush I was a madman. The mere force of my onslaught had borne + him down. But in a moment he had recovered and was fighting + systematically. As much as he could he kept over on one side of me, always + forcing me toward the inner room where Watson had disappeared. In spite of + my fury he eluded every effort that I made for a vital part. We rolled, + fought, struck and struggled. + </p> + <p> + I could hear Hobart's bass thundering: “Over! Over! Under! Look out! Now + you've got him! Harry! Harry! Look out! Hold him, for the love of Heaven I + see his trick. That's his trick. The Blind Spot!” + </p> + <p> + We were rolled clear over, picked, heaved, shoved against the front wall. + There were three! The great heaving bulk of Fenton; the fighting tiger + between us; and myself! Surely such strength was not human; we could not + pin him; his quickness was uncanny; he would uncoil, twist himself and + throw us loose. Gradually he worked us away from the front wall and into + the centre of the room. + </p> + <p> + Could any mere man fight so? Hobart was as good as a ton; I was as much + for action. Slowly, slowly in spite of our efforts, he was working us + towards the Blind Spot. Confident of success, he was over, around, and in + and under. In a spin of a second he went into the attack. He fairly bore + us off our feet. We were on the last inch of our line; the stake was— + </p> + <p> + What was it? We all went down. A great volume of sound! We were inside a + bell! My whole head buzzed to music and a roar; the whir of a thousand + vibrations; the inside of sound. I fell face downwards; the room went + black. + </p> + <p> + What was it? How long I lay there I don't know. A dim light was burning. I + was in a room. The ceiling overhead was worked in a grotesque pattern; I + could not make it out. My clothes were in tatters and my hand was covered + with blood. Something warm was trickling down my face. What was it? The + air was still and sodden. Who was this man beside me? And what was this + smell of roses? + </p> + <p> + I lay still for a minute, thinking. Ah, yes! It came back. Watson—Chick + Watson! The Blind Spot! The Rhamda and the bell! + </p> + <p> + Surely it was a dream. How could all this be in one short night? It was + like a nightmare and impossible. I raised up on my elbow and looked at the + form beside me. It was Hobart Fenton. He was unconscious. + </p> + <p> + For a moment my mind was whirring; I was too weak and unsteady. I dropped + back and wondered absently at the roses. Roses meant perfume, and perfume + meant a woman. What could—something touched my face—something + soft; it plucked tenderly at my tangled hair and drew it away from my + forehead. It was the hand of a woman! + </p> + <p> + “You poor, foolish boy! You foolish boy!” + </p> + <p> + Somewhere I had heard that voice; it held a touch of sadness; it was + familiar; it was soft and silken like music that might have been woven out + of the moonbeams. Who was it that always made me think of moonbeams? I lay + still, thinking. + </p> + <p> + “He dared; he dared; he dared!” she was saying. “As if there were not two! + He shall pay for this! Am I to be a plaything? You poor boy!” + </p> + <p> + Then I remembered. I looked up. It was the Nervina. She was stooping over + with my head against her. How beautiful her eyes were! In their depths was + a pathos and a tenderness that was past a woman's, the same slight droop + at the corners of the mouth, and the wistfulness; her features were + relaxed like a mother's—a wondrous sweetness and pity. + </p> + <p> + “Harry,” she asked, “where is Watson? Did he go?” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Into the Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. What is the Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + She ignored the question. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry” she answered. “So sorry. I would have saved him. And the + Rhamda; was he here, too?” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. Her eyes flashed wickedly. + </p> + <p> + “And—and you—tell me, did you fight with the Rhamda? You—” + </p> + <p> + “It was Watson,” I interrupted. “This Rhamda is behind it all. He is the + villain. He can fight like a tiger; whoever he is he can fight.” + </p> + <p> + She frowned slightly; she shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “You young men,” she said. “You young men! You are all alike! Why must it + be? I am so sorry. And you fought with the Rhamda? You could not overcome + him, of course. But tell me, how could you resist him? What did you do?” + </p> + <p> + What did she mean? I had felt his flesh and muscle. He was a man. Why + could he not be conquered—not be resisted? + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand,” I answered. “He is a man. I fought him. He was here. + Let him account for Watson. We fought alone at first, until he tried to + throw me into this Thing. Then Hobart stepped in. Once I thought we had + him, but he was too slippery. He came near putting us both in. I don't + know. Something happened—a bell.” + </p> + <p> + Her hand was on my arm, she clutched it tightly, she swallowed hard; in + her eyes flashed the fire that I had noticed once before, the softness + died out, and their glint was almost terrible. + </p> + <p> + “He! The bell saved you? He would dare to throw you into the Blind Spot!” + </p> + <p> + I lay back. I was terribly weak and uncertain. This beautiful woman! What + was her interest in myself? + </p> + <p> + “Harry,” she spoke, “let me ask you. I am your friend. If you only knew! I + would save you. It must not be. Will you give me the ring? If I could only + tell you! You must not have it. It is death—yes, worse than death. + No man may wear it.” + </p> + <p> + So that was it. Again and so soon I was to be tempted. Was her concern + feigned or real? Why did she call me Harry? Why did I not resent it? She + was wonderful; she was beautiful; she was pure. Was it merely a subtle act + for the Rhamda? I could still hear Watson's voice ringing out of the Blind + Spot; “Hold the ring! Hold the ring!” I could not be false to my friend. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me first,” I asked. “Who is this Rhamda? What is he? Is he a man?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + Not a man! I remembered Watson's words: “A phantom!” How could it be? At + least I would find out what I could. + </p> + <p> + “Then tell me, what is he?” + </p> + <p> + “She smiled faintly; again the elusive tenderness lingered about her lips, + the wistful droop at the corners. + </p> + <p> + “That I may not tell you, Harry. You couldn't understand. If only I + could.” + </p> + <p> + Certainly I couldn't understand her evasion. I studied and watched her—her + wondrous hair, the perfection of her throat, the curve of her bosom. + </p> + <p> + “Then he is supernatural.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not that, Harry. That would explain everything. One cannot go above + Nature. He is living just as you are.” + </p> + <p> + I studied a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Are you a woman?” I asked suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps I should not have asked it; she was so sad and beautiful, somehow + I could not doubt her sincerity. There was a burden at the back of her + sadness, some great yearning unsatisfied, unattainable. She dropped her + head. The hand upon my arm quivered and clutched spasmodically; I caught + the least sound of a sob. When I looked up her eyes were wet and + sparkling. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said. “Harry, why do you ask it? A woman! Harry, a woman! To + live and love and to be loved. What must it be? There is so much of life + that is sweet and pure. I love it—I love it! I can have everything + but the most exalted thing of all. I can live, see, enjoy, think, but I + cannot have love. You knew it from the first. How did you know it? You + said—Ah, it is true! I am out of the moonbeams.” She controlled + herself suddenly. “Excuse me,” she said simply. “But you can never + understand. May I have the ring?” + </p> + <p> + It was like a dream—her beauty, her voice, everything. But I could + still hear Watson. I was to be tempted, cajoled, flattered. What was this + story out of the moonbeams? Certainly she was the most beautiful girl I + had ever seen. Why had I asked such a question? + </p> + <p> + “I shall keep the ring,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + She sighed. A strange weakness came over me; I was drowsy; I lapsed again + into unconsciousness; just as I was fading away I heard her speaking: “I + am so sorry!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. — BAFFLED + </h2> + <p> + Was it a dream? The next I knew somebody was dousing water down my neck. + It was Hobart Fenton. “Lord,” he was saying, “I thought you were never + coming to. What hit us? You are pretty well cut up. That was some fight. + This Rhamda, who is he? Can you figure him out? Did you hear that bell? + What was it?” + </p> + <p> + I sat up. “Where is the Nervina?” I asked. “The who?” He was bewildered. + “Oh, down at the cafe, I suppose. Thought you had forgotten her. Wasn't + her mate enough? It might be healthy to forget his Nervina.” + </p> + <p> + He was a fine sight; his clothes were in ribbons; his plump figure was + breaking out at the seams. He regarded me critically. + </p> + <p> + “What d'you think of the Blind Spot?” he asked. “Who is the Rhamda? He put + us out pretty easily.” + </p> + <p> + “But the girl?” I interrupted. “The girl? Confound it, the girl?” + </p> + <p> + It was sometime before I could make him understand; even then he refused + to believe me. + </p> + <p> + “It was all a dream,” he said; “all a dream.” + </p> + <p> + But I was certain. + </p> + <p> + Fenton began prodding about the room. I do not believe any apartment was + ever so thoroughly ransacked. We even tore up the carpet. When we were + through he sat in the midst of the debris and wiped his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “It's no use, Harry—no use. We might have known better. It can't be + done. Yet you say you saw a string of incandescence.” + </p> + <p> + “A single string; the form of Watson; a blur—then nothing,” I + answered. + </p> + <p> + He thought. He quoted the professor: + </p> + <p> + “'Out of the occult I shall bring you the proof and the substance. It will + be concrete—within the reach of your senses.' Isn't that what the + doctor said?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you believe Professor Holcomb?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Didn't we see it? I know a deal of material science; but nothing + like this. I always had faith in Dr. Holcomb. After all, it's not + impossible. First we must go over the house thoroughly.” + </p> + <p> + We did. Most of all, we were interested in that bell. We did not think, + either of us, that so much noise could come out of nothing. It was too + material. The other we could credit to the occult; but not the sound. It + had drowned our consciousness; perhaps it had saved us from the Rhamda. + But we found nothing. We went over the house systematically. It was much + as it had been previously described, only now a bit more furnished. The + same dank, musty smell and the same suggestive silence. We returned to the + lower floor and the library. It was a sorry sight. We straightened up the + shelves and returned the books to their places. + </p> + <p> + It was getting along toward morning. Hobart sailed at nine o'clock. We + must have new clothing and some coffee; likewise we must collect our wits. + I had the ring, and had given my pledge to Watson. I was muddled. We must + get down to sane action. First of all we must return to our rooms. + </p> + <p> + The fog had grown thicker; one could almost taste it. I couldn't suppress + a shudder. It was cold, dank, repressive. Neither of us spoke a word on + our way downtown. Hobart opened the door to our apartment; he turned on + the lights. + </p> + <p> + In a few moments we had hot, steaming cups of coffee. Still we did not + speak. Hobart sat in his chair, his elbows on the table and his head + between his hands. My thoughts ran back to that day in college when he + said “I was just thinking, Harry, if I had one hundred thousand dollars, I + would solve the Blind Spot.” + </p> + <p> + That was long ago. We had neither of us thought that we would come to the + fact. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I spoke, “have you got that hundred thousand dollars? You had an + idea once.” + </p> + <p> + He looked up. “I've got it yet. I am not certain. It is merely a theory. + But it's not impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + He took another drink of coffee and settled back in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “It is energy, Harry—force. Nothing but energy—and Nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it's not occult?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly it is. I didn't say that. It is what the professor promised. + Something concrete for our senses. If the occult is, it can certainly be + proven. The professor was right. It is energy, force, vibration. It has a + law. The old doctor was caught somehow. We must watch our step and see + that we aren't swallowed up also. Perhaps we shall go the way of Watson.” + </p> + <p> + I shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “I hope not. But explain. You speak in volumes. Come back to earth.” + </p> + <p> + “That's easy, Harry. I can give you my theory in a few short words. You've + studied physiology, haven't you? Well, that's where you can get your proof—or + rather let me say my theory. What is the Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “In optics?” + </p> + <p> + “We'll forgo that,” he answered. “I refer to this one.” + </p> + <p> + I thought for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, “I don't know. It was something I couldn't see. Watson + went out before our eyes. He was lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. Do you get the point?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “It is this. What you see is merely energy. Your eye is merely a machine. + It catches certain colours. Which in turn are merely rates of vibration. + There is nothing to matter but force, Harry; if we could get down deep + enough and know a few laws, we could transmute it.” + </p> + <p> + “What has it to do with the occult?” + </p> + <p> + “Merely a fact. The eye machine catches only certain vibration speeds of + energy. There are undoubtedly any number of speeds; the eye cannot see + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Then this would account for the Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. A localised spot, a condition, a combination of phenomena, + anything entering it becomes invisible.” + </p> + <p> + “Where does it go to?” + </p> + <p> + “That's it. Where? It's one of the things that man has been guessing at + down the ages. The professor is the first philosopher with sound sense. He + went after it. It's a pity he was trapped.” + </p> + <p> + “By the Rhamda?” + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + Hobart smiled. + </p> + <p> + “How do I know? Where did he come from? If we knew that, we would know + everything. 'A phantom,' so Watson says. If so, it only strengthens our + theory. It would make a man and matter only a part of creation. Certainly + it would clear up a lot of doubts.” + </p> + <p> + “And the ring?” + </p> + <p> + “It controls the Blind Spot.” + </p> + <p> + “In what way?” + </p> + <p> + “That's for us to find out.” + </p> + <p> + “And Watson? He is in this land of doubt?” + </p> + <p> + “At least he is in the Blind Spot. Let me try the ring.” + </p> + <p> + He struck a match. + </p> + <p> + It was much as it had been in the restaurant, only a bit more startling. + Then the blue faded, the colour went out, and it became transparent. For a + moment. There was an effect of space and distance that I had not noted + before, almost marvellous. If I could describe it at all, I would say a + crystal corridor of a vastness that can scarcely be imagined. It made one + dizzy, even in that bit of jewel: one lost proportion, it was height, + distance, space immeasurable. For an instant. Then the whole thing blurred + and clouded. Something passed across the face; the transparency turned to + opaqueness, and then—two men. It was as sudden as a flash—the + materialisation. There was no question. They were alive. Watson was with + the professor. + </p> + <p> + It was a strange moment. Only an hour before one of them had been with us. + It was Watson, beyond a doubt. He was alive; one could almost believe him + in the jewel. We had heard his story: “The screen of the occult; the + curtain of shadow.” We had seen him go. There was an element of horror in + the thing, and of fascination. The great professor! The faithful Watson! + Where had they gone? + </p> + <p> + It was not until the colour had come back and the blue had regained its + lustre that either of us looked up. Could such a thing be unravelled? + Fenton turned the stone over thoughtfully. He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “In that jewel, Harry, lies the secret. I wish I knew a bit more about + physics, light, force, energy, vibration. We have got to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Your theory?” + </p> + <p> + “It still holds good.” + </p> + <p> + I thought. + </p> + <p> + “Let me get it clear, Hobart. You say that we catch only certain + vibrations.” + </p> + <p> + “That's it. Our eyes are instruments, nothing else. We can see light, but + we cannot hear it. We hear sound, but we cannot see it. Of course they are + not exactly parallel. But it serves the point. Let's go a bit further. The + eye picks up certain vibrations. Light is nothing but energy vibrating at + a tremendous speed. It has to be just so high for the eye to pick it up. A + great deal we do not get. For instance, we can only catch one-twelfth of + the solar spectrum. Until recently we have believed only what we could + see. Science has pulled us out of the rut. It may pull us through the + Blind Spot.” + </p> + <p> + “And beyond.” + </p> + <p> + Hobart held up his hands. + </p> + <p> + “It is almost too much to believe. We have made a discovery. We must watch + our step. We must not lose. The work of Dr. Holcomb shall not go for + nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “And the ring?” + </p> + <p> + He consulted his watch. + </p> + <p> + “We have only a short time left. We must map our action. We have three + things to work on—the ring, the house, Bertha Holcomb. It's all up + to you, Harry. Find out all that is possible; but go slow. Trace down that + ring; find out everything that you can. Go and see Bertha Holcomb. Perhaps + she can give you some data. Watson said no; but perhaps you may uncover + it. Take the ring to a lapidary; but don't let him cut it. Last of all, + and most important, buy the house of the Blind Spot. Draw on me. Let me + pay half, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall move into it,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + He hesitated a bit. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid of that,” he answered. “Well, if you wish. Only be careful. + Remember I shall return just as soon as I can get loose. If you feel + yourself slipping or anything happens, send me a cable.” + </p> + <p> + The hours passed all too quickly. When day came we had our breakfast and + hurried down to the pier. It was hard to have him go. His last words were + like Hobart Fenton. He repeated the warning. + </p> + <p> + “Watch your step, Harry; watch your step. Take things easy; be cautious. + Get the house. Trace down the ring. Be sure of yourself. Keep me informed. + If you need me, cable. I'll come if I have to swim.” + </p> + <p> + His last words; and not a year ago. It seems now like a lifetime. As I + stood upon the pier and watched the ship slipping into the water, I felt + it coming upon me. It had grown steadily, a gloom and oppression not to be + thwarted; it is silent and subtle and past defining—like shadow. The + grey, heavy heave of the water; the great hull of the steamer backing into + the bay; the gloom of the fog bank. A few uncertain lines, the shrill of + the siren, the mist settling; I was alone. It was isolation. + </p> + <p> + I had been warned by Watson. But I had not guessed. At the moment I sensed + it. It was the beginning. Out of my heart I could feel it—solitude. + </p> + <p> + In the great and populous city I was to be alone, in all its teeming life + I was to be a stranger. It has been almost a year—a year! It has + been a lifetime. A breaking down of life! + </p> + <p> + I have waited and fought and sought to conquer. One cannot fight against + shadow. It is merciless and inexorable. There are secrets that may be + locked forever. It was my duty, my pledge to Watson, what I owed to the + professor. I have hung on grimly; what the end will be I do not know. I + have cabled for Fenton. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. — A DEAL IN PROPERTY + </h2> + <p> + But to return. There was work that I should do—much work if I was + going after the solution. In the first place, there was the house. I + turned my back to the waterfront and entered the city. The streets were + packed, the commerce of man jostled and threaded along the highways; there + was life and action, hope, ambition. It was what I had loved so well. Yet + now it was different. + </p> + <p> + I realised it vaguely, and wondered. This feeling of aloofness? It was + intrinsic, coming from within, like the withering of one's marrow. I + laughed at my foreboding; it was not natural; I tried to shake myself + together. + </p> + <p> + I had no difficulty with the records. In less than an hour I traced out + the owners, “an estate,” and had located the agent. It just so happened + that he was a man with whom I had some acquaintance. We were not long in + coming to business. + </p> + <p> + “The house at No. 288 Chatterton Place?” + </p> + <p> + I noticed that he was startled; there was a bit of wonder in his look—a + quizzical alertness. He motioned me to a chair and closed the door. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Mr. Wendel; sit down. H-m! The house at No. 288 Chatterton + Place? Did I hear you right?” + </p> + <p> + Again I noted the wonder; his manner was cautious and curious. I nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Want to buy it or just lease it? Pardon me, but you are sort of a friend. + I would not like to lose your friendship for the sake of a mere sale. What + is your—” + </p> + <p> + “Just for a residence,” I insisted. “A place to live in.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. Know anything about this place?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you?” + </p> + <p> + He fumbled with some papers. For an agent he did not strike me as being + very solicitous for a commission. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “in a way, yes. A whole lot more than I'd like to. It all + depends. One gets much from hearsay. What I know is mostly rumour.” He + began marking with a pencil. “Of course I don't believe it. Nevertheless I + would hardly recommend it to a friend as a residence.” + </p> + <p> + “And these rumours?” + </p> + <p> + He looked up; for a moment he studied; then: + </p> + <p> + “Ever hear of the Blind Spot? Perhaps you remember Dr. Holcomb—in + 1905, before the 'quake. It was a murder. The papers were full of it at + the time; since then it has been occasionally featured in the supplements. + I do not believe in the story; but I can trust to facts. The last seen of + Dr. Holcomb was in this house. It is called the Blind Spot.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you believe in the story?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + He looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you know it, eh? No, I do not. It's all bunkum; reporters' work and + exaggeration. If you like that kind of stuff, it's weird and interesting. + But it hurts property. The man was undoubtedly murdered. The tale hangs + over the house. It's impossible to dispose of the place.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why not sell it to me?” + </p> + <p> + He dropped his pencil; he was a bit nervous. + </p> + <p> + “A fair question, Mr. Wendel—a very fair question. Well, now, why + don't I? Perhaps I shall. There's no telling. But I'd rather not. Do you + know, a year ago I would have jumped at an offer. Fact is, I did lease it—the + lease ran out yesterday—to a man named Watson. I don't believe a + thing in this nonsense; but what I have seen during the past year has + tested my nerve considerably.” + </p> + <p> + “What about Watson?” + </p> + <p> + “Watson? A year ago he came to see me in regard to this Chatterton + property. Wanted to lease it. Was interested in the case of Dr. Holcomb; + asked for a year's rental and the privilege of renewal. I don't know. I + gave it to him; but when he drops in again I am going to fight almighty + hard against letting him hold it longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Why? Why, because I don't believe in murder. A year ago he came to me the + healthiest and happiest man I ever saw; today he is a shadow. I watched + that boy go down. Understand, I don't believe a damn word I'm saying; but + I have seen it. It's that cursed house. I say no, when I reason; but it + keeps on my nerves; it's on my conscience. It is insidious. Every month + when he came here I could see disintegration. It's pitiful to see a young + man stripped of life like that; forlorn, hopeless, gone. He has never told + me what it is; but I have wondered. A battle; some conflict with—there + I go again. It's on my nerves, I tell you, on my nerves. If this keeps up + I'll burn it.” + </p> + <p> + It was a bit foreboding. Already I could feel the tugging at my heart that + had done for Watson. This man had watched my friend slipping into the + shadow; I had come to take his place. + </p> + <p> + “Watson has gone,” I said simply; “and that's why I am here.” + </p> + <p> + He straightened up. + </p> + <p> + “You know him then. He was not—” + </p> + <p> + “He went last night; he has left the country. He was in very poor health. + That's why I am here. I know very well the cloud that hangs over the + property; it is my sole reason for purchasing.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't believe in this nonsense?” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. Certainly the man was perverse in his agnosticism; he was + stubborn in disbelief. It was on his nerves; on his conscience; he was + afraid. + </p> + <p> + “I believe nothing,” I answered; “neither do I disbelieve. I know all the + story that has been told or written. I am a friend of Watson. You need not + scruple in making me out a bill of sale. It's my own funeral. I abide by + the consequences.” + </p> + <p> + He gave a sigh of relief. After all, he was human. He had honour; but it + was after the brand of Pontius Pilate. He wished nothing on his + conscience. + </p> + <p> + Armed with the keys and the legal title, I took possession. In the + daylight it was much as it had been the night before. Once across its + threshold, one was in dank and furtive suppression; the air was heavy; a + mould of age had streaked the walls and gloomed the shadows. I put up all + the curtains to let in the rush of sunlight, likewise I opened the + windows. If there is anything to beat down sin, it is the open measure of + broad daylight. + </p> + <p> + The house was well situated; from the front windows one could look down + the street and out at the blue bay beyond the city. The fog had lifted and + the sun was shining upon the water. I could make out the ferryboats, the + islands, and the long piers that lead to Oakland, and still farther beyond + the hills of Berkeley. It was a long time since those days in college. + Under the shadow of those hills I had first met the old doctor. I was only + a boy then. + </p> + <p> + I turned into the building. Even the sound of my footsteps was foreign; + the whole place was pregnant with stillness and shadow; life was gone out. + It was fearful; I felt the terror clutching upon me, a grimness that may + not be spoken; there was something breaking within me. I had pledged + myself for a year. Frankly I was afraid. + </p> + <p> + But I had given my word. I returned to my apartments and began that very + day the closing down of my practice. In a fortnight I had completed + everything and had moved my things to the room of Chick Watson. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. — ALBERT JEROME + </h2> + <p> + Just as soon as possible I hurried over to Berkeley. I went straight to + the bungalow on Dwight Way; I inquired for Miss Holcomb. She was a woman + now in her late twenties, decidedly pretty, a blonde, and of intelligent + bearing. + </p> + <p> + Coming on such an errand, I was at a loss just how to approach her. I + noted the little lines about the corners of her eyes, the sad droop of her + pretty mouth. Plainly she was worried. As I was removing my hat she caught + sight of the ring upon my finger. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said; “then you come from Mr. Watson. How is Chick?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Watson”—I did not like lying, but I could not but feel for her; + she had already lost her father—“Mr. Watson has gone on a trip + up-country—with Jerome. He was not feeling well. He has left this + ring with me. I have come for a bit of information.” + </p> + <p> + She bit her lips; her mouth quivered. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't you get this from Mr. Watson? He knows about the stone. Didn't + he tell you? How did it come into your possession? What has happened?” + </p> + <p> + Her voice was querulous and suspicious. I had endeavoured to deceive her + for her own sake; she had suffered enough already. I could not but wince + at the pain in her eyes. She stood up. + </p> + <p> + “Please, Mr. Wendel; don't be clumsy. Don't regard me as a mere baby. Tell + me what has happened to Chick. Please—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped in a flow of emotion. Tears came to her eyes; but she held + control. She sat down. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me all, Mr. Wendel. It is what I expected.” She blinked to hold back + her tears. “It is my fault. You wouldn't have the ring had nothing + happened. Tell me. I can be brave.” + </p> + <p> + And brave she was—splendid. With the tug at my own heart I could + understand her. What uncertainty and dread she must have been under! I had + been in it but a few days; already I could feel the weight. At no time + could I surmount the isolation; there was something going from me minute + by minute. With the girl there could be no evasion; it were better that + she have the truth. I made a clean breast of the whole affair. + </p> + <p> + “And he told you no more about the ring?” + </p> + <p> + “That is all,” I answered. “He would have told us much more, undoubtedly, + had he not—” + </p> + <p> + “You saw him go—you saw this thing?” + </p> + <p> + “That is just it, Miss Holcomb. We saw nothing. One minute we were looking + at Chick, and the next at nothing. Hobart understood it better than I. At + least he forbade my crossing the room. There is a danger point, a spot + that may not be crossed. He threw me back. It was then that the Rhamda + came upon the scene.” She frowned slightly. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about the Nervina. When Chick spoke of her, I could always feel + jealous. Is she beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + “Most beautiful, the most wonderful girl I have ever seen, though I would + hardly class her as one to be jealous of. But she wants the ring. I've + promised Watson, and of course I shall keep it. But I would like its + history.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I can give you some information there,” she answered. “The ring, + or rather the jewel, was given to father about twenty years ago by a Mr. + Kennedy. He had been a pupil of father's when father taught at a local + school. He came here often to talk over old times. Father had the jewel + set in a ring; but he never wore it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + “How did Watson come to link it up with the Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “That, I think, was an accident. He was in college, you know, at the time + of father's disappearance. In fact, he was in the Ethics class. He came + here often, and during one of his visits I showed him the ring. That was + several years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I see.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, about a year ago he was here again, and asked to see the jewel. We + were to be married, you understand; but I had always put it off because of + father. Somehow I felt that he would return. It was in late summer, about + September; it was in the evening; it was getting dark. I gave Chick the + ring, and stepped into the garden to cut some flowers. I remember that + Chick struck a match in the parlour. When I came back he seemed to be + excited.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he ask you for the ring?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He wanted to wear it. And he suddenly began to talk of father. It + was that night that he took it upon himself to find him.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. Not before that night? Did he take the ring then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. We went to the opera. I remember it well, because that night was the + first time I ever knew Chick to be gloomy.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You know how jolly he always was. When we returned that night he + would scarcely say a word. I thought he was sick; but he said he was not; + said he just felt that way.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand. And he kept getting glummer? Did you suspect the jewel? Did + he ever tell you anything?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No. He told me nothing, except that he would find father. Of course, I + became excited and wanted to know. But he insisted that I couldn't help; + that he had a clue, and that it might take time. From that night I saw + very little of him. He leased the house on Chatterton Place. He seemed to + lose interest in myself; when he did come over he would act queerly. He + talked incoherently, and would often make rambling mention of a beautiful + girl called Nervina. You say it is the ring? Tell me, Mr. Wendel, what is + it? Has it really anything to do with father?” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I think it has, Miss Holcomb. And I can understand poor Chick. He is a + very brave man. It's a strange jewel and of terrible potency; that much I + know. It devitalises; it destroys. I can feel it already. It covers life + with a fog of decay. The same solitude has come upon myself. Nevertheless + I am certain it has much to do with the Blind Spot. It is a key of some + sort. The very interest of the Rhamda and the Nervina tells us that. I + think it was through this stone that your father made his discovery.” + </p> + <p> + She thought a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Hadn't you better return it? While you still have health? If you keep it, + it will be only one more.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget, Miss Holcomb, my promise to Chick. I loved your father, and I + was fond of Watson. It's a great secret and, if the professor is right, + one which man has sought through the ages. I'd be a coward to forgo my + duty. If I fail, I have another to take my place.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, “it's horrible. First father; then Chick; now you; and + afterwards it will be Mr. Fenton.” + </p> + <p> + “It is our duty,” I returned. “One by one. Though we may fail, each one of + us may pass a bit more on to his successor. In the end we win. It is the + way of man.” + </p> + <p> + I had my way. She turned over all the data and notes that had been left by + the professor; but I never found a thing in them that could be construed + to an advantage. My real quest was to trace down the jewel. The man + Kennedy's full name was, I learned, Budge Kennedy. He had lived in + Oakland. It was late in the afternoon when I parted with Miss Holcomb and + started for the city. + </p> + <p> + I remember it well because of a little incident that occurred immediately + after our parting. I was just going down the steps when I looked up one of + the side streets. A few students were loitering here and there. But there + was one who was not a student. I recognised him instantly, and I wondered. + It was the Rhamda. This was enough to make me suspicious. But there was + one thing more. Farther up the street was another figure. + </p> + <p> + When I came down the steps the Rhamda moved, and his move was somehow + duplicated by the other. In itself this was enough to clear up some of my + doubts concerning the phantom. His actions were too simple for an + apparition. Only a man would act like that, and a crude one. I didn't know + then the nerve of the Rhamda. There was no doubt that I was being + shadowed. + </p> + <p> + To make certain, I took the by-streets and meandered by a devious route to + the station. There was no question; one and two they followed. I knew the + Rhamda; but who was the other? + </p> + <p> + At the station we purchased tickets, and when the train pulled in I + boarded a smoker. The other two took another coach—the stranger was + a thick-set individual with a stubby, grey moustache. On the boat I didn't + see them; but at the ferry building I made a test to see that I was + followed. I hailed a taxi and gave specific instructions to the driver. + </p> + <p> + “Drive slowly,” I told him. “I think we shall be followed.” + </p> + <p> + And I was right; in a few minutes there were two cars dogging our + wheel-tracks. I had no doubt concerning the Rhamda; but I couldn't + understand the other. At No. 288 Chatterton Place we stopped and I + alighted. The Rhamda's car passed, then the other. Neither stopped. Both + disappeared round the corner. I took the numbers; then I went into the + house. In about a half hour a car drew up at the curb. I stepped to the + window. It was the car that had tracked the Rhamda's. The stubby + individual stepped out; without ceremony he ran up the steps and opened + the door. It was a bit disconcerting, I think, for both. He was plain and + blunt—and honest. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “where's Watson? Who are you? What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “That,” I answered, “is a question for both of us. Who are you, and what + do you want? Where is Watson?” + </p> + <p> + Just then his eyes dropped and his glance fell and eyes widened. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Jerome,” he said simply. “Has something happened to Watson? + Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + We were standing in the library; I made an indication towards the other + room. “In there,” I said. “My name is Wendel.” + </p> + <p> + He took off his hat and ran the back of his hand across his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “So that pair got him, too! I was afraid of them all the while. And I had + to be away. Do you know how they did it? What's the working of their game? + It's devilish and certainly clever. They played that boy for a year; they + knew they would get him in the end. So did I. + </p> + <p> + “He was a fine lad, a fine lad. I knew this morning when I came down from + Nevada that they had him. Found your duds. A stranger. House looked queer. + But I had hopes he might have gone over to see his girl. Just thought I'd + wander over to Berkeley. Found that bird Rhamda under a palm tree watching + the Holcomb bungalow. It was the first time I'd seen him since that day + things went amiss with the professor. In about ten minutes you came out. I + stayed with him while he tracked you back here; I followed him back down + town and lost him. Tell me about Watson.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down; during my recital he spoke not a word. He consumed one cigar + after another; when I stopped for a moment he merely nodded his head and + waited until I continued. He was sturdy and frank, of an iron way and vast + common sense. I liked him. When I had finished he remained silent; his + grief was of a solid kind! he had liked poor Watson. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” he said. “It is as I thought. He told you more than he ever told + me.” + </p> + <p> + “He never told you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much. He was a strange lad—about the loneliest one I've ever + seen. There was something about him from the very first that was not + natural; I couldn't make him out. You say it is the ring. He always wore + it. I laid it to this Rhamda. He was always meeting him. I could never + understand it. Try as I would, I could not get a trace of the phantom.” + </p> + <p> + “The phantom?” + </p> + <p> + “Most assuredly. Would you call him human?” His grey eyes were flecked + with light. “Come now, Mr. Wendel, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I answered, “I don't know. Not after what I have seen. But for all + that, I have proof of his sinews. I am inclined to blend the two. There is + a law somewhere, a very natural one. The Blind Spot is undoubtedly a + combination of phenomena; it has a control. We do not know what it is, or + where it leads to; neither do we know the motive of the Rhamda. Who is he? + If we knew that, we would know everything.” + </p> + <p> + “And this ring?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall wear it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then God help you. I watched Watson. It's plain poison. You have a year; + but you had better count on half a year; the first six months aren't so + bad; but the last—it takes a man! Wendel, it takes a man! Already + you're eating your heart out. Oh, I know—you have opened the + windows; you want sunshine and air. In six months I shall have to fight to + get one open. It gets into the soul; it is stagnation; you die by inches. + Better give me the ring.” + </p> + <p> + “This Budge Kennedy,” I evaded, “we must find him. We have time. One clue + may lead us on. Tell me what you know of the Blind Spot.” + </p> + <p> + “Very easy,” he answered; “you have it all. I have been here a number of + years. You will remember I fell into the case through intuition. I never + had any definite proof, outside the professor's disappearance, the old + lady, and that bell; unless perhaps it is the Rhamda. But from the + beginning I've been positive. + </p> + <p> + “Taking that lecture in ethics as a starter, I built up my theory. All the + clues lead to this building. It's something that I cannot understand. It's + out of the occult. It's a bit too much for me. I moved into the place and + waited. I've never forgotten that bell, nor that old lady. You and Fenton + are the only ones who have seen the Blind Spot.” + </p> + <p> + I had a sudden thought. + </p> + <p> + “The Rhamda! I have read that he has the manner of inherent goodness. Is + it true? You have conversed with him. I haven't.” + </p> + <p> + “He has. He didn't strike me as a villain. He's intrinsic, noble, out of + self. I have often wondered.” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. “Perhaps we are thinking the same thing. Is this it? The Blind + Spot is a secret that man may not attain to. It is unknowable and akin to + death. The Rhamda knows it. He couldn't head off the professor. He simply + employed Dr. Holcomb's wisdom to trap him; now that he has him secure, he + intends to hold him. It is for our own good.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. Yet—” + </p> + <p> + “Yet?” + </p> + <p> + “He was very anxious to put you and Fenton into this very Spot.” + </p> + <p> + “That is so. But may it not be that we, too, knew a bit too much?” + </p> + <p> + He couldn't answer that. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, we were both of us convinced concerning the Rhamda. It was + merely a digression of thought, a conjecture. He might be good; but we + were both positive of his villainy. It was his motive, of course, that + weighed up his character; could we find that, we would uncover everything. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. — A NEW ELEMENT + </h2> + <p> + Budge Kennedy was not so easily found. There were many Kennedys. About + two-thirds of Ireland had apparently migrated to San Francisco under that + name and had lodged in the directory. We went through the lists on both + sides of the bay, but found nothing; the old directories had mostly been + destroyed by fire or had been thrown away as worthless; but at last we + unearthed one. In it we found the name of Budge Kennedy. + </p> + <p> + He had two sons—Patrick and Henry. One of these, Henry, we ran down + in the Mission. He was a great, red-headed, broad-shouldered Irishman. He + was just eating supper when we called; there were splotches of white + plaster on his trousers. + </p> + <p> + I came right to the point: “Do you know anything about this?” I held out + the ring. + </p> + <p> + He took it in his fingers; his eyes popped. “What, that! Well, I guess I + do! Where'd you get it?” He called out to the kitchen: “Say, Mollie, come + here. Here's the old man's jool!” He looked at me a bit fearfully. “You + aren't wearing it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why? Well, I don't know exactly. I wouldn't wear it for a million + dollars. It ain't a jool; it's a piece of the divil. The old man gave it + to Dr. Holcomb—or sold it, I don't know which. He carried it in his + pocket once, and he came near dying.” + </p> + <p> + “Unlucky?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, it ain't unlucky; it just rips your heart out. It would make you hate + your grandmother. Lonesome! Lonesome! I've often heard the old man + talking.” + </p> + <p> + “He sold it to Dr. Holcomb? Do you know why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes. 'Twas that the old doc had some scientific work. Dad told him + about his jool. One day he took it over to Berkeley. It was some kind of + thing that the professor just wanted. He kept it. Dad made him promise not + to wear it.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. Did your father ever tell you where he got it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. He often spoke about that. The old man wasn't a plasterer, you + know—just a labourer. He was digging a basement. It was a funny + basement—a sort of blind cellar. There was a stone wall right across + the middle, and then there was a door of wood to look like stone. You can + go down into the back cellar, but not into the front. If you don't know + about the door, you'll never find it. Dad often spoke about that. He was + working in the back cellar when he found this. 'Twas sticking in some blue + clay.” + </p> + <p> + “Where was this place? Do you remember?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure. 'Twas in Chatterton Place. Pat and I was kids then; we took the old + man's dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know the number?” + </p> + <p> + “It didn't have no number; but I know the place. 'Tis a two-story house, + and was built in 'ninety-one.” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. “And afterwards you moved to Oakland?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Did your father ever speak of the reason for this partition in the + cellar?” + </p> + <p> + “He never knew of one. It was none of his business. He was merely a + labourer, and did what he was paid for.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know who built it?” + </p> + <p> + “Some old guy. He was a cranky cuss with side-whiskers. He used to wear a + stove-pipe hat. I think he was a chemist. Whenever he showed up he would + run us kids out of the building. I think he was a bachelor.” + </p> + <p> + This was all the information he could give, but it was a great deal. + Certainly it was more than I had hoped for. The house had been built by a + chemist; even in the construction there was mystery. I had never thought + of a second cellar; when I had explored the building I had taken the stone + wall for granted. It was so with Jerome. It was the first definite clue + that really brought us down to earth. What had this chemist to do with the + phenomena? + </p> + <p> + After all, behind everything was lurking the mind of man. + </p> + <p> + We hastened back to the house and into the cellar. By merely sounding + along the wall we discovered the door; it was cleverly constructed and for + a time defied our efforts; but Jerome got it open by means of a jemmy and + a pick. The outside was a clever piece of sham work shaped like stone and + smeared over with cement. In the dim light we had missed it. + </p> + <p> + We had high expectations. But we were disappointed. The space contained + nothing; it was smeared with cobwebs and hairy mould; but outside of a few + empty bottles and the gloomy darkness there was nothing. We tapped the + walls and floor and ceiling. Beyond all doubt the place once held a + secret; if it held it still, it was cleverly hidden. After an hour or two + of search we returned to the upper part of the building. + </p> + <p> + Jerome was not discouraged. + </p> + <p> + “We're on the right track, Mr. Wendel; if we can only get started. I have + an idea. The chemist—it was in 'ninety-one—that's more than + twenty years.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your idea?” + </p> + <p> + “The Rhamda. What is the first thing that strikes you? His age. With + everyone that sees him it's the same. At first you take him for an old + man; if you study him long enough, you are positive that he is in his + twenties. May he not be this chemist?” + </p> + <p> + “What becomes of the doctor and his Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “The Blind Spot,” answered Jerome, “is merely a part of the chemistry.” + </p> + <p> + Next day I hunted up a jeweller. I was careful to choose one with whom I + was acquainted. I asked for a private consultation. When we were alone I + took the ring from my finger. + </p> + <p> + “Just an opinion,” I asked. “You know gems. Can you tell me anything about + this one?” + </p> + <p> + He picked it up casually, and turned it over; his mouth puckered. For a + minute he studied. + </p> + <p> + “That? Well, now.” He held it up. “Humph. Wait a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it a gem?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it is. At first I thought I knew it right off; but now—wait + a minute.” + </p> + <p> + He reached in the drawer for his glass. He held the stone up for some + minutes. His face was a study; queer little wrinkles twisting from the + corners of his eyes told his wonder. He did not speak; merely turned the + stone round and round. At last he removed his glass and held up the ring. + He was quizzical. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you get this?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “That is something I do not care to answer. I wish to know what it is. Is + it a gem? If so, what kind?” + </p> + <p> + He thought a moment and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I knew every gem on earth. But I don't. This is a new one. It + is beautiful—just a moment.” He stepped to the door. In a moment + another man stepped in. The jeweller motioned towards the ring. The man + picked it up and again came the examination. At last he laid the glass and + ring both upon the table. + </p> + <p> + “What do you make of it, Henry?” asked the jeweller. + </p> + <p> + “Not me,” answered the second one. “I never saw one like it.” + </p> + <p> + It was as Watson had said. No man had ever identified the jewel. The two + men were puzzled; they were interested. The jeweller turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “Would you care to leave it with us for a bit; you have no objection to us + taking it out of the ring?” + </p> + <p> + I had not thought of that. I had business down the street. I consulted my + watch. + </p> + <p> + “In half an hour I shall be back. Will that be enough time?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so.” + </p> + <p> + It was an hour before I returned. The assistant was standing at the door + of the office. He spoke something to the one inside and then made an + indication to myself. He seemed excited; when I came closer I noted that + his face was full of wonder. + </p> + <p> + “We've been waiting,” said he. “We didn't examine the stone; it wasn't + necessary. It is truly wonderful.” He was a short, squat man with a + massive forehead. “Just step inside.” + </p> + <p> + Inside the office the jeweller was sitting beside a table; he was leaning + back in his chair; he had his hands clasped over his stomach. He was + gazing toward the ceiling; his face was a study, full of wonder and + speculation. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + For an answer he merely raised his finger, pointed towards the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + “Up there,” he spoke. “Your jewel or whatever it is. A good thing we + weren't in open air. 'Twould be going yet.” + </p> + <p> + I looked up. Sure enough, against the ceiling was the gem. It was a bit + disconcerting, though I will confess that in the first moment I did not + catch the full significance. + </p> + <p> + The jeweller closed one eye and studied first myself and then the + beautiful thing against the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + “What do you make of it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Really I had not made anything; it was a bit of a shock; I hadn't grasped + the full impossibility. I didn't answer. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you see, Mr. Wendel? Impossible! Contrary to nature! Lighter than + air. We took it out of the ring and it shot out like a bullet. Thought I'd + dropped it. Began looking on the floor. Couldn't find it; looked up and + saw Reynolds, here, with his eyes popping out like marbles. He was looking + at the ceiling.” + </p> + <p> + I thought for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Then it is not a gem?” + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders. “Not if I'm a jeweller. Whoever heard of a + stone without weight? It has no gravity, that is, apparently. I doubt + whether it is a substance. I don't know what it is.” + </p> + <p> + It was puzzling. I would have given a good deal just then for a few words + with Dr. Holcomb. The man, Kennedy, had kept it in his pocket. How had he + held it a prisoner? The professor had use for it in some scientific work! + No wonder! Certainly it was not a jewel. What could it be? It was solid. + It was lighter than air. Could it be a substance? If not; what is it? + </p> + <p> + “What would you advise?” + </p> + <p> + In answer the jeweller reached for the telephone. He gave a number. + </p> + <p> + “Hello. Say, is Ed there? This is Phil. Tell him to step to the phone. + Hello! Say, Ed, I want you to come over on the jump. Something to show + you. Too busy! No, you're not. Not for this. I'm going to teach you some + chemistry. No; this is serious. What is it? I don't know. What's lighter + than air? Lots of things? Oh, I know. But what solid? That's why I'm + asking. Come over. All right. At once.” + </p> + <p> + He hung up the receiver. + </p> + <p> + “My brother,” he spoke. “It has passed beyond my province and into his. He + is a chemist. As an expert he may give you a real opinion.” + </p> + <p> + Surely we needed one. It was against reason. It had taken me completely + off my balance. I took a chair and joined the others in the contemplation + of the blue dot on the ceiling. We could speculate and conjecture; but + there was not one of us deep enough even to start a theory. Plainly it was + what should not be. We had been taught physics and science; we had been + drilled to fundamentals. If this thing could be, then the foundations upon + which we stood were shattered. But one little law! Back in my mind was + buzzing the enigma of the Blind Spot. They were woven together. Some law + that had eluded the ken of mankind. + </p> + <p> + The chemist was a tall man with a hook nose and black eyes that clinched + like rivets. He was a bit impatient. He looked keenly at his brother. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Phil, what is it?” He pulled out a watch, “I haven't much time.” + </p> + <p> + There was a contrast between them. The jeweller was fat and complacent. He + merely sat in his chair, his hand on his waistband and a stubby finger + elevated toward the jewel. He seemed to enjoy it. + </p> + <p> + “You're a chemist, Ed. Here's a test for your wisdom. Can you explain + that? No, over here. Above your head. That jewel?” + </p> + <p> + The other looked up. + </p> + <p> + “What's the idea? New notion for decoration? Or”?—a bit testily—“is + this a joke?” He was a serious man; his black eyes and the nose spoke his + character. + </p> + <p> + The jeweller laughed gently. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Ed—” Then he went into explanation; when he was through the + chemist was twitching with excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Get me a ladder. Here, let me get on the table; perhaps I can reach it. + Sounds impossible, but if it's so, it's so; it must have an explanation.” + </p> + <p> + Without ado and in spite of the protests of his brother he stepped upon + the polished surface of the table. He was a tall man; he could just barely + reach it with the tip of his finger. He could move it; but each time it + clung as to a magnet. After a minute of effort he gave it up. When he + looked down he was a different man; his black eyes glowed with wonder. + </p> + <p> + “Can't make it,” he said. “Get a step-ladder. Strange!” + </p> + <p> + With the ladder it was easy. He plucked it off the ceiling. We pressed + about the table. The chemist turned it about with his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” he was saying. “It's a gem. Apparently. You say it has no + gravity. It can't be. Whoop!” He let it slip out of his fingers. Again it + popped on its way to the ceiling. He caught it with a deft movement of his + hand. “The devil! Did you ever see! And a solid! Who owns this?” + </p> + <p> + That brought it back to me. I explained what I could of the manner of my + possession. + </p> + <p> + “I see. Very interesting. Something I've never seen—and—frankly—something + strictly against what I've been taught. Nevertheless, it's not impossible. + We are witnesses at least. Would you care if I take this over to the + laboratory?” + </p> + <p> + It was a new complication. If it were not a jewel there was a chance of + its being damaged. I was as anxious as he; but I had been warned as to its + possession. + </p> + <p> + “I shan't harm it. I'll see to that. I have suspicions and I'd like to + verify them. A chemist doesn't blunder across such a thing every day. I am + a chemist.” His eyes glistened. + </p> + <p> + “Your suspicions?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “A new element.” + </p> + <p> + This gem. A new element. Perhaps that would explain the Blind Spot. It was + not exactly of earth. Everything had confirmed it. + </p> + <p> + “You—A new element? How do you account for it? It defies your laws. + Most of your elements are evolved through tedious process. This is picked + up by chance.” + </p> + <p> + “That is so. But there are still a thousand ways. A meteor, perhaps; a bit + of cosmic dust—there are many shattered comets. Our chemistry is + earthly. There are undoubtedly new elements that we don't know of. Perhaps + in enormous proportion.” + </p> + <p> + I let him have it. It was the only night I had been away from the ring. I + may say that it is the only time I have been free from its isolation. + </p> + <p> + When I called at his office next day I found he had merely confirmed his + suspicions. It defied analysis; there was no reaction. Under all tests it + was a stranger. The whole science that had been built up to explain + everything had here explained nothing. However there was one thing that he + had uncovered—heat. Perhaps I should say magnetism. It was cold to + man. I have spoken about the icy blue of its colour. It was cold even to + look at. The chemist placed it in my hand. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not so?” + </p> + <p> + It was. The minute it touched my palm I could sense the weird horror of + the isolation; the stone was cold. Just like a piece of ice. + </p> + <p> + This was the first time I had ever had it in direct contact with the + flesh. Set in the ring its impulse had always been secondary. + </p> + <p> + “You notice it? It is so with me. Now then. Just a minute.” + </p> + <p> + He pressed a button. A young lady answered his ring; she glanced first at + myself and then at the chemist. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Mills, this is Mr. Wendel. He is the owner of the gem. Would you + take it in your hand? And please tell Mr. Wendel how it feels—” + </p> + <p> + She laughed; she was a bit perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand”—she turned to me—“we had the same dispute + yesterday. See, Mr. White says that it's cold; but it is not. It is warm; + almost burning. All the other girls think just as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “And all the men as I do,” averred the chemist, “even Mr. Wendel.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it cold to you?” she asked. “Really—” + </p> + <p> + It was a turn I hadn't looked for. It was akin to life—this relation + to sex. Could it account for the strange isolation and the weariness? I + was a witness to its potency. Watson! I could feel myself dragging under. + I had just one question: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, Miss Mills. Can you sense anything else; I mean beyond its + temperature?” + </p> + <p> + She smiled a bit. “I don't know what you mean exactly. It is a beautiful + stone. I would like to have it.” + </p> + <p> + “You think its possession would make you happy?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes sparkled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she exclaimed. “I know it would! I can feel it!” + </p> + <p> + It was so. Whatever there was in the bit of sapphirine blue, it had life. + What was it? It had relation to sex. In the strict line of fact it was + impossible. + </p> + <p> + When we were alone again I turned to the chemist. + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything more you uncovered? Did you see anything in the stone?” + </p> + <p> + He frowned. “No. Nothing else. This magnetism is the only thing. Is there + anything more?” + </p> + <p> + Now I hadn't said anything about its one great quality. He hadn't stumbled + across the image of the two men. I couldn't understand it. I didn't tell + him. Perhaps I was wrong. Down inside me I sensed a subtle reason for + secrecy. It is hard to explain. It was not perverseness; it was a finer + distinction; perhaps it was the influence of the gem. I took it back to + the jeweller again and had it reset. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. — AGAIN THE NERVINA + </h2> + <p> + It was at this point that I began taking notes. There is something + psychological to the Blind Spot, weird and touching on the spirit. I know + not what it is; but I can feel it. It impinges on to life. I can sense the + ecstasy of horror. I am not afraid. Whatever it is that is dragging me + down, it is not evil. My sensations are not normal. + </p> + <p> + For the benefit of my successor, if there is to be one, I have made an + elaborate detail of notes and comments. After all, the whole thing, when + brought down to the end, must fall to the function of science. When Hobart + arrives, whatever my fate, he will find a complete and comprehensive + record of my sensations. I shall keep it up to the end. Such notes being + dry and sometimes confusing I have purposely omitted them from this + narrative. But there are some things that must be given to the world. I + shall pick out the salient parts and give them chronologically. + </p> + <p> + Jerome stayed with me. Rather I should say he spent the nights with me. + Most of the time he was on the elusive trail of the Rhamda. From the + minute of our conversation with Kennedy he held to one conviction. He was + positive of that chemist back in the nineties. He was certain of the + Rhamda. Whatever the weirdness of his theory it would certainly bear + investigation. When he was not on the trail over the city he was at work + in the cellar. Here we worked together. + </p> + <p> + We dug up the concrete floor and did a bit of mining. I was interested in + the formation. + </p> + <p> + From the words of Budge Kennedy the bit of jewel had been discovered at + the original excavation. We found the blue clay that he spoke of, but + nothing else. Jerome dissected every bit of earth carefully. We have spent + many hours in that cellar. + </p> + <p> + But most of the time I was alone. When not too worn with the loneliness + and weariness I worked at my notes. It has been a hard task from the + beginning. Inertia, lack of energy! How much of our life is impulse! What + is the secret that backs volition? It has been will—will-power from + the beginning. I must thank my ancestors. Without the strength and + character built up through generations, I would have succumbed utterly. + </p> + <p> + Even as it is I sometimes think I am wrong in following the dictates of + Watson. If I were only sure. I have pledged my word and my honour. What + did he know? I need all the reserve of character to hold up against the + Nervina. From the beginning she has been my opponent. What is her interest + in the Blind Spot and myself? Who is she? I cannot think of her as evil. + She is too beautiful, too tender; her concern is so real. Sometimes I + think of her as my protector, that it is she, and she alone who holds back + the power which would engulf me. Once she made a personal appeal. + </p> + <p> + Jerome had gone. I was alone. I had dragged myself to the desk and my + notes and data. It was along toward spring and in the first shadows of the + early evening. I had turned on the lights. It was the first labour I had + done for several days. I had a great deal of work before me. I had begun + sometime before to take down my temperature. I was careful of everything + now, as much as I could be under the depression. So far I had discerned + nothing that could be classed as pathological. + </p> + <p> + There is something subtle about the Nervina. She is much like the Rhamda. + Perhaps they are the same. I hear no sound, I have no notion of a door or + entrance. Watson had said of the Rhamda, “Sometimes you see him, sometimes + you don't.” It is so with the Nervina. I remember only my working at the + data and the sudden movement of a hand upon my desk—a girl's hand. + It was bewildering. I looked up. + </p> + <p> + I had not seen her since that night. It was now eight months—did I + not know, I would have recorded them as years. Her expression was a bit + more sad—and beautiful. The same wonderful glow of her eyes, + night-black and tender; the softness that comes from passion, and love, + and virtue. The same wistful droop of the perfect mouth. What a wondrous + mass of hair she had! I dropped my pen. She took my hand. I could sense + the thrill of contact; cool and magnetic. + </p> + <p> + “Harry!” + </p> + <p> + She said no more; I did not answer; I was too taken by surprise and + wonder. I could feel her concern as I would a mother's. What was her + interest in myself? The contact of her hand sent a strange pulse through + my vitals; she was so beautiful. Could it be? Watson said he loved her. + Could I blame him? + </p> + <p> + “Harry,” she asked, “how long is it to continue?” + </p> + <p> + So that was it. Merely an envoy to accept surrender. I was worn utterly, + weary of the world, lonely. But I hadn't given up. I had strength still, + and will enough to hold out to the end. Perhaps I was wrong. If I gave her + the ring? what then? + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” I answered, “that I must go on. I have given my word. It + has been much harder than I expected. This jewel? What has it to do with + the Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “It controls it.” + </p> + <p> + “Does the Rhamda desire it?” + </p> + <p> + “He does.” + </p> + <p> + “Why doesn't he call for it personally? Why doesn't he make a clean breast + of it? It would be much easier. He knows and you know that I am after Dr. + Holcomb and Watson. I might even forego the secret. Would he release the + doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Harry, he would not.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. If I gave up the ring it would be merely for my personal safety. I + am a coward—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, “don't say that. You must give the ring to me—not to + the Rhamda. He must not control the Blind Spot.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the Blind Spot? Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Harry,” she spoke, “I cannot. It is not for you or any other mortal. It + is a secret that should never have been uncovered. It might be the end. In + the hands of the Rhamda it would certainly be the end of mankind.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is the Rhamda? Who are you? You are too beautiful to be merely woman. + Are you a spirit?” + </p> + <p> + She pressed my hand ever so slightly. “Do I feel like a spirit? I am + material as much as you are. We live, see—everything.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are not of this world?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes grew sadder; a soft longing. + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly, Harry, not exactly. It is a long story and a very strange + one. I may not tell you. It is for your own good. I am your friend”—her + eyes were moist—“I—don't you see? Oh, I would save you!” + </p> + <p> + I did not doubt it. Somehow she was like a girl of dreams, pure as an + angel; her wistfulness only deepened her beauty. It came like a shock at + the moment. I could love this woman. She was—what was I thinking? My + guilty mind ran back to Charlotte. I had loved her since boyhood. I would + be a coward—then a wild fear. Perhaps of jealousy. + </p> + <p> + “The Rhamda? Is he your husband? You are the same—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she answered, “why do you say it?” Her eyes snapped and she grew + rigid. “The Rhamda! My husband! If you only knew. I hate him! We are + enemies. It was he who opened the Blind Spot. I am here because he is + evil. To watch him. I love your world, I love it all. I would save it. I + love—” + </p> + <p> + She dropped her head. Whatever she was, she was not above sobbing. + </p> + <p> + I touched her hair; it was of the softest texture I have ever seen; the + lustre was like all the beauty of night woven into silk. She loved, loved; + I could love—I was on the point of surrender. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” I asked, “just one thing more. If I gave you this ring would + you save the doctor and Chick Watson?” + </p> + <p> + She raised her head; her eyes glistened; but she did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Would you?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. “I cannot,” she answered. “That cannot be. I can only + save you for—for—Charlotte.” + </p> + <p> + Was it vanity in myself? I don't know. It seemed to me that it was hard + for her to say it. Frankly, I loved her. I knew it. I loved Charlotte. I + loved them both. But I held to my purpose. + </p> + <p> + “Are the professor and Watson living?” + </p> + <p> + “They are.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they conscious?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. “Harry,” she said, “I can tell you that. They are living and + conscious. You have seen them. They have only one enemy—the Rhamda. + But they must never come out of the Blind Spot. I am their friend and + yours.” + </p> + <p> + A sudden courage came upon me. I remembered my word to Watson. I had loved + the old professor. I would save them. If necessary I would follow to the + end. Either myself or Fenton. One of us would solve it! + </p> + <p> + “I shall keep the ring,” I said. “I shall avenge them. Somehow, somewhere, + I feel that I shall do it. Even if I must follow—” + </p> + <p> + She straightened at that. Her eyes were frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, “why do you say it? It must not be! You would perish! You + shall not do it! I must save you. You must not go alone. Three—it + may not be. If you go, I go with you. Perhaps—oh, Harry!” + </p> + <p> + She dropped her head again; her body shook with her sobbing; plainly she + was a girl. No real man is ever himself in the presence of a woman's + tears. I was again on the point of surrender. Suddenly she looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Harry,” she spoke sadly, “I have just one thing to ask. You must see + Charlotte. You must forget me; we can never—you love Charlotte. I + have seen her; she's a beautiful girl. You haven't written. She is + worried. Remember what you mean to her happiness. Will you go?” + </p> + <p> + That I could promise. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I shall see Charlotte.” + </p> + <p> + She rose from her chair. I held her hand. Again, as in the restaurant, I + lifted it to my lips. She flushed and drew it away. She bit her lip. Her + beauty was a kind I could not understand. + </p> + <p> + “You must see Charlotte,” she said, “and you must do as she says.” + </p> + <p> + With that she was gone. There was a car waiting; the last I saw was its + winking tail-light dimming into the darkness. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. — CHARLOTTE + </h2> + <p> + Left alone, I began thinking of Charlotte. I loved her; of that I was + certain. I could not compare her with the Nervina. She was like myself, + human. I had known her since boyhood. The other was out of the ether; my + love for her was something different; she was of dreams and moonbeams; + there was a film about her beauty, illusion; she was of spirit. + </p> + <p> + I wrote a note to the detective and left it upon my desk. After that I + packed a suitcase and hurried to the station. If I was going I would do it + at once, I could not trust myself too far. This visit had been like a + breath of air; for the moment I was away from the isolation. The + loneliness and the weariness! How I dreaded it! I was only free from it + for a few moments. On the train it came back upon me and in a manner that + was startling. + </p> + <p> + I had purchased my ticket. When the conductor came through he passed me. + He gathered tickets all about me; but he did not notice me. At first I + paid no attention; but when he had gone through the car several times I + held up my ticket. He did not stop. It was not until I had touched him + that he gave me a bit of attention. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been sitting?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + I pointed to the seat. He frowned slightly. + </p> + <p> + “There?” he asked. “Did you say you were sitting in that seat? Where did + you get on?” + </p> + <p> + “At Townsend.” + </p> + <p> + “Queer,” he answered; he punched the ticket. “Queer. I passed that seat + several times. It was empty!” + </p> + <p> + Empty! It was almost a shock. Could it be that my isolation was becoming + physical as well as mental? What was this gulf that was widening between + myself and my fellows? + </p> + <p> + It was the beginning of another phase. I have noticed it many times; on + the street, in public places, everywhere. I thread in and out among men. + Sometimes they see me, sometimes they don't. It is strange. I feel at + times as though I might be vanishing out of the world! + </p> + <p> + It was late when I reached my old home; but the lights were still burning. + My favourite dog, Queen, was on the veranda. As I came up the steps she + growled slightly, but on recognition went into a series of circles about + the porch. My father opened the door. I stepped inside. He touched me on + the shoulder, his jaw dropped. + </p> + <p> + “Harry!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Was it as bad as that? How much meaning may be placed in a single + intonation! I was weary to the point of exhaustion. The ride upon the + train had been too much. + </p> + <p> + My mother came in. For some moments I was busy protesting my health. But + it was useless; it wasn't until I had partaken of a few of the old + nostrums that I could placate her. + </p> + <p> + “Work, work, work, my boy,” said my father, “nothing but work. It really + won't do. You're a shadow. You must take a vacation. Go to the mountains; + forget your practice for a short time.” + </p> + <p> + I didn't tell them. Why should I? I decided right then it was my own + battle. It was enough for me without casting the worry upon others. Yet I + could not see Charlotte without calling on my parents. + </p> + <p> + As soon as possible I crossed the street to the Fentons'. Someone had seen + me in town. Charlotte was waiting. She was the same beautiful girl I had + known so long; the blue eyes, the blonde, wavy mass of hair, the laughing + mouth and the gladness. But she was not glad now. It was almost a + repetition of what had happened at home, only here a bit more personal. + She clung to me almost in terror. I didn't realise I had gone down so + much. I knew my weariness; but I hadn't thought my appearance so dejected. + I remembered Watson. He had been wan, pale, forlorn. After what brief + explanation I could give, I proposed a stroll in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + It was a full moon; a wonderful night; we walked down the avenue under the + elm trees. Charlotte was beautiful, and worried; she clung to my arm with + the eagerness of possession. I could not but compare her with Nervina. + There was a contrast; Charlotte was fresh, tender, affectionate, the girl + of my boyhood. I had known her all my life; there was no doubt of our + love. + </p> + <p> + Who was the other? She was something higher, out of mystery, out of life—almost—out + of the moonbeams. I stopped and looked up. The great full orb was shining. + I didn't know that I spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Harry,” asked Charlotte, “who is the Nervina?” + </p> + <p> + Had I spoken? + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about the Nervina?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “She has been to see me. She told me. She said you would be here tonight. + I was waiting. She is very beautiful. I never saw anyone like her. She is + wonderful!” + </p> + <p> + “What did she say?” + </p> + <p> + “She! Oh, Harry. Tell me. I have waited. Something has happened. Tell me. + You have told me nothing. You are not like the old Harry.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about the Nervina. What did she say? Charlotte, tell me + everything. Am I so much different from the old Harry?” + </p> + <p> + She clutched at my arm fearfully; she looked into my eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, “how can you say it? You haven't laughed once. You are + melancholy; you are pale, drawn, haggard. You keep muttering. You are not + the old Harry. Is it this Nervina? At first I thought she loved you; but + she does not. She wanted to know all about you, and about our love. She + was so interested. What is this danger?” + </p> + <p> + I didn't answer. + </p> + <p> + “You must tell me. This ring? She said that you must give it to me. What + is it?” she insisted. + </p> + <p> + “Did she ask that? She told you to take the ring? My dear,” I asked, “if + it were the ring and it were so sinister would I be a man to give it to my + loved one?” + </p> + <p> + “It would not hurt me.” + </p> + <p> + But I would not. Something warned me. It was a ruse to get it out of my + possession. The whole thing was haunting, weird, ghostly. Always I could + hear Watson. I still had a small quota of courage and will-power. I clung + steadfastly to my purpose. + </p> + <p> + It was a sad three hours. Poor Charlotte! I shall never forget it. It is + the hardest task on earth to deny one's loved one. + </p> + <p> + She had grown into my heart and into its possession. She clung to me + tenderly, tearfully. I could not tell her. Her feminine instinct sensed + disaster. In spite of her tears I insisted. When I kissed her goodnight + she did not speak. But she looked up at me through her tears. It was the + hardest thing of all for me to bear. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. — THE SHEPHERD + </h2> + <p> + When I returned to the city next morning I took my dog. It was a strange + whim; but one which was to lead to a remarkable development. I have always + been a lover of dogs. I was lonely. There is a bond between a dog and his + master. It goes beyond definition; it roots down into nature. I was to + learn much. + </p> + <p> + She was an Australian shepherd. She was of a tawny black and bob-tailed + from birth. + </p> + <p> + What is the power that lies behind instinct? How far does it go? I had a + notion that the dog would be outside the sinister clutch that was dragging + me under. + </p> + <p> + Happily Jerome was fond of dogs. He was reading. When I entered with Queen + tugging at the chain he looked up. The dog recognised the heart of the + man; when he stooped to pet her she moved her stub tail in an effusion of + affectionate acceptance. Jerome had been reading Le Bon's theory on the + evolution of force. His researches after the mystery had led him into the + depths of speculation; he had become quite a scholar. After our first + greeting I unhooked the chain and let Queen have the freedom of the house. + I related what had happened. The detective closed the book and sat down. + The dog waited a bit for further petting; but missing that she began + sniffing about the room. There was nothing strange about it of course. I + myself paid not the slightest attention. But the detective was watching. + While I was telling my story he was following every movement of the + shepherd. Suddenly he held up one finger. I turned. + </p> + <p> + It was Queen. A low growl, guttural and suspicious. She was standing about + a foot from the portieres that separated the library from the other room—where + we had lost Watson, and where Jerome had had his experience with the old + lady. Tense and rigid, one forepaw held up stealthily, her stub tail erect + and the hair along her back bristled. Again the low growl. I caught + Jerome's eyes. It was queer. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Queen?” I spoke. + </p> + <p> + At the sound of my voice she wagged her tail and looked round, then + stepped between the curtains. Just her head. She drew back; her lips drawn + from her teeth, snarling. She was rigid, alert, vitalised. Somehow it made + me cold. She was a brave dog; she feared nothing. The detective stepped + forward and pulled the curtains apart. The room was empty. We looked into + each other's faces. What is there to instinct? What is its range? We could + see nothing. + </p> + <p> + But not to the dog. Her eyes glowed. Hate, fear, terror, her whole body + rigid. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” I said. I stepped into the room. But I hadn't counted on the + dog. With a yelp she was upon me, had me by the calf of the leg and was + drawing me back. She stepped in front of me; a low, guttural growl of + warning. But there was nothing in that room; of that we were certain. + </p> + <p> + “Beats me,” said the detective. “How does she know? Wonder if she would + stop me?” He stepped forward. It was merely a repetition. She caught him + by the trouser-leg and drew him back. She crowded us away from the + curtain. It was almost magnetic. We could see nothing, neither could we + feel; was it possible that the dog could see beyond us? The detective + spoke first: + </p> + <p> + “Take her out of the room. Put her in the hall; tie her up.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the idea?” + </p> + <p> + “Merely this; I am going to examine the room. No, I am not afraid. I'll be + mighty glad if it does catch me. Anything so long as I get results.” + </p> + <p> + But it did us no good. We examined the room many times that night; both of + us. In the end there was nothing, only the weirdness and uncertainty and + the magnetic undercurrent which we could feel, but could not fathom. When + we called in the dog she stepped to the portieres and commenced her vigil. + She crouched slightly behind the curtains, alert, ready, waiting, at her + post of honour. From that moment she never left the spot except under + compulsion. We could hear her at all times of the night; the low growl, + the snarl, the defiance. + </p> + <p> + But there was a great deal more that we were to learn from the dog. It was + Jerome who first called my attention. A small fact at the beginning; but + of a strange sequence. This time it was the ring. Queen had the habit that + is common to most dogs; she would lick my hand to show her affection. It + was nothing in itself; but for one fact—she always chose the left + hand. It was the detective who first noticed it. Always and every + opportunity she would lick the jewel. We made a little test to try her. I + would remove the ring from one hand to the other; then hold it behind me. + She would follow. + </p> + <p> + It was a strange fact; but of course not inexplicable. A scent or the + attraction of taste might account for it. However, these little tests led + to a rather remarkable discovery. + </p> + <p> + One night we had called the dog from her vigil. As usual she came to the + jewel; by chance I pressed the gem against her head. It was a mere trifle; + yet it was of consequence. A few minutes before I had dropped a + handkerchief on the opposite side of the room; I was just thinking about + picking it up. It was only a small thing, yet it put us on the track of + the gem's strangest potency. The dog walked to the handkerchief. She + brought it back in her mouth. At first I took it for a pure coincidence. I + repeated the experiment with a book. The same result. I looked up at + Jerome. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” Then when I explained: “The dickens! Try it again.” + </p> + <p> + Over and over again we repeated it, using different articles, pieces of + which I was certain she didn't know the name. There was a strange bond + between the gem and the intelligence, some strange force emanating from + its lustre. On myself it was depressing; on the dog it was life itself. At + last Jerome had an inspiration. + </p> + <p> + “Try the Rhamda,” he said; “think of him. Perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + It was most surprising. Certainly it was remarkable. It was too much like + intelligence; a bit too uncanny. At the instant of the thought the dog + leaped backward. + </p> + <p> + Such a strange transformation; she was naturally gentle. In one instant + she had gone mad. Mad? Not in the literal interpretation; but + figuratively. She sprang back, snapping; her teeth bared, her hair + bristled. Her nostrils drawn. With one bound she leaped between the + curtains. + </p> + <p> + Jerome jumped up. With an exclamation he drew the portieres. I was behind + him. The dog was standing at the edge of the room, bristling. + </p> + <p> + The room was empty. What did she see? What? + </p> + <p> + One thing was certain. Though we were sure of nothing else we were certain + of the Rhamda. We could trust the canine's instinct. Every previous + experiment we had essayed had been crowned with success. We had here a + fact but no explanation. If we could only put things together and extract + the law. + </p> + <p> + It was late when we retired. I could not sleep. The restlessness of the + dog held back my slumber. She would growl sullenly, then stir about for a + new position; she was never quite still. I could picture her there in the + library, behind the curtains, crouched, half resting, half slumbering, + always watching. I would awaken in the night and listen; a low guttural + warning, a sullen whine—then stillness. It was the same with my + companion. We could never quite understand it. Perhaps we were a bit + afraid. + </p> + <p> + But one can become accustomed to almost anything. It went on for many + nights without anything happening, until one night. + </p> + <p> + It was dark, exceedingly dark, with neither moon nor starlight; one of + those nights of inky intenseness. I cannot say just exactly what woke me. + The house was strangely silent and still; the air seemed stretched and + laden. It was summer. Perhaps it was the heat. I only knew that I woke + suddenly and blinked in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + In the next room with the door open I could hear the heavy breathing of + the detective. A heavy feeling lay against my heart. I had grown + accustomed to dread and isolation; but this was different. Perhaps it was + premonition. I do not know. And yet I was terribly sleepy; I remember + that. + </p> + <p> + I struck a match and looked at my watch on the bureau—twelve + thirty-five. No sound—not even Queen—not even a rumble from + the streets. I lay back and dropped into slumber. Just as I drifted off to + sleep I had a blurring fancy of sound, guttural, whining, fearful—then + suddenly drifting into incoherent rumbling phantasms—a dream. I + awoke suddenly. Someone was speaking. It was Jerome. + </p> + <p> + “Harry!” + </p> + <p> + I was frightened. It was like something clutching out of the darkness. I + sat up. I didn't answer. It wasn't necessary. The incoherence of my dream + had been external. The library was just below me. I could hear the dog + pacing to and fro, and her snarling. Snarling? It was just that. It was + something to arouse terror. + </p> + <p> + She had never growled like that—I was positive, I could hear her + suddenly leap back from the curtains. She barked. Never before had she + come to that. Then a sudden lunge into the other room—a vicious + series of snapping barks, yelps—pandemonium—I could picture + her leaping—at what? Then suddenly I leaped out of bed. The barks + grew faint, faint, fainter—into the distance. + </p> + <p> + In the darkness I couldn't find the switch. I bumped into Jerome. We were + lost in our confusion. It was a moment before we could find either a match + or a switch to turn on the lights. But at last—I shall not forget + that moment; nor Jerome. He was rigid; one arm held aloft, his eyes bulged + out. The whole house was full of sound—full-toned—vibrant—magnetic. + It was the bell. + </p> + <p> + I jumped for the stairway, but not so quick as Jerome. With three bounds + we were in the library with the lights on. The sound was running down to + silence. We tore down the curtains and rushed into the room. It was empty! + </p> + <p> + There was not even the dog. Queen had gone! In a vain rush of grief I + began calling and whistling. It was an overwhelming moment. The poor, + brave shepherd. She had seen it and rushed into its face. + </p> + <p> + It was the last night I was to have Jerome. We sat up until daylight. For + the thousandth time we went over the house in detail, but there was + nothing. Only the ring. At the suggestion of the detective I touched the + match to the sapphire. It was the same. The colour diminishing, and the + translucent corridors deepening into the distance; then the blur and the + coming of shadows—the men, Watson and the professor—and my + dog. + </p> + <p> + Of the men, only the heads showed; but the dog was full figure; she was + sitting, apparently on a pedestal, her tongue was lolling out of her mouth + and her face of that gentle intelligence which only the Australian + shepherd is heir to. That is all—no more—nothing. If we had + hoped to discover anything through her medium we were disappointed. + Instead of clearing up, the whole thing had grown deeper. + </p> + <p> + I have said that it was the last night I was to have Jerome. I didn't know + it then. Jerome went out early in the morning. I went to bed. I was not + afraid in the daylight. I was certain now that the danger was localised. + As long as I kept out of that apartment I had nothing to fear. + Nevertheless, the thing was magnetic. A subtle weirdness pervaded the + building. I did not sleep soundly. I was lonely; the isolation was + crowding on me. In the afternoon I stepped out on the streets. + </p> + <p> + I have spoken of my experience with the conductor. On this day I had the + certainty of my isolation; it was startling. In the face of what I was and + what I had seen it was almost terrifying. It was the first time I thought + of sending for Hobart. I had thought I could hold out. The complete + suddenness of the thing set me to thinking. I thought of Watson. It was + the last phase, the feebleness, the wanness, the inertia! He had been a + far stronger man than I in the beginning. + </p> + <p> + I must cable Fenton. While I had still an ego in the presence of men, I + must reach out for help. It was a strange thing and inexplicable. I was + not invisible. Don't think that. I simply did not individualise. Men + didn't notice me—till I spoke. As if I was imperceptibly losing the + essence of self. I still had some hold on the world. While it remained I + must get word to Hobart. I did not delay. Straight to the office I went + and paid for the cable. + </p> + <h3> + CANNOT HOLD OUT MUCH LONGER. COME AT ONCE.—HARRY. + </h3> + <p> + I was a bit ashamed. I had hoped. I had counted upon myself. I had trusted + in the full strength of my individuality. I had been healthy—strong—full + blooded. On the fullness of vitality one would live forever. There is no + tomorrow. It was not a year ago. I was eighty. It had been so with Watson. + What was this subtle thing that ate into one's marrow? I had read of + banshees, lemures and leprechauns; they were the ghosts and the fairies of + ignorance but they were not like this. It was impersonal, hidden, + inexorable. It was mystery. And I believed that it was Nature. + </p> + <p> + I know it now. Even as I write I can sense the potency of the force about + me. Some law, some principle, some force that science has not uncovered. + </p> + <p> + What is that law that shall bridge the chaos between the mystic and the + substantial? I am standing on the bridge; and I cannot see it. What is the + great law that was discovered by Dr. Holcomb? Who is the Rhamda? Who is + the Nervina? + </p> + <p> + Jerome has not returned. I cannot understand it. It has been a week. I am + living on brandy—not much of anything else—I am waiting for + Fenton. I have taken all my elaborations and notes and put them together. + Perhaps I— + </p> + <p> + (This is the last of the strange document left by Harry Wendel. The + following memorandum is written by Charlotte Fenton.) + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. — CHARLOTTE'S STORY + </h2> + <p> + I do not know. It is hard to write after what has happened. + </p> + <p> + Hobart says that it is why I am to write it. It is to be a plain + narrative. Besides, he is very busy and cannot do it himself. There must + be some record. I shall do my best and hold out of my writing as much as I + can of my emotion. I shall start with the Nervina. + </p> + <p> + It was the first I knew; the first warning. Looking back I cannot but + wonder. No person I think who has ever seen the Nervina can do much else; + she is so beautiful! Beautiful? Why do I say it? I should be jealous and I + should hate her. Yet I do not. Why is it? + </p> + <p> + It was about eight months after Hobart had left for South America. I + remember those eight months as the longest in my life; because of Harry. I + am a girl and I like attention; all girls do. Ordinarily he would come + over every fortnight at least. After Hobart had gone he came once only, + and of course I resented the inattention. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me that no business could be of enough importance if he + really loved me. Even his letters were few and far between. What he wrote + were slow and weary and of an undertone that I could not fathom. I—loved + Harry. I could not understand it. I had a thousand fearful thoughts and + jealousies; but they were feminine and in no way approximated even the + beginning of the truth. Inattention was not like Harry. It was not until + the coming of the Nervina that I was afraid. + </p> + <p> + Afraid? I will not say that—exactly. It was rather a suspicion, a + queer undercurrent of wonder and doubt. The beauty of the girl, her + interest in Harry and myself, her concern over this ring, put me a bit on + guard. I wondered what this ring had to do with Harry Wendel. + </p> + <p> + She did not tell me in exact words or in literal explanation; but she + managed to convey all too well a lurking impression of its sinister + potency. It was something baleful, something the very essence of which + would break down the life of one who wore it. Harry had come into its + possession by accident and she would save him. She had failed through + direct appeal. Now she had come to me. She did not say a word of the Blind + Spot. + </p> + <p> + And the next day came Harry. It was really a shock, though I had been + warned by the girl. He was not Harry at all, but another. His eyes were + dim and they had lost their lustre; when they did show light at all, it + was a kind that was a bit fearful. He was wan, worn, and shrunk to a + shadow, as if he had gone through a long illness. + </p> + <p> + He said he had not been sick. He maintained that he was quite well + physically. And on his finger was the ring of which the girl had spoken. + Its value must have been incalculable. Wherever he moved his hand its blue + flame cut a path through the darkness. But he said nothing about it. I + waited and wondered and was afraid. It was not until our walk under the + elm trees that it was mentioned. + </p> + <p> + It was a full moon; a wonderful, mellow moon of summer. He stopped + suddenly and gazed up at the orb above us. It seemed to me that his mind + was wandering, he held me closely—tenderly. He was not at all like + Harry. There was a missing of self, of individuality; he spoke in + abstractions. + </p> + <p> + “The maiden of the moonbeams?” he said. “What can it mean?” + </p> + <p> + And then I asked him. He has already told of our conversation. It was the + ring of which the Nervina had told me. It had to do with the Blind Spot—the + great secret that had taken Dr. Holcomb. He would not give it to me. I + worked hard, for even then I was not afraid of it. Something told me—I + must do it to save him. It was weird, and something I could not understand—but + I must do it for Harry. + </p> + <p> + I failed. Though he was broken in every visible way there was one thing as + strong as ever—his honour. He was not afraid; he had been the same + in his boyhood. When we parted that night he kissed me. I shall never + forget how long he looked into my eyes, nor his sadness. That is all. The + next morning he left for San Francisco. + </p> + <p> + And then came the end. A message; abrupt and sudden. It was some time + after and put a period to my increasing stress and worry. It read: + </p> + <p> + CITY OF PERU DOCKS TONIGHT AT EIGHT. MEET ME AT THE PIER. HOBART COMING,—HARRY. + </p> + <p> + It was a short message and a bit twisted. In ordinary circumstances he + would have motored down and brought me back to greet Hobart. It was a bit + strange that I should meet him at the pier. However, I had barely time to + get to the city if I hurried. + </p> + <p> + I shall never forget that night. + </p> + <p> + It was dark when I reached San Francisco. I was a full twenty minutes + early at the pier. A few people were waiting. I looked about for Harry. He + was to meet me and I was certain that I would find him. But he was not + there. Of course there was still time. He was sure to be on hand to greet + Hobart. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, I had a vague mistrust. Since that strange visit I had not + been sure. Harry wasn't well. There was something to this mystery that he + had not told me. Why had he asked me to meet him at the pier? Why didn't + he come? When the boat docked and he was still missing I was doubly + worried. + </p> + <p> + Hobart came down the gangplank. He was great, strong, healthy, and it + seemed to me in a terrible hurry. He scanned the faces hurriedly and ran + over to me. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Harry?” He kissed me and in the same breath repeated, “Where's + Harry?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hobart!” I exclaimed. “What's the matter with Harry? Tell me. It's + something terrible!” + </p> + <p> + He was afraid. Plainly I could see that! There were lines of anxiety about + his eyes. He clutched me by the arm and drew me away. + </p> + <p> + “He was to meet me here,” I said. “He didn't come. He was to meet me here! + Oh, Hobart, I saw him some time ago. He was—it was not Harry at all! + Do you know anything about it?” + </p> + <p> + For a minute he stood still, looking at me. I had never seen Hobart + frightened; but at that moment there was that in his eyes which I could + not understand. He caught me by the arm and started out almost at a run. + There were many people and we dodged in and out among them. Hobart carried + a suitcase. He hailed a taxi. + </p> + <p> + I don't know how I got into the car. It was a blur. I was frightened. Some + terrible thing had occurred, and Hobart knew it. I remember a few words + spoken to the driver. “Speed, speed, no limit; never mind the law—and + Chatterton Place!” After that the convulsive jerking over the cobbled + streets, a climbing over hills and twisted corners. And Hobart at my side. + “Faster—faster,” he was saying; “faster! My lord, was there ever a + car so slow! Harry! Harry!” I could hear him breathing a prayer. Another + hill; the car turned and came suddenly to a stop! Hobart leaped out. + </p> + <p> + A sombre two-storey house; a light burning in one of the windows, a dim + light, almost subdued and uncanny. I had never seen anything so lonely as + that light; it was grey, uncertain, scarcely a flicker. Perhaps it was my + nerves. I had scarcely strength to climb the steps. Hobart grasped the + knob and thrust open the door; I can never forget it. + </p> + <p> + It is hard to write. The whole thing! The room; the walls lined with + books; the dim, pale light, the faded green carpet, and the man. Pale, + worn, almost a shadow of his former self. Was it Harry Wendel? He had aged + forty years. He was stooped, withered, exhausted. A bottle of brandy on + the desk before him. In his weak, thin hand an empty wineglass. The gem + upon his finger glowed with a flame that was almost wicked; it was blue, + burning, giving out sparkles of light—like a colour out of hell. The + path of its light was unholy—it was too much alive. + </p> + <p> + We both sprang forward. Hobart seized him by the shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Harry, old boy; Harry! Don't you know us? It's Hobart and Charlotte.” + </p> + <p> + It was terrible. He didn't seem to know. He looked right at us. But he + spoke in abstractions. + </p> + <p> + “Two,” he said. And he listened. “Two! Don't you hear it?” He caught + Hobart by the arm. “Now, listen. Two! No, it's three. Did I say three? + Can't you hear? It's the old lady. She speaks out of the shadows. There! + There! Now, listen. She has been counting to me. Always she says three! + Soon it will be four.” + </p> + <p> + What did he mean? What was it about? Who was the old lady? I looked round. + I saw no one. Hobart stooped over. Harry began slowly to recognise us. It + was as if his mind had wandered and was coming back from a far place. He + spoke slowly; his words were incoherent and rambling. + </p> + <p> + “Hobart,” he said; “you know her. She is the maiden out of the moonbeams. + The Rhamda, he is our enemy. Hobart, Charlotte. I know so much. I cannot + tell you. You are two hours late. It's a strange thing. I have found it + and I think I know. It came suddenly. The discovery of the great + professor. Why didn't you come two hours earlier? We might have + conquered.” + </p> + <p> + He dropped his head upon his arms; then as suddenly he looked up. He drew + the ring from his finger. + </p> + <p> + “Give it to Charlotte,” he said. “It won't hurt her. Don't touch it + yourself. Had I only known. Watson didn't know—” + </p> + <p> + He straightened; he was tense, rigid, listening. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear anything? Listen! Can you hear? It's the old lady. There—” + </p> + <p> + But there was not a sound; only the rumble of the streets, the ticking of + the clock, and our heart-beats. Again he went through the counting. + </p> + <p> + “Hobart!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Harry.” + </p> + <p> + “And Charlotte! The ring—ah, yet it was there, Keep it. Give it to + no one. Two hours ago we might have conquered. But I had to keep the ring. + It was too much, too powerful; a man may not wear it. Charlotte”—he + took my hand and ran the ring upon my finger. “Poor Charlotte. Here is the + ring. The most wonderful—” + </p> + <p> + Again he dropped over. He was weak—there was something going from + him minute by minute. + </p> + <p> + “Water,” he asked. “Hobart, some water.” + </p> + <p> + It was too pitiful. Harry, our Harry—come to a strait like this! + Hobart rushed to another room with the tumbler. I could hear him fumbling. + I stooped over Harry. But he held up his hand. + </p> + <p> + “No, Charlotte, no. You must not. If—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped. Again the strange attention, as if he was listening to + something far off in the distance; the pupils of his hollow, worn, + lustreless eyes were pin-points. He stood on his feet rigid, quivering; + then he held up his hand. “Listen!” + </p> + <p> + But there was nothing. It was just as before; merely the murmuring of the + city night, and the clock ticking. + </p> + <p> + “It's the dog! D'you hear her? And the old lady. Now listen, 'Two! Now + there are two! Three! Three! Now there are three!' There—now.” He + turned to me. “Can you hear it, Charlotte? No? How strange. Perhaps—” + He pointed to the corner of the room. “That paper. Will you—” + </p> + <p> + I shall always go over that moment. I have thought over it many times and + have wondered at the sequence. Had I not stepped across the library, what + would have happened? + </p> + <p> + What was it. + </p> + <p> + I had stooped to pick up the piece of paper. There came a queer, cracking, + snapping sound, almost audible, I have a strange recollection of Harry + standing up by the side of the desk—a flitting vision. An intuition + of some terrible force. It was out of nothing—nowhere—approaching. + I turned about. And I saw it—the dot of blue. + </p> + <p> + Blue! That is what it was at first. Blue and burning, like the flame of a + million jewels centred into a needlepoint. On the ceiling directly above + Harry's head. It was scintillating, coruscating, opalescent; but it was + blue most of all. It was the colour of life and of death; it was burning, + throbbing, concentrated. I tried to scream. But I was frozen with horror. + The dot changed colour and went to a dead-blue. It seemed to grow larger + and to open. Then it turned to white and dropped like a string of + incandescence, touching Harry on the head. + </p> + <p> + What was it? It was all so sudden. A door flung open and a swish of + rushing silk. A woman! A beautiful girl! The Nervina! It was she! + </p> + <p> + Never have I seen anyone like her. She was so beautiful. In her face all + the compassion a woman is heir to. For scarcely a second she stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Charlotte,” she called. “Charlotte—oh, why didn't you save him! He + loves you!” Then she turned to Harry. “It shall not be. He shall not go + alone. I shall save him, even beyond—” + </p> + <p> + With that she rushed upon Harry. It was all done in an instant. Her arms + were outstretched to the dimming form of Harry and the incandescence. The + splendid impassioned girl. Their forms intermingled. A blur of her + beautiful body and Harry's wan, weary face. A flash of light, a thread of + incandescence, a quiver—and they were gone. + </p> + <p> + The next I knew was the strong arms of my brother Hobart. He gave me the + water he had fetched for Harry. He was terribly upset, but very calm. He + held the glass up to my lips. He was speaking. + </p> + <p> + “Don't worry. Don't worry. I know now. I think I know. I was just in time + to see them go. I heard the bell. Harry is safe. It is the Nervina. I + shall get Harry. We'll solve the Blind Spot.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. — HOBART FENTON TAKES UP THE TALE + </h2> + <p> + Right here at the outset, I had better make a clean breast of something + which the reader will very soon suspect, anyhow: I am a plain, unpoetic, + blunt-speaking man, trained as a civil engineer, and in most respects + totally dissimilar from the man who wrote the first account of the Blind + Spot. + </p> + <p> + Harry had already touched upon this. He came of an artistic family. I + think he must have taken up law in the hope that the old saying would + prove true: “The only certain thing about law is its uncertainty.” For he + dearly loved the mysterious, the unknowable; he liked uncertainty for its + excitement: and it is a mighty good thing that he was honest, for he would + have made a highly dangerous crook. + </p> + <p> + Observe that I use the past tense in referring to my old friend. I do this + in the interests of strict, scientific accuracy, to satisfy those who + would contend that, having utterly vanished from sight and sound of man, + Harry Wendel is no more. + </p> + <p> + But in my own heart is the firm conviction that he is still very much + alive. + </p> + <p> + Within an hour of his astounding disappearance, my sister, Charlotte, and + I made our way to an hotel; and despite the terrible nature of what had + happened, we managed to get a few hours rest. The following morning + Charlotte declared herself quite strong enough to discuss the situation. + We lost no time. + </p> + <p> + It will be remembered that I had spent nearly the whole of the preceding + year in South America, putting through an irrigation scheme. Thus, I knew + little of what had occurred in that interval. On the other hand, Harry and + I had never seen fit to take Charlotte into our confidence as, I now see, + we should have done. + </p> + <p> + So we fairly pounced upon the manuscript which Harry had left behind. And + by the time we had finished reading it, I for one, had reached one solid + conclusion. + </p> + <p> + “I'm convinced,” I said, “that the stranger—Rhamda Avec—is an + out-and-out villain. Despite his agreeable ways, I think he was solely and + deliberately to blame for Professor Holcomb's disappearance. Consequently, + this Rhamda is, in himself, a very valuable clue as to Harry's present + predicament.” + </p> + <p> + Referring to Harry's notes, I pointed out the fact that, although Avec had + often been seen on the streets of San Francisco, yet the police had never + been able to lay hands on him. This seemed to indicate that the man might + possess the power of actually making himself visible or invisible, at + will. + </p> + <p> + “Only”—I was careful to add—“understand, I don't rank him as a + magician, or sorcerer; nothing like that. I'd rather think that he's + merely in possession of a scientific secret, no more wonderful in itself + than, say, wireless. He's merely got hold of it in advance of the others; + that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think that the woman, too, is human?” + </p> + <p> + “The Nervina?” I hesitated. “Perhaps you know more of this part of the + thing than I do.” + </p> + <p> + “I only know”—slowly—“that she came and told me that Harry was + soon to call. And somehow, I never felt jealous of her, Hobart.” Then she + added: “At the same time, I can understand that Harry might—might + have fallen in love with her. She—she was very beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte is a brave girl. She kept her voice as steady as my own. + </p> + <p> + We next discussed the disappearance of Chick Watson. These details are + already familiar to the reader of Harry's story; likewise what happened to + Queen, his Australian shepherd. Like the other vanishings, it was followed + by a single stroke on that prodigious, invisible bell—what Harry + calls “The Bell of the Blind Spot.” And he has already mentioned my + opinion, that this phenomenon signifies the closing of the portal of the + unknown—the end of the special conditions which produce the bluish + spot on the ceiling, the incandescent streak of light, and the vanishing + of whoever falls into the affected region. The mere fact that no trace of + the bell ever was found has not shaken my opinion. + </p> + <p> + And thus we reached the final disappearance, that which took away Harry. + Charlotte contrived to keep her voice as resolute as before, as she said: + </p> + <p> + “He and the Nervina vanished together. I turned round just as she rushed + in, crying out, 'I can't let you go alone! I'll save you, even beyond.' + That's all she said, before—it happened.” + </p> + <p> + “You saw nothing of the Rhamda then?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + And we had neither seen nor heard of him since. Until we got in touch with + him, one important clue as to Harry's fate was out of our reach. There + remained to us just one thread of hope—the ring, which Charlotte was + now wearing on her finger. + </p> + <p> + I lit a match and held it to the face of the gem. As happened many times + before, the stone exhibited its most astounding quality. As soon as + faintly heated, the surface at first clouded, then cleared in a curious + fashion, revealing a startling distinct, miniature likeness of the four + who had vanished into the Blind Spot. + </p> + <p> + I make no attempt to explain this. Somehow or other, that stone possesses + a telescopic quality which brings to a focus, right in front of the + beholder's eyes, a tiny “close-up” of our vanished friends. Also, the gem + magnifies what it reveals, so that there is not the slightest doubt that + Dr. Holcomb, Chick Watson, Queen and Harry Wendel are actually reproduced—I + shall not say, contained—in that gem. Neither shall I say that they + are reflected; they are simply reproduced there. + </p> + <p> + Also, it should be understood that their images are living. Only the heads + and shoulders of the men are to be seen; but there is animation of the + features, such as cannot be mistaken. Granted that these four vanished in + the Blind Spot—whatever that is—and granted that this ring is + some inexplicable window or vestibule between that locality and this + commonplace world of ours, then, manifestly, it would seem that all four + are still alive. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it!” declared Charlotte, managing to smile, wistfully, at + the living reproduction of her sweetheart. “And I think Harry did + perfectly right, in handing it to me to keep.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if for no other reason than because it behaves so differently with + me, than it did with him. + </p> + <p> + “Hobart, I am inclined to think that this fact is very significant. If + Chick had only known of it, he wouldn't have insisted that Harry should + wear it; and then—” + </p> + <p> + “Can't be helped,” I interrupted quickly. “Chick didn't know; he was only + certain that someone—SOMEONE—must wear the ring; that it + mustn't pass out of the possession of humans. Moreover, much as Rhamda + Avec may desire it—and the Nervina, too—neither can secure it + through the use of force. Nobody knows why.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte shivered. “I'm afraid there's something spooky about it, after + all.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing of the sort,” with a conviction that has never left me. “This + ring is a perfectly sound fact, as indisputable as the submarine. There's + nothing supernatural about it; for that matter, I personally doubt if + there's ANYTHING supernatural. Every phenomenon which seems, at first, so + wonderful, becomes commonplace enough as soon as explained. Isn't it true + that you yourself are already getting used to that ring?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye—es,” reluctantly. “That is, partly. If only it were someone + other than Harry!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” I hurried to say, “I only wanted to make it clear that we + haven't any witchcraft to deal with. This whole mystery will become plain + as day, and that damned soon!” + </p> + <p> + “You've got a theory?”—hopefully. + </p> + <p> + “Several; that's the trouble!” I had to admit. “I don't know which is best + to follow out.—It may be a spiritualistic thing after all. Or it may + fall under the head of 'abnormal psychology'. Nothing but hallucinations, + in other words.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that won't do!”—evidently distressed. “I know what I saw! I'd + doubt my reason if I thought I'd only fancied it!” + </p> + <p> + “So would I. Well, laying aside the spiritualistic theory, there remains + the possibility of some hitherto undiscovered scientific secret. And if + the Rhamda is in possession of it, then the matter simmers down to a plain + case of villainy.” + </p> + <p> + “But how does he do it?” + </p> + <p> + “That's the whole question. However, I'm sure of this”—I was + fingering the ring as I spoke. The reproduction of our friends had faded, + now, leaving that dully glowing pale blue light once more. “This ring is + absolutely real; it's no hallucination. It performs as well in broad + daylight as in the night; no special conditions needed. It's neither a + fraud nor an illusion. + </p> + <p> + “In short, this ring is merely a phenomenon which science has not YET + explained! That it can and will be explained is strictly up to us! Once we + understand its peculiar properties, we can mighty soon rescue Harry!” + </p> + <p> + And it was just then that a most extraordinary thing occurred. It happened + so very unexpectedly, so utterly without warning, that it makes me shaky + to this day whenever I recall it. + </p> + <p> + From the gem on Charlotte's finger—or rather, from the air + surrounding the ring—came an unmistakable sound. We saw nothing + whatever; we only heard. And it was clear, as loud and as startling as + though it had occurred right in the room where we were discussing the + situation. + </p> + <p> + It was the sharp, joyous bark of a dog. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. — THE HOUSE OF MIRACLES + </h2> + <p> + Looking back over what has just been written, I am sensible of a profound + gratitude. I am grateful, both because I have been given the privilege of + relating these events, and because I shall not have to leave this + wilderness of facts for someone else to explain. + </p> + <p> + Really, if I did not know that I shall have the pleasure of piecing + together these phenomena and of setting my finger upon the comparatively + simple explanation; if I had to go away and leave this account unfinished, + a mere collection of curiosity-provoking mysteries, I should not speak at + all. I should leave the whole affair for another to finish, as it ought to + be finished. + </p> + <p> + All of which, it will soon appear, I am setting forth largely in order to + brace and strengthen myself against what I must now relate. + </p> + <p> + Before resuming, however, I should mention one detail which Harry was too + modest to mention. He was—or is—unusually good-looking. I + don't mean to claim that he possessed any Greek-god beauty; such wouldn't + gibe with a height of five foot seven. No; his good looks were due to the + simple outward expression, through his features, of a certain noble inward + quality which would have made the homeliest face attractive. Selfishness + will spoil the handsomest features; unselfishness will glorify. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, simply because he had given his word to Chick Watson that he + would wear the ring, Harry took upon himself the most dangerous task that + any man could assume, and he had lost. But had he known in advance exactly + what was going to happen to him, he would have stuck to his word, anyhow. + And since there was a sporting risk attached to it, since the thing was + not perfectly sure to end tragically, he probably enjoyed the greater part + of his experience. + </p> + <p> + But I'm not like that. Frankly, I'm an opportunist; essentially, a + practical sort of fellow. I have a great admiration for idealists, but a + much greater admiration for results. For instance, I have seldom given my + word, even though the matter is unimportant; for I will cheerfully break + my word if, later on, it should develop that the keeping of my word would + do more harm than good. + </p> + <p> + I realise perfectly well that it is dangerous ground to tread upon; yet I + must refer the reader to what I have accomplished in this world, as proof + that my philosophy is not as bad as it looks. + </p> + <p> + I beg nobody's pardon for talking about myself so much at the outset. This + account will be utterly incomprehensible if I am not understood. My method + of solving the Blind Spot mystery is, when analysed, merely the expression + of my personality. My sole idea has been to get RESULTS. + </p> + <p> + As Harry has put it, a proposition must be reduced to concrete form before + I will have anything to do with it. If the Blind Spot had been a totally + occult affair, demanding that the investigation be conducted under cover + of darkness, surrounded by black velvet, crystal spheres and incense; + demanding the aid of a clairvoyant or other “medium,” I should never have + gone near it. But as soon as the mystery began to manifest itself in terms + that I could understand, appreciate and measure, then I took interest. + </p> + <p> + That is why old Professor Holcomb appealed to me; he had proposed that we + prove the occult by physical means. “Reduce it to the scope of our five + senses,” he had said, in effect. From that moment on I was his disciple. + </p> + <p> + I have told of hearing that sharp, welcoming bark, emitted either from the + gem or from the air surrounding it. This event took place on the front + porch of the house at 288 Chatterton Place, as Charlotte and I sat there + talking it over. We had taken a suite at the hotel, but had come to the + house of the Blind Spot in order to decide upon a course of action. And, + in a way, that mysterious barking decided it for us. + </p> + <p> + We returned to the hotel, and gave notice that we would leave the next + day. Next, we began to make preparations for moving into the Chatterton + Place dwelling. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon, while in the midst of giving orders for furnishings and + the like, there at the hotel, I was called to the telephone. It was from a + point outside the building. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Fenton?”—in a man's voice. And when I had assured him; “You + have no reason to recognise my voice. I am—Rhamda Avec.” + </p> + <p> + “The Rhamda! What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “To speak with your sister, Mr. Fenton.” Odd how very agreeable the man's + tones! “Will you kindly call her to the telephone?” + </p> + <p> + I saw no objection. However, when Charlotte came to my side I whispered + for her to keep the man waiting while I darted out into the corridor and + slipped downstairs, where the girl at the switchboard put an instrument + into the circuit for me. Money talks. However— + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” the voice of Avec was saying, “you do me an injustice. I + have nothing but your welfare at heart. I assure you that if anything + should happen to you and your brother while at Chatterton Place, it will + be through no fault of mine. + </p> + <p> + “At the same time I can positively assure you that, if you stay away from + there, no harm will come to either of you; absolutely none! I can + guarantee that. Don't ask me why; but, if you value your safety, stay + where you are, or go elsewhere, anywhere other than to the house in + Chatterton Place.” + </p> + <p> + “I can hardly agree with you, Mr. Avec.” Plainly Charlotte was deeply + impressed with the man's sincerity and earnestness. “My brother's judgment + is so much better than mine, that I—” and she paused regretfully. + </p> + <p> + “I only wish,” with his remarkable gracefulness, “that your intuition were + as strong as your loyalty to your brother. If it were, you would know that + I speak the truth when I say that I have only your welfare at heart.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I am sorry, Mr. Avec.” + </p> + <p> + “Fortunately, there is one alternative,” even more agreeable than before. + “If you prefer not to take my advice, but cling to your brother's + decision, you can still avoid the consequences of his determination to + live in that house. As I say, I cannot prevent harm from befalling you, + under present conditions; but these conditions can be completely altered + if you will make a single concession, Miss Fenton.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “That you give me the ring!” + </p> + <p> + He paused for a very tense second. I wished I could see his peculiar, + young-old face—the face with the inscrutable eyes; the face that + urged, rather than inspired, both curiosity and confidence. + </p> + <p> + Then he added: + </p> + <p> + “I know why you wear it; I realise that the trinket carries some very + tender associations. And I would never ask such a concession did I not + know, were your beloved here at this moment, he would endorse every word + that I say, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Harry!” cried Charlotte, her voice shaking. “He would tell me to give it + to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it! It is as though he, through me, were urging you to do + this!” + </p> + <p> + For some moments there was silence. Charlotte must have been tremendously + impressed. It certainly was amazing the degree of confidence that Avec's + voice induced. I wouldn't have been greatly surprised had my sister— + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Avec,” came Charlotte's voice, hesitatingly, almost sorrowfully. “I—I + would like to believe you; but—but Harry himself gave me the ring, + and I feel—oh, I'm sure that my brother would never agree to it!” + </p> + <p> + “I understand.” Somehow the fellow managed to conceal any disappointment + he may have felt. He contrived to show only a deep sympathy for Charlotte + as he finished: “If I find it possible to protect you, I shall, Miss + Fenton.” + </p> + <p> + After it was all over, and I returned to the rooms, Charlotte and I + concluded that it might have been better had we made some sort of + compromise. If we had made a partial concession, he might have told us + something of the mystery. We ought to have bargained. We decided that if + he made any attempt to carry out what I felt sure were merely a thinly + veiled threat to punish us for keeping the gem, we must not only be ready + for whatever he might do, but try to trap and keep him as well. + </p> + <p> + That same day found us back at Chatterton Place. Inside, there was + altogether too much evidence that the place had been bachelors' quarters. + </p> + <p> + The first step was to clean up. We hired lots of help, and made a quick + thorough job of both floors. The basement we left untouched. And the next + day we put a force of painters and decorators to work; whereby hangs the + tale. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Fenton,” called the head painter, as he varnished the “trim” in the + parlour, “I wish you'd come and see what to make of this.” + </p> + <p> + I stepped into the front room. He was pointing to the long piece of finish + which spanned the doorway leading into the dining-room. And he indicated a + spot almost in the exact middle, a spot covering a space about five inches + broad and as high as the width of the wood. In outline it was roughly + octagonal. + </p> + <p> + “I've been trying my best,” stated Johnson, “to varnish that spot for the + past five minutes. But I'll be darned if I can do it!” + </p> + <p> + And he showed what he meant. Every other part of the door glistened with + freshly applied varnish; but the octagonal region remained dull, as though + no liquid had ever touched it. Johnson dipped his brush into the can, and + applied a liberal smear of the fluid to the place. Instantly the stuff + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Blamed porous piece of wood,” eyeing me queerly. “Or—do you think + it's merely porous, Mr. Fenton?” + </p> + <p> + For answer I took a brush and repeatedly daubed the place. It was like + dropping ink on a blotter. The wood sucked up the varnish as a desert + might suck up water. + </p> + <p> + “There's about a quart of varnish in the wood already,” observed Johnson, + as I stared and pondered. “Suppose we take it down and weigh it?” + </p> + <p> + Inside of a minute we had that piece of trim down from its place. First, I + carefully examined the timber framework behind, expecting to see traces of + the varnish where, presumably, it had seeped through. There was no sign. + Then I inspected the reverse side of the finish, just behind the peculiar + spot. I thought I might see a region of wide open pores in the grain of + the pine. But the back looked exactly the same as the front, with no + difference in the grain at any place. + </p> + <p> + Placing the finish right side up, I proceeded to daub the spot some more. + There was no change in the results. At last I took the can, and without + stopping, poured a quart and a half of the fluid into that paradoxical + little area. + </p> + <p> + “Well I'll be darned!”—very loudly from Johnson. But when I looked + up I saw his face was white, and his lips shaking. + </p> + <p> + His nerves were all a-jangle. To give his mind a rest, I sent him for a + hatchet. When he came back his face had regained its colour. I directed + him to hold the pine upright, while I, with a single stroke, sank the tool + into the end of the wood. + </p> + <p> + It split part way. A jerk, and the wood fell in two halves. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” from Johnson, blankly. + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly normal wood, apparently.” I had to admit that it was impossible + to distinguish the material which constituted the peculiar spot from that + which surrounded it. + </p> + <p> + I sent Johnson after more varnish. Also, I secured several other fluids, + including water, milk, ink, and machine oil. And when the painter returned + we proceeded with a very thorough test indeed. + </p> + <p> + Presently it became clear that we were dealing with a phenomenon of the + Blind Spot. All told, we poured about nine pints of liquid into an area of + about twenty square inches; all on the outer surface, for the split side + would absorb nothing. And to all appearances we might have continued to + pour indefinitely. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later I went down into the basement to dispose of some + rubbish. (Charlotte didn't know of this defection in our housekeeping.) It + was bright sunlight outside. Thanks to the basement windows, I needed no + artificial luminant. And when my gaze rested upon the ground directly + under the parlour, I saw something there that I most certainly had never + noticed before. + </p> + <p> + The fact is, the basement at 288 Chatterton Place never did possess + anything worthy of special notice. Except for the partition which Harry + Wendel and Jerome, the detective, were the first in years to penetrate—except + for that secret doorway, there was nothing down there to attract + attention. To be sure, there was a quantity of up-turned earth, the result + of Jerome's vigorous efforts to see whether or not there was any + connection between the Blind Spot phenomena which he had witnessed and the + cellar. He had secured nothing but an appetite for all his digging. + </p> + <p> + However, it was still too dark for me to identify what I saw at once. I + stood for a few moments, accustoming my eyes to the light. Except that the + thing gleamed oddly like a piece of glass, and that it possessed a nearly + circular outline about two feet across, I couldn't tell much about it. + </p> + <p> + Then I stooped and examined it closely. At once I became conscious of a + smell which, somehow, I had hitherto not noticed. Small wonder; it was as + indescribable a smell as one could imagine. It seemed to be a combination + of several that are not generally combined. + </p> + <p> + Next instant it flashed upon me that the predominating odour was a + familiar one. I had been smelling it, in fact, all the morning. + </p> + <p> + But this did not prevent me from feeling very queer, indeed, as I realised + what lay before me. A curious chill passed around my shoulders, and I + scarcely breathed. + </p> + <p> + At my feet lay a pool, composed of all the various liquids that had been + poured, upstairs, into that baffling spot in the wood. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. — OUT OF THIN AIR + </h2> + <p> + Except for the incident just related, when several pints of very real + fluids were somehow “materialised” at a spot ten feet below where they had + vanished, nothing worth recording occurred during the first seven days of + our stay at Chatterton Place. + </p> + <p> + Seemingly nothing was to come of the Rhamda's warning. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand we succeeded, during that week, in working a complete + transformation of the old house. It became one of the brightest spots in + San Francisco. It cost a good deal of money, all told, but I could well + afford it. I possessed the hundred thousand with which, I had promised + myself and Harry, I should solve the Blind Spot. That was what the money + was for. + </p> + <p> + On the seventh day after the night of Harry's going, our household was + increased to three members. For it was then that Jerome returned from + Nevada, whence he had gone two weeks before on a case. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all surprised,” he commented, when I told him of Harry's + disappearance. “Sorry I wasn't here. That crook, Rhamda Avec, in at the + end?” + </p> + <p> + He gnawed stolidly at his cigar as I told him the story. Then, after + briefly approving what I had done to brighten the house, he announced: + </p> + <p> + “Tell you what. I've got a little money out of that Nevada case; I'm going + to take another vacation and see this thing through.” + </p> + <p> + We shook hands on this, and he moved right into his old room. I felt, in + fact, mighty glad to have Jerome with us. Although he lacked a regular + academic training, he was fifteen years my senior, and because of contact + with a wide variety of people in his work, both well-informed and reserved + in his judgment. He could not be stampeded; he had courage; and, above + everything else, he had the burning curiosity of which Harry has written. + </p> + <p> + I was upstairs when he unpacked. And I noted among his belongings a large, + rather heavy automatic pistol. He nodded when I asked if he was willing to + use it in this case. + </p> + <p> + “Although”—unbuttoning his waistcoat—“I don't pin as much + faith to pistols as I used to. + </p> + <p> + “The Rhamda is, I'm convinced, the very cleverest proposition that ever + lived. He has means to handle practically anything in the way of + resistance.” Jerome knew how the fellow had worsted Harry and me. “I + shouldn't wonder if he can read the mind to some extent; he might be able + to foresee that I was going to draw a gun, and beat me to it with some new + weapon of his own.” + </p> + <p> + Having unbuttoned his waistcoat, Jerome then displayed a curious + contrivance mounted upon his breast. It consisted of a broad metal plate, + strapped across his shirt, and affixed to this plate was a flat-springed + arrangement for firing, simultaneously, the contents of a revolver + cylinder. To show how it worked, Jerome removed the five cartridges and + then faced me. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me to throw up my hands,” directed he. I did so; his palms flew into + the air; and with a steely snap the mechanism was released. + </p> + <p> + Had there been cartridges in it, I should have been riddled, for I stood + right in front. And I shuddered as I noted the small straps around + Jerome's wrists, running up his sleeves, so disposed that the act of + surrendering meant instant death to him who might demand. + </p> + <p> + “May not be ethical, Fenton”—quietly—“but it certainly is good + sense to shoot first and explain later when you're handling a chap like + Avec. Better make preparations, too.” + </p> + <p> + I objected. I pointed out what I have already mentioned; that, together + with the ring, the Rhamda offered our only clues to the Blind Spot. + Destroy the man and we would destroy one of our two hopes of rescuing our + friends from the unthinkable fate that had overtaken them. + </p> + <p> + “No”—decisively. “We don't want to kill; we want to KEEP him. + Bullets won't do. I see no reason, however, why you shouldn't load that + thing with cartridges containing chemicals which would have an effect + similar to that of a gas bomb. Once you can make him helpless, so that you + can put those steel bracelets on him, we'll see how dangerous he is with + his hands behind him!” + </p> + <p> + “I get you”—thoughtfully. “I know a chemist who will make up + 'Paralysis' gas for me, in the form of gelatine capsules. Shoot 'em at the + Rhamda; burst upon striking. Safe enough for me, and yet put him out of + business long enough to fit him with the jewellery.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the idea.” + </p> + <p> + But I had other notions about handling the Rhamda. Being satisfied that + mere strength and agility were valueless against him, I concluded that he, + likewise realising this, would be on the lookout for any possible trap. + </p> + <p> + Consequently, if I hoped to keep the man, and force him to tell us what we + wanted to know, then I must make use of something other than physical + means. Moreover, I gave him credit for an exceptional amount of insight. + Call it super-instinct, or what you will, the fellow's intellect was + transcendental. + </p> + <p> + Once having decided that it must be a battle of wits I took a step which + may seem, at first, a little peculiar. + </p> + <p> + I called upon a certain lady to whom I shall give the name of Clarke, + since that is not the correct one. I took her fully and frankly into my + confidence. It is the only way, when dealing with a practitioner. And + since, like most of my fellow citizens, she had heard something of the + come and go, elusive habits of our men, together with the Holcomb affair, + it was easy for her to understand just what I wanted. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” she mused. “You wish to be surrounded by an influence that will + not so much protect you, as vitalise and strengthen you whenever you come + in contact with Avec. It will be a simple matter. How far do you wish to + go?” And thus it was arranged, the plan calling for the co-operation of + some twenty of her colleagues. + </p> + <p> + My fellow engineers may sneer, if they like. I know the usual notion: that + the “power of mind over matter” is all in the brain of the patient. That + the efforts of the practitioner are merely inductive, and so on. + </p> + <p> + But I think that the most sceptical will agree that I did quite right in + seeking whatever support I could get before crossing swords with a man as + keen as Avec. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, before an opportunity arrived to make use of the + intellectual machinery which my money had started into operation, + something occurred which almost threw the whole thing out of gear. + </p> + <p> + It was the evening after I had returned from Miss Clarke's office. Both + Charlotte and I had a premonition, after supper, that things were going to + happen. We all went into the parlour, sat down, and waited. + </p> + <p> + Presently we started the gramophone. Jerome sat nearest the instrument, + where he could without rising, lean over and change the records. And all + three of us recall that the selection being played at the moment was “I Am + Climbing Mountains,” a sentimental little melody sung by a popular tenor. + Certainly the piece was far from being melancholy, mysterious, or + otherwise likely to attract the occult. + </p> + <p> + I remember that we played it twice, and it was just as the singer reached + the beginning of the final chorus that Charlotte, who sat nearest the + door, made a quick move and shivered, as though with cold. + </p> + <p> + From where I sat, near the dining-room door, I could see through into the + hall. Charlotte's action made me think that the door might have become + unlatched, allowing a draught to come through. Afterwards she said that + she had felt something rather like a breeze pass her chair. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the room stood a long, massive table, of conventional + library type. Overhead was a heavy, burnished copper fixture, from which a + cluster of electric bulbs threw their brilliance upward, so that the room + was evenly lighted with the diffused rays as reflected from the ceiling. + Thus, there were no shadows to confuse the problem. + </p> + <p> + The chorus of the song was almost through when I heard from the direction + of the table a faint sound, as though someone had drawn fingers lightly + across the polished oak. I listened; the sound was not repeated, at least + not loud enough for me to catch it above the music. Next moment, however, + the record came to an end; Jerome leaned forward to put on another, and + Charlotte opened her mouth as though to suggest what the new selection + might be. But she never said the words. + </p> + <p> + It began with a scintillating iridescence, up on the ceiling, not eight + feet from where I sat. As I looked the spot grew, and spread, and flared + out. It was blue like the elusive blue of the gem; only, it was more like + flame—the flame of electrical apparatus. + </p> + <p> + Then, down from that blinding radiance there crept, rather than dropped a + single thread of incandescence, vivid, with a tinge of the colour from + which it had surged. Down it crept to the floor; it was like an irregular + streak of lightning, hanging motionless between ceiling and floor, just + for the fraction of a second. All in total silence. + </p> + <p> + And then the radiance vanished, disappeared, snuffed out as one might + snuff out a candle. And in its stead— + </p> + <p> + There appeared a fourth person in the room. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII. — THE ROUSING OF A MIND + </h2> + <p> + It was a girl. Not the Nervina. No; this girl was quite another person. + </p> + <p> + Even now I find it curiously hard to describe her. For me to say that she + was the picture of innocence, of purity, and of youth, is still to leave + unsaid the secret of her loveliness. + </p> + <p> + For this stranger, coming out of the thin air into our midst, held me with + a glorious fascination. From the first I felt no misgivings, such as Harry + confesses he experienced when he fell under the Nervina's charm. I knew as + I watched the stranger's wondering, puzzled features, that I had never + before seen anyone so lovely, so attractive, and so utterly beyond + suspicion. + </p> + <p> + It was only later that I noted her amazingly delicate complexion, fair as + her hair was golden; her deep blue eyes, round face, and the girlish + supple figure; or her robe-like garments of very soft, white material. For + she commenced almost instantly to talk. + </p> + <p> + But we understood only with the greatest of difficulty. She spoke as might + one who, after living in perfect solitude for a score of years, is + suddenly called upon to use language. And I remembered that Rhamda Avec + had told Jerome that he had only BEGUN the use of language. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” was her first remark, in the sweetest voice conceivable. + But there was both fear and anxiety in her manner. “How—did I—get—here?” + </p> + <p> + “You came out of the Blind Spot!” I spoke, jerking out the words nervously + and, as I saw, too rapidly. I repeated them more slowly. But she did not + comprehend. + </p> + <p> + “The—Blind—Spot,” she pondered. “What—is that?” + </p> + <p> + Next instant, before I could think to warn her, the room trembled with the + terrific clang of the Blind Spot bell. Just one overwhelming peal; no + more. At the same time there came a revival of the luminous spot in the + ceiling. But, with the last tones of the bell, the spot faded to nothing. + </p> + <p> + The girl was pitifully frightened. I sprang to my feet and steadied her + with one hand—something that I had not dared to do as long as the + Spot remained open. The touch of my fingers, as she swayed, had the effect + of bringing her to herself. She listened intelligently to what I said. + </p> + <p> + “The Blind Spot”—speaking with the utmost care—“is the name we + have given to a certain mystery. It is always marked by the sound you have + just heard; that bell always rings when the phenomenon is at an end.” + </p> + <p> + “And—the—phenomenon,” uttering the word with difficulty, “what + is that?” + </p> + <p> + “You,” I returned. “Up till now three human beings have disappeared into + what we call the Blind Spot. You are the first to be seen coming out of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Hobart,” interrupted Charlotte, coming to my side. “Let me.” + </p> + <p> + I stepped back, and Charlotte quietly passed an arm round the girl's + waist. Together they stepped over to Charlotte's chair. + </p> + <p> + I noted the odd way in which the newcomer walked, unsteadily, uncertainly, + like a child taking its first steps. I glanced at Jerome, wondering if + this tallied with what he recalled of the Rhamda; and he gave a short nod. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be frightened,” said Charlotte softly, “we are your friends. In a + way we have been expecting you, and we shall see to it that no harm comes + to you. + </p> + <p> + “Which would you prefer—to ask questions, or to answer them?” + </p> + <p> + “I”—the girl hesitated—“I—hardly—know. Perhaps—you + had—better—ask something first.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. Do you remember where you came from? Can you recall the events just + prior to your arrival here?” + </p> + <p> + The girl looked helplessly from the one to the other of us. She seemed to + be searching for some clue. Finally she shook her head in a hopeless, + despairing fashion. + </p> + <p> + “I can't remember,” speaking with a shade less difficulty. “The last thing—I + recall is—seeing—you three—staring—at me.” + </p> + <p> + This was a poser. To think, a person who, before our very eyes, had + materialised out of the Blind Spot, was unable to tell us anything about + it! + </p> + <p> + Still this lack of memory might be only a temporary condition, brought on + by the special conditions under which she had emerged; an after-effect, as + it were, of the semi-electrical phenomena. And it turned out that I was + right. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” suggested Charlotte, “suppose you ask us something.” + </p> + <p> + The girl's eyes stopped roving and rested definitely, steadily, upon my + own. And she spoke; still a little hesitantly: + </p> + <p> + “Who are you? What is your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Name?” taken wholly by surprise. “Ah—it is Hobart Fenton. And”—automatically—“this + is my sister Charlotte. The gentleman over there is Mr. Jerome.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to know you, Hobart,” with perfect simplicity and apparent + pleasure; “and you, Charlotte,” passing an arm round my sister's neck; + “and you—Mister.” Evidently she thought the title of “mister” to be + Jerome's first name. + </p> + <p> + Then she went on to say, her eyes coming back to mine: + </p> + <p> + “Why do you look at me that way, Hobart?” + </p> + <p> + Just like that! I felt my cheeks go hot and cold by turns. For a moment I + was helpless; then I made up my mind to be just as frank and candid as + she. + </p> + <p> + “Because you're so good to look at!” I blurted out. “I never appreciated + my eyesight as I do right now!” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad,” she returned, simply and absolutely without a trace of + confusion or resentment. “I know that I rather like to look at you—too.” + </p> + <p> + Another stunned silence. And this time I didn't notice any change in the + temperature of my face; I was too busily engaged in searching the depths + of those warm blue eyes. + </p> + <p> + She didn't blush, or even drop her eyes. She smiled, however, a gentle, + tremulous smile that showed some deep feeling behind her unwavering gaze. + </p> + <p> + I recovered myself with a start, drew my chair up in front of her and took + both her hands firmly in mine. Whereupon my resolution nearly deserted me. + How warm and soft, and altogether adorable they were. I drew a long breath + and began: + </p> + <p> + “My dear—By the way, what is your name?” + </p> + <p> + “I”—regretfully, after a moment's thought—“I don't know, + Hobart.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” as though the fact was commonplace. “We will have to provide + you with a name. Any suggestions?” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte hesitated only a second. “Let's call her Ariadne; it was Harry's + mother's name.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so; fine! Do you like the name—Ariadne?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” both pleased and relieved. At the same time she looked oddly + puzzled, and I could see her lips moving silently as she repeated the name + to herself. + </p> + <p> + Not for an instant did I let go of those wonderful fingers. “What I want + you to know, Ariadne, is that you have come into a world that is, perhaps, + more or less like the one that you have just left. For all I know it is + one and the same world, only, in some fashion not yet understood, you may + have transported yourself to this place. Perhaps not. + </p> + <p> + “Now, we call this a room, a part of the house. Outside is a street. That + street is one of hundreds in a vast city, which consists of a multitude of + such houses together with other and vastly larger structures. And these + structures all rest upon a solid material which we call the ground or + earth. + </p> + <p> + “The fact that you understand our language indicates that either you have + fallen heir to a body and a brain which are thoroughly in tune with ours, + or else—and please understand that we know very little of this + mystery—or else your own body has somehow become translated into a + condition which answers the same purpose. + </p> + <p> + “At any rate, you ought to comprehend what I mean by the term 'earth.' Do + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” brightly. “I seem to understand everything you say, Hobart.” + </p> + <p> + “Then there is a corresponding picture in your mind to each thought I have + given you?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so,” not so positively. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” hoping that I could make it clear, “this earth is formed in a huge + globe, part of which is covered by another material, which we term water. + And the portions which are not so covered, and are capable of supporting + the structures which constitute the city, we call by still another name. + Can you supply that name?” + </p> + <p> + “Continents,” without hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “Fine!” This was a starter anyhow. “We'll soon have your memory working! + </p> + <p> + “However, what I really began to say is this; each of these continents—and + they are several in number—is inhabited by people more or less like + ourselves. There is a vast number, all told. Each is either male or + female, like ourselves—you seem to take this for granted, however—and + you will find them all exceedingly interesting. + </p> + <p> + “Now, in all fairness,” letting go her hands at last “you must understand + that there are, among the people whom you have yet to see, great numbers + who are far more—well, attractive, than I am. + </p> + <p> + “And you must know,” even taking my gaze away, “that not all persons are + as friendly as we. You will find some who are antagonistic to you, and + likely to take advantage of—well, your unsophisticated viewpoint. In + short”—desperately—“you must learn right away not to accept + people without question; you must form the habit of reserving judgment, of + waiting until you have more facts, before reaching an opinion of others. + </p> + <p> + “You must do this as a matter of self-protection, and in the interests of + your greatest welfare.” + </p> + <p> + And I stopped. + </p> + <p> + She seemed to be thinking over what I said. In the end she observed: “This + seems reasonable. I feel sure that wherever I came from such advice would + have fitted. + </p> + <p> + “However”—smiling at me in a manner to which I can give no + description other than affectionate—“I have no doubts about you, + Hobart. I know you are absolutely all right.” + </p> + <p> + And before I could recover from the bliss into which her statement threw + me, she turned to Charlotte with “You too, Charlotte; I know I can trust + you.” + </p> + <p> + But when she looked at Jerome she commented: “I can trust you, Mister, + too; almost as much, but not quite. If you didn't suspect me I could trust + you completely.” + </p> + <p> + Jerome went white. He spoke for the first time since the girl's coming. + </p> + <p> + “How—how did you know that I suspected you?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't explain; I don't know myself.” Then wistfully: “I wish you would + stop suspecting me, Mister. I have nothing to conceal from you.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it!” Jerome burst out, excitedly, apologetically. “I know it now! + You're all right, I'm satisfied of that from now on!” + </p> + <p> + She sighed in pure pleasure. And she offered one hand to Jerome. He took + it as though it were a humming-bird's egg, and turned almost purple. At + the same time the honest, fervid manliness which backed the detective's + professional nature shone through for the first time in my knowledge of + him. From that moment his devotion to the girl was as absolute as that of + the fondest father who ever lived. + </p> + <p> + Well, no need to detail all that was said during the next hour. Bit by bit + we added to the girl's knowledge of the world into which she had emerged, + and bit by bit there unfolded in her mind a corresponding image of the + world from which she had come. And when, for an experiment, we took her + out on the front porch and showed her the stars, we were fairly amazed at + the thoughts they aroused. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she cried, in sheer rapture. “I know what those are!” By now she was + speaking fairly well. “They are stars!” Then: “They don't look the same. + They're not outlined in the same way as I know. But they can't be anything + else!” + </p> + <p> + NOT OUTLINED THE SAME. I took this to be a very significant fact. What did + it mean? + </p> + <p> + “Look”—showing her the constellation Leo, on the ecliptic, and + therefore visible to both the northern and southern hemispheres—“do + you recognise that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” decisively. “That is, the arrangement; but not the appearance of + the separate stars.” + </p> + <p> + And we found this to be true of the entire sky. Nothing was entirely + familiar to her; yet, she assured us, the stars could be nothing else. Her + previous knowledge told her this without explaining why, and without a + hint as to the reason for the dissimilarity. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible,” said I, speaking half to myself, “that she has come from + another planet?” + </p> + <p> + For we know that the sky, as seen from any of the eight planets in this + solar system, would present practically the same appearance; but if viewed + from a planet belonging to any other star-sun, the constellations would be + more or less altered in their arrangement, because of the vast distance + involved. As for the difference in the appearance of the individual stars, + that might be accounted for by a dissimilarity in the chemical make-up of + the atmosphere. + </p> + <p> + “Ariadne, it may be you've come from another world!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” seemingly quite conscious that she was contradicting me. For that + matter there wasn't anything offensive about her kind of frankness. “No, + Hobart. I feel too much at home to have come from any other world than + this one.” + </p> + <p> + Temporarily I was floored. How could she, so ignorant of other matters, + feel so sure of this? There was no explaining it. + </p> + <p> + We went back into the house. As it happened, my eye struck first the + gramophone. And it seemed a good idea to test her knowledge with this. + </p> + <p> + “Is this apparatus familiar to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No. What is it for?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you understand what is meant by the term 'music'?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” with instant pleasure. “This is music.” She proceeded, without the + slightest self-consciousness, to sing in a sweet clear soprano, and + treated us to the chorus of “I Am Climbing Mountains!” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” gasped Charlotte. “What can it mean?” + </p> + <p> + For a moment the explanation evaded me. Then I reasoned: “She must have a + sub-conscious memory of what was being played just before she + materialised.” + </p> + <p> + And to prove this I picked out an instrumental piece which we had not + played all the evening. It was the finale of the overture to “Faust”; a + selection, by the way, which was a great favourite of Harry's and is one + of mine. Ariadne listened in silence to the end. + </p> + <p> + “I seem to have heard something like it before,” she decided slowly. “The + melody, not the—the instrumentation. But it reminds me of something + that I like very much.” Whereupon she began to sing for us. But this time + her voice was stronger and more dramatic; and as for the composition—all + I can say is it had a wild, fierce ring to it, like “Men of Harlech”; only + the notes did not correspond to the chromatic scale. SHE SANG IN AN + ENTIRELY NEW MUSICAL SYSTEM. + </p> + <p> + “By George!” when she had done. “Now we HAVE got something! For the first + time, we've heard some genuine, unadulterated Blind Spot stuff!” + </p> + <p> + “You mean,” from Charlotte, excitedly, “that she has finally recovered her + memory?” + </p> + <p> + It was the girl herself who answered. She shot to her feet, and her face + became transfigured with a wonderful joy. At the same time she blinked + hurriedly, as though to shut off a sight that staggered her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I remember!”—she almost sobbed in her delight—“it is all + plain to me, now! I know who I am!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII. — THE RHAMDA AGAIN + </h2> + <p> + I could have yelled for joy. We were about to learn something of the Blind + Spot—something that might help us to save Harry, and Chick, and the + professor! + </p> + <p> + Ariadne seemed to know that a great deal depended upon what she was about + to tell us. She deliberately sat down, and rested her chin upon her hand, + as though determining upon the best way of telling something very + difficult to express. + </p> + <p> + As for Charlotte, Jerry, and myself, we managed somehow to restrain our + curiosity enough to keep silence. But we could not help glancing more or + less wonderingly at our visitor. Presently I realised this, and got up and + walked quietly about, as though intent upon a problem of my own. + </p> + <p> + Which was true enough. I had come to a very startling conclusion—I, + Hobart Fenton, had fallen in love! + </p> + <p> + What was more, this affection of the heart had come to me, a very strong + man, just as an affection of the lungs is said to strike such men—all + of a sudden and hard. One moment I had been a sturdy, independent soul, + intent upon scientific investigation, the only symptoms of sentimental + potentialities being my perfectly normal love for my sister and for my old + friend. Then, before my very eyes, I had been smitten thus! + </p> + <p> + And the worst part of it was, I found myself ENJOYING the sensation. It + made not the slightest difference to me that I had fallen in love with a + girl who was only a step removed from a wraith. Mysteriously she had come + to me; as mysteriously she might depart. I had yet to know from what sort + of country she had come! + </p> + <p> + But that made no difference. She was HERE, in the same house with me; I + had held her hands; and I knew her to be very, very real indeed just then. + And when I considered the possibility of her disappearing just as + inexplicably as she had come—well, my face went cold, I admit. But + at the same time I felt sure of this much—I should never love any + other woman. + </p> + <p> + The thought left me sober. I paused in my pacing and looked at her. As + though in answer to my gaze she glanced up and smiled so affectionately + that it was all I could do to keep from leaping forward and taking her + right into my arms. + </p> + <p> + I turned hastily, and to cover my confusion I began to hum a strain from + the part of “Faust” to which I have referred. I hummed it through, and was + beginning again, when I was startled to hear this from the girl: “Oh, then + you are Hobart!” + </p> + <p> + I wheeled, to see her face filled with a wonderful light. + </p> + <p> + “Hobart,” she repeated, as one might repeat the name of a very dear one. + “That—that music you were humming! Why, I heard Harry Wendel humming + that yesterday!” + </p> + <p> + I suppose we looked very stupid, the three of us, so dumbfounded that we + could do nothing but gape incredulously at that extraordinary creature and + her equally extraordinary utterance. She immediately did her best to atone + for her sensation. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sure that I can make it clear,” she said, smiling dubiously, “but + if you will use your imaginations and try to fill in the gaps in what I + say you may get a fair idea of the place I have come from, and where Harry + is.” + </p> + <p> + We leaned forward, intensely alert. I shall never forget the pitiful + eagerness in poor Charlotte's face. It meant more to her, perhaps, than to + anyone else. + </p> + <p> + At the precise instant I heard a sound, off in the breakfast room. It + seemed to be a subdued knocking, or rather a pounding at the door. + </p> + <p> + Frowning at the interruption, I stepped through the dining-room into the + breakfast room, where the sounds came from. And I was not a little puzzled + to note that the door to the basement was receiving the blows. + </p> + <p> + Now I had been the last to visit the basement and had locked the door—from + force of habit, I suppose—leaving the key in the lock. It was still + there. And there is but one way to enter that basement: through this one + door, and no other. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it?” I called out peremptorily. No answer; only a repetition of + the pounds. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?”—louder. + </p> + <p> + “Open this door, quick!” cane a muffled reply. + </p> + <p> + The voice was unrecognisable. I stood and thought quickly; then shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute, until I get a key!” + </p> + <p> + I motioned to Charlotte. She tip-toed to my side. I whispered something in + her ear; and she slipped off into the kitchen, there to phone Miss Clarke + and warn her to notify her colleagues at once. And so, as I unlocked the + door, I was fortified by the knowledge that I would be assisted by the + combined mind-force of a score of highly developed intellects. + </p> + <p> + I was little surprised, a second later, to see that the intruder was + Rhamda Avec. What reason to expect anyone else? + </p> + <p> + “How did you get down there?” I demanded. “Don't you realise that you are + liable to arrest for trespass?” + </p> + <p> + I said it merely to start conversation but it served only to bring a + slight smile to the face of this professed friend of ours, for whom we + felt nothing but distrust and fear. + </p> + <p> + “Let us not waste time in trivialities, Fenton,” he rejoined gently. He + brushed a fleck of cobweb from his coat. “By this time you ought to know + that you cannot deal with me in any ordinary fashion.” + </p> + <p> + I made no comment as, without asking my leave or awaiting an invitation, + he stepped through into the dining-room and thence into the parlour. I + followed, half tempted to strike him down from behind, but restrained more + by the fact that I must spare him than from any compunctions. Seemingly he + knew this as well as I, he was serenely at ease. + </p> + <p> + And thus he stood before Jerome and Ariadne. The detective made a single + exclamation, and furtively shifted his coat sleeves. He was getting that + infernal breast gun into action. As for Ariadne, she stared at the new + arrival as though astonished at first. + </p> + <p> + When Charlotte returned, a moment later, she showed only mild surprise. + She quietly took her chair and as quietly moved her hand so that the gem + shone in full view of our visitor. + </p> + <p> + But he gave her and the stone only a single glance, and then rested his + eyes upon our new friend. To my anxiety, Ariadne was gazing fixedly at him + now, her expression combining both agitation and a vague fear. + </p> + <p> + It could not have been due entirely to his unusual appearance; for there + was no denying that this grey-haired yet young-faced man with the + distinguished, courteous bearing, looked even younger that night than ever + before. No; the girl's concern was deeper, more acute. I felt an + unaccountable alarm. + </p> + <p> + From Ariadne to me the Rhamda glanced, then back again; and a quick + satisfied smile came to his mouth. He gave an almost imperceptible nod. + And, keeping his gaze fixed upon her eyes, he remarked carelessly: + </p> + <p> + “Which of these chairs shall I sit in, Fenton?” + </p> + <p> + “This one,” I replied instantly, pointing to the one I had just quit. + </p> + <p> + Smiling, he selected a chair a few feet away. + </p> + <p> + Whereupon I congratulated myself. The man feared me, then; yet he ranked + my mentality no higher than that! In other words, remarkably clever though + he might be, and as yet unthwarted, he could by no means be called + omnipotent. + </p> + <p> + “For your benefit, Mr. Jerome, let me say that I phoned Miss Fenton and + her brother a few days ago, and urged them to give up their notion of + occupying this house or of attempting to solve the mystery that you are + already acquainted with. And I prophesied, Mr. Jerome, that their refusal + to accept my advice would be followed by events that would justify me. + </p> + <p> + “They refused, as you know; and I am here tonight to make a final plea, so + that they may escape the consequences of their wilfulness.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a crook! And the more I see of you, Avec, the more easily I can + understand why they turned you down!” + </p> + <p> + “So you too, are prejudiced against me. I cannot understand this. My + motives are quite above question, I assure you.” + </p> + <p> + “Really!” I observed sarcastically. I stole a glance at Ariadne; her eyes + were still riveted, in a rapt yet half-fearful abstraction, upon the face + of the Rhamda. It was time I took her attention away. + </p> + <p> + I called her name. She did not move her head, or reply. I said it louder: + “Ariadne!” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Hobart?”—very softly. + </p> + <p> + “Ariadne, this gentleman possesses a great deal of knowledge of the + locality from which you came. We are interested in him, because we feel + sure that, if he chose to, he could tell us something about our friends + who—about Harry Wendel.” Why not lay the cards plainly on the table? + The Rhamda must be aware of it all, anyhow. “And as this man has said, he + has tried to prevent us from solving the mystery. It occurs to me, + Ariadne, that you might recognise this man. But apparently—” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head just perceptibly. I proceeded: + </p> + <p> + “He is pleased to call his warning a prophecy; but we feel that a threat + is a threat. What he really wants is that ring.” + </p> + <p> + Ariadne had already, earlier in the hour, given the gem several curious + glances. Now she stirred and sighed, and was about to turn her eyes from + the Rhamda to the ring when he spoke again; this time in a voice as sharp + as a steel blade: + </p> + <p> + “I do not enjoy being misunderstood, much less being misrepresented, Mr. + Fenton. At the same time, since you have seen fit to brand me in such + uncomplimentary terms, suppose I state what I have to say very bluntly, so + that there may be no mistake about it. If you do not either quit this + house, or give up the ring—NOW—you will surely regret it the + rest of your lives!” + </p> + <p> + From the corner of my eye I saw Jerome moving slowly in his chair, so that + he could face directly towards the Rhamda. His hands were ready for the + swift, upward jerk which, I knew, would stifle our caller. + </p> + <p> + As for my sister, she merely turned the ring so that the gem no longer + faced the Rhamda; and with the other hand she reached out and grasped + Ariadne's firmly. + </p> + <p> + Avec sat with his two hands clasping the arms of his chair. His fingers + drummed nervously but lightly on the wood. And then, suddenly, they + stopped their motion. + </p> + <p> + “Your answer, Fenton,” in his usual gentle voice. “I can give you no more + time,” I did not need to consult Charlotte or Jerome. I knew what they + would have said. + </p> + <p> + “You are welcome to my answer. It is—no!” + </p> + <p> + As I spoke the last word my gaze was fixed on the Rhamda's eyes. He, on + the other hand, was looking towards Ariadne. And at the very instant an + expression, as of alarm and sorrow, swept into the man's face. + </p> + <p> + My glance jumped to Ariadne. Her eyes were closed, her face suffused; she + seemed to be suffocating. She gave a queer little sound, half gasp and + half cry. + </p> + <p> + Simultaneously Jerome's hands shot into the air. The room shivered with + the stunning report of his breast gun. And every pellet struck the Rhamda + and burst. + </p> + <p> + A look of intense astonishment came into his face. He gave Jerome a + fleeting glance, almost of admiration; then his nostrils contracted with + pain as the gas attacked his lungs. + </p> + <p> + Another second, and each of us were reeling with the fumes. Jerome started + toward the window, to raise it, then sank back into his chair. And when he + turned round— + </p> + <p> + He and I and Charlotte saw an extraordinary thing. Instead of succumbing + to the gas, Rhamda Avec somehow recovered himself. And while the rest of + us remained still too numbed to move or speak, he found power to do both. + </p> + <p> + “I warned you plainly, Fenton,” as though nothing in particular had + happened. “And now see what you have brought upon the poor child!” + </p> + <p> + I could only roll my head stupidly, to stare at Ariadne's now senseless + form. + </p> + <p> + “As usual, Fenton, you will blame me for it. I cannot help that. But it + may still be possible for you to repent of your folly and escape your + fate. You are playing with terrible forces. If you do repent, just follow + these instructions”—laying a card on the table—“and I will see + what I can do for you. I wish you all good night.” + </p> + <p> + And with that, pausing only to make a courtly bow to Charlotte, Rhamda + Avec turned and walked deliberately, dignifiedly from the room, while the + two men and a woman stared helplessly after him and allowed him to go in + peace. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV. — THE LIVING DEATH + </h2> + <p> + As soon as the fresh air had revived us somewhat, we first of all examined + Ariadne. She still lay unconscious, very pale, and alarmingly limp. I + picked her up and carried her into the next room, where there was a sofa, + while Jerome went for water and Charlotte brought smelling-salts. + </p> + <p> + Neither of these had any effect. Ariadne seemed to be scarcely breathing; + her heart beat only faintly, and there was no response to such other + methods as friction, slapping, or pinching of fingernails. + </p> + <p> + “We had better call a doctor,” decided Charlotte promptly, and went to the + phone. + </p> + <p> + I picked up the card which the Rhamda had left. It contained simply his + name, together with one other word—the name of a morning newspaper. + Evidently he meant for us to insert an advertisement as soon as we were + ready to capitulate. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet!” the three of us decided, after talking it over. And we waited + as patiently as we could during the fifteen minutes that elapsed before + the telephoning got results. + </p> + <p> + It brought Dr. Hansen, who, it may be remembered, was closely identified + with the Chick Watson disappearance. He made a rapid but very careful + examination. + </p> + <p> + “It has all the appearance of a mild electric shock. What caused it, + Fenton?” + </p> + <p> + I told him. His eyes narrowed when I mentioned Avec, then widened in + astonishment and incredulity as I related the man's inexplicable effect + upon the girl, and his strange immunity to the poison gas. But the doctor + asked nothing further about our situation, proceeding at once to apply + several restoratives. All were without result. As a final resort, he even + rigged up an electrical connection, making use of some coils which I had + upstairs, and endeavoured to arouse the girl in that fashion. Still + without result. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord, Hansen!” I finally burst out, when he stood back, apparently + baffled. “She's simply GOT to be revived! We can't allow her to succumb to + that scoundrel's power, whatever it is!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not a blood transfusion?” I asked eagerly, as an idea came to me. + “I'm in perfect condition. What about it? Go to it, doc!” + </p> + <p> + He slowly shook his head. And beyond a single searching glance into my + eyes, wherein he must have read something more than I had said, he + regretfully replied: + </p> + <p> + “This is a case for a specialist, Fenton. Everything considered, I should + say that she is suffering from a purely mental condition; but whether it + had a physical or a psychic origin, I can't say.” + </p> + <p> + In short, he did not feel safe about going ahead with any really heroic + measures until a brain specialist was called in. + </p> + <p> + I had a good deal of confidence in Hansen. And what he said sounded + reasonable. So we agreed to his calling in a Dr. Higgins—the same + man, in fact, who was too late in reaching the house to save Chick on that + memorable night a year before. + </p> + <p> + His examination was swift and convincingly competent. He went over the + same ground that Hansen had covered, took the blood pressure and other + instrumental data, and asked us several questions regarding Ariadne's + mentality as we knew it. Scarcely stopping to think it over, Higgins + decided: + </p> + <p> + “The young woman is suffering from a temporary dissociation of brain + centres. Her cerebrum does not co-act with her cerebellum. In other words, + her conscious mind, for lack of means to express itself, is for the time + being dormant as in sleep. + </p> + <p> + “But it is not like ordinary sleep. Such is induced by fatigue of the + nerve channels. This young woman's condition is produced by shock; and + since there was no physical violence, we must conclude that the shock was + psychic. + </p> + <p> + “In that case, the condition will last until one of two things occurs; + either she must be similarly shocked back into sensibility—and I + can't see how this can happen, Fenton, unless you can secure the + co-operation of the man to whom you attribute the matter—or she must + lie that way indefinitely.” + </p> + <p> + “Indefinitely!” I exclaimed, sensing something ominous. “You mean—” + </p> + <p> + “That there is no known method of reviving a patient in such a condition. + It might be called psychic catalepsy. To speak plainly, Fenton, unless + this man revives her, she will remain unconscious until her death.” + </p> + <p> + I shuddered. What horrible thing had come into our lives to afflict us + with so dreadful a prospect? + </p> + <p> + “Is—is there no hope, Dr. Higgins?” + </p> + <p> + “Very little”—gently but decisively. “All I can assure you is that + she will not die immediately. From the general state of her health, she + will live at least seventy-two hours. After that—you must be + prepared for the worst at any moment.” + </p> + <p> + I turned away quickly, so that he could not see my face. What an awful + situation! Unless we could somehow lay hands on the Rhamda— + </p> + <p> + I hunted up Jerome. I said: + </p> + <p> + “Jerry, the thing is plainly up to you and me. Higgins gives us three + days. Day after tomorrow morning, if we haven't got results by that time, + we've got to give in and put that ad in the paper. But I don't mean to + give in, Jerry! Not until I've exhausted every other possibility!” + </p> + <p> + “What're you going to do?” he asked thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Work on that ring. I was a fool not to get busy sooner. As for the rest, + that's up to you! You've got to get yourself on the Rhamda's trail as soon + as you can, and camp there! The first chance you get, ransack his room and + belongings, and bring me every bit of data you find. Between him and the + ring, the truth ought to come out.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. But don't forget that—” pointing to the unexplained spot + on the wood of the doorway. “You've got a mighty important clue there, + waiting for you to analyse it.” + </p> + <p> + And he went and got his hat, and left the house. His final remark was that + we wouldn't see him back until he had something to report about our man. + </p> + <p> + Five o'clock the next morning found my sister and me out of our beds and + desperately busy. She spent a good deal of time, of course in caring for + Ariadne. The poor girl showed no improvement at all; and we got scant + encouragement from the fact that she looked no worse. + </p> + <p> + Not a sound escaped her lips; her eyes remained closed; she gave no sign + of life, save her barely perceptible breathing. It made me sick at heart + just to look at her; so near, and yet so fearfully far away. + </p> + <p> + But when Charlotte could spare any time she gave me considerable help in + what I was trying to do. One great service she was rendering has already + been made clear: she wore the ring constantly, thus relieving me of the + anxiety of caring for it. I was very cautious not to have it in my + possession for more than a few minutes at a time. + </p> + <p> + My first move was to set down, in orderly fashion, the list of the gem's + attributes. I grouped together the fluctuating nature of its pale blue + colour, its power of reproducing those who had gone into the Blind Spot, + its combination of perfect solidity with extreme lightness; its quality of + coldness to the touch of a male, and warmth to that of a female; and + finally its ability to induct—I think this is the right term—to + induct sounds out of the unknown. This last quality might be called + spasmodic or accidental, whereas the others were permanent and constant. + </p> + <p> + Now, to this list I presently was able to add that the gem possessed no + radioactive properties that I could detect with the usual means. It was + only when I began dabbling in chemistry that I learned things. + </p> + <p> + By placing the gem inside a glass bell, and exhausting as much air as + possible from around it, the way was cleared for introducing other forms + of gases. Whereupon I discovered this: + </p> + <p> + The stone will absorb any given quantity of hydrogen gas. + </p> + <p> + In this respect it behaves analogously to that curious place on the + door-frame. Only, it absorbs gas, no liquid; and not any gas, either—none + but hydrogen. + </p> + <p> + Now, obviously this gem cannot truly absorb so much material, in the sense + of retaining it as well. The simple test of weighing it afterwards proves + this; for its weight remains the same in any circumstances. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, unlike the liquids which I poured into the wood and saw + afterwards in the basement, the gas does not escape back into the air. I + kept it under the Dell long enough to be sure of that. No; that hydrogen + is, manifestly, translated into the Blind Spot. + </p> + <p> + Learning nothing further about the gem at that time, I proceeded to + investigate the trim of the door. I began by trying to find out the + precise thickness of that liquid-absorbing layer. + </p> + <p> + To do this I scraped off the “skin” of the air-darkened wood. This layer + was .02 of an inch thick. And—that was the total amount of the + active material! + </p> + <p> + I put these scrapings through a long list of experiments. They told me + nothing valuable. I learned only one detail worth mentioning; if a + fragment of the scrapings be brought near to the Holcomb gem—say, to + within two inches—the scrapings will burst into flame. It is merely + a bright, pinkish flare, like that made by smokeless rifle-powder. No + ashes remain. After that we took care not to bring the ring near the + remaining material on the board. + </p> + <p> + All this occurred on the first day after Ariadne was stricken. Jerome + phoned to say that he had engaged the services of a dozen private + detectives, and expected to get wind of the Rhamda any hour. Both Dr. + Hansen and Dr. Higgins called twice, without being able to detect any + change for the better or otherwise in their patient. + </p> + <p> + That evening Charlotte and I concluded that we could not hold out any + longer. We must give in to the Rhamda. I phoned for a messenger, and sent + an advertisement to the newspaper which Avec had indicated. + </p> + <p> + The thing was done. We had capitulated. + </p> + <p> + The next development would be another and triumphant call from the Rhamda, + and this time we would have to give up the gem to him if we were to save + Ariadne. + </p> + <p> + The game was up. + </p> + <p> + But instead of taking the matter philosophically, I worried about it all + night. I told myself again and again that I was foolish to think about + something that couldn't be helped. Why not forget it, and go to sleep? + </p> + <p> + But somehow I couldn't. I lay wide awake till long past midnight, finding + myself growing more and more nervous. At last, such was the tension of it + all, I got up and dressed. It was then about one-thirty, and I stepped out + on the street for a walk. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later I returned, my lungs full of fresh air, hoping that I + could now sleep. It was only a hope. Never have I felt wider awake than I + did then. + </p> + <p> + Once more—about three—I took another stroll outside. I seemed + absolutely tireless. + </p> + <p> + Each time that I had turned back home I seemed to feel stronger than ever, + more wakeful. Finally I dropped the idea altogether, went to the house, + and left a note for Charlotte, then walked down to the waterfront and + watched some ships taking advantage of the tide. Anything to pass the + time. + </p> + <p> + And thus it happened, that, about eight o'clock—breakfast time at + 288 Chatterton Place—I returned to the house, and sat down at the + table with Charlotte. First, however, I opened the morning paper to read + our little ad. + </p> + <p> + It was not there. It had not been printed. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXV. — AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR + </h2> + <p> + I dropped the paper in dismay. Charlotte looked up, startled, gave me a + single look, and turned pale, + </p> + <p> + “What—what's the matter?” she stammered fearfully. + </p> + <p> + I showed her. Then I ran to the phone. In a few seconds I was talking to + the very man who had taken the note from the messenger the day before. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I handed it in along with the rest,” he replied to my excited query. + Then—“Wait a minute,” said he; and a moment later added: “Say, Mr. + Fenton, I've made a mistake! Here's the darned ad on the counter; it must + have slipped under the blotter.” + </p> + <p> + I went back and told Charlotte. We stared at one another blankly. Why in + the name of all that was baffling had our ad “slipped” under that blotter? + And what were we to do? + </p> + <p> + This was the second day! + </p> + <p> + Well, we did what we could. We arranged for the insertion of the same + notice in each of the three afternoon papers. There would still be time + for the Rhamda to act, if he saw it. + </p> + <p> + The hours dragged by. Never did time pass more slowly; and yet, I + begrudged every one. So much for being absolutely helpless. + </p> + <p> + About ten o'clock the next morning—that is to say, today; I am + writing this the same evening—the front door bell rang. Charlotte + answered and in a moment came back with a card. It read: + </p> + <h3> + SIR HENRY HODGES + </h3> + <p> + I nearly upset the table in my excitement. I ran into the hall. Who + wouldn't? Sir Henry Hodges! The English scientist about whom the whole + world was talking! The most gifted investigator of the day; the most + widely informed; of all men on the face of the globe, the best equipped, + mentally, to explore the unknown! Without the slightest formality I + grabbed his hand and shook it until he smiled at my enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Sir Henry,” I told him, “I'm immensely glad to see you! The truth + is, I've been hoping you'd be interested in our case; but I didn't have + the nerve to bother you with it!” + </p> + <p> + “And I,” he admitted in his quiet way, “have been longing to take a hand + in it, ever since I first heard of Professor Holcomb's disappearance. + Didn't like to offer myself; understood that the matter had been hushed up + and—” + </p> + <p> + “For the very simple reason,” I explained, “that there was nothing to be + gained by publicity. If we had given the public the facts, we would have + been swamped with volunteers to help us. I didn't know whom to confide in, + Sir Henry; couldn't make up my mind. I only knew that one such man as + yourself was just what I needed.” + </p> + <p> + He overlooked the compliment, and pulled out the newspaper from his + pocket. “Bought this a few minutes ago. Saw your ad, and jumped to the + conclusion that matters had reached an acute stage. Let me have the whole + story, my boy, as briefly as you can.” + </p> + <p> + He already knew the published details. Also, he seemed to be acquainted—in + some manner which puzzled me—with much that had not been printed. I + sketched the affair as quickly as I could, making it clear that we were + face to face with a crisis. When I wound up by saying that it was Dr. + Higgins who gave Ariadne three days, ending about midnight, in which she + might recover if we could secure Rhamda Avec, he said kindly: + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid you made a mistake, my boy, in not seeking some help. The game + has reached a point where you cannot have too many brains on your side. + Time is short for reinforcements!” + </p> + <p> + He heartily approved of my course in enlisting the aid of Miss Clarke and + her colleagues. “That is the sort of thing you need! People with + mentality; plenty of intellectual force!” And he went on to make + suggestions. + </p> + <p> + As a result, within an hour and a half our house was sheltering five more + persons. + </p> + <p> + Miss Clarke has already been introduced. She was easily one of the ten + most advanced practitioners in her line. And she had the advantage of a + curiosity that was interested in everything odd, even though she labelled + it “non-existent.” She said it helped her faith in the real truths to be + conversant with the unreal. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Malloy was from the university, an out-and-out materialist, a + psychologist who made life interesting for those who agreed with William + James. His investigations of abnormal psychology are world-acknowledged. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Le Fabre, we afterwards learned, had come from Versailles especially + to investigate the matter that was bothering us. She possessed no + mediumistic properties of her own but was a staunch proponent of + spiritualism, believing firmly in immortality and the omnipotence of + “translated” souls. + </p> + <p> + Professor Herold is most widely known as the inventor of certain apparatus + connected with wireless. But he is also considered the West's most + advanced student of electrical and radio-active subjects. + </p> + <p> + I was enormously glad to have this man's expert, high-tension knowledge + right on tap. + </p> + <p> + The remaining member of the quintet which Sir Henry advised me to summon + requires a little explanation. Also, I am obliged to give him a name not + his own; for it is not often that brigadier-generals of the United States + army can openly lend their names to anything so far removed apparently + from militarism as the searching of the occult. + </p> + <p> + Yet we knew that this man possessed a power that few scientists have + developed; the power of co-ordination, of handling and balancing great + facts and forces, and of deciding promptly how best to meet any given + situation. Not that we looked for anything militaristic out of the Blind + Spot; far from it. We merely knew not what to expect, which was exactly + why we wanted to have him with us; his type of mind is, perhaps, the most + solidly comforting sort that any mystery-bound person can have at his + side. + </p> + <p> + By the time these five had gathered, Jerome had neither returned nor + telephoned. There was not the slightest trace of Rhamda Avec; no guessing + as to whether he had seen the ad. It was then one o'clock in the + afternoon. Only six hours ago! It doesn't seem possible. + </p> + <p> + So there were eight of us—three women and five men—who went + upstairs and quietly inspected the all but lifeless form of Ariadne and + afterwards gathered in the library below. + </p> + <p> + All were thoroughly familiar with the situation. Miss Clarke calmly + commented to the effect that the entire Blind Spot affair was due wholly + and simply to the cumulative effects of so many, many subjects; the + result, in other words, of error. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Malloy was equally outspoken in his announcement that he proposed to + deal with the matter from the standpoint of psychic aberration. He + mentioned dissociated personalities, group hypnosis, and so on. But he + declared that he was open to conviction, and anxious to get any and all + facts. + </p> + <p> + Sir Henry had a good deal of difficulty in getting Mme. Le Fabre to commit + herself. Probably she felt that, since Sir Henry had gone on record as + being doubtful of the spiritistic explanation of psychic phenomena, she + might get into a controversy with him. But in the end she stated that she + expected to find our little mystery simply a novel variation on what was + so familiar to her. + </p> + <p> + As might be supposed, General Hume had no opinion. He merely expressed + himself as being prepared to accept any sound theory, or portions of such + theories as might be advanced, and arrive at a workable conclusion + therefrom. Which was exactly what we wanted of him. + </p> + <p> + Of them all, Professor Herold showed the most enthusiasm. Perhaps this was + because, despite his attainments, he is still young. At any rate, he made + it clear that he was fully prepared to learn something entirely new in + science. And he was almost eager to adjust his previous notions and facts + to the new discoveries. + </p> + <p> + When all these various viewpoints had been cleared up, and we felt that we + understood each other, it was inevitable that we should look to Sir Henry + to state his position. This one man combined a large amount of the + various, specialised abilities for which the others were noted, and they + all knew and respected him accordingly. Had he stood and theorised half + the afternoon, they would willingly have sat and listened. But instead he + glanced at his watch, and observed: + </p> + <p> + “To me, the most important development of all was hearing the sound of a + dog's bark coming from the ring. As I recall the details, the sound was + emitted just after the gem had been submitted to considerable handling, + from Miss Fenton's fingers to her brother's and back again. In other + words, it was subjected to a mixture of opposing animal magnetisms. + Suppose we experiment further with it now.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte slipped the gem from her finger and passed it around. Each of us + held it for a second or two; after which Charlotte clasped the ring + tightly in her palm, while we all joined hands. + </p> + <p> + It was, as I have said, broad daylight; the hour, shortly after one. + Scarcely had our hands completed the circuit than something happened. + </p> + <p> + From out of Charlotte's closed hand there issued an entirely new sound. At + first it was so faint and fragmentary that only two of us heard it. Then + it became stronger and more continuous, and presently we were all gazing + at each other in wonderment. + </p> + <p> + For the sound was that of footsteps. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVI. — DIRECT FROM PARADISE + </h2> + <p> + The sound was not like that of the walking of the human. Nor was it such + as an animal would make. It was neither a thud nor a pattering, but more + like a scratching shuffle, such as reminded me of nothing that I had ever + heard before. + </p> + <p> + Next moment, however, there came another sort of sound, plainly audible + above the footsteps. This was a thin, musical chuckle which ended in a + deep, but faint, organ-like throb. It happened only once. + </p> + <p> + Immediately it was followed by a steady clicking, such as might be made by + gently striking a stick against the pavement; only sharper. This lasted a + minute, during which the other sounds ceased. + </p> + <p> + Once more the footsteps. They were not very loud, but in the stillness of + that room they all but resounded. + </p> + <p> + Presently Charlotte could stand it no longer. She placed the ring on the + table, where it continued to emit those unplaceable sounds. + </p> + <p> + “Well! Do—do you people,” stammered Dr. Malloy, “do you people all + hear THAT?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Clarke's face was rather pale. But her mouth was firm. “It is + nothing,” said she, with theosophical positiveness. “You must not believe + it—it is not the truth of—” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” interrupted Sir Henry, “but this isn't something to argue + about! It is a reality; and the sooner we all admit it, the better. There + is a living creature of some kind making that sound!” + </p> + <p> + “It is the spirit of some two-footed creature,” asserted Mme. Le Fabre, + plainly at her ease. She was on familiar ground now. “If only we had a + medium!” + </p> + <p> + Abruptly the sounds left the vicinity of the ring. At first we could not + locate their new position. Then Herold declared that they came from under + the table; and presently we were all gathered on the floor, listening to + those odd little sounds, while the ring remained thirty inches above, on + the top of the table! + </p> + <p> + It may be that the thing, whatever it was, did not care for such a crowd. + For shortly the shuffling ceased. And for a while we stared and listened, + scarcely breathing, trying to locate the new position. + </p> + <p> + Finally we went back to our chairs. We had heard nothing further. + Nevertheless, we continued to keep silence, with our ears alert for + anything more. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” whispered Charlotte all of a sudden. “Did you hear that?” And she + looked up toward the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + In a moment I caught the sound. It was exceedingly faint, like the distant + thrumming of a zither. Only it was a single note, which did not rise and + fall, although there seemed a continual variation in its volume. + </p> + <p> + Unexpectedly the other sounds came again, down under the table. This time + we remained in our seats and simply listened. And presently Sir Henry, + referring to the ring, made this suggestion: + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we seal it up, and see whether it inducts the sound then as well + as when exposed.” + </p> + <p> + This appealed to Herold very strongly; the others were agreeable; so I ran + upstairs to my room and secured a small screw-top metal canister, which I + knew to be airtight. It was necessary to remove the stone from the ring, + in order to get it into the opening in the can. Presently this was done; + and while our invisible visitor continued his scratchy little walking as + before, I screwed the top of the can down as tightly as I could. + </p> + <p> + Instantly the footsteps halted. + </p> + <p> + I unscrewed the top a trifle. As instantly the stepping was resumed. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Herold. “It's a question of radioactivity, then! Remember Le + Bon's experiments, Sir Henry?” + </p> + <p> + But Miss Clarke was sorely mystified by this simple matter, and herself + repeated the experiments. Equally puzzled was Mme. Le Fabre. According to + her theory, a spirit wouldn't mind a little thing like a metal box. Of + them all, Dr. Malloy was the least disturbed; so decidedly so that General + Hume eyed him quizzically. + </p> + <p> + “Fine bunch of hallucinations, doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “Almost commonplace,” retorted Malloy. + </p> + <p> + Presently I mentioned that the Rhamda had come from the basement on the + night that Ariadne had materialised; and I showed that the only possible + route into the cellar was through the locked door in the breakfast room, + since the windows were all too small, and there was no other door. Query: + How had the Rhamda got there? Immediately they all became alert. As Herold + said: + </p> + <p> + “One thing or the other is true; either there is something downstairs + which has escaped you, Fenton, or else Avec is able to materialise in any + place he chooses. Let's look!” + </p> + <p> + We all went down except Charlotte, who went upstairs to stay with Ariadne. + By turns, each of us held the ring. And as we unlocked the basement door + we noted that the invisible, walking creature had reached there before us. + </p> + <p> + Down the steps went those unseen little feet, jumping from one step to the + next just ahead of us all the way. When within three or four steps of the + bottom, the creature made one leap do for them all. + </p> + <p> + I had previously run an extension cord down into the basement, and both + compartments could now be lighted by powerful electric lamps. We gave the + place a quick examination. + </p> + <p> + “What's all this newly turned earth mean?” inquired Sir Henry, pointing to + the result of Jerome's efforts a few months before. And I explained how he + and Harry, on the chance the basement might contain some clue as to the + localisation of the Blind Spot, had dug without result in the bluish clay. + </p> + <p> + Sir Henry picked up the spade, which had never been moved from where + Jerome had dropped it. And while I went on to tell about the pool of + liquids, which for some unknown reason had not seeped into the soil since + forming there, the Englishman proceeded to dig vigorously into the heap I + had mentioned. + </p> + <p> + The rest of us watched him thoughtfully. We remembered that Jerome's + digging had been done after Queen's disappearance. And the dog had + vanished in the rear room, the one in which Chick and Dr. Holcomb had last + been seen. Now, when Jerome had dug the clay from the basement under this, + the dining-room, he had thrown it through the once concealed opening in + the partition; had thrown the clay, that is, in a small heap under the + library. And—after Jerome had done this the phenomena had occurred + in the library, not in the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” ejaculated General Hume, as I pointed this out. “This may be + something more, you know, that mere coincidence!” + </p> + <p> + Sir Henry said nothing, but continued his spading. He paid attention to + nothing save the heap that Jerome had formed. And with each spadeful he + bent over and examined the clay very carefully. + </p> + <p> + Miss Clarke and Mme. Le Fabre both remained very calm about it all. Each + from her own viewpoint regarded the work as more or less a waste of time. + But I noticed that they did not take their eyes from the spade. + </p> + <p> + Sir Henry stopped to rest. “Let me,” offered Herold; and went on as the + Englishman had done, holding up each spadeful for inspection. And it was + thus that we made a strange discovery. + </p> + <p> + We all saw it at the same time. Embedded in the bluish earth was a small, + egg-shaped piece of light-coloured stone. And protruding from its upper + surface was a tiny, blood-red pebble, no bigger than a good-sized shot. + </p> + <p> + Herold thrust the point of his spade under the stone, to lift it up. + Whereupon he gave a queer exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's funny!” holding the stone up in front of us. “That little + thing's as heavy as—as—it's HEAVIER than lead!” + </p> + <p> + Sir Henry picked the stone off the spade. Immediately the material + crumbled in his hands, as though rotting, so that it left only the small, + red pebble intact. Sir Henry weighed this thoughtfully in his palm, then + without a word handed it around. + </p> + <p> + We all wondered at the pebble. It was most astonishingly heavy. As I say, + it was no bigger than a fair-sized shot, yet it was vastly heavier. + </p> + <p> + Afterward we weighed it, upstairs, and found that the trifle weighed over + half a pound. Considering its very small bulk, this worked out to be a + specific gravity of 192.6 or almost ten times as heavy as the same bulk of + pure gold. And gold is heavy. + </p> + <p> + Inevitably we saw that there must be some connection between this + unprecedentedly heavy speck of material and that lighter-than-air gem of + mystery. For the time being we were careful to keep the two apart. As for + the unexplained footsteps, they were still slightly audible, as the + invisible creatures moved around the cellar. + </p> + <p> + At last we turned to go. I let the others lead the way. Thus I was the + last to approach the steps; and it was at that moment that I felt + something brush against my foot. + </p> + <p> + I stooped down. My hands collided with the thing that had touched me. And + I found myself clutching— + </p> + <p> + Something invisible—something which, in that brilliant light, showed + absolutely nothing to my eyes. But my hands told me I was grasping a very + real thing, as real as my fingers themselves. + </p> + <p> + I made some sort of incoherent exclamation. The others turned and peered + at me. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” came Herold's excited voice. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know!” I gasped. “Come here.” + </p> + <p> + But Sir Henry was the first to reach me. Next instant he, too, was + fingering the tiny, unseen object. And such was his iron nerve and + superior self-control, he identified it almost at once. + </p> + <p> + “By the lord!”—softly. “Why, it's a small bird! Come here.” + </p> + <p> + Another second and they were all there. I was glad enough of it; for, like + a flash, with an unexpectedness that startles me even now as I think of it— + </p> + <p> + The thing became visible. Right in my grasp, a little fluttering bird came + to life. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVII. — SOLVED + </h2> + <p> + It was a tiny thing, and most amazingly beautiful. It could not have stood + as high as a canary; and had its feathers been made of gleaming silver + they could not have been lovelier. And its black-plumed head, and long, + blossom-like tail, were such as no man on earth ever set eyes on. + </p> + <p> + Like a flash it was gone. Not more than a half a second was this + enchanting apparition visible to us. Before we could discern any more than + I have mentioned, it not only vanished but it ceased to make any sounds + whatever. And each of us drew a long breath, as one might after being + given a glimpse of an angel. + </p> + <p> + Right now, five or six hours after the events I have just described, it is + very easy for me to smile at my emotions of the time. How startled and + mystified I was! And—why not confess it?—just a trifle afraid. + Why? Because I didn't understand! Merely that. + </p> + <p> + At this moment I sit in my laboratory upstairs in that house, rejoicing in + having reached the end of the mystery. For the enigma of the Blind Spot is + no more. I have solved it! + </p> + <p> + Now twenty feet away, in another room, lies Ariadne. Already there is a + faint trace of colour in her cheeks, and her heart is beating more + strongly. Another hour, says Dr. Higgins, and she will be restored to us! + </p> + <p> + The time is seven p.m. I didn't sleep at all last night; I haven't slept + since. For the past five hours we have been working steadily on the + mystery, ever since our finding that little, red pebble in the basement. + The last three hours of the time I have been treating Ariadne, using means + which our discoveries indicated. And in order to keep awake I have been + dictating this account to a stenographer. + </p> + <p> + This young lady, a Miss Dibble, is downstairs, where her typewriter will + not bother. Yes, put that down, too, Miss Dibble; I want people to know + everything! She has a telephone clamped to her ears, and I am talking into + a microphone which is fixed to a stand on my desk. + </p> + <p> + On that desk are four switches. All are of the four-way two-pole type; and + from them run several wires, some going to one end of the room, where they + are attached to the Holcomb gem. Others, running to the opposite end, + making contact with the tiny heavy stone we found in the basement. Other + wires run from the switches to lead bands around my wrists. Also, between + switches are several connections—one circuit containing an + amplifying apparatus. By throwing these switches in various combinations, + I can secure any given alteration of forces, and direct them where I + choose. + </p> + <p> + For there are two other wires. These run from my own lead bracelets to + another room; a pair clamped around the wrists of Ariadne. + </p> + <p> + For I, Hobart Fenton, am now a living, human transforming station. I am + converting the power of the Infinite into the Energy of Life. And I am + transmitting that power directly out of the ether, as conduced through + these two marvellous stones, back into the nervous system of the girl I + love. Another hour, and she will Exist! + </p> + <p> + It was all so very simple, now that I understand it. And yet—well, + an absolutely new thing is always very hard to put into words. + </p> + <p> + To begin with, I must acknowledge the enormous help which I have had from + my friends: Miss Clarke, Mme. Le Fabre, General Hume, Dr. Malloy, and + Herold. These people are still in the house with me; I think they are + eating supper. I've already had mine. Really, I can't take much credit to + myself for what I have found out. The others supplied most of the facts. I + merely happened to fit them together; and, because of my relationship to + the problem, am now doing the heroic end of the work. + </p> + <p> + As for Harry—he and Dr. Holcomb, Chick Watson and even the dog—I + shall have them out of the Blind Spot inside of twelve hours. All I need + is a little rest. I'll go straight to bed as soon as I finish reviving + Ariadne; and when I wake up, we'll see who's who, friend Rhamda! + </p> + <p> + I'm too exuberant to hold myself down to the job of telling what I've + discovered. But it's got to be done. Here goes! + </p> + <p> + I practically took my life in my hands when I first made connection. + However, I observed the precaution of rigging up a primary connection + direct from the ring to the pebble, running the wire along the floor some + distance away from where I sat. No ill effects when I ventured into the + line of force; so I began to experiment with the switches. + </p> + <p> + That precautionary circuit was Herold's idea. His, also, the amplifying + apparatus. The mental attitude was Miss Clarke's, modified by Dr. Malloy. + The lead bracelets were Mme. Le Fabre's suggestion; they work fine. Sir + Henry was the one who pointed out the advantage of the microphone I am + using. If my hands become paralysed I can easily call for help to my side. + </p> + <p> + Well, the first connection I tried resulted in nothing. Perfectly blank. + Then I tried another and another, meanwhile continually adjusting the + amplifier; and as a result I am now able, at will, to do either or all of + the following: + </p> + <p> + (1) I can induct sounds from the Blind Spot; (2) I can induct light, or + visibility; or (3) any given object or person, in toto. + </p> + <p> + And now to tell how. No, I'm just sleepy, not weak. + </p> + <p> + Let's see; where was I? Oh, yes; those connections. They've got to be done + just right, with the proper tension in the coils, and the correct mental + attitude, to harmonise. I wish I wasn't so tired! + </p> + <p> + One moment! No, no; I'm all right. I—Queer! By Jove, that's a funny + thing just now! I must have got an inducted current from another wire, + mixed with these! And—I got a glimpse into the Blind Spot! + </p> + <p> + A great—No; it's a—What a terrific crowd! Wonder what they're + all—By Jove, it's—Good Lord, it's he! And Chick! No, I'm not + wandering! I'm having the experience of my life! + </p> + <p> + Now—THAT'S the boy! Don't let 'em bluff you! Good! Good! Tell 'em + where to head in! That's the boy! Rub it in! I don't know what you're up + to, but I'm with you! + </p> + <p> + Er—there's a big crowd of ugly looking chaps there, and I can't make + it out—Just a moment—a moment. What does it mean, anyway? Just—I— + </p> + <p> + DANGER, by Heaven! THAT'S what it means! + </p> + <p> + No; I'm all right. The—thing came to an end, abruptly. That's all; + everything normal again; the room just the same as it was a moment ago. + Hello! I seem to have started something! The wire down on the floor has + commenced to hum! Oh, I've got my eye on it, and if anything— + </p> + <p> + Miss Dibble! Tell Herold to come! On the run! Quick! Did you? Good! don't + stop writing! I— + </p> + <p> + There's Chick! CHICK! How did you get here? What? YOU CAN'T SEE ME! Why— + </p> + <p> + Chick! Listen! Listen, man! I've gone into the Blind Spot! Write this + down! The connection— + </p> + <p> + That's Herold! Herold, this is Chick Watson! Listen, now, you two! The—the—I + can hardly—it's from No. 4 to—to—to the ring—then—coil— + </p> + <p> + Both switches, Chick! Ah! I've— + </p> + <p> + NOTE BY MISS L. DIBBLE.—Just as Mr. Fenton made the concluding + remark as above, there came a loud crash, followed by the voice of Mr. + Herold. Then, there came a very loud clang from a bell; just one stroke. + After which I caught Mr. Fenton's voice: + </p> + <p> + “Herold—Chick can tell you what IT wants us to do—” + </p> + <p> + And with that, his voice trailed off into nothing, and died away. As for + Mr. Fenton himself, I am informed that he has utterly disappeared; and in + his stead there now exists a man who is known to Dr. Hansen as Chick + Watson. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVIII. — THE MAN FROM SPACE + </h2> + <p> + Before starting the conclusion of the Blind Spot mystery it may be just as + well for the two publicists who are bringing it to the press to follow + Hobart Fenton's example and go into a bit of explanation. + </p> + <p> + The two men who wrote the first two parts were participants, and + necessarily writing almost in the present tense. While they could give an + accurate and vivid account of their feelings and experiences, they could + only guess at what lay in the future, at the events that would unravel it + all. + </p> + <p> + But the present writers have the advantage of working, of seeing, of + weighing in the retrospect. They know just where they are going. + </p> + <p> + The coming of Chick Watson brought new perspective. Hitherto we had been + looking into the darkness. Whatever had been caught in the focus of the + Spot had become lost to our five senses. + </p> + <p> + Yet, facts are facts. It was no mere trickery that had caught Dr. Holcomb + in the beginning. One by one, men of the highest standards and character + had been either victims or witness to its reality and power. + </p> + <p> + So the coming of Watson may well be set down as one of the deciding + moments of history. He who had been the victim a year before was returning + through the very Spot that had engulfed him. He was the herald of the + great unknown, an ambassador of the infinite itself. + </p> + <p> + It will be remembered that of all the inmates of the house, Dr. Hansen was + the only one who had a personal acquaintance with Watson. One year before + the doctor had seen him a shadow—wasted, worn, exhausted. He had + talked with him on that memorable night in the cafe. Well he remembered + the incident, and the subject of that strange conversation—the + secret of life that had been discovered by the missing Dr. Holcomb. And + Dr. Hansen had pondered it often since. + </p> + <p> + What was the force that was pulsing through the Blind Spot? It had reached + out on the earth, and had plucked up youth as well as wisdom. THIS was the + first time it had ever given up that which it had taken! + </p> + <p> + It was Watson, sure enough; but it was not the man he had known one year + before. Except for the basic features Hansen would not have recognized + him; the shadow was gone, the pallor, the touch of death. He was hale and + radiant; his skin had the pink glow of alert fitness; except for being + dazed, he appeared perfectly natural. In the tense moment of his arrival + the little group waited in silence. What had he to tell them? + </p> + <p> + But he did not see them at first. He groped about blindly, moving slowly + and holding his hands before him. His face was calm and settled; its lines + told decision. There was not a question in any mind present but that the + man had come for a purpose. + </p> + <p> + Why could he not see? Perhaps the light was too dim. Some one thought to + turn on the extra lights. + </p> + <p> + It brought the first word from Watson. He threw up both arms before his + face; like one shutting out the lightning. + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” he begged. “Don't! Shut off the lights; you will blind me! + Please; please! Darken the room!” + </p> + <p> + Sir Henry sprang to the switch. Instantly the place went to shadow; there + was just enough light from the moon to distinguish the several forms + grouped in the middle of the room. Dr. Hansen proffered a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you! Ah! Dr. Hansen! You are here—I had thought—This is + much better! I can see fairly well now. You came very near to blinding me + permanently! You didn't know. It's the transition.” Then: “And yet—of + course! It's the moon! THE MOON!” + </p> + <p> + He stopped. There was a strange wistfulness in the last word. And suddenly + he rose to his feet. He turned in gladness, as though to drink in the + mellow flow of the radiance. + </p> + <p> + “The moon! Gentlemen—doctor—who are these people? This is the + house of the Blind Spot! And it is the moon—the good old earth! And + San Francisco!” + </p> + <p> + He stopped again. There was a bit of indecision and of wonder mixed with + his gladness. The stillness was only broken by the scarcely audible voice + of Mme. Le Fabre. + </p> + <p> + “Now we KNOW! It is proven. The sceptics have always asked why the spirits + work only in the half light. We know now.” + </p> + <p> + Watson looked to Dr. Hansen. “Who is this lady? Who are these others?” + </p> + <p> + “Can you see them?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly. It is the lady in the corner; she thinks—” + </p> + <p> + “That you are a spirit!” + </p> + <p> + Watson laughed. “I a spirit? Try me and see!” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” asserted Mme. Le Fabre. “You are out of the Blind Spot. I + know; it will prove everything!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes; the Spot.” Watson hesitated. Again the indecision. There was + something latent that he could not recall; though conscious, part of his + mind was still in the apparent fog that lingers back into slumber. + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand,” he spoke. “Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + It was Sir Henry this time. “Mr. Watson, we are a sort of committee. This + is the house at 288 Chatterton Place. We are after the great secret that + was discovered by Dr. Holcomb. We were summoned by Hobart Fenton.” + </p> + <p> + Consciousness is an enigma. Hitherto Watson had been almost inert; his + actions and manner of speech had been mechanical. That it was the natural + result of the strange force that had thrown him out, no one doubted. The + mention of Hobart Fenton jerked him into the full vigour of wide-awake + thinking; he straightened himself. + </p> + <p> + “Hobart! Hobart Fenton! Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “That we do not know,” answered Sir Henry. “He was here a moment ago. It + is almost too impossible for belief. Perhaps you can tell us.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean—” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. Into the Blind Spot. One and the other; your coming was + coincident with his going!” + </p> + <p> + Chick raised up. Even in that faint light they could appreciate the full + vigour of his splendid form. He was even more of an athlete than in his + college days, before the Blind Spot took him. And when he realised what + Sir Henry had said he held up one magnificent arm, almost in the manner of + benediction: + </p> + <p> + “Hobart has gone through? Thank Heaven for that!” + </p> + <p> + It was a puzzle. True, in that little group there was represented the + accumulated wisdom of human effort. With the possible exception of the + general, there was not a sceptic among them. They were ready to explain + almost anything—but this. + </p> + <p> + In the natural weakness of futility they had come to associate the aspect + of death or terror with the Blind Spot. Yet, here was Watson! Watson, + alive and strong; he was the reverse of what they had subconsciously + expected. + </p> + <p> + “What is this Blind Spot?” inquired Sir Henry evenly. “And what do you + mean by giving thanks that Fenton has gone into it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not now. Not one word of explanation until—What time is it?” Watson + broke off to demand. + </p> + <p> + They told him. He began to talk rapidly, with amazing force and decision, + and in a manner whose sincerity left no chance for doubt. + </p> + <p> + “Then we have five hours! Not one second to lose. Do what I say, and + answer my questions!” Then: “We must not fail; one slip, and the whole + world will be engulfed—in the unknown! Turn on the lights.” + </p> + <p> + There was that in the personality and the vehemence of the man that + precluded opposition. Out of the Blind Spot had come a dynamic quality, + along with the man; a quickening influence that made Watson swift, sure, + and positive. Somehow they knew it was a moment of Destiny. + </p> + <p> + Watson went on: + </p> + <p> + “First, did Hobart Fenton open the Spot? Or was it a period? By 'period' I + mean, did it open by chance, as it did when it caught Harry and me? Just + what did Hobart do? Tell me!” + </p> + <p> + It was a singular question. How could they answer it? However, Dr. Malloy + related as much as he knew of what Hobart had done; his wires and + apparatus were now merely a tangled mass of fused metals. Nothing remained + intact but the blue gem and the red pebble. + </p> + <p> + “I see. And this pebble: you found it by digging in the cellar, I + suppose.” + </p> + <p> + How did he know that? Dr. Hansen brought that curiously heavy little stone + and laid it in Watson's hand. The newcomer touched it with his finger, and + for a brief moment he studied it. Then he looked up. + </p> + <p> + “It's the small one,” he stated. “And you found it in the cellar. It was + very fortunate; the opening of the Spot was perhaps a little more than + half chance. But it was wonderfully lucky. It let me out. And with the + help of God and our own courage we may open it again, long enough to + rescue Hobart, Harry, and Dr. Holcomb. Then—we must break the chain—we + must destroy the revelation; we must close the Spot forever!” + </p> + <p> + Small wonder that they couldn't understand what he meant. Dr. Hansen + thought to cut in with a practical question: + </p> + <p> + “My dear Chick, what's inside the Spot? We want to know!” + </p> + <p> + But it was not Watson who answered. It was Mme. Le Fabre. + </p> + <p> + “Spirits, of course.” + </p> + <p> + Watson gave a sudden laugh. This time he answered: + </p> + <p> + “My dear lady, if you know what I know, and what Dr. Holcomb has + discovered, you would ask YOURSELF a question or so. Possibly you yourself + are a spirit!” + </p> + <p> + “What!” she gasped. “I—a spirit!” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. But there is no time for questions. Afterwards—not now. + Five hours, and we must—” + </p> + <p> + Someone came to the door. It was Jerome. At the sight of Watson he + stopped, clutching the stub of his cigar between his teeth. His grey eyes + took in the other's form from head to shoe leather. + </p> + <p> + “Back?” he inquired. “What did you find out, Watson? They must have fed + you well over yonder!” + </p> + <p> + And Jerome pointed toward the ceiling with his thumb. It wasn't in his + dour nature to give way to enthusiasm; this was merely his manner of + welcome. Watson smiled. + </p> + <p> + “The eats were all right, Jerome, but not all the company. You're just the + man I want. We have little time; none to spare for talk. Are you in touch + with Bertha Holcomb?” + </p> + <p> + The detective nodded. + </p> + <p> + Watson took the chair that Fenton had so strangely vacated and reached for + paper and pencil. Once or twice he stopped to draw a line, but mostly he + was calculating. He referred constantly to a paper he took from his + pocket. When he was through he spread his palm over what he had written. + </p> + <p> + “Jerome!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You are no longer connected with headquarters, I presume. But—can + you get men?” + </p> + <p> + “If need be.” + </p> + <p> + “You will need them!” Just then Watson noticed the uniform of General + Hume. “Jerome, can you give this officer a bodyguard?” + </p> + <p> + It was both unusual and lightning-sudden. Nevertheless, there was + something in Watson's manner that called for no challenge; something that + would have brooked no refusal. And the general, although a sceptic, was + acting solely from force of habit when he objected: + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me, Watson, that you—” + </p> + <p> + Those who were present are not likely to forget it. Some men are born, + some rise, to the occasion; but Watson was both. He was clear-cut, + dominant, inexorable. He levelled his pencil at the general. + </p> + <p> + “It SEEMS to you! General, let me ask you: If your country's safety were + at stake, would you hesitate to throw reinforcements into the breach?” + </p> + <p> + “Hardly.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. It's settled. Take care of your red tape AFTERWARDS.” + </p> + <p> + He wheeled to the detective. “Jerome, this is a sketch of the compartments + of Dr. Holcomb's safe. Not the large one in his house, but the small one + in his laboratory. Go straight to Dwight Way. Give this note,” indicating + another paper, “to Bertha Holcomb. Tell her that her father is safe, and + that I am out of the Blind Spot. Tell her you have come to open the + laboratory safe. I've written down the combination. If it doesn't work use + explosives; there's nothing inside which force can harm. In the + compartment marked 'X' you will find a small particle about the size of a + pea, wrapped in tin-foil, and locked in a small metal box. You will have + to break the box. As for the contents, once you see the stone you can't + mistake it; it will weigh about six pounds. Get it, and guard it with your + life!” + </p> + <p> + “All right.” + </p> + <p> + Jerome put Watson's instructions in his wallet, at the same time glancing + about the room. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Fenton?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + It was Watson who answered. He gave us the first news that had ever come + from the Blind Spot. He spoke with firm deliberation, as though in full + realisation of the sensation: + </p> + <p> + “Hobart Fenton has gone through the Blind Spot. Just now he is right here + in this room.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Henry jumped. + </p> + <p> + “In this room! Is that what you said, Watson?” + </p> + <p> + The other ignored him. + </p> + <p> + “Jerome, you haven't a minute to lose! You and the general; bring that + stone back to this house at ANY cost! Hurry!” + </p> + <p> + In another moment Jerome and Hume were gone. And few people, that day, + suspected the purport of that body of silent men who crossed over the Bay + of San Francisco. They were grim, and trusted, and under secret orders. + They had a mission, did they but know it, as important as any in history. + But they knew only that they were to guard Jerome and the general at all + hazards. One peculiarly heavy stone, “the size of a pea”! How are we ever + to calculate its value? + </p> + <p> + As for the group remaining with Watson, not one of them ever dreamed that + any danger might come out of the Blind Spot. Its manifestations had been + local and mostly negative. No; the main incentive of their interest had + been simply curiosity. + </p> + <p> + But apparently Watson was above them all. He paid no further attention to + them for a while; he bent at Fenton's desk and worked swiftly. At length + he thrust his papers aside. + </p> + <p> + “I want to see that cellar,” he announced. “That is, the point where you + found that red pebble!” + </p> + <p> + Down in the basement, Sir Henry gave the details. When he came to mention + the various liquids which Fenton had poured into the woodwork upstairs + Watson examined the pool intently. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so. They would come out here—naturally.” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally!” + </p> + <p> + Sir Henry could not understand. His perplexity was reflected in the faces + of Herold, the two physicians, Dr. Malloy, Miss Clarke, and Mme. Le Fabre—and + Charlotte spoke for them all: + </p> + <p> + “Can't you explain, Mr. Watson? The woodwork had nothing whatever to do + with the cellar. There was the floor between, just as you see it now.” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally,” Watson repeated. “It could be no other place! It was on its + way to the other side, but it could go only half-way. Simply a matter of + focus, you know. I beg pardon; you must hold your curiosity a little + longer.” + </p> + <p> + He began measuring. First he located the line across the floorjoists + overhead, where rested the partition separating the dining-room from the + parlour. Finding the middle of this line, he dropped an improvised + plumb-line to the ground; and from this spot as centre, using a string + about ten feet long, he described a circle on the earth. Then, referring + to his calculations, he proceeded to locate several points with small + stakes pressed into the soil. Then he checked them off and nodded. + </p> + <p> + “It's even better than the professor thought. His theory is all but + proven. If Jerome and Hume can deliver the other stone without accident, + we can save those now inside the Spot.” Then, very solemnly: “But we face + a heavy task. It will be another Thermopylae. We must hold the gate + against an occult Xerxes, together with all his horde.” + </p> + <p> + “The hosts of the dead!” exclaimed Mme. Le Fabre. + </p> + <p> + “No; the living! Just give me time, Madame, and you will see something + hitherto undreamed of. As for your theory—tomorrow you may doubt + whether you are living or dead! In other words, Dr. Holcomb has certainly + proved the occult by material means. He has done it with a vengeance. In + so doing he has left us in doubt as to ourselves; and unless he discovers + the missing factor within the next few hours we are going to be in the + anomalous position of knowing plenty about the next world, but nothing + about ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + He paused. He must have known that their curiosity could not hold out much + longer. He said: + </p> + <p> + “Now, just one thing more, friends, and I can tell you everything, while + we are waiting for Jerome and the general to return. But first I must see + the one who preceded me out of the spot.” + </p> + <p> + “Ariadne!” from Charlotte, in wonder. + </p> + <p> + “Ariadne!” exclaimed Watson. He was both puzzled and amazed. “Did you call + her—Ariadne?” + </p> + <p> + “She is upstairs,” cut in Dr. Higgins. + </p> + <p> + “I must see her!” + </p> + <p> + A minute or two later they stood in the room where the girl lay. The + coverlet was thrown back somewhat revealing the bare left arm and + shoulder, and the delicately beautiful face upon the pillow. Her golden + hair was spread out in riotous profusion. The other hand was just + protruding from the coverlet, and displayed a faint red mark, showing + where Hobart's bracelet had been fastened at the moment he disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte stepped over and laid her hand against the girl's cheek. “Isn't + she wonderful!” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + But Dr. Higgins looked to Watson. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know her?” + </p> + <p> + The other nodded. He stooped over and listened to her breathing. His + manner was that of reverence and admiration. He touched her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I see how it must have happened. Precisely what I experienced, only—” + Then: “You call her Ariadne?” + </p> + <p> + “We had to call her something,” replied Charlotte. “And the name—it + just came, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps. Anyhow, it was a remarkably good guess. Her true name is the + Aradna.” + </p> + <p> + “THE Aradna? Who—what is she?” + </p> + <p> + “Just that: the Aradna. She is one of the factors that may save us. And on + earth we would call her queen.” Then, without waiting for the inevitable + question, Watson said: + </p> + <p> + “Your professional judgment will soon come to the supreme test, Dr. + Higgins. She is simply numbed and dazed from coming through the Spot.” + Charlotte had already described to him the girl's arrival. “The mystery is + that she was permitted an hour of rationality before this came upon her. I + wonder if Hobart's vitality had anything to do with it?”—half to + himself. “As for the Rhamda”—he smiled—“he is merely + interested in the Spot; that is all. He would never harm the Aradna; he + had nothing whatever to do with her condition. We were mistaken about the + man. Anyway, it is the Spot of Life that interests us now.” + </p> + <p> + “The Spot of Life,” repeated Sir Henry. “Is that—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; the Blind Spot, as it is known from the other side. It overtops all + your sciences, embraces every cult, and lies at the base of all truth. It + is—it is everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Explain!” + </p> + <p> + Watson turned to the head upon the pillow. He ventured to touch the cheek, + with a trace of tenderness in his action and of wistfulness near to + reverence. It was not love; it was rather as one might touch a fairy. In + both spirit and substance she was truly of another world. Watson gave a + soft sigh and looked up at the Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can explain. Now that I know she is well, I shall tell you all I + know from the beginning. It's certainly your turn to ask questions. I may + not be able to tell you all that you want to know; but at least I know + more than any other person this side of the Spot. Let us go down to the + library.” + </p> + <p> + He glanced at a clock. “We have nearly five hours remaining. Our test will + come when we open the Spot. We must not only open it, but we must close it + at all costs.” + </p> + <p> + They had reached the lower hall. At the front door Watson paused and + turned to the others. + </p> + <p> + “Just a moment. We may fail tonight. In case we do, I would like one last + look at my own world—at San Francisco.” + </p> + <p> + He opened the door. The rest hung back; though they could not understand, + they could sense, vaguely, the emotion of this strange man of brave + adventure. The scene, the setting, the beauty, were all akin to the + moment. Watson, stood bareheaded, looking down at the blinking lights of + the city of the Argonauts. The moon in a starlit sky was drifting through + a ragged lace of cloud. And over it all was a momentary hush, as though + the man's emotion had called for it. + </p> + <p> + No one spoke. At last Watson closed the door. And there was just the trace + of tears in his eyes as he spoke: + </p> + <p> + “Now my friends—” And led the way into the parlour. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIX. — THE OCCULT WORLD + </h2> + <p> + “In telling what I know,” began Watson, “I shall use a bit of a preface. + It's necessary, in a way, if you are to understand me; besides, it will + give you the advantage of looking into the Blind Spot with the clear eyes + of reason. I intend to tell all, to omit nothing. My purpose in doing this + is that, in case we should fail tonight, you will be able to give my + account to the world.” + </p> + <p> + It was a strange introduction. His listeners exchanged thoughtful glances. + But they all affirmed, and Sir Henry hitched his chair almost impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Mr. Watson. Please proceed.” + </p> + <p> + “To begin with,” said Watson, “I assume that you all know of Dr. Holcomb's + announcement concerning the Blind Spot. You remember that he promised to + solve the occult; how he foretold that he would prove it not by immaterial + but by the very material means; that he would produce the fact and the + substance. + </p> + <p> + “Now, the professor had promised to deliver something far greater than he + had thought it to be. At the same time, what he knew of the Blind Spot was + part conjecture and part fact. Like his forebears and contemporaries, he + looked upon man as the real being. + </p> + <p> + “But it's a question, now, as to which is reality and which is not. There + is not a branch of philosophy that looks upon the question in that light. + Bishop Berkeley came near and he has been followed by others; but they all + have been deceived by their own sophistry. However, except for the + grossest materialists, all thinkers take cognizance of a hereafter. + </p> + <p> + “No one dreamed of a Blind Spot and what it may lead to, what it might + contain. We are five-sensed; we interpret the universe by the measure of + five yardsticks. Yet, the Blind Spot takes even those away; the more we + know, it seems, the less certain we are of ourselves. As I said to Mme. Le + Fabre, it is a difficult question to determine, after all, just who are + the ghosts. At any rate, I KNOW”—and he paused for effect—“I + know that there are uncounted millions who look upon us and our workings + as entirely supernatural! + </p> + <p> + “Remember that what I have to tell you is just as real as your own lives + have been since babyhood. + </p> + <p> + “It was slightly over a year ago that my last night on the earth arrived. + </p> + <p> + “I had gone out for the evening, in the forlorn hope of meeting a friend, + of having some slight taste of pleasure before the end came. + </p> + <p> + “For several days I had been labouring under a sort of premonition, + knowing that my life was slowly seeping away and that my vitality was + slipping, bit by bit, to what I thought must be death. Had I then known + what I know now, I could have saved myself. But if I had done it, if I had + saved myself, we would never have found Dr. Holcomb. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it was the same fate that led me to Harry, that night. I don't + know. Nevertheless, if there is any truth in what I have learned on the + other side of the Blind Spot, it would seem that there is something higher + than mere fate. I had never believed in luck; but when everything works + out to a fraction of a breath, one ceases to be sceptical on the question + of destiny and chance. <i>I</i> say, everything that happened that night + was FORCED from the other side. In short, my giving that ring to Harry was + simply a link in the chain of circumstances. It just had to be; the + PROPHECY would not have had it otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + Without stopping to explain what he meant by the word “prophecy,” Watson + went on: + </p> + <p> + “That's what makes it puzzling. I have never been able to understand how + every bit has dovetailed with such exactness. We—you and I—are + certainly not supernatural; and yet, on the other side of the Spot, the + proof is overwhelmingly convincing. + </p> + <p> + “I was very weak that night. So weak that it is difficult for me to + remember. The last I recollect was my going to the back of the house; to + the kitchen, I think. I had a light in my hands. The boys were in the + front room, waiting. One of them had opened a door some yards away from + where I stood. + </p> + <p> + “Coming as it did, on the instant, it is difficult to describe. But I knew + it instinctively for what it was: the dot of blue on the ceiling, and the + string of light. Then, a sensation of falling, like dropping into space + itself. It is hard to describe the horrifying terror of plunging head on + from an immense height to a plain at a vastly lower level. + </p> + <p> + “And that's all that I remember—from this side.” [Footnote: NOTE.—In + justice to Mr. Watson, the present writers have thought it best at this + stage to transpose the story from the first to the third person. Any + narrative, unless it is negative in its material, is hard to give in the + first person; for where the narrator has played an active, positive part, + he must either curb himself or fall under the slur of braggadocio. Yet, + the world wants the details exactly as they happened; hence the + transposition. EDITORS.] + </p> + <p> + Watson opened his eyes. + </p> + <p> + The first thing was light and a sense of great pain. There was a pressure + at the back of the eyeballs, a poignant sensation not unlike a + knife-thrust; that, and a sudden fear of madness, of drivelling + helplessness. + </p> + <p> + The abrupt return of consciousness in such a condition is not easy to + imagine. After all he had gone through, this strange sequel must have been + terribly puzzling to him. He was a man of good education, well versed in + psychology; in the first rush of consciousness he tried, as best he could, + to weigh himself up in the balance of aberration. And it was this very + fact that gave him his reassurance; for it told him that he could think, + could reason, could count on a mind in full function. + </p> + <p> + But he could not see. The pain in his eyeballs was blinding. There was + nothing he could distinguish; everything was woven together, a mere blaze + of wonderful, iridescent, blazing coloration. + </p> + <p> + But if he could not see, he could feel. The pain was excruciating. He + closed his eyes and fell to thinking, curiously enough, that the + experience was similar to what he had gone through when upon learning to + swim, he had first opened his eyes under the water. It had been under a + blazing sun. The pain and the colour—it was much the same, only + intensified. + </p> + <p> + Then he knew that he was very tired. The mere effort of that one thought + had cost him vitality. He dropped back into unconsciousness, such as was + more insensibility than slumber. He had strange dreams, of people walking, + of women, and of many voices. It was blurred and indistinct, yet somehow + not unreal. Then, after an unguessable length of time—he awoke. + </p> + <p> + He was much stronger. The lapse may have been very long; he could not + know. But the pain in his eyes was gone; and he ventured to open the lids + again in the face of the light that had been so baffling. This time he + could see; not distinctly, but still enough to assure him of reality. By + closing his eyes at intervals he was able to rest them and to accustom + them gradually to the new degree of light. And after a bit he could see + plainly. + </p> + <p> + He was on a cot, and in a room almost totally different from any that he + had ever seen before. The colour of the walls, even, was dissimilar; + likewise the ceiling. It was white, in a way, and yet unlike it; neither + did it resemble any of the various tints; to give it a name that he + afterward learned—alna—implies but little. It was utterly new + to him. + </p> + <p> + Apparently he was alone. The room was not large; about the size of an + ordinary bedroom. And after the first novelty of the unplaceable colour + had worn off he began to take stock of his own person. + </p> + <p> + First, he was covered by the finest of bed clothing, thick but exceedingly + light. There was no counterpane, but two blankets and two sheets; and none + of them corresponded to any colour or material he had ever known. He only + knew that their tints were light rather than dark. + </p> + <p> + Next, he moved his hands out from under the coverings, and held them up + before his eyes. He was immensely puzzled. He naturally expected to see + the worn, emaciated hands which had been his on that dramatic night; but + the ones before him were plump, normal, of a healthy pink. The wrists + likewise were in perfect condition, also his arms. He could not account + for this sudden return to health, of the vigour he had known before he + began to wear the ring. He lay back pondering. + </p> + <p> + Presently he fell to examining his clothes. There were two garments made + of a silk-like textile, rather heavy as to weight, but exceedingly soft as + to touch. They were slightly darker than the bed clothing. In a way they + were much like pyjamas, except that both were designed to be merely + slipped into place, without buttons or draw-strings. That is, they were + tailored to fit snugly over the shoulders and waist, while loose enough + elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + Then he noticed the walls of the room. They were after a simple, + symmetrical style; coved—to use an architectural expression—or + curved, where the corner would come with a radius much larger than common, + amounting to four or five feet; so that a person of ordinary height could + not stand close to the wall without stooping. Where the coved portion + flowed into the perpendicular of the wall there was a broad moulding, like + a plate rail, which acted as a support for the hanging pictures. + </p> + <p> + Watson counted four of these pictures. Instinctively he felt that they + might give him a valuable clue as to his whereabouts. For, while his mind + had cleared enough for him to feel sure that he had truly come through the + Spot, he knew nothing more. Where was he? What would the pictures tell? + </p> + <p> + The first was directly before his eyes. In size perhaps two by three feet, + with its greater length horizontal, it was more of a landscape than a + portrait. And Watson's eagerness for the subject itself made him forget to + note whether the work was mechanically or manually executed. + </p> + <p> + For it revealed a girl—about ten or twelve—very slightly + draped, enjoying a wild romp with a most extraordinary creature. It was + this animal that made the picture amazing; there was no subtle + significance in the scene—there was nothing remarkable about the + technique. The whole interest, for Watson, was in the animal. + </p> + <p> + It was a deer; perfect and beautiful, but cast in a Lilliputian mould. It + stood barely a foot high, the most delicate thing he had ever looked upon. + Mature in every detail of its proportion, the dainty hoofs, the fragile + legs, smooth-coated body, and small, wide-antlered head—a miniature + eight-pointer—made such a vision as might come to the dreams of a + hunter. + </p> + <p> + Chick rose up in bed, in order to examine it more closely. Immediately he + fell back again slightly dizzy. He closed his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Shortly he began examining the other pictures. Two of these were simple + flower studies. Watson scarcely knew which puzzled him most; the blossoms + or their containers. For the vases were like large-sized loving cups, + broad as to body, and provided with a handle on either side. Their colours + were unfamiliar. As for the blossoms—in one study the blooms were a + half-dozen in number, and more like Shasta daisies than anything else. But + their colour was totally unlike, while they possessed wide, striped + stamens that gave the flowers an identity all their own. In the other vase + were several varieties, and every one absolutely unrecognisable. + </p> + <p> + On the opposite side of the room was something fairly familiar. At first + glance it seemed a simple basket of kittens, done in black and white—something + like crayon, and yet resembling sepia. Alongside the basket, however, was + a spoon, one end resting on the edge of a saucer. And it was the size of + the spoon that commanded Chick's attention; rather, the size of the + kittens, any one of which could have curled up comfortably in the bowl of + the spoon! Judging relatively, if it were an ordinary tablespoon, then the + kittens were smaller than the smallest of mice. + </p> + <p> + Chick gave it up. Presently he began speculating about the time. He + decided that, whatever the hour might be, it was still daylight. In one + wall of the room was a large, oval window, of a material which may as well + be called glass, frosted, so as to permit no view of what might lie + outside. But it allowed plenty of light to enter. + </p> + <p> + Cut in the opposite wall was a doorway, hung with a curtain instead of a + door. This curtain was a gauzy material, but its maroonlike shade + completely hid all view of whatever lay beyond. + </p> + <p> + Chick waited and listened. Hitherto he had not heard a sound. There was + not even that subtle, mixed hum from the distance that we are accustomed + to associate with silence. He felt certain that he was inside the Blind + Spot; but as to just where that locality might lie, he knew as little as + before. He knew only that he in a building of some sort. Where, and what, + was the building? + </p> + <p> + Just then he noticed a cord dangling from the ceiling. It came down to + within six inches of his head. He gave it a pull. + </p> + <p> + Whereupon he heard a faint, musical jangling in the distance. He tried to + analyse the sound. It was not bell-like; perhaps the word “tinkling” would + serve better. Provisionally, Chick placed the key at middle D. + </p> + <p> + A moment later he heard steps outside the curtain. They were very soft and + light and deliberate; and almost at the same instant a delicate white hand + moved the curtain aside. + </p> + <p> + It was a woman. Chick lay back and wondered. Although not beautiful she + was very good to look at, with large blue eyes of a deep tenderness and + sympathy, even features, and a wonderful fold of rich brown hair held in + place by a satiny net. + </p> + <p> + She started when she saw Chick's wide open eyes; then smiled, a motherly + smile and compassionate. She was dressed in a manner at once becoming and + odd, to one unaccustomed, in a gown that draped the entire figure, yet + left the right arm and shoulder bare. Chick noticed that arm especially; + it was white as marble, moulded full, and laced with fine blue veins. He + had never seen an arm like that. Nor such a woman. She might have been + forty. + </p> + <p> + She came over to the bed and placed a hand on Chick's forehead. Again she + smiled, and nodded. + </p> + <p> + “How do you feel?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Now this is a strange thing; Watson could not account for it. For, + although she did not speak English, yet he could understand her quite + well. At the moment it seemed perfectly obvious; afterward, the fact + became amazing. + </p> + <p> + He answered in the same way, his thoughts directing his lips. And he found + that as long as he made no conscious attempt to select the words for his + thought, he could speak unhesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Where am I?” + </p> + <p> + She smiled indulgently, but did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Is this the—Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “The Blind Spot! I do not understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Your nurse. Perhaps,” soothingly, “you would like to talk to the Rhamda.” + </p> + <p> + “The Rhamda!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The Rhamda Geos.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXX. — THE PLUNGE + </h2> + <p> + The woman left him. For a while Chick reflected upon what she had said. In + full rush of returning vigour his mind was working clearly and with + analytical exactness. + </p> + <p> + For the first time he noticed a heaviness in the air, overladen, pregnant. + He became aware of a strange, undercurrent of life; of an exceedingly + faint, insistent sound, pulse-like and rhythmical, like the breathing + undertones of multitudes. He was a city man, and accustomed to the + murmuring throbs of a metropolitan heart. But this was very different. + </p> + <p> + Presently, amid the strangeness, he could distinguish the tinkle of elfin + bells, almost imperceptible, but musical. The whole air was laden with a + subdued music, lined, as it were, with a golden vibrancy of tintinnabulary + cadence—distant, subdued, hardly more than a whisper, yet part of + the air itself. + </p> + <p> + It gave him the feeling that he was in a dream. In the realms of the + subconscious he had heard just such sounds—exotic and unearthly—fleeting + and evanescent. + </p> + <p> + The notion of dreams threw his mind into sudden alertness. In an instant + he was thinking systematically, and in the definite realisation of his + plight. + </p> + <p> + The woman had spoken of “the Rhamda.” True, she had added a qualifying + “Geos,” but that did not matter. Whether Geos or Avec, it was still the + Rhamda. By this time Watson was convinced that the word indicated some + sort of title—whether doctor, or lord, or professor, was not + important. What interested Chick was identity. If he could solve that he + could get at the crux of the Blind Spot. + </p> + <p> + He thought quickly. Apparently, it was Rhamda Avec who had trapped Dr. + Holcomb. Why? What had been the man's motive? Watson could not say. He + only knew the ethics of the deed was shaded with the subtleness of + villainy. That behind it all was a purpose, a directing force and + intelligence that was inexorable and irresistible. + </p> + <p> + One other thing he knew; the Rhamda Avec came out of the region in which + he, Watson, now found himself. Rather, he could have come from nowhere + else. And Watson could feel certain that somewhere, somehow, he would find + Dr. Holcomb. + </p> + <p> + In that moment Watson determined upon his future course of action. He + decided to state nothing, intimate nothing, either by word or deed, that + might in any manner incriminate or endanger the professor. It was for him + to learn everything possible and to do all he could to gain his points, + without giving a particle of information in return. He must play a lone + hand and a cautious one—until he found Dr. Holcomb. + </p> + <p> + The fact of his position didn't appall him. Somehow, it had just the + opposite effect. Perhaps it was because his strength had come back, and + had brought with it the buoyancy that is natural to health. He could sense + the vitality that surrounded him, poised, potential, waiting only the + proper attitude on his part to become an active force. Something + tremendous had happened to him, to make him feel like that. He was ready + for anything. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes passed. Watson was alert and ready when the woman returned, + together with a companion. She smiled kindly, and announced: + </p> + <p> + “The Rhamda Geos.” + </p> + <p> + At first Chick was startled. There was a resemblance to Rhamda Avec that + ran almost to counterpart. The same refinement and elegance, the fleeting + suggestion of youth, the evident age mingled with the same athletic ease + and grace of carriage. Only he was somewhat shorter. The eyes were almost + identical, with the peculiar quality of the iris and pupil that suggested, + somehow, a culture inherited out of the centuries. He was dressed in a + black robe, such as would befit a scholar. + </p> + <p> + He smiled, and held out a hand. Watson noted the firm clasp, and the cold + thrill of magnetism. + </p> + <p> + “You wish to speak with me?” + </p> + <p> + The voice was soft and modulated, resonant, of a tone as rich as bronze. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Where am I—sir?” + </p> + <p> + “You do not know?” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Watson that there was real astonishment in the man's eyes. As + yet it had not come to Chick that he himself might be just as much a + mystery as the other. The only question in his mind at the moment was + locality. + </p> + <p> + “Is this the Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “The Blind Spot!”—with the same lack of comprehension that the woman + had shown. “I do not understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, how did I get here?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as to that, you were found in the Temple of the Leaf. You were lying + unconscious on the floor.” + </p> + <p> + “A temple! How did I get there, sir? Do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “We only know that a moment before there was nothing; next instant—you.” + </p> + <p> + Watson thought. There was a subconscious sound that still lingered in his + memory; a sound full-toned, flooding, enveloping. Was there any connection— + </p> + <p> + “'The Temple of the Leaf,' you call it, sir. I seem to remember having + heard a bell. Is there such a thing in that temple?” + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda Geos smiled, his eyes brightening. “It is sometimes called the + Temple of the Bell.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” A pause, and Watson asked, “Where is this temple? And is this room a + part of the building?” + </p> + <p> + “No. You are in the Sar-Amenive Hospital, an institution of the Rhamdas.” + </p> + <p> + The Rhamdas! So there were several of them. A sort of society, perhaps. + </p> + <p> + “In San Francisco?” + </p> + <p> + “No. San Francisco! Again I fail to understand. This locality is known as + the Mahovisal.” + </p> + <p> + “The Mahovisal!” Watson thought in silence for a moment. He noted the + extremely keen interest of the Rhamda, the ultra-intelligent flicker of + the eyes, the light of query and critical analysis. “You call this the + Mahovisal, sir? What is it: town, world or institution?” + </p> + <p> + The other smiled again. The lines about his sensitive mouth were + susceptible of various interpretations: emotion, or condescension, or the + satisfying feeling that comes from the simple vindication of some inner + conviction. His whole manner was that of interest and respectful wonder. + </p> + <p> + “You have never heard of the Mahovisal? Never?” + </p> + <p> + “Not until this minute,” answered Watson. + </p> + <p> + “You have no knowledge of anything before? Do you know WHO YOU ARE?” + </p> + <p> + “I”—Watson hesitated, wondering whether he had best withhold this + information. He decided to chance the truth. “My name is Chick Watson. I + am—an American.” + </p> + <p> + “An American?” + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda pronounced the word with a roll of the “r” that sounded more + like the Chinese “Mellican” than anything else. It was evident that the + sounds were totally unfamiliar to him. And his manner was a bit + indefinite, doubtful, yet weighted with care, as he slowly repeated the + question: + </p> + <p> + “An American? Once more I don't understand. I have never heard the word, + my dear sir. You are neither D'Hartian nor Kospian; although there are + some—materialists for the most part—who contend that you are + just as any one else. That is—a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I am,” returned Watson, utterly confounded. He did not know what + to say. He had never heard of a Kospian or a D'Hartian, nor of the + Mahovisal. It made things difficult; he couldn't get started. Most of all, + he wanted information; and, instead, he was being questioned. The best he + could do was to equivocate. + </p> + <p> + As for the Rhamda, he frowned. Apparently his eager interest had been + dashed with disappointment. But only slightly, as Watson could see; the + man was of such culture and intellect as to have perfect control over his + emotions. In his balance and poise he was very like Avec, and he had the + same pleasing manner. + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” he began, “if you are really a man, then you can tell me + something of great importance.” + </p> + <p> + “I” Chick retorted, “can tell you nothing until you first let me know just + where I stand!” + </p> + <p> + Certainly there was a lack of common ground. Until one of them supplied + it, there could be no headway. Watson realised that his whole future might + revolve about the axis of his next words. + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda thought a moment, dubiously, like one who has had a pet theory + damaged, though not shattered. Suddenly he spoke to the woman. + </p> + <p> + “Open the portal,” said he. + </p> + <p> + She stepped to the oval window, touched a latch, and swung the pane + horizontally upon two pivots. Immediately the room was flooded with a + strange effulgence, amber-like, soft and mellow, as real sunshine. + </p> + <p> + But it was NOT real sunshine! + </p> + <p> + The window was set in a rather thick wall, beyond which Watson could see a + royal sapphiric sky, flecked with white and purple and amethyst-threaded + clouds poised above a great amber sleeping sun. + </p> + <p> + It was the sun that challenged attention. It was so mild, and yet so + utterly beyond what might be expected. In diameter it would have made six + of the one Watson had known; in the blue distance, touching the rim of the + horizon, it looked exactly like a huge golden plate set edgewise on the + end of the earth. + </p> + <p> + And—he could look straight at it without blinking! + </p> + <p> + His thoughts ran back to the first account of the Rhamda. The man had + looked straight at the sun and had been blinded. This accounted for it! + The man had been accustomed to this huge, soft-glowing beauty. An amberous + sun, deep yellow, sleeping; could it be, after all, dreamland? + </p> + <p> + But there were other things: the myriad tintinnabulations of these + microscopic bells, never ceasing, musically throbbing; and now, the exotic + delight of the softest of perfumes, an air barely tinted with violet and + rose, and the breath of woodland wild flowers. He could not comprehend it. + He looked at the purple clouds above the lotus sun, hardly believing, and + deeply in doubt. + </p> + <p> + A great white bird dived suddenly out of the heavens and flew into the + focus of his vision. In all the tales of his boyhood, of large and + beautiful rocs and other birds, he had come across nothing like this. From + the perspective it must have measured a full three hundred feet from tip + to tip; it was shaped like a swan and flew like an eagle, with + magnificent, lazy sweeps of the wings; while its plumage was as white as + the snow, new fallen on the mountains. And right behind it, in pursuit, + hurtled a huge black thing, fully as large and just as swift; a tremendous + black crow, so black that its sides gave off a greenish shimmer. + </p> + <p> + Just then the woman closed the window. It was as well; Watson was only + human, and he could hide his curiosity just so long and no longer. He + turned to the Rhamda. + </p> + <p> + The man nodded. “I thought so,” said he with satisfaction, as one might + who has proven a pet and previous theory. + </p> + <p> + Watson tried from another angle. + </p> + <p> + “Just who do you think I am, sir?” + </p> + <p> + The other smiled as before. “It is not what I may think,” he replied: “but + what I know. You are the proof that was promised us by the great Rhamda + Avec. You are—THE FACT AND THE SUBSTANCE!” + </p> + <p> + He waited for Watson's answer. Stupefaction delayed it. After a moment the + Rhamda continued: + </p> + <p> + “Is it not so? Am I not right? You are surely out of the occult, my dear + sir. You are a spirit!” + </p> + <p> + It took Chick wholly by surprise. He had been ready to deal with anything—but + this. It was unreal, weird, impossible. And yet, why not? The professor + had set out to remove forever the screen that had hitherto shrouded the + shadow: but what had he revealed? What had the Spot disclosed? Unreality + or REALITY? Which is which? + </p> + <p> + In the inspiration of the moment, Chick saw that he had reached the + crossroads of the occult. There was no time to think; there was time only + for a plunge. And, like all strong men, Watson chose the deeper water. + </p> + <p> + He turned to the Rhamda Geos. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said he quietly. “I—am a spirit.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXI. — UP FOR BREATH + </h2> + <p> + Rhamda Geos, instead of showing the concern and uneasiness that most men + would show in the presence of an avowed ghost, evinced nothing but a deep + and reverent happiness. He took Watson's hand almost shyly. And while his + manner was not effusive, it had the warmth that comes from the heart of a + scholar. + </p> + <p> + “As a Rhamda,” he declared, “I must commend myself for being the first to + speak to you. And I must congratulate you, my dear sir, on having fallen, + not into the hands of Bar Senestro, but into those of my own kind. It is a + proof of the prophecy, and a vindication of the wisdom of the Ten + Thousand. + </p> + <p> + “I bid you welcome to the Thomahlia, and I offer you my services, as guide + and sponsor.” + </p> + <p> + Chick did not reply at once. The chance he had taken was one of those rare + decisions that come to genius; the whole balance of his fate might swing + upon his sudden impulse. Not that he had any compunction; but he felt that + it tied him down. It restricted him. Certainly almost any role would be + easier than that of a spirit. + </p> + <p> + He didn't feel like a ghost. He wondered just how a ghost would act, + anyhow. What was more, he could not understand such a queer assumption on + the Rhamda's part. Why had he seemed to WANT Chick a ghost? Watson was + natural, human, embodied, just like the Rhamda. This was scarcely his idea + of a phantom's life. Most certainly, the two of them were men, nothing + else; if one was a wraith, so was the other. But—how to account for + it? + </p> + <p> + Again he thought of Rhamda Avec. The words of Geos, “The Fact and the + Substance,” had been exactly synonymous with what had been said of Avec by + Dr. Holcomb, “The proof of the occult.” + </p> + <p> + Was it indeed possible that these two great ones, from opposite poles, had + actually torn away the veil of the shadow? And was this the place where + he, Watson, must pose as a spirit, if he were to be accepted as genuine? + </p> + <p> + The thought was a shock. He must play the same part here that the Rhamda + had played on the other side of the Spot; but he would have to do it + without the guiding wisdom of Avec. Besides, there was something sinister + in the unknown force that had engulfed so strong a mind as the + professor's; for while Watson's fate had been of his own seeking, that of + the doctor smacked too much of treachery. + </p> + <p> + He turned to the Rhamda Geos with a new question: + </p> + <p> + “This Rhamda Avec—was he a man like yourself?” + </p> + <p> + The other brightened again, and asked in return: + </p> + <p> + “Then you have seen him!” + </p> + <p> + “I—I do not know,” answered Watson, caught off his guard. “But the + name is familiar. I don't remember well. My mind is vague and confused. I + recall a world, a wonderful world it was from which I came, and a great + many people. But I can't place myself; I hardly—let me see—” + </p> + <p> + The other nodded sympathetic approval. + </p> + <p> + “I understand. Don't exert yourself. It is hardly to be expected that one + forced out of the occult could come among us with his faculties + unimpaired. We have had many communications with your world, and have + always been frustrated by this one gulf which may not be crossed. When + real thought gets across the border, it is often indefinite, sometimes + mere drivel. Such answers as come from the void are usually disappointing, + no matter how expert our mediums may be in communicating with the dead.” + </p> + <p> + “The dead! Did you say—the dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; the dead. Are you not of the dead?” + </p> + <p> + Watson shook his head emphatically. + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely not! Not where I came from. We are all very much alive!” + </p> + <p> + The other watched him curiously, his great eyes glowing with enthusiasm; + the enthusiasm of the born seeker of the truth. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean,” he asked, “that you have the same passions that we have + here in life?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” said Watson, “that we hate, love, swear; we are good and we are + evil; and we play games and go fishing.” + </p> + <p> + Geos rubbed his hands in a dignified sort of glee. What had been said + coincided, apparently, with another of his pet theories. + </p> + <p> + “It is splendid,” he exulted, “splendid! And just in line with my thesis. + You shall tell it before the Council of the Rhamdas. It will be the + greatest day since the speaking of the Jarados!” + </p> + <p> + Watson wondered just who this Jarados might be; but for the moment he went + back to the previous question. + </p> + <p> + “This Rhamda Avec: you were about to tell me about him. Let me have as + much as I can understand, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes! The great Rhamda Avec. Perhaps you may recall him when your mind + clears a little more. My dear sir, he is, or was, the chief of the Rhamdas + of all the Thomahlia.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the 'Thomahlia'?” + </p> + <p> + “The Thomahlia! Why, it is called the world; our name for the world. It + comprises, physically, land, water and air; politically, it embraces + D'Hartia, Kospia and a few minor nations.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are the Rhamdas?” + </p> + <p> + “They are the heads of—of the Thomahlia; not the nominal nor + political nor religious heads—they are neither judicial, executive + nor legislative; but the real heads, still above. They might be called the + supreme college of wisdom, of science and of research. Also, they are the + keepers of the bell and its temple, and the interpreters of the Prophecy + of the Jarados.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. You are a sort of priesthood.” + </p> + <p> + “No. The priesthood is below us. The priests take what orders we choose to + give, and are purely—” + </p> + <p> + “Superstitious?” + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda's eyes snapped, just a trifle. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, my dear sir! They are good, sincere men. Only, not being + intellectually adept enough to be admitted to the real secrets, the real + knowledge, they give to all things a provisional explanation based upon a + settled policy. Not being Rhamdas, they are simply not aware that + everything has an exact and absolute explanation.” + </p> + <p> + “In other words,” put in Watson, “they are scientists; they have not + lifted themselves up to the plane of inquisitive doubt.” + </p> + <p> + Still the Rhamda shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Not quite that, either, my dear sir. Those below us are not ignorant; + they are merely nearer to the level of the masses than we are. In fact, + they are the people's rulers; these priests and other similar classes. But + we, the Rhamdas, are the rulers of the rulers. We differ from them in that + we have no material ends to subserve. Being at the top, with no motive + save justice and advancement, our judgments are never questioned, and for + the same reason, seldom passed. + </p> + <p> + “But we are far above the plane of doubt that you speak of; we passed out + of it long ago. That is the first stage of true science; afterwards comes + the higher levels where all things have a reason; ethics, inspiration, + thought, emotion—” + </p> + <p> + “And—the judgment of the Jarados?” + </p> + <p> + Watson could not have told why he said it. It was impulse, and the + impromptu suggestion of a half-thought. But the effect of his words upon + the Rhamda and the nurse told him that, inadvertently, he had struck a + keynote. Both started, especially the woman. Watson took note of this in + particular, because of the ingrained acceptance of the feminine in matter + of belief. + </p> + <p> + “What do you know?” was her eager interruption. “You have seen the + Jarados?” + </p> + <p> + As for the Rhamda, he looked at Watson with shrewd, calculating eyes. But + they were still filled with wonder. + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell us?” he asked. “Try and think!” + </p> + <p> + Chick knew that he had gained a point. He had been dealt a trump card; but + he was too clever to play it at once. He was on his own responsibility and + was carrying a load that required the finest equilibrium. + </p> + <p> + “I really do not know,” he said. “I—I must have time to think. + Coming across the border that way you must give me time. You were telling + me about the Rhamdas in general; now tell me about Avec in particular.” + </p> + <p> + Geos nodded as though he could understand the fog that beclouded Watson's + mind. + </p> + <p> + “The Rhamda Avec is, or was, the wisest of them all; the head and the + chief, and by far the most able. Few beside his own fellows knew it, + however; another than he was the nominal head, and officiated for him + whenever necessary. Avec had little social intercourse; he was a + prodigious student. + </p> + <p> + “We are a body of learned men, you understand, and we stand at the peak of + all that has been discovered through hundreds upon hundreds of centuries, + so that at the present day we are the culmination of the combined effort + and thought of man since the beginning of time. Each generation of Rhamdas + must be greater than the one preceding. When I die and pass on to your + world I must leave something new and worth-while to my successor; some + thought, wisdom, or deed that may be of use to mankind. I cannot be a + Rhamda else. We are a set of supreme priests, who serve man at the shrine + of intelligence, not of dogma. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, we are not to be judged too highly. All research, when it + steps forward must go haltingly; there are many paths into the unknown + that look like the real one. Hence, we have among us various schools of + thought, and each following a different trail. + </p> + <p> + “I myself am a spiritist. I believe that we can, and often have, + communicated with your world at various times. There are others who do not + grant it; there are Rhamdas who are inclined to lean more to the + materialist's side of things, who rely entirely, when it comes to + questions of this kind, upon their faith in the teachings of the Jarados. + There are some, too, who believe in the value of speculation, and who + contend that only through contemplation can man lift himself to the full + fruits of realisation. At the head of us all—the Rhamda Avec!” + </p> + <p> + “What was his belief?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us say he believed ALL. He was eclectic. He held that we were all of + us a bit right, and each of us a whole lot wrong. It was his contention, + however, that there was not one thing that could not be proven; that the + secret of life, while undoubtedly a secret in every sense of the word, is + still very concrete, it could be proven!” + </p> + <p> + Watson nodded. He remembered hearing another man make just such a + statement—Dr. Holcomb. + </p> + <p> + “For years he worked in private,” went on Geos. “We never knew just what + he was doing; until, one day, he called us together and delivered his + lecture.” + </p> + <p> + “His lecture?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather, his prophecy. For it was all that. Not that he spoke at great + length; it was but a talk. He announced that he believed the time had come + to prove the occult. That it could be done, and done only through + concrete, material means; and that whatever existed, certainly could be + demonstrated. He was going to pull aside the curtain that had hitherto cut + off the shadow. + </p> + <p> + “'I am going to prove the occult,' he said. 'In three days I shall return + with the fact and the substance. And then I propose to deliver my greatest + lecture, my final thesis, in which my whole life shall come to a focus. I + shall bring the proof for your eyes and ears, for your fingers to explore + and be satisfied. You shall behold the living truth.” + </p> + <p> + “'And the subject of my lecture—the subject of my lecture will be + The Spot of Life.'” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXII. — THROUGH UNKNOWN WATERS + </h2> + <p> + The SPOT of Life! And the subject of Dr. Holcomb's lecture, promised but + never delivered, had been announced as—The Blind SPOT! + </p> + <p> + To Watson it was fairly astounding to discover that the two—Holcomb + and Avec—had reached simultaneously for the curtain of the shadow. + The professor had said that it would be “the greatest day since Columbus.” + And so it had proven, did the world but know it. + </p> + <p> + “And—the Rhamda Avec never returned?” asked Chick. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “But he sent back something within three days?” Watson was thinking, of + course, of the doctor who had disappeared on the day which, Jerome + overheard the Rhamda to say, was the last of his stay. + </p> + <p> + But Geos did not reply. Why, Chick could not guess. He thought it best not + to press the question; in good time, if he went at it carefully, he could + gain his end with safety. At the moment he must not arouse suspicion. He + chose another query. + </p> + <p> + “Did Avec go alone?” + </p> + <p> + “No. The Nervina went with him. Rather, she followed within a few hours.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + It was out before Watson could think. The Rhamda looked up suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Then you have seen the Nervina! You know her?” + </p> + <p> + Chick lied. It was not his intention, just at present, to tie himself down + to anything that might prove compromising or restraining. + </p> + <p> + “The name is—familiar. Who is this Nervina?” + </p> + <p> + “She is one of the queens. I thought—My dear sir, she is one of the + queens of Thomahlia, half Kospian, half D'Hartian; of the first royal line + running through from the day of the Jarados.” + </p> + <p> + Chick cogitated for a moment. Then, taking an entirely new tack: + </p> + <p> + “You say the Rhamda and this Nervina, independently, solved the mystery of + the Spot of Life, I believe you call it. And that Spot leads, apparently, + into the occult?” + </p> + <p> + “Apparently, if not positively. It was the wisdom of Avec, mostly. He had + been in communication with your world by means of his own discovery and + application. It was all in line with the prophecy. + </p> + <p> + “Since he and the Nervina left, the people of the world have been in a + state of ferment. For it was foretold that in the last days we would get + in communication with the other side; that some would come and some would + go. For example, your own coming was foretold by the Jarados, almost to + the hour and minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it was fortuitous,” spoke Watson. “It was NOT the wisdom and science + of Avec, in my case.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so. However, it is proof that the Rhamdas have fulfilled their + duty. We knew of the Spot of Life, all the while; it was to be closed + until we, through the effort of our intellect and virtues, could lift + ourselves up to the plane of the world beyond us—your world. It + could not be opened by ourselves alone, however. The Rhamda Avec had first + to get in touch with your side, before he could apply the laws he had + discovered.” + </p> + <p> + Somehow, Chick admired this Rhamda. Men of his type could form but one + kind of priesthood: exalted, and devoted to the advance of intelligence. + If Rhamda Avec were of the same sort, then he was a man to be looked up + to, not to hate. As for the Jarados—Watson could not make out who he + had been; a prophet or teacher, seemingly, looming out of the past and + reverenced from antiquity. + </p> + <p> + The Blind Spot became a shade less sinister. Already Watson had the Temple + of the Leaf, or Bell, the Rhamdas and their philosophy, the great amber + sun, the huge birds, the musical cadence of the perfumed air, and the + counter-announcement of Rhamda Avec to weigh against the work and words of + Dr. Holcomb. + </p> + <p> + The world of the Blind Spot! + </p> + <p> + As if in reaction from the unaccustomed train of thought, Watson suddenly + became conscious of extreme hunger. He gave an uneasy glance round, a + glance which the Rhamda Geos smilingly interpreted. At a word the woman + left the room and returned with a crimson garment, like a bath-robe. When + Chick had donned it and a pair of silken slippers, Geos bade him follow. + </p> + <p> + They stepped out into the corridor. + </p> + <p> + This was formed and coloured much as the room they had quitted; and it led + to another apartment, much larger—about fifty feet across—coloured + a deep, cool green. Its ceiling, coved like the other, seemed made of some + self-radiating substance from which came both light and heat. Four or five + tables, looking like ebony work, were arranged along the side walls. When + they were seated at one of these, the Rhamda placed his fingers on some + round alna-white buttons ranged along the edge of the table. + </p> + <p> + “In your world,” he apologised, “our clumsy service would doubtless amuse + you; but it is the best we have been able to devise so far.” + </p> + <p> + He pressed the button. Instantly, without the slightest sound or anything + else to betray just how the thing had been accomplished, the table was + covered with golden dishes, heaped with food, and two flagon-like goblets, + full to the brim with a dark, greenish liquid that gave off an aroma + almost exhilarating; not alcoholic, but something just above that. The + Rhamda, disregarding or not noticing Watson's gasp of wonder, lifted his + goblet in the manner of the host in health and welcome. + </p> + <p> + “You may drink it,” he offered, “without fear. It is not liquor—if I + may use a word which I believe to be current in your world. I may add that + it is one of the best things that we shall be able to offer you while you + are with us.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed it wasn't liquor. Watson took a sip; and he made a mental note that + if all things in the Thomahlia were on a par with this, then he certainly + was in a world far above his own. For the one sip was enough to send a + thrill through his veins, a thrill not unlike the ecstasy of supreme music—a + sparkling exuberance, leaving the mind clear and scintillating, glorified + to the quick thinking of genius. + </p> + <p> + Later Watson experienced no reaction such as would have come from drinking + alcohol or any other drug. + </p> + <p> + It was the strangest meal ever eaten by Watson. The food was very savoury, + and perfectly cooked and served. Only one dish reminded him of meat. + </p> + <p> + “You have meats?” he asked. “This looks like flesh.” + </p> + <p> + Geos shook his head. “No. Do you have flesh to eat, on the other side? We + make all our food.” + </p> + <p> + MAKE food. Watson thought best simply to answer the question: + </p> + <p> + “As I remember it, Rhamda Geos, we had a sort of meat called beef—the + flesh of certain animals.” + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda was intensely interested. “Are they large? Some interpret the + Jarados to that effect. Tell me, are they like this?” And he pulled a + silver whistle from his pocket and, placing it to his lips, blew two + short, shrill notes. + </p> + <p> + Immediately a peculiar patter sounded down the corridor; a ka-tuck, + ka-tuck, ka-tuck, not unlike galloping hoof-beats. Before Watson could do + any surmising a little bundle of shining black, rounded the entrance to + the room and ran up to them. Geos picked it up. + </p> + <p> + It was a horse. A horse, beautifully formed, perfect as an Arab, and not + more than nine inches high! + </p> + <p> + Now, Chick had been in the Blind Spot, conscious, but a short while. He + knew that he was in the precise position that Rhamda Avec had occupied + that morning on the ferry-boat. Chick recalled the pictures of the + Lilliputian deer and the miniature kittens; yet he was immensely + surprised. + </p> + <p> + The little fellow began to neigh, a tiny, ridiculous sound as compared + with the blast of a normal-sized horse, and began to paw for the edge of + the table. + </p> + <p> + “What does he want?” + </p> + <p> + “A drink. They will do anything for it.” Geos pressed a button, and in a + moment he had another goblet. This he held before the little stallion, who + thrust his head in above his nostrils and drank as greedily as a Percheron + weighing a ton. Watson stroked his sides; the mane was like spun silk, he + felt the legs symmetrical, perfectly shaped, not as large above the + fetlocks as an ordinary pencil. + </p> + <p> + “Are they all of this size?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; all of them. Why do you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Because”—seeing no harm in telling this—“as I remember them, + a horse on the other side would make a thousand of this one. People ride + them.” + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda nodded. + </p> + <p> + “So it is told in the books of Jarados. We had such beasts, once, + ourselves. We would have them still, but for the brutality and stupidity + of our ancestors. It is the one great sin of the Thomahlia. Once we had + animals, great and small, and all the blessings of Nature; we had horses + and, I think, what you call beef; a thousand other creatures that were + food and help and companions to man. And for the good they had done our + ancestors destroyed them!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “It was neglect, unthinking and selfish. A time came when our civilisation + made it possible to live without other creatures. When machinery came into + vogue we put aside the animals as useless; those we had no further use for + we denied the right to reproduce. The game of the forest was hunted down + with powerful weapons of destruction; all went, in a century or two; + everything that could be killed. And with them went the age of our highest + art, that age of domesticated animals. + </p> + <p> + “Our greatest paintings, our noblest sculpture, came from that age; all + the priceless relics that we call classic. And in its stead we had the + mechanical age. Man likewise became a mechanism, emotionless, with no + taste for Nature. Meat was made synthetically, and so was milk.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say they did not preserve cows for the sake of their + milk?” + </p> + <p> + “No; that kind of milk became old-fashioned; men regarded it as + unsanitary, fit only for the calves. What they wanted was something + chemically pure; they waged war on bacteria, microbes, and Nature in + general; a cow was merely a relic whose product was always an uncertainty. + With no reason for the meat and no use for the milk, our vegetarians and + our purists gradually eliminated them altogether. It was a strange age; + utilitarian, scientific, selfish; it was then headed straight for + destruction.” + </p> + <p> + And he went on to relate how men began to lose the power of emotion; there + were no dependent beasts to leaven his nature with the salt of kindness; + he thought only of his own aggrandisement. He became like his machine, a + fine thing of perfectly correlated parts, but with no higher nature, no + soul, no feeling; he was less than a brute. The animals disappeared one by + one, passing through the channel of death, into the world beyond the Spot + of Life, leaving behind only these tiny survivors, playthings, kept in + existence longer than all others because of a mere fad. + </p> + <p> + “Does your spiritism include animals as well as men?” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally; everything that is endowed with life.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. Let me ask you: why didn't the Rhamdas interfere and put a stop to + this wanton sacrilege against Nature?” + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda smiled. “You forget,” replied he, “that these events belong far + in the past. At that time the Rhamdas were not. It was even before the + coming of the Jarados.” + </p> + <p> + Watson asked no more questions for a while. He wanted to think. How could + this man Rhamda Geos, if indeed he were a man, accept him, Watson, as a + spirit? Solid flesh was not exactly in line with his idea of the + unearthly. How to explain it? He had to go back to Holcomb again. The + doctor had accepted without question Avec's naturalness, his body, his + appetite. Reasonably enough, Geos, with some smattering of his superior's + wisdom, should accept Watson in the same way. + </p> + <p> + And then, the Jarados: at every moment his name had cropped up. Who was + he? So far he had heard no word that might be construed as a clue. The + great point, just now, was that the Rhamda Geos accepted him as a spirit, + as the fact and substance promised by Avec. But—where was the + doctor? + </p> + <p> + Chick ventured this question: + </p> + <p> + “My coming was foretold by the Rhamda Avec, I understand. Is this in + accord with the words of the Jarados?” + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda looked up expectantly and spoke with evident anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell me anything about the Jarados?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us forgo that,” side-stepped Watson. “Possibly I can tell you much + that you would like to know. What I want to know is, just how well + prepared you are to receive me?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you come from the Jarados!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about him?” + </p> + <p> + “This: someone should have preceded me! The fact and the substance-you + were to have it inside three days! It has been several hundred times the + space allotted! Is it not so?” + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda's eyes were pin-pointed with eagerness. + </p> + <p> + “Then it IS true! You are from the Jarados! You know the great Rhamda Avec—you + have seen him!” + </p> + <p> + “I have,” declared Watson. + </p> + <p> + “In the other world? You can remember?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” again committing himself. “I have seen Avec—in another world. + But tell me, before we go on I would have an answer to my question: did + anyone precede me?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + Watson was nonplussed, but he concealed the fact. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite, my dear sir. The Spot of Life was watched continually from the + moment the Rhamda left us.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean, he and the Nervina?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so; she followed him after an interval of a few hours.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. But you say that no one came out ahead of me. Who was it that + guarded this—this Spot of Life? The Rhamdas?” + </p> + <p> + “They and the Bars.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! And who are the Bars?” + </p> + <p> + “The military priesthood. They are the Mahovisal, and of the Temple of the + Bell. They are led by the great Bar Senestro.” + </p> + <p> + “And there were times when these Bars, led by this Senestro, held guard + over the Spot of Life?” To this Geos nodded; and Watson went on: “And who + is this great Senestro?” + </p> + <p> + “He is the chief of the Bars, and a prince of D'Hartia. He is the + affianced of the two queens, the Aradna and the Nervina.” + </p> + <p> + “The TWO of them?” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Watson learned something rather peculiar. It seemed that the + princes of D'Hartia had always married the queens. This Senestro had had a + brother, but he died. And in such an event it was the iron custom that the + surviving brother marry both queens. It had happened only once before in + all history; but the precedent was unbreakable. + </p> + <p> + “Then, there is nothing against it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing; except, perhaps the prophecy of the Jarados. We now know—the + whole world knows—that we are fast approaching the Day of Life.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course; the Day of Life.” Watson decided upon another chance shot. “It + has to do with the marriage of the two queens!” + </p> + <p> + “You DO know!” cried the Rhamda joyously. “Tell me!” + </p> + <p> + “No; it is I who am asking the questions.” + </p> + <p> + Watson's mind was working like lightning. Whether it was the influence of + the strange drink, or the equally strange influence of ordinary + inspiration, he was never more self-assured in his life. It seemed a day + for taking long chances. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” he inquired, “what has the Day of Life to do with the two + queens and their betrothal?” + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda throttled his eagerness. “It is one of the obscure points of + the prophecy. There are some scholars who hold that such a problem as this + presages the coming of the end and the advent of the chosen. But others + oppose this interpretation, for reasons purely material: for if the Bar + Senestro should marry both queens it would make him the sole ruler of the + Thomahlia. Only once before have we had a single ruler; for centuries upon + centuries we have had two queens; one of the D'Hartians, and the other of + the Kospians, enthroned here in the Mahovisal.” + </p> + <p> + Watson would have liked to learn far more. But the time seemed one for + action on his part; bold action, and positive. + </p> + <p> + “Rhamda Geos—I do not know what is your version of the prophecy. But + you are positive that no one preceded me out of the Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “I am. Why do you persist?” + </p> + <p> + “Because”—speaking slowly and with the greatest care—“because + there was one greater than I, who came before me!” + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda rose excitedly to his feet, and then sank back into his chair + again. In his eyes was nothing save eagerness, wonder and respect. He + leaned forward. + </p> + <p> + “Who was it? Who was he?” + </p> + <p> + Watson's voice was steady as stone. + </p> + <p> + “The great Jarados himself!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIII. — A LONG WAY FROM SHORE + </h2> + <p> + Once more Watson had taken the kind of chance he preferred—a slender + one. He took the chance that these people, however occult and advanced + they might be, were still human enough to build their prophecy out of an + old foundation. If he were right, then the person of the Jarados would be + inviolable. If the professor were prisoner, held somewhere in secret, and + it got noised about that he was the true prophet returned—it would + not only give Holcomb immense prestige, but at the same time render the + position of his captors untenable. + </p> + <p> + Chick needed no great discernment to see that he had touched a vital spot. + The philosophy of the Rhamdas was firmly bound up with spiritism; they had + gone far in science, and had passed out of mere belief into the deeper, + finer understanding that went behind the shadow for proof. Certainly + Watson inwardly rejoiced to see Rhamda Geos incredulous, his keen face + whitening like that of one who has just heard sacrilege uttered—to + see Geos rise in his place, grip the table tightly, and hear him exclaim: + </p> + <p> + “The Jarados! Did you say—the Jarados? He has come amongst us, and + we have not known? You are perfectly sure of this?” + </p> + <p> + “I am,” stated Watson, and met the other's keen scrutiny without + flinching. + </p> + <p> + Would the game work? At least it promised action; and now that he had the + old feeling of himself he was anxious to get under way. Any feeling of + fear was gone now. He calmly nodded his head. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is so. But sit down. I have still a bit more to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda resumed his seat. Clearly, his reverence had been greatly + augmented in the past few seconds. From that time on there was a marked + difference in his manner; and his speech, when he addressed Chick, + contained the expression “my lord”—an expression that Watson found + it easy enough to become accustomed to. + </p> + <p> + “Did you doubt, Rhamda Geos, that I came from the Jarados?” + </p> + <p> + “We did not doubt. We were certain.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. You were not expecting the Jarados.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, my lord. The coming of the Jarados shall be close to the Day of + the Judgment. But it could not be so soon; there were to be signs and + portents. We were to solve the problem first; we were to know the reason + of the shadow and the why of the spirit. The wisdom of the Rhamda Avec + told that the day approaches; he had opened the Spot of Life and gone + through it; but he had NOT sent the fact and the substance.” Watson + smiled. There was just enough superstition, it seemed, beneath all the + Rhamda's wisdom to make him tractable. However, Chick asked: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me: as a learned man, as a Rhamda, do you believe in the prophecy + implicitly?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord. I am a spiritist; and if spiritism is truth, then the + Jarados was genuine, and his prophecy is true. After all, my lord, it is + not a case of legend, but of history. The Jarados came at a time of high + civilisation, when men would see and understand him; he gave us his + teaching in records, and imposed his laws upon the Thomahlia. Then he + departed—through the Spot of Life.” + </p> + <p> + And the Rhamda Geos went on to say that the teachings of the Jarados had + been moral as well as intellectual. Moreover, after he had formulated his + laws, he wrote out his judgment. + </p> + <p> + “What was that?” + </p> + <p> + “An exhortation, my lord, that we were to give proof of our appreciation + of intelligence. We were to use it, and to prove ourselves worthy of it by + lifting ourselves up to the level of the Spot of Life. In other words, the + spot would be opened when, and only when, we had learned the secrets of + the occult, and—had opened the Spot ourselves!” + </p> + <p> + Watson thought he understood partly. He asked: + </p> + <p> + “And that is why you doubt me?” + </p> + <p> + “You, my lord? Not so! You were found in the Temple of the Bell and Leaf; + not on the Spot itself, to be sure, but on the floor of the temple. You + were, both in your person and in your dress, of another world; you had + been promised by the Rhamda Avec; and, in a sense, you were a part of the + prophecy. We accepted you!” + </p> + <p> + “But I speak your language. Account for that, Geos.” + </p> + <p> + “It need not be accounted for, my lord. We accept it as fact. The affinity + of spirit would not be bound by the limitation of artificial speech. That + you should talk the Thomahlia language is no more strange than that Rhamda + Avec, when he passed into your world, should speak your tongue.” + </p> + <p> + “We call our language English,” supplied Watson. “It is the tongue of the + Jarados and of myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me of the Jarados, my lord!” with renewed eagerness. “In the other + world—what is he?” + </p> + <p> + It was Chick's opportunity. By telling the simple truth about Dr. Holcomb + he would enhance himself in the eyes of Rhamda Geas. + </p> + <p> + “In the other world—we call it America—the Jaradas is a Rhamda + much like yourself, the head and chief of many Rhamdas sitting in a great + institution devoted to intelligence. It is called the University of + California.” + </p> + <p> + “And this California; what is it, my lord?” + </p> + <p> + “A name,” returned Chick. “Immediately on the other side of the Spot is a + region called California.” + </p> + <p> + “The promised land, my lord!” + </p> + <p> + “The promised land indeed. There are some who call it paradise, even + there.” And for good measure he proceeded to tell much of his own land, of + the woods, the rivers, the cities, animals, mountains, the sky, the moon, + and the sun. When he came to the sun he explained that no man dared to + look at it continuously with the bare eyes. Its great heat and splendour + astounded Geos. + </p> + <p> + Concerning himself he nonchalantly stated that he was the fiance of + Holcomb's daughter; that is, son-in-law-to-be of the prophet Jarados; that + he was sort of Junior Rhamda. He declared that he had come from the occult + Rhamdas, through the other side of the Spot, in search of the Jarados who + had gone before. As to his blankness up to now, and his perplexity—he + was but a Junior; and the Spot had naturally benumbed his senses. Even + now, he apologised, it was difficult to know and to recall everything + clearly. + </p> + <p> + Through it all the Rhamda Geos Listened in something like awe. He was + hearing of wonders never before guessed in the Thomahlia. As the + prospective son-in-law of the Jarados, Watson automatically lifted himself + to a supreme height, so great that, could he only hold himself up to it, + he would have a prestige second only to that of the prophet himself. + </p> + <p> + All of a sudden he thought of a question. It gripped him with dread, the + dread of the unknown. The question was one of TIME. “How long have I been + here, Rhamda Geos?” + </p> + <p> + “Over eleven months, by our system of reckoning. You were found on the + floor of the temple three hundred and fifty-seven days ago; you were in a + lifeless condition; you must have been there some hours, my lord, before + we discovered you.” + </p> + <p> + “Eleven months!” It had seemed but that many minutes. “And I was + unconscious—” + </p> + <p> + “All the time, my lord. Had we caught you immediately upon your coming, we + could have brought you around within three days, but in the circumstances + it was impossible to restore you before we did. You have been under the + care of the greatest specialists in all Thomahlia.” + </p> + <p> + Geos himself had been one of these. “The council of Rhamdas went into + special session, my lord, immediately after your materialisation, and has + been sitting almost continually since. And now that you are revived, they + are waiting in person for you to show yourself. + </p> + <p> + “They accept you. They do not know who you are, my lord; none of us has + guessed even a part of the truth. The entire council awaits!” + </p> + <p> + But Chick wanted more. Besides, he looked at his clothing. + </p> + <p> + “I would have my own garments, Geos; also, whatever else was found on my + person.” + </p> + <p> + For Watson was thinking of a small but powerful pistol, an automatic, that + he had carried on the night when he fell through the Blind Spot. This + question of materiality was still a puzzle; if he himself had survived + there was a chance that the firearm had done the same. It might and it + might not preclude the occult. Anyway, he treasured the thought of that + automatic; with it in his possession he would not be bare-handed in case + of emergency. + </p> + <p> + They returned to the room in which Chick had awakened. The Rhamda left + him. A few moments later he came back with a squad of men. Chick noted + their discipline, movement, and uniforms, and classed them as soldiers. + Two men were stationed outside the door—one, a stout, dark + individual in a blue uniform; and the other a lithe, athletic chap, blond + and blue-eyed, wearing a bright crimson dress. Chick instinctively + preferred both man and garb in crimson; there was a touch of honour, of + lightness and strength that just suited him. The other was dark, heavy and + sinister. + </p> + <p> + Both wore sandals, and upon their heads curious shakos, made of the finest + down, not fur. Both displayed a heavy silken braid looped from one + shoulder. Each carried a spear-like weapon, of some shining black + material, straight-tapered to a needle-point; but no other arms. + </p> + <p> + Watson pointed to the two uniforms. + </p> + <p> + “What is the significance, Geos?” + </p> + <p> + “One is from the queen, my lord; the other from Bar Senestro. The blue is + the cloth of the Bars; the red, that of the queens. The Bar and the queen + send this bodyguard with their respective compliments.” + </p> + <p> + Chick took the bundle that Geos had brought, and proceeded to don his own + clothes, finding deep satisfaction in the fact that they had arrived as + intact as he. He felt carefully in his hip pocket; the automatic was still + there, likewise the extra magazine of cartridges that he had carried about + with him on that night. + </p> + <p> + In his other pockets he found two packets of cigarettes, a pouch of + tobacco, some papers, a few coins, a little money and two photographs, one + of Bertha and the other of her father. Not a thing had been disturbed. + </p> + <p> + He announced himself ready. + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda conducted him down the corridor, which he found to be lined + with guards; red on one side, blue on the other. These men fell in behind + in two parallel files, one of the one colour and one of the other. + </p> + <p> + It was a building of great size. The corridors were long and high, all + with the wide-coved ceiling, and of colours that melted from one shade to + another as they turned, not corners, but curves. Apparently each colour + had its own suggestive reason. Such rooms as Chick could look into were + uniformly large, beautiful, and distinctly lighted. + </p> + <p> + The guard moved in silent rhythm; the chief sound was that made by + Watson's leather-heeled shoes, drowning out, for once, the everlasting + tinkling undertone of those unseen fairy-bells; that running cadence, + never ceasing, silver, liquid, like the soul of sound. + </p> + <p> + Though Watson walked with head erect, he had eyes for every little thing + he passed. He noted the material of the structure and tried to name it; + neither plaster nor stone, the walls were highly polished and, somehow or + other, capable of emitting perfume—light and wholesome, not heavy + and oppressive. And in dark passages the walls glowed. + </p> + <p> + The corridor widened, and with a graceful curve opened upon a wide + stairway that descended, or rather sank—to use Watson's own words + for the feeling—into the depths of the building. To the right of one + landing was a large window reaching to the floor; its panes were clear and + not frosted as had been the others. + </p> + <p> + Chick got his first glimpse here of what lay outside—an iridescent + landscape, at first view astonishingly like an ocean of opals; for it was + of many hues, red and purple and milky white, splashed violantin blue and + fluorescence—a maze and shimmer of dancing, joyful colours, whirring + in an uncertainty of polychromatic harmony. Such was his first fleeting + impression. + </p> + <p> + At the next landing he looked closer. It was not unlike a monster bowl of + bubbles; the same illusion of movement, the same delicacy and witchery of + colour, only here the sensation was not that of decomposition but of life; + of flowers, delicate as the rainbow, tenuous, sinuous, breathing—weaving + in a serpentine maze of daedalian hues; long tendrils of orchidian beauty, + lifting, weaving, drooping—a vast sea of equatorial bloom; but—no + trees. + </p> + <p> + “This is our landscape,” spoke the Rhamda. “According to the Jarados, it + is not like that of the next world—your world, my lord. After you + meet the Rhamdas, I shall take you into the Mahovisal for a closer view of + it all.” + </p> + <p> + They reached the bottom of the stairway. Chick noted the architecture in + the entrance-way at this point; the seeming solidness of structure, as if + the whole had been chiselled, not built. The vestibule was really a hall, + domed and high, large enough to shelter a hundred. Like the corridor + outside Chick's room, it was lined with a row each of red and blue + uniformed guards. + </p> + <p> + Invariably the one belonged to the blond, lithe, quick-feeling type, the + others heavy, sturdy, formidable. The extremities of the two lines + converged on an oval-topped doorway, very large, having above it a design + conventionalised from the three-leafed clover. One leaf was scarlet, one + blue, the other green. + </p> + <p> + The door opened. The guards halted. Geos stepped aside with a bow, and + Watson strode forward into the presence of the Council of the Rhamdas. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIV. — THE BAR SENESTRO + </h2> + <p> + It was a critical moment for Chick. Out of the impulse of his inner nature + he had chosen the odds that he must now uphold against the combined wisdom + of these intellectuals. He was alone, with no one to guide him save Geos, + who undoubtedly was his friend, but who as undoubtedly would desert him + upon the slightest inkling of imposture. + </p> + <p> + He found himself in a great, round room, or rather an oval one, domed at + the top but tinted in a far more beautiful colouring—lazuli blue. + The walls were cut by long, narrow windows reaching far up into the sweep + where the side melted into the ceiling. The material of the windows was of + the same translucent substance already noted, but slightly tinged with + green, so that they shed a soft light, cooled and quiet, over the whole + assembly. + </p> + <p> + On the wall opposite the doorway was a large replica of the clover-leaf + design outside, even more gem-like in brilliance; its three colours woven + into a trinity almost of flame. Whether the light was artificial or + intrinsic, Chick could not say. The floor of the place accommodated some + three hundred tables, of the library type, and the same number of men + bearing the distinguished stamp of the Rhamda. All were smooth-shaven, + comparatively tall, and possessing the same aesthetic manner which + impressed one with the notion of inherited, inherent culture. The entire + hall had the atmosphere of learning, justice and the supreme tribunal. + </p> + <p> + For a moment Watson felt weak and uncertain. He could hold up against Geos + and Avec, but in the face of such an array he wasn't so sure. There was + but one thing to encourage him; the faces into which he looked. All were + full of wonder and reverence. + </p> + <p> + Then he looked about him more carefully. He had come out upon a wide + platform, or rostrum. He now noticed that he was flanked on either side by + thrones—two of them; they seemed made of golden amber. The one on + the right was occupied by a man, the other by a woman. In the pause that + was vouchsafed him Chick took note of these two, and wondered. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, the man was not a Rhamda. The jewelled semi-armour + that he wore was more significant than the dignified garb of the + Intellectuals; at the same time, his accoutrements cheapened him, by + contrast. He was executive, princely, with the bearing that comes of + worldly ambitions and attainments; a man strangely handsome, vital, + athletic; curling hair, dark, quick eyes and even features; except only + for the mouth he might have been taken as a model of the Greek Alexander. + </p> + <p> + The clothes he wore were classic, as was everything else about him, even + to his sandals, his bare arms and his jewelled breastplate. + </p> + <p> + Watson had studied history. He had a quick impression of a composite—of + genius, cruelty and sensuality. Here was one with three strong natures, a + sort of Nero, Caligula and Alexander combined: the sensuality of the + first, the cruelty of the second, and the instinctive fire and greatness + of the immortal Macedonian. The man was smiling; not an amused smile, but + one of interest, humorous tolerance. + </p> + <p> + When their eyes met, Chick caught the magnetic current of personality, the + same sense of illusiveness that he and Harry Wendel had noted in the + Nervina; only here it was negative, resisting instead of aiding. A number + of the blue guard surrounded the throne, their faces dark, strong, and of + unconquerable resolution, though slow to think. + </p> + <p> + On the other throne was a girl. Chick had heard enough from the Geos to + guess her identity: one of the queens, the Aradna; frail, delicate, a + blue-eyed maiden, with a waving mass of straw-gold hair hanging loosely + about her shoulders. She too was classically attired, although there were + touches of modernity here and there in the arrangement of ribbons; the + garment matched her guards' crimson, and was draped about her shoulders so + as to leave one bare, together with that arm. Across her forehead was a + band of dark-blue gems, and she wore no other jewels. + </p> + <p> + She was not more than seventeen or eighteen, with eyes like bluebells, + lips as red as poppies, features that danced with delight and laughter and + all the innocence that one would associate with elfin royalty. + Instinctively Chick compared her with the Nervina. + </p> + <p> + The senior queen had the subtle magnetism, the uncountable fascination, + the poise and decision that held and dictated all things to her fancy. + </p> + <p> + Not so the Aradna. Hers was the strength of simplicity, the frank, open + delight of the maiden, and at the same time all the charm and suggestion + of coming womanhood. When she caught Watson's eye she smiled; a smile free + and unrestrained, out of an open, happy heart. She made a remark to one of + her guards, who nodded a reply after the manner of a friend, rather than a + courtier. + </p> + <p> + Watson turned to the Geos, who stood somewhat to one side, and a little to + the rear. + </p> + <p> + “The Aradna?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The queen of D'Hartia. The man on the other side is the Bar + Senestro.” + </p> + <p> + Whatever feeling Chick entertained for the one was offset by what he felt + for the other. He was between two forces; his instinct warned him of the + Bar, sceptical, powerful, ruthless, a man to be reckoned with; but his + better nature went out to the young queen. + </p> + <p> + At a motion from Geos, the whole assembly of Rhamdas stood up. The action + was both dignified and reverent. Though Chick was, in their eyes, a + miracle, there was no unseemly staring nor jarring of curiosity; all was + quietness, ease, poise; the only sound was that of the constant subtle + music of those invisible bells. + </p> + <p> + Rhamda Geos began speaking. At the same time he placed a friendly hand on + Watson's shoulder, a signal for every other Rhamda to resume his seat. + </p> + <p> + “The Fact and the Substance, my brothers.” + </p> + <p> + Geos paused as he made use of the ultra-significant phrase. And then, in a + few rapid sentences, he ran over the synopsis of that affair, beginning + with some philosophy and other details that Watson could only half + understand, making frequent allusions to the Jarados and other writers of + prophecy; then he made some mention of his own particular brand of + spiritism and its stand on materialisation. This he followed with an + account of the finding of Watson in the temple, his long sleep and + ultimate reviving. At greater length he repeated the gist of their + conversation. + </p> + <p> + Not until then was there a stir among the Rhamdas. Chick glanced over at + the Aradna. She was listening eagerly, her chin cupped in her hand, her + blue eyes full of interest and wonder, and natural, unfeigned, child-like + delight. + </p> + <p> + Then the Bar caught Chick's glance; the newcomer felt the cold chill of + calculation, the cynical weight of the sceptic, and a queer foreboding of + the future; no light glance, but one like fire and ice and iron. He + wondered at the man's beauty and genius, and at his emotional + preponderance manifest even here before the Rhamdas. + </p> + <p> + The Geos went on. His words, now, were simple and direct. Watson felt + himself almost deified by that reverent manner. The Rhamdas listened with + visibly growing interest; the Aradna leaned slightly forward; even the Bar + dropped his interest in Watson to pay closer attention to the speaker. For + Geos had come to the Jarados; he was an orator as well as a mystic, and he + was advancing Chick's words with all the skill of a master of language, + ascending effect—climax—the Jarados had come among them, and—They + had missed him! + </p> + <p> + For a moment there was silence, then a rustle of general comment. Chick + watched the Rhamdas, leaning over to whisper to each other. Could he stand + up against them? + </p> + <p> + But none of them spoke. After the first murmur of comment they lapsed into + silence again. It was the Bar Senestro who broke the tension. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask, Rhamda Geos, why you make such an assertion? What proof have + you, to begin with, that this man,” indicating Watson with a nod, “is not + merely one of ourselves: a D'Hartian or a Kospian?” + </p> + <p> + The Geos replied instantly: “You know the manner of his discovery, Bar + Senestro. Have you not eyes?” Geos seemed to think he had said the last + word. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” rejoined the Bar good-humouredly. “I have very good eyes, Rhamda + Geos. Likewise I have a mind to reason with; but my imagination, I fear, + is defective. What I behold is just such a creature as myself; not + otherwise. How hold you that this one is proof out of the occult?” + </p> + <p> + “You are sceptical,” returned the Rhamda, evenly. “Even as you behold him, + you are full of doubt. But do you not recall the words of the great Avec? + Do you not know the Prophecy of the Jarados?” + </p> + <p> + “Truly, Geos; I remember them both. Especially the writing on the wall of + the temple. Does not the prophet himself say: 'And behold, in the last + days there shall come among ye—the false ones. Them ye shall slay'?” + </p> + <p> + “All very true, Bar Senestro. But you well know—we all know—that + the true prophecy was to be fulfilled when the Spot was opened. Did not + the fulfilment begin when the Avec and the Nervina passed through to the + other side?” + </p> + <p> + “The fulfilment, Geos? Perhaps it was the sign of the coming of impostors! + The end may not be until ALL the conditions are complied with!” + </p> + <p> + But at this moment Aradna saw fit to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Senestro, would you condemn this one without allowing him a word in his + own defence? Is it fair? Besides, he does not look like an impostor to me. + I like his face. Perhaps he is one of the chosen!” + </p> + <p> + At the last word the Bar frowned. His glance shifted suddenly to Watson, a + swift look of ice-cold calculation. + </p> + <p> + “Very, very true, O Aradna. I, too, would have him speak in his own + behalf. Let him amuse us with his tongue. What would your majesty care to + hear, O Aradna, from this phantom?” + </p> + <p> + The words were of biting satire. Chick wheeled upon the Bar. Their eyes + clashed; an encounter not altogether to Watson's credit. He was a bit + unsteady, a trifle uncertain of his power. He had calculated on the + superstition of the Rhamdas to hold him up until he caught his footing, + and this unexpected scepticism was disconcerting. However, he was no + coward; the feeling passed away almost at once. He strode straight up to + the throne of the Bar; and once more he spoke from sheer impulse: + </p> + <p> + “The Aradna has spoken true, O Senestro, or sinister, or whatever you may + be called. I demand fair hearing! It is my due; for I have come from + another world. I follow—the Jarados!” + </p> + <p> + If Watson had supposed that he had taken the Bar's measure, he was + mistaken. The prince's eyes suddenly glinted with a fierce pleasure. Like + a flash his antagonism shifted to something astonishingly like admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Well spoken! Incidentally, you are well made and sound looking, + stranger.” + </p> + <p> + “Passably,” replied Watson. “I do not care to discuss my appearance, + however. I am certainly no more ill-favoured than some others.” + </p> + <p> + “And impertinent,” continued the other, quite without malice. “Do you know + anything about the Bar, to whom you speak so saucily?” + </p> + <p> + “I know that you have intimated that I may be an impostor. You have done + this, after hearing what the learned Rhamda Geos has said. You know the + facts; you know that I have come from the Jarados. I—” + </p> + <p> + But it wasn't Watson's words that held the Bar's attention. Chick's + straight, well-knit form, his quick-trained actions, overbalanced the + question of the prophet in the mind of the man on the throne. His delight + was self-evident. + </p> + <p> + “Truly you are soundly built, stranger; you are made of iron and whipcord, + finely formed, quick and alert.” He threw a word to one of his heavy-faced + attendants, then suddenly stood up and descended from his throne. He came + up and stood beside Watson. + </p> + <p> + Chick straightened. The prince was an inch the taller; his bare arms + long-muscled, lithe, powerful; under the pink skin Chick could see the + delicate, cat-like play of strength and vitality. He sensed the strength + of the man, his quick, eager, instinctive glance, his panther-like step + and certainty of graceful movement. + </p> + <p> + “Stranger,” spoke the Bar, “indeed you ARE an athlete! What is your + nationality—Kospian?” + </p> + <p> + “Neither Kospian nor D'Hartian; I am an American. True, there are some who + have said that I am built like a man; I pride myself that I can conduct + myself like one.” + </p> + <p> + “And speak impertinently.” Still in the best of humour, the prince coolly + reached out and felt Watson's biceps. His eyes became still brighter. If + not an admirer of decorum, he could appreciate firm flesh. “Sirra! You ARE + strong! Answer me—do you know anything about games of violence?” + </p> + <p> + “Several. Anything you choose.” + </p> + <p> + But the prince shook his head. “Not so. I claim no unfair advantage; you + are well met, and opportune. Let it be a contest of your own choosing. The + greater honour to myself, the victor!” + </p> + <p> + But the little queen saw fit to interfere. + </p> + <p> + “Senestro, is this the code of the Bar? Is not your proposal unseemly to + so great a guest? Restrain your eagerness for strength and for muscle! You + have preferred charges against this man; now you would hurl your body as + well. Remember, I am the queen; I can command it of you.” + </p> + <p> + The Senestro bowed. + </p> + <p> + “Your wishes are my law, O Aradna.” Then, turning to Watson: “I am + over-eager, stranger. You are the best-built man I have seen for many a + circle. But I shall best you.” He paced to his throne and resumed his + seat. “Let him tell us his tale. I repeat, Geos, that for all his beauty + this one is an impostor. When he has spoken I shall confute him. I ask + only that in the end he be turned over to me.” + </p> + <p> + It was plain that the Thomahlia was blest with odd rulers. If the Bar + Senestro was a priest, he was clearly still more of a soldier. The fiery + challenge of the man struck an answering chord in Watson; he knew the time + must come when he should weigh himself up against this Alexander, and it + was anything but displeasing to him. + </p> + <p> + “What must I say and do?” he asked the Rhamda Geos. “What do they want me + to tell them?” + </p> + <p> + “Just what you have told me: tell them of the Nervina, and of the Rhamda + Avec. The prince is a man of the world, but from the Rhamdas you will have + justice.” + </p> + <p> + Whereat Chick addressed the Intellectuals. They seemed accustomed to the + outbursts of the handsome Bar, and were now waiting complacently. In a few + words Watson described the Nervina and Avec; their appearance, manners—everything. + Fortunately he did not have to dissemble. When he had finished there was a + faint murmur of approval. + </p> + <p> + “It is proven,” declared the girl queen. “It is truly my cousin, the + Nervina. I knew not the Rhamda, but from your faces it must have been he, + Senestro, what say you to this?” + </p> + <p> + But the Bar was totally unconvinced. + </p> + <p> + “All this is childish. Did I not say he is of our world—D'Hartian or + Kospian, or some other? Does not all Thomahlia know of the Nervina? Few + have seen the Rhamda Avec, but what of it? Some have. What this stranger + says proves nothing at all. I say, give him a test.” + </p> + <p> + “The test?” from Geos, in a hushed tone. + </p> + <p> + “Just that. There is none who knows the likeness of the Jarados; none but + the absent Avec. None among us has ever seen his image. It is a secret to + all save the High Rhamda. Yet, in cases like this, well may the Leaf be + opened.” + </p> + <p> + Watson, wondering what was meant, listened closely to the prince as he + continued: “It is written that there are times when all may see. Surely + this is such a time. + </p> + <p> + “Now let this stranger describe the Jarados. He says that he had seen him; + that he is the Prophet's prospective son-in-law. Good! Let him describe + the Jarados to us! + </p> + <p> + “Then open the Leaf! If he speaks true, we shall know him to be from the + Jarados. If he fail, then I shall claim him for purposes of my own.” + </p> + <p> + Whatever the motives of the Senestro, he surely had the genius of quick + decision. Watson knew that the moment had come to test his luck to the + uttermost. There was but one thing to do; he did it. He said to the Rhamda + Geos, in a tone of the utmost indifference: + </p> + <p> + “I am willing.” + </p> + <p> + Geos was distinctively relieved, “It is good, my lord. Tell us in simple + words. Describe the Jarados just as you have seen him, just as you would + have us see him. Afterwards we shall open the Leaf.” And in a lower tone: + “If you speak accurately I shall be vindicated, my lord. I doubt not that + you are a better man than the prince; but place your reliance in the + Truth; it will be one more proof of the occult, and of the Day + approaching.” + </p> + <p> + Which is all that Watson told. But first he breathed a prayer to One who + is above all things occult or physical. He did not understand where he was + nor how he had got there; he only knew that his fate was hanging on a toss + of chance. + </p> + <p> + He faced the Rhamdas without flinching; and half closing his eyes and + speaking very clearly, he searched his memory for what he recalled of the + old professor. He tried to describe him just as he had appeared that day + in the ethics class, when he made the great announcement; the trim, stubby + figure of Professor Holcomb, the pink, healthy skin, the wise, grey, + kindly eyes, and the close-cropped, pure white beard: all, just as Chick + had known him. One chance in millions; he took it. + </p> + <p> + “That is the Jarados as I have seen him; a short, elderly, wise, BEARDED + man.” + </p> + <p> + There was not a breath or a murmur in comment. All hung upon his words; + there was not a sound in the room as he ceased speaking, only the throb of + his own heart and the subtle pounding of caution in his veins. He had + spoken. If only there might be a resemblance! + </p> + <p> + The Geos stepped forward a pace. “It is well said. If the truth has been + spoken, there shall be room for no dispute. It shall be known throughout + all Thomahlia that the Chosen of the Jarados has spoken. Let the Leaf be + opened!” + </p> + <p> + Chick never knew just what happened, much less how it was accomplished. He + knew only that a black, opaque wave ran up the long windows, shutting off + the light, so that instantly the darkness of night enveloped everything, + blotting out all that maze of colour; it was the blackness of the void. + Then came a tiny light, a mere dot of flame, over on the opposite wall; a + pin-point of light it was, seemingly coming out of a vast distance like an + approaching star, growing gradually larger, spreading out into a screen of + radiance that presently was flashing with intrinsic life. The corruscation + grew brighter; little tufts of brilliance shot out with all the stabbing + suddenness of shooting stars. To Chick it was exactly as though some god + were pushing his way through and out of fire. In the end the flame burst + asunder, diminished into a receding circle and sputtered out. + </p> + <p> + And in the place of the strange light there appeared the illuminated + figure of a man. Leaning forward, Chick rubbed his eyes and looked again. + </p> + <p> + It was the bust of Professor Holcomb. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXV. — THE PERFECT IMPOSTOR + </h2> + <p> + Chick gasped. Of all that assemblage—Rhamdas, guards, the occupants + of the two thrones—he himself was the most astounded. Was the great + professor in actual fact the true Jarados? If not, how explain this + miracle? But if he were, how to explain the duality, the identity? Surely, + it could not be sheer chance! + </p> + <p> + Fortunately for Chick, it was dark. All eyes were fixed on the trim figure + which occupied the space of the clover-leaf on the rear wall. Except for + Chick's strangled gasp, there was only the hushed silence of reverence, + deep and impressive. + </p> + <p> + Then another dot appeared. From its position, Watson took it to come from + another leaf of the clover; another light approaching out of the void and + cutting through the blackness exactly as the first had come. It grew and + spread until it had filled the whole leaf; then, again the bursting of the + flare, the diminishing of the light, and its disappearance in a thin rim + at the edge. And this time there was revealed— + </p> + <p> + A handsome brown-haired DOG. + </p> + <p> + Watson of course, could not understand. The silence held; he could feel + the Rhamda Geos at his side, and hear him murmur something which, in + itself, was quite unintelligible: + </p> + <p> + “The four-footed one! The call to humility, sacrifice, and unselfishness! + The four-footed one!” + </p> + <p> + That was all. It was a shaggy shepherd dog, with a pointed nose and one + ear cocked up and the other down, very wisely inquisitive. Chick had seen + similar dogs many times, but he could not account for this one; certainly + not in such a place. What had it to do with the Jarados? + </p> + <p> + Still the darkness. It gave him a chance to think. He wondered, rapidly, + how he could link up such a creature with his description of the Jarados. + What could be the purpose of a canine in occult philosophy? Or, was the + whole thing, after all, mere blundering chance? + </p> + <p> + This is what bothered Chick. He did not know how to adjust himself; life, + place, sequence, were all out of order. Until he could gather exact data, + he must trust to intuition as before. + </p> + <p> + The two pictures vanished simultaneously. Down came the black waves from + the windows, gradually, and in a moment the room was once more flooded + with that mellow radiance. The Rhamda Geos stepped forward as a murmur of + awed approval arose from the assembly. There was no applause. One does not + applaud the miraculous. The Geos took his hand. + </p> + <p> + “It is proven!” he declared. Then, to the Rhamdas: “Is there any question, + my brothers?” + </p> + <p> + But no word came from the floor. Seemingly superstition had triumphed over + all else. The men of learning turned none but reverent faces toward + Watson. + </p> + <p> + He forebore to glance at the Bar Senestro. Despite the triumph he was + apprehensive of the princes's keen genius. An agnostic is seldom converted + by what could be explained away as mere coincidence. Moreover, as it + ultimately appeared, the Bar now had more than one reason for antagonising + the man who claimed to be the professor's prospective son-in-law. + </p> + <p> + “Is there any question?” repeated Rhamda Geos. + </p> + <p> + But to the surprise of Chick, it came from the queen. She was standing + before her throne now. Around her waist a girdle of satin revealed the + tender frailty of her figure. She gave Watson a close scrutiny, and then + addressed the Geos: + </p> + <p> + “I want to put one question, Rhamda. The stranger seems to be a goodly + young man. He has come from the Jarados. Tell me, is he truly of the + chosen?” + </p> + <p> + But a clear, derisive laugh from the opposite throne interrupted the + answer. The Bar stood up, his black eyes dancing with mocking laughter. + </p> + <p> + “The chosen, O Aradna? The chosen? Do not allow yourself to be tricked by + a little thing! I myself have been chosen by the inherited law of the + Thomahlia!” Then to Chick: “I see, Sir Phantom, that our futures are to be + intertwined with interest!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “No? Very good; if you are really come out of superstition, then I shall + teach you the value of materiality. You are well made and handsome, + likewise courageous. May the time soon come when you can put your mettle + to the test in a fair conflict!” + </p> + <p> + “It is your own saying, O Senestro!” warned Geos. “You must abide by my + Lord's reply.” + </p> + <p> + “True; and I shall abide. I know nothing of black magic, or any other. But + I care not. I know only that I cannot accept this stranger as a spirit. I + have felt his muscles, and I know his strength; they are a man's, and a + Thomahlian's.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you do not abide?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do. That is, I do not claim him. He has won his freedom. But as + for endorsing him—no, not until he has given further proof. Let him + come to the Spot of Life. Let him take the ordeal. Let him qualify on the + Day of the Prophet.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord, do you accept?” + </p> + <p> + Watson had no idea what the “ordeal” might be, nor what might be the + significance of the day. But he could not very well refuse. He spoke as + lightly as he could. + </p> + <p> + “Of course. I accept anything.” Then, addressing the prince: “One word, O + Senestro.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak up, Sir Phantom!” + </p> + <p> + “Bar Senestro—what have you done with the Jarados?” + </p> + <p> + An instant's stunned silence greeted this stab. It was broken by the + prince. + </p> + <p> + “The Jarados!” His voice was unruffled. “What know I of the Jarados?” + </p> + <p> + “Take care! You have seen him—you know his power!” + </p> + <p> + “You have a courageous sort of impertinence!” + </p> + <p> + “I have determination and knowledge! Bar Senestro, I have come for the + Jarados!” Chick paused for effect. “Now what think you? Am I of the + chosen?” + </p> + <p> + He had meant it as a deliberate taunt, and so it was taken. The Bar shot + to his feet. Not that he was angered; his straight, handsome form was + kingly, and for all his impulsiveness there was a certain real majesty + about his every pose. + </p> + <p> + “You are of the chosen. It is well; you have given spice to the taunt! I + would not have it otherwise. Forget not your courage on the Day of the + Prophet!” + </p> + <p> + With that he stepped gracefully, superbly from the dais beneath his + throne. He bowed to the Aradna, to Geos, to Chick and to the assembly—and + was gone. The blue guard followed in silence. + </p> + <p> + The rest of the ordeal was soon done. Nothing more was said about the + Jarados, nor of what the Bar Senestro had brought up. There were a few + questions about the world he had quit, questions which put no strain upon + his imagination to answer. He was out of the deep water for the present. + </p> + <p> + When the assembly dissolved Chick was conducted back to the apartments + upstairs. Not to his old room, however, but to an adjoining suite, a + magnificent place—that would have done honour to a prince. But Chick + scarcely noted the beauty of the place. His attention flew at once to + something for which he longed—an immense globe. + </p> + <p> + Chick spun it around eagerly upon its axis. The first thing that he looked + for was San Francisco—or, rather, North America. If he was on the + earth he wanted to know it! Surely the oceans and continents would not + change. + </p> + <p> + But he was doomed to disappointment. There was not a familiar detail. + Outside of a network of curved lines indicating latitude and longitude, + and the accustomed tilt of the polar axis, the globe was totally strange! + So strange that Chick could not decide which was water and which land. + </p> + <p> + After a bit of puzzling Chick ran across a yellow patch marked with some + strange characters which, upon examination, were translated in some + unknown manner within his subconscious mind, to “D'Hartia.” Another was + lettered “Kospia.” + </p> + <p> + Assuming that these were land—and there were a few other, smaller + ones, of the same shade—then the land area covered approximately + three-fifths of the globe. Inferentially the green remainder, or + two-fifths, was the water or ocean covered area. Such a proportion was + nearly the precise reverse of that obtaining on the earth. Chick puzzled + over other strange names—H'Alara, Mal Somnal, Bloudou San, and the + like. Not one name or outline that he could place! + </p> + <p> + How could he make his discovery fit with the words of Dr. Holcomb, and + with what philosophy he knew? Somehow there was too much life, too much + reality, to fit in with any spiritistic hypothesis. He was surrounded by + real matter, atomic, molecular, cellular. He was certain that if he were + put to it he could prove right here every law from those put forth by + Newton to the present. + </p> + <p> + It was still the material universe; that was certain. Therefor it was + equally certain that the doctor had made a most prodigious discovery. But—what + was it? What was the law that had fallen out of the Blind Spot? + </p> + <p> + He gave it up, and stepped to one of the suite's numerous windows. They + were all provided with clear glass. Now was his opportunity for an + uninterrupted, leisurely survey of the world about him. + </p> + <p> + As before, he noted the maze of splendid, dazzling opalescence, all the + colours of the spectrum blending, weaving, vibrant, like a vast plain of + smooth, Gargantuan jewels. Then he made out innumerable round domes, + spread out in rows and in curves, without seeming order or system; + BUILDINGS, every roof a perfect gleaming dome, its surface fairly alive + with the reflected light of that amazing sun. Of such was the landscape + made. + </p> + <p> + As before, he could hear the incessant undertone of vague music, of + rhythmical, shimmering and whispering sound. And the whole air was laden + with the hint of sweet scents; tinged with the perfume of attar and myrrh—of + a most delicate ambrosia. + </p> + <p> + He opened the window. + </p> + <p> + For a moment he stood still, the air bathing his face, the unknown + fragrance filling his nostrils. The whole world seemed thrumming with that + hitherto faint quiver of sound. Now it was resonant and strong, though + still only an undertone. He looked below him; as he did so, something + dropped from the side of the window opening—a long, delicate + tendril, sinuous and alive. It touched his face, and then—It + drooped, drooped like a wounded thing. He reached out his hand and plucked + it, wondering. And he found, at its tip, a floating crimson blossom as + delicate as the frailest cobweb, so inconceivably delicate that it wilted + and crumbled at the slightest touch. + </p> + <p> + Chick thrust his head out of the window. The whole building, from ground + to dome, was covered—waving, moving, tenuous, a maze of colour—with + orchids! + </p> + <p> + He had never dreamed of anything so beautiful, or so splendid. Everywhere + these orchids; to give them the name nearest to the unknown one. As far as + he could see, living beauty! + </p> + <p> + And then he noticed something stranger still. + </p> + <p> + From the petals and the foliage about him, little clouds of colour wafted + up, like mists of perfume, forever rising and intermittently settling. It + was mysteriously harmonious, continuous—like life itself. Chick + looked closer, and listened. And then he knew. + </p> + <p> + These mists were clouds of tiny, multi-coloured insects. + </p> + <p> + He looked down farther, into the streets. They were teeming with life, + with motion. He was in a city whose size made it a true metropolis. All + the buildings were large, and, although of unfamiliar architecture, + undeniably of a refined, advanced art. Without exception, their roofs were + domed. Hence the effect of a sea of bubbles. + </p> + <p> + Directly below, straight down from his window, was a very broad street. + From it at varying angles ran a number of intersecting avenues. The height + of his window was great—he looked very closely, and made out two + lines of colour lining and outlining the street surrounding the + apartments. + </p> + <p> + On the one side the line was blue, on the other crimson; they were guards. + And where the various avenues intersected cables must have been stretched; + for these streets were packed and jammed with a surging multitude, which + the guards seemed engaged in holding back. As far up the avenues as Chick + could see, the seething mass of fellow creatures extended, a gently + pulsing vari-coloured potential commotion. + </p> + <p> + As he looked one of the packed streets broke into confusion. He could see + the guards wheeling and running into formation; from behind, other + platoons rushed up reinforcements. The great crowd was rolling forward, + breaking on the edge of the spear-armed guards like the surf of a rolling + sea. + </p> + <p> + Chick had a sudden thought. Were they not looking up at his window? He + could glimpse arms uplifted and hands pointed. Even the guards, those held + in reserve, looked up. Then—such was the distance—the rumble + of the mob reached his ears; at the same time, spreading like a grass + fire, the commotion broke out in another street, to another and another, + until the air was filled with the new undertone of countless human + tongues. + </p> + <p> + Chick was fascinated. The thing was over-strange. While he looked and + listened the whole scene turned to conflict; the voice of the throng + became ominous. The guards still held the cables, still beat back the + populace. Could they hold out, wondered Chick idly; and what was it all + about? + </p> + <p> + Something touched his shoulder. He wheeled. One of the tall, red-uniformed + guards was standing beside him. Watson instinctively drew back, and as he + did so the other stepped forward, touched the snap, and closed the window. + </p> + <p> + “What's the idea? I was just getting interested!” + </p> + <p> + The soldier nodded pleasantly, respectfully—reverently. + </p> + <p> + “Orders from below, my lord. Were you to remain at that window it would + take all the guards in the Mahovisal to keep back the Thomahlians.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” Chick was astonished. + </p> + <p> + “There are a million pilgrims in the city, my lord, who have waited months + for just one glimpse of you.” + </p> + <p> + Watson considered. This was a new and a dazing aspect of the affair. + Evidently the expression on his face told the soldier that some + explanation would not be amiss. + </p> + <p> + “The pilgrims are almost innumerable, my lord. They are all of the one + great faith. They are, my lord, the true believers, the believers in the + Day.” + </p> + <p> + The Day! Instantly Watson recalled Senestro's use of the expression. He + sensed a valuable clue. He caught and held the soldier's eye. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” commanded Chick. “What is this Day of which you speak!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVI. — AN ALLY, AND SOLID GROUND + </h2> + <p> + The soldier replied unhesitatingly: “It is the Day of Life, my lord. + Others call it the 'first of the Sixteen Days.' Still others, simply the + Day of the Prophet, or Jarados.” + </p> + <p> + “When will it be?” + </p> + <p> + “Soon. It is but two days hence. And with the going down of the sun on + that day the Fulfilment is to begin, and the Life is to come. Hence the + crowd below, my lord; yet they are nothing compared with the crowds that + today are pressing their way from all D'Hartia and Kospia towards the + Mahovisal.” + </p> + <p> + “All because of the Day?” + </p> + <p> + “And to see YOU, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “All believers in the Jarados?” + </p> + <p> + “All truly; but they do not all believe in your lordship. There are many + sects, including the Bars, that consider you an imposter; but the rest—perhaps + the most—believe you the Herald of the Day. All want to see you, for + whatever motive.” + </p> + <p> + “These Bars; who are they?” + </p> + <p> + “The military priesthood, my lord. As priests they teach a literal + interpretation of the prophecy; as soldiers they maintain their own + aggrandisement. To be more specific, my lord, it is they who accuse you of + being one of the false ones.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it is written in the prophecy, my lord, that we may expect + impostors, and that we are to slay them.” + </p> + <p> + “Then this coming contest with the Senestro—” beginning to sense the + drift of things. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord; it will be a physical contest, in which the best man + destroys the other!” + </p> + <p> + The guard was a tall, finely made and truly handsome chap of perhaps + thirty-five. Watson liked the clear blue of his eyes and the openness of + his manner. At the same time he felt that he was being weighed and + balanced. + </p> + <p> + “My lord is not afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all! I was just thinking—when does this kill take place?” + </p> + <p> + “Two days hence, my lord; on the first of the Sixteen Sacred Days.” + </p> + <p> + And thus Chick found a staunch friend. The soldier's name, he learned, was + “the Jan Lucar.” He was supreme in command of the royal guards; and Chick + soon came to feel that the man would as cheerfully lay down his life for + him, Watson, as for the queen herself. All told, Chick was able to store + away in his memory a few very important facts: + </p> + <p> + First, that the Aradna did not like the Senestro. + </p> + <p> + Second, that the Jan Lucar hated the great Bar because of the prince's + ambition to wed the queen and her cousin, the Nervina; also because of his + selfish, autocratic ways. + </p> + <p> + Next, that were the Nervina on hand she would thwart the Senestro; for she + was a very learned woman, as advanced as the Rhamda Avec himself. But that + she was a queen first and a scholar afterwards; her motive in going + through the Blind Spot was to take care of the political welfare of her + people, her purposes were as high as Rhamda Avec's, but partook of + statesmanship rather than spirituality. + </p> + <p> + Finally, that the Rhamdas were perfectly willing for the coming contest to + take place, on the evening of the Day of the Prophet, in the Temple of the + Bell and Leaf. + </p> + <p> + “Jan Lucar,” Watson felt prompted to say, “you need have no fear as to the + outcome of the ordeal, whatever it may be. With your faith in me, I cannot + fail. For the present, I need books, papers, scientific data. Moreover, I + want to see the outside of this building.” + </p> + <p> + The guardsman bowed. “The data is possible, my lord, but as to leaving the + building—I must consult the queen and the Rhamda Geos first.” + </p> + <p> + “But I said MUST” Watson dared to say. “I must go out into your world, see + your cities, your lands, rivers, mountains, before I do aught else. I must + be sure!” + </p> + <p> + The other bowed again. He was visibly impressed. + </p> + <p> + “What you ask, my lord, is full of danger. You must not be seen in the + streets—yet. Untold bloodshed would ensue inevitably. To half the + Thomahlians you are sacred, and to the other half an impostor. I repeat, + my lord, that I must see the Geos and the queen.” + </p> + <p> + Another bow and the Jan disappeared, to return in a few moments with the + Geos. + </p> + <p> + “The Jan has told me, my lord, that you would go out.” + </p> + <p> + “If possible. I want to see your world.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it can be arranged. Is your lordship ready to go?” + </p> + <p> + “Presently.” Watson laid a hand on the big globe he had already puzzled + over. “This represents the Thomahlia?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “How long is your day, Geos?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-four hours.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean, how many revolutions in one circuit of the sun, in one + year-circle?” + </p> + <p> + As he uttered the question Chick held his breath. It had suddenly struck + him that he had touched an extremely definite point. The answer might + PLACE him! + </p> + <p> + “You mean, my lord, how long is a circle in term of days?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” + </p> + <p> + “Three hundred and sixty-five and a fraction, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + Watson was dumbfounded. Could there be, in all the universe, another world + with precisely the same revolution period? But he could not afford to show + his concern. He said: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, have you a moon?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it has a cycle of about twenty-eight days.” + </p> + <p> + Watson drew a deep breath. Inconceivable though it appeared, he was still + on his own earth. For a moment he pondered, wondering if he had been + caught up in tangle of time-displacement. Could it be that, instead of + living in the present, he had somehow become entangled in the past or in + the future? + </p> + <p> + If so—and by now he was so accustomed to the unusual that he + considered this staggering possibility with equanimity—if the time + coefficient was at fault, then how to account for the picture of the + professor, in that leaf? Had they both been the victims of a ghastly + cosmic joke? + </p> + <p> + There was but one way to find out. + </p> + <p> + “Come! Lead the way, Geos; let us take a look at your world!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVII. — LOOKING DOWN + </h2> + <p> + Presently the three men were standing at the door of a vast room, one + entire side of which was wide open to the outer air. It was filled by a + number of queer, shining objects. At first glance Chick took them to be + immense beetles. + </p> + <p> + The Jan Lucar spoke to the Geos: + </p> + <p> + “We had best take the June Bug of the Rhamda Avec.” + </p> + <p> + Watson thought it best to say nothing, show nothing. The Jan ran up to one + of the glistening affairs, and without the slightest noise he spun it + gracefully around, running it out into the centre of the mosaic floor. + </p> + <p> + “I presume,” apologised the Geos, “that you have much finer aircraft in + your world.” + </p> + <p> + Aircraft! Watson was all eagerness. He saw that the June Bug was about ten + feet high, with a bunchy, buglike body. On closer scrutiny he could make + out the outlines of wings folded tight against the sides. As for the + material, it must have been metal, to use a term which does not explain + very much, after all. In every respect the machine was a duplicate of some + great insect, except that instead of legs it had well-braced rollers. + </p> + <p> + “How does it operate?” Watson wanted to know. “That is, what power do you + use, and how do you apply it?” + </p> + <p> + The Jan Lucar threw back a plate. Watson looked inside, and saw a mass of + fine spider-web threads, softer than the tips of rabbit's hair, all + radiating from a central grey object about the size of a pea. Chick + reached out to touch this thing with his finger. + </p> + <p> + But the Geos, like a flash, caught him by the shoulder and pulled him + back. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, my lord!” he exclaimed. “But you must not touch it! You—even + you, would be annihilated!” Then to the Lucar: “Very well.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon the other did something in front of the craft; touched a lever, + perhaps. Instantly the grey, spidery hairs turned to a dull red. + </p> + <p> + “Now you may touch it,” said the Geos. + </p> + <p> + But Chick's desire had vanished. Instead he ventured a question: + </p> + <p> + “All very interesting, but where is your machinery?” + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda was slightly amused. He smiled a little. “You must give us a + little credit, my lord. We must seem backward to you, but we have passed + beyond reliance upon simple machines. That little grey pellet is, of + course, our motive force; it is a highly refined mineral, which we mine in + vast quantity. It has been in use for centuries. As for the hair-like web, + that is our idea of a transmission.” + </p> + <p> + Watson hoped that he did not look as uncomprehending as he felt. The other + continued: + </p> + <p> + “In aerial locomotion we are content to imitate life as much as possible. + We long ago discarded engines and propellers, and instead tried to + duplicate the muscular and nervous systems of the birds and insects. We + fly exactly as they do; our motive force is intrinsic. In some respects, + we have improved upon life.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is still only a machine, Geos.” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure, my lord; only a machine. Anything without the life principle + must remain so.” + </p> + <p> + The Jan Lucar pressed another catch, allowing another plate to lower and + thereby disclose a glazed door, which opened into a cosy apartment fitted + with wicker chairs, and large enough for four persons. There was some sort + of control gear, which the Jan Lucar explained was not connected directly + with the flying and steering members, but indirectly through the membranes + of the web-like system. It was uncannily similar to the nervous + connections of the cerebellum with the various parts of the anatomy of an + insect. + </p> + <p> + “Does it travel very fast?” + </p> + <p> + “We think so, my lord. This is the private machine of the Rhamda Avec. It + is rather small, but the swiftest machine in the Thomahlia.” + </p> + <p> + They entered the compartment, Watson took his seat beside the Geos, while + the soldier sat forward next to the control elements. He laid his hands on + certain levers; next instant, the machine was gliding noiselessly over the + mosaic, on to a short incline and thence, with ever increasing speed, + toward and through the open side of the room. + </p> + <p> + The slides had all been thrown back; the compartment was enclosed only in + glass. Watson could get a clear view, and he was amazed at the speed of + the craft. Before he could think they were out in mid-air and ascending + skyward. Travelling on a steep slant, there was no vibration, no + mechanical noise; scarcely the suggestion of movement, except for the + muffled swish of the air. + </p> + <p> + Were it not for the receding city below him, Chick could have imagined + himself sitting in a house while a windstorm tore by. He felt no change in + temperature or any other ill effects; the cabin was fully enclosed, and + heated by some invisible means. In short, ideal flight: for instance, the + seats were swung on gimbals, so that no matter at what angle the craft + might fly, the passengers would maintain level positions. + </p> + <p> + Below stretched the Mahovisal—a mighty city of domes and plazas, + and, widely scattered, a few minarets. At the southern end there was a + vast, square plaza, covering thousands of acres. Toward it, on two sides, + converged scores of streets; they stretched away from it like the ribs of + a giant fan. On the remaining two sides there was a tremendously large + building with a V-shaped front, opening on the square. The play of opal + light on its many-bubbled roof resembled the glimmer from a vast pearl. + </p> + <p> + In the air above the city an uncountable number of very small objects + darted hither and thither like sparkling fireflies. It was difficult to + realise that they, too, were aircraft. + </p> + <p> + To the west lay an immense expanse of silver, melting smoothly into the + horizon. Watson took it to be the Thomahlian ocean. Then he looked up at + the sky directly above him, and breathed a quick exclamation. + </p> + <p> + It was a single, small object, perfectly white, dropping out of the + amethyst. Tiny at first, amost instantly it assumed a proportion nearly + colossal—a great bird, white as the breast of the snowdrift, + swooping with the grace of the eagle and the speed of the wind. It was so + very large that it seemed, to Chick, that if all the other birds he had + ever known were gathered together into one they would still be as the + swallow. Down, down it came in a tremendous spiral, until it gracefully + alighted in a splash of molten colour on the bosom of the silver sea. For + a moment it was lost in a shower of water jewels—and then lay still, + a swan upon the ocean. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Geos?” + </p> + <p> + “The Kospian Limited, my lord. One of our great airships—a fast one, + we consider it.” + </p> + <p> + “It must accommodate a good many people, Rhamda.” + </p> + <p> + “About nine thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “You say it comes from Kospia. How far away is that?” + </p> + <p> + “About six thousand miles. It is an eight-hour run, with one stop. Just + now the service is every fifteen minutes. They are coming, of course, for + the Day of the Prophet.” + </p> + <p> + Watson continued to watch the great airship, noting the swarm of smaller + craft that came out from the Mahovisal to greet it, until the Jan Lucar + suddenly altered the course. They stopped climbing, and struck out on a + horizontal level. It left the Mahovisal behind them, a shimmering spot of + fire beside the gleaming sea. They were travelling eastwards. The + landscape below was level and unvaried, of a greenish hue, and much like + that of Chick's own earth in the early spring-time—a vast expanse, + level and sometimes dotted with opalescent towns and cities. Ribbons of + silver cut through the plain at intervals, crookedly lazy and winding, + indicating a drainage from north to south or vice versa. Looking back to + the west, he could see the great, golden sun, poised as he had seen it + that morning, a huge amber plate on the rim of the world. It was sunset. + </p> + <p> + Then Chick looked straight ahead. Far in the distance a great wall loomed + skyward to a terrific height. So vast was it and so remote, at first it + had escaped the eye altogether. An incredibly high range of mountains, + glowing with a faint rose blush under the touch of the setting sun. + Against the sky were many peaks, each of them tipped with curious and + sparkling diamond-like corruscations. As Chick continued to gaze the rose + began to purple. + </p> + <p> + The Jan Lucar put the craft to another upward climb. So high were they now + that the Thomahlia below was totally lost from view; it was but a maze of + lurking shadows. The sun was only a gash of amber—it was twilight + down on the ground. And Watson watched the black line of the Thomahlian + shadow climb the purple heights before him until only the highest crests + and the jewelled crags flashed in the sun's last rays. Then, one by one, + they flickered out; and all was darkness. + </p> + <p> + Still they ascended. Watson became uneasy, sitting there in the night. + </p> + <p> + “Where are we going?” + </p> + <p> + “To the Carbon Regions, my lord. It is one of the sights of the + Thomahlia.” + </p> + <p> + “On top of those mountains?” + </p> + <p> + “Beyond, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon, to Chick's growing amazement, the Geos went on to state that + carbon of all sorts was extremely common throughout their world. The same + forces that had formed coal so generously upon the earth had thrown up, + almost as lavishly, huge quantities of pure diamond. The material was of + all colours, as diamonds run, and considered of small value; for every day + purposes they preferred substances of more sombre hues. They used it, it + seemed, to build houses with. + </p> + <p> + “But how do they cut it?” + </p> + <p> + “Very easily. The material which drives this craft—Ilodium—will + cut it like butter.” + </p> + <p> + Later, Watson understood. He watched as the craft continued to climb; the + Jan Lucar was steering without the aid of any outside lights whatever, + there being only a small light illuminating his instruments. Chick + presently turned his gaze outside again; whereupon he got another jolt. + </p> + <p> + He saw a NEGATIVE sky! + </p> + <p> + At first he thought his eyes the victims of an illusion; then he looked + closer. And he saw that it was true; instead of the familiar starry points + of light against a velvet background, the arrangement was just the + reverse. Every constellation was in its place, just as Chick remembered it + from the earth; but instead of stars there were jet-black spots upon a + faint, grey background. + </p> + <p> + The whole sky was one huge Milky Way, except for the black spots. And from + it all there shone just about as much total light as from the heavens he + had known. + </p> + <p> + Of all he experienced, this was the most disturbing. It seemed totally + against all reason; for he knew the stars to be great incandescent globes + in space. How explain that they were here represented in reverse, their + brilliance scattered and diffused over the surrounding sky, leaving points + of blackness instead? Afterward he learned that the peculiar chemical + constituency of the atmosphere was solely responsible for the inversion of + the usual order of things. + </p> + <p> + All of a sudden the Jan Lucar switched the craft to a level. He held up + one hand and pointed. + </p> + <p> + “Look, my lord, and the Rhamda! Look!” + </p> + <p> + Both men rose from their seats, the better to stare past the soldier. + Straight ahead, where had been one of the corruscating peaks, a streak of + blue fire shot skyward, a column of light miles high, differing from the + beams of a searchlight in that the rays were WAVY, serpentine, instead of + straight. It was weirdly beautiful. Geos caught his breath; he leaned + forward and touched the Jan Lucar. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” he said in an awed tone. “Wait a moment. It has never come before, + but we can expect it now.” And even as he spoke, something wonderful + happened. + </p> + <p> + From the base of the column two other streaks, one red and the other + bright green, cut out through the blackness on either side. The three + streams started from the same point; they made a sort of trident, red, + green, and blue—twisting, alive—strangely impressive, + suggestive of grandeur and omnipotence—holy. + </p> + <p> + Again the Rhamda spoke. “Wait!” said he. “Wait!” + </p> + <p> + They were barely moving now. Watson watched and wondered. The three + streams of light ran up and up, as though they would pierce the heavens; + the eye could not follow their ends. All in utter silence, nothing but + those beams of glorified light, their reality a hint of power, of life and + wisdom—of the certainty of things. Plainly it had a tremendous + significance in the minds of the Geos and the Lucar. + </p> + <p> + Then came the climax. Slowly, but somehow inexorably, like the laws of + life itself, and somewhere at a prodigious height above the earth, the + three outer ends of the red and the green and the blue spread out and + flared back upon themselves and one another, until their combined + brilliance bridged a great rainbow across the sky. Blending into all the + colours of the prism, the bow became—for a moment—pregnant + with an overpowering beauty, symbolical, portentous of something + stupendous about to come out of the unknown to the Thomahlians. And next— + </p> + <p> + The bow began to move, to swirl, and to change in shape and colour. The + three great rivers of light billowed and expanded and rounded into a new + form. Then they burst—into a vast, three-leafed clover—blue + and red and green! + </p> + <p> + And Watson caught the startled words of the Geos: + </p> + <p> + “The Sign of the Jarados!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVIII. — THE VOICE FROM THE VOID + </h2> + <p> + Even while that inexplicable heavenly pageant still burned against the + heavens, something else took place, a thing of much greater importance to + Chick. And, it happened right before his eyes. + </p> + <p> + In the front of the car was a dial, slightly raised above the level of the + various controlling instruments. And all of a sudden this dial, a small + affair about six inches across, broke into light and life. + </p> + <p> + First, there was a white blaze that covered the whole disc; then the + whiteness abruptly gave way to a flood of colour, which resolved itself + into a perfect miniature of the tri-coloured cloverleaf in the sky ahead. + Chick saw, however that the positions of the red and green were just the + obverse of what glowed in the distance; and then he heard the voice, + strong and distinct, speaking with a slight metallic twang as from a + microphone hidden in that little, blazing, coloured leaf: + </p> + <p> + “Listen, ye who have ears to listen!” + </p> + <p> + It was said in the Thomahlian tongue. The Geos breathed: + </p> + <p> + “The voice of the Prophet Jarados!” + </p> + <p> + But the next moment the unseen speaker began in another language—clear, + silver, musical—in English, and in a voice that Chick recognised! + </p> + <p> + “Chick! You have done well, my boy. Your courage and your intuition may + lead us out. Follow the prophecy to the letter, Chick; it MUST come to + pass, exactly as it is written! Don't fail to read it, there on the walls + of the Temple of the Bell, when you encounter the Bar Senestro on the Day + of the Prophet! + </p> + <p> + “I have discovered many things, my boy, but I am not omnipotent. Your + coming has made possible my last hope that I may return to my own kind, + and take with me the secrets of life. You have done right to trust your + instinct; have no fear, yet remember that if you—if we—make + one false step we are lost. + </p> + <p> + “Finally, if you should succeed in your contest with the Senestro, I shall + send for you; but if you fail, I know how to die. + </p> + <p> + “Return at once to the Mahovisal. Don't cross into the Region of Carbon. + Take care how you go back; the Bars are waiting. But you can put full + confidence in the Rhamdas.” + </p> + <p> + Then the speaker dropped the language of the earth and used the Thomahlian + tongue again: “It is I who speak—I, the Prophet; the Prophet + Jarados!” + </p> + <p> + All in the voice of Dr. Holcomb. + </p> + <p> + The blazing leaf faded into blackness, and the talking ceased. Chick was + glad of the darkness; the whole thing was like magic, and too good to + believe. The first actual words from the missing professor! Each syllable + was frozen into Watson's memory. + </p> + <p> + The Geos was clutching his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Did you understand, my lord? We heard the voice of the prophet! What did + he say?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understand. He used his own language—my language. And he + said”—taking the reins firmly into his hands—“he said that we + must return to the Thomahlia. And we must beware of the Bars.” + </p> + <p> + There was no thought of questioning him. Without waiting the Geos' + command, the Jan Lucar began putting the craft about. Watson glanced at + the sky; the great spectacle was gone; and he demanded of the soldier: + </p> + <p> + “How can we get back? How do we find our way?” + </p> + <p> + For there was no visible light save the strange, fitful glow from that + uncanny sky to guide them; no lights from the inky carpet of the + Thomahlia, lights such as one would expect for the benefit of fliers. But + the soldier touched a button, and instantly another and larger dial was + illumined above the instruments. + </p> + <p> + It revealed a map or chart of a vast portion of the Thomahlia. On the + farther edge there appeared an area coloured to represent water, and + adjoining this area was a square spot labeled “The Mahovisal.” And about + midway from this point to the near edge of the dial a red dot hung, moving + slowly over the chart. + </p> + <p> + “The red dot, my lord, indicates our position,” explained the Jan. “In + that manner we know at all times where we are located, and which way we + are flying. We shall arrive in the Mahovisal shortly.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke the craft was gaining speed, and soon was travelling at an + even greater rate than before. The red dot began to crawl at an + astonishing speed. Of course, they had the benefit of the pull of gravity, + now; apparently they would make the journey in a few minutes. But + incredible though the speed might be, there was nothing but the red dot to + show it. + </p> + <p> + The Geos felt like talking. “My lord, the sign is conclusive. It is a + marvel, such as only the prophet could possibly have produced; with all + our science we could not duplicate such splendour. Only once before has + the Thomahlia seen it.” + </p> + <p> + Already they were near enough to the surface to make out the clustered, + blinking lights of the towns on the plain below. Ahead of them queer + streamers of pale rays thrust through the darkness. Watson recognised them + as the beams of the far-distant searchlights; and then and there he gave + thanks for one thing, at least, in which the Thomahlians had seemingly + progressed no further than the people of the earth. + </p> + <p> + Coming a little nearer, Chick made out a number of bright, glittering, + insect-like objects, revealed by these searchlights. The Jan Lucar said: + </p> + <p> + “The Bars, my lord. They are waiting; and they will head us off if they + can.” + </p> + <p> + “The work of Senestro, I suppose. I thought he claimed to some honour.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not the prince's work, my lord,” replied the soldier. “His + D'Hartian and Kospian followers, some of them, have no scruples as to how + they might slay the 'false one', as they think you.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose,” hazarded Watson, “suppose I WERE the false one?” + </p> + <p> + Both the Geos and the Jan smiled. But the Rhamda's voice was very sure as + he replied: + </p> + <p> + “If you were false, my lord, I would slay you myself.” + </p> + <p> + They were very near the Mahovisal now. Below was the unmistakable + opalescence, somehow produced by powerful illumination, as intense as + sunlight itself. The red dot was almost above the black square on the + lighted chart. And directly ahead, the air was becoming alive with the + beam-revealed aircraft. How could they get by in safety? + </p> + <p> + But Chick did not know the Jan Lucar. The soldier said: + </p> + <p> + “My lord is not uneasy?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” with unconcern. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I propose something daring. I am free to admit, my lord, that + were the Geos and I alone, I should not attempt it. But not even the + Bars,” with magnificent confidence, “can stand before us now! We have had + the proof of the Jarados, and we know that no matter what the odds, he + will carry us through.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I propose to shoot it, my lord.” And without explaining the Jan asked the + Geos: “Are you agreeable? The June Bug will hold; the prophet will protect + us.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” returned the Rhamda. “There is nothing to fear, now, for those + who are in the company of the chosen.” + </p> + <p> + Watson wondering watched the Jan as he tilted the nose of the June Bug and + began to climb at an all but perpendicular angle straight into the + heavens. Mile after mile, in less than as many minutes, they hurtled + towards the zenith, so that the lights of the city dimmed until only the + searching shafts could be seen. Chick began to guess what they were going + to do; that the Jan Lucar was nearly as reckless as he was handsome. + </p> + <p> + At last the soldier brought the craft to a level. They soared along + horizontally for a while; the Jan kept his eye fixed on the red dot. And + when it was directly above the black square he stated: + </p> + <p> + “It is considered a perilous feat, my lord. We are going to drop. If we + make it from this height, not only will we break all records, but will + have proved the June Bug the superior in this respect, as she is in speed. + It is our only chance in any circumstances, but with the Jarados at our + side, we need not fear that the craft will stand the strain. We shall go + through them like stone; before they know it we shall be in the drome—in + less than a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “From this height?” Chick concealed a shudder behind a fair show of + scepticism. “A minute is not much time.” + </p> + <p> + “Does my lord fear the drop?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I? I have in mind the June Bug; she might be set afire through + friction, in dropping so quickly through the air.” Watson had a vivid + picture of a blazing meteorite, containing the charred bodies of three + men, dropping out of— + </p> + <p> + “My lord need not be concerned with that,” the Jan assured him. “The shell + of the car is provided with a number of tiny pores, through which a + heat-resisting fluid will be pumped during the manoeuvre. The temperature + may be raised a little, but no more. + </p> + <p> + “You see this plug,” touching a hitherto unused knob among the + instruments. “By pulling that out, the mechanism of the craft is + automatically adjusted to care for every phase of the descent. Nothing + else remains to be done, after removing that plug, save to watch the red + dot and prepare to step out upon the floor of our starting-place.” + </p> + <p> + “Has the thing ever been done before?” Watson was sparring for time while + he gathered his nerve. + </p> + <p> + “I myself have seen it, my lord. The June Bug has been sent up many times, + weighted with ballast; the plug was abstracted by clockwork; and in + fifty-eight seconds she returned through the open end of the drone, + without a hitch. It was beautiful. I have always envied her that plunge. + And now I shall have the chance, with the hand of the Jarados as my guide + and protector!” + </p> + <p> + Chick had just time to reflect that, if by any chance he got through with + this, he ought to be able to pass any test conceivable. He ought to be + able to get away with anything. He started to murmur a prayer; but before + he could finish, the Jan Lucar leaned over the dial-map for the last time, + saw that the red dot was now exactly central over the square that + represented the city, and unhesitatingly jerked out the plug. + </p> + <p> + Of what happened next Watson remembered but little. The bottom seemed to + have dropped out of the universe. He was conscious of a crushing blur of + immensity, of a silent thundering within him—then mental chaos and a + stunned oblivion. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIX. — WHO IS THE JARADOS? + </h2> + <p> + It was all over. Chick opened his eyes to see the Jan throwing open the + plate on the side of the compartment. Neither the soldier nor the Rhamda + seemed to have noted Chick's daze. As for the Jan, his blue eyes were + dancing with dare-devilry. + </p> + <p> + “That's what I call living!” he grinned. “They can keep on looking for the + June Bug all night!” + </p> + <p> + Chick looked out. They were inside the great room from which they had + started; the trip was over; the plunge had been made in safety. Chick took + a long breath, and held out a hand. + </p> + <p> + “A man after my own heart, Jan Lucar. I foresee that we may have great + sport with the Senestro.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, my lord,” cheerfully. “The presumptuous usurper! I only wish I could + kill him, instead of you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not the only one,” commented the Rhamda. “Half of the Rhamdas + would cheerfully act as the chosen one's proxy.” + </p> + <p> + And so ended the events of Chick Watson's first day beyond the Blind Spot, + his first day on the Thomahlia; that is, disregarding the previous months + of unconsciousness. He had good reason to pass a sleepless night in + legitimate worry for the outcome of it all; but instead he slept the sound + sleep of exhaustion, awakening the next morning much refreshed. + </p> + <p> + He reminded himself, first of all, that today was the one immediately + preceding that of his test—the Day of the Prophet. He had only a + little more than twenty-four hours to prepare. What was the best and + wisest proceeding? + </p> + <p> + He called for the Geos. He told him what data he wanted. The Rhamda said + that he could find everything in a library in that building, and inside a + half-hour he returned with a pile of manuscripts. + </p> + <p> + Left to himself, Chick found that he now had data relating to all the + sciences, to religion, to education and political history and the law. The + chronology of the Thomahlians, Chick found, dates back no less than + fifteen thousand years. An abiding civilisation of that antiquity, it need + not be said, presented somewhat different aspects from what is known on + the earth. + </p> + <p> + It seemed that the Jarados had come miraculously. That is, he had come out + of the unknown, through a channel which he himself later termed the Spot + of Life. + </p> + <p> + He had taught a religion of enlightenment, embracing intelligence, love, + virtue, and the higher ethics such as are inherent in all great + philosophies. But he did not call himself a religionist. That was the + queer point. He said that he had come to teach an advanced philosophy of + life; and he expressly stated that his teachings were absolute only to a + limited extent. + </p> + <p> + “Man must seek and find,” was one of his epigrams; “and if he find no more + truths, then he will find lies.” Which was merely a negative way of saying + that some of his philosophy was only provisional. + </p> + <p> + But on some points he was adamant. He had arrived at a time when the + unthinking, self-glorifying Thomahlians had all but exterminated the lower + orders of creation. The Jarados sought to remove the handicap which the + people had set upon themselves, and gave them, in the place of kindness + which they had forgotten, how to use, a burning desire for a positive + knowledge, where before had been only blind faith. Also, he taught + good-fellowship, as a means to this end. He taught beauty, love, and + laughter, the three great cleansers of humanity. And yet, through it all— + </p> + <p> + The Jarados was a mystic. + </p> + <p> + He studied life after a manner of his own. He was a stickler for getting + down to the very heart of things, for prodding around among causes until + he found the cause itself. And thus he learned the secret of the occult. + </p> + <p> + For so he taught. And presently the Jarados was recognized as an authority + on what the Thomahlia called “the next world.” Only he showed that death, + instead of being an ushering into a void, was merely a translation onto + another plane of life, a higher plane and a more glorious one. In short, a + thing to be desired and attained, not to be avoided. + </p> + <p> + This put the Spot of Life on an entirely different basis. No longer was it + a fearsome thing. The Jarados elevated death to the plane of motherhood—something + to glory in. And Chick gathered that his famous prophecy—which he + had yet to read, where it hung on the wall of the temple—gave every + detail of the Jarados' profound convictions and teachings regarding the + mystery of the next life. + </p> + <p> + And now comes a curious thing. As Chick read these details, he became more + and more conscious of—what shall it be called?—the presence of + someone or something beside him, above and all about him, watching his + every movement. He could not get away from the feeling, although it was + broad daylight, and he was seemingly quite alone in the room. Chick was + not frightened; but he could have sworn that a very real personality was + enveloping his own as he read. + </p> + <p> + Every word, somehow, reminded him of the miraculous sequence of facts as + he knew them; the unerring accuracy with which he, quite unthinkingly and + almost without volition, had solved problem after problem, although the + chances were totally against him. He became more and more convinced that + he himself had practically no control over his affairs; that he was in the + hands of an irresistible Fate; and that—he could not help it—his + good angel was none other than the prophet who, almost ninety centuries + ago, had lived and taught upon the Thomahlia, and in the end had returned + to the unknown. + </p> + <p> + But how could such a thing be? Watson did not even know where he was! + Small wonder that, again and again, he felt the need of assurance. He + asked for the Jan Lucar. + </p> + <p> + “In the first place,” began Chick without preamble, “you accept me, Jan + Lucar; do you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “You conceive me to be out of the spiritual world, and yet flesh and blood + like yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” with flat conviction. + </p> + <p> + That settled it. Watson decided to find out something he had not had time + to locate in the library. + </p> + <p> + “The Rhamda may have told you, Jan Lucar, that I am here to seek the + Jarados. Now, I suspect the Senestro. Can you imagine what he has done to + the prophet?” + </p> + <p> + “My lord,” remonstrated the other, “daring as the Bar might be, he could + do nothing to the Jarados. He would not dare.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he is afraid to run counter to the prophecy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord; that is, its literal interpretation. He is opposed only to + the broader version as held by such liberals as the Rhamda Avec. The Bars + are always warning the people against the false one.” + </p> + <p> + “And the Senestro is at their head,” mused Chick aloud. “This brother of + his who died—usually there are two such princes and chiefs?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “And the Senestro plans to marry both queens, according to the custom!” + </p> + <p> + “My lord”—and the Jan suddenly snapped erect—“the Bar will do + exceedingly well if he succeeds in marrying one of them! Certainly he + shall never have the Aradna—not while I live and can fight!” + </p> + <p> + “Good! How about the Nervina?” + </p> + <p> + “He'll do well to find her first!” + </p> + <p> + “True enough. What would you say was his code of honour?” + </p> + <p> + “My lord, the Senestro actually has no code. He believes in nothing. He is + so constituted, mentally and morally, that he cares for and trusts in none + but himself. He is a sceptic pure and simple; he cares nothing for the + Jarados and his teachings. He is an opportunist seeking for power, wicked, + lustful, cruel—” + </p> + <p> + “But a good sportsman!” + </p> + <p> + “In what way, my lord?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't he allow me the choice of combat?” + </p> + <p> + The Jan laughed, but his handsome face could not hide his contempt. + </p> + <p> + “It is ever so with a champion, my lord. He has never been defeated in a + matter of physical prowess. It would be far more to his glory to overcome + you in combat of your own selection. It will be spectacular—he knows + the value of dramatic climax—and he would kill you in a moment, + before a million Thomahlians.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a nice way to die,” said Watson. “You must grant that much.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know of any nice way to die, my lord. But it is a good way of + living—to kill the Bar Senestro. I would that I could have the + honour.” + </p> + <p> + “How does it come that the Rhamdas, superintellectual as they are, can + consent to such a contest? Is it not degrading, to their way of thinking? + It smacks of barbarism.” + </p> + <p> + “They do not look upon it in that light, my lord. Our civilisation has + passed beyond snobbery. Of course there was a time, centuries ago when we + were taught that any physical contest was brutal. But that was before we + knew better.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't believe it now?” + </p> + <p> + “By no means, my lord. The most wonderful physical thing in the Thomahlia + is the human body. We do not hide it. We admire beauty, strength, prowess. + The live body is above all art; it is the work of God himself; art is but + an imitation. And there is nothing so splendid as a physical contest—the + lightning correlation of mind and body. It is a picture of life.” + </p> + <p> + “Do the Rhamdas think this?” + </p> + <p> + “Most assuredly. A Rhamda is always first an athlete.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfection, my lord. A perfect mind does not always dwell in a perfect + body, but they strive for it as much as possible. The first test of a + Rhamda is his body. After he passes that he must take the mental test.” + </p> + <p> + “Mental?” + </p> + <p> + “Moral first. The most rigid, perhaps of all; he must be a man above + suspicion. The honour of a Rhamda must never be questioned. He must be + upright and absolutely unselfish. He must be broad-minded, human, lovable, + and a leader of men. After that, my lord, comes the intellectual test.” + </p> + <p> + “He must be a learned man?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly, your lordship. There are many very learned men who could not + be Rhamdas; and there are many who have had no learning at all who + eventually were admitted. The qualifications are intellectual, not + educational; the mind is put to a rigid test. It is examined for + alertness, perception, memory, reason, emotion, and control. There is no + greater honour in all the Thomahlia.” + </p> + <p> + “And they are all athletes?” + </p> + <p> + “Every one, my lord. In all the world there is no finer body of men, I + myself would hesitate before entering a match with even the old Rhamda + Geos.” + </p> + <p> + “How about the Rhamda Avec?” + </p> + <p> + “Nor he, either; in the gymnasium he was always the superior, just as he + topped all others morally and mentally.” + </p> + <p> + Did this explain the Avec's physical prowess, on the one hand, and the + fact that he would not stoop to take that ring by force, on the other? + </p> + <p> + “Just one more thing, Jan Lucar. You have absolutely no fear that I may + fail tomorrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Not the slightest, my lord. You cannot fail!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “I have already said—because you are from the Jarados.” + </p> + <p> + And Chick, facing the greatest experience of his life, submerged in a sea + wherein only a few islands of fact were visible, had to be content with + this: his only friends were those who were firmly convinced of something + which, he knew only too well, was a flat fraud! All this backing was based + upon a misled faith. + </p> + <p> + No, not quite. Was there not that strange feeling that the Jarados himself + was at his back? And had he not found that the prophet had been real? Did + he not feel, as positively as he felt anything, that the Jarados was still + a reality? + </p> + <p> + Chick went to bed that night with a light heart. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XL. — THE TEMPLE OF THE BELL. — + </h2> + <p> + It was hard for Chick to remember all the details of that great day. + Throughout all the morning and afternoon he remained in his apartments. + Breakfast over, the Rhamdas told him his part in certain ceremonies, such + as need not be detailed here. They were very solicitous as to his food and + comfort, and as to his feelings and anticipations. His nonchalance pleased + them greatly. Afterward he had a bath and rub-down. + </p> + <p> + A combat to the death, was it to be? Suits me, thought Watson. He was + never in finer form. + </p> + <p> + The Jan Lucar was particularly interested. He pinched and stroked Chick's + muscles with the caressing pride of a connoisseur. Watson stepped out of + the fountain bath in all the vigour of health. He playfully reached out + for the Lucar and tripped him up. He sought to learn just what the + Thomahlians knew in the art of self-defence. + </p> + <p> + The brief struggle that ensued taught him that he need expect no easy + conquest. The Jan was quick, active and the possessor of a science + peculiarly effective. The Thomahlians did not box in the manner of the + Anglo-Saxons; their mode was peculiar. Chick foresaw that he would be + compelled to combine the methods of three kinds of combat: boxing, + ju-jitsu, and the good old catch-as-catch-can wrestling. If the Senestro + were superior to the Jan, he would have a time indeed. Though Watson + conquered, he could not but concede that the Jan was not only clever but + scientific to an oily, bewildering degree. The Lucar paused. + </p> + <p> + “Enough, my lord! You are a man indeed. Do not overdo; save yourself for + the Senestro.” + </p> + <p> + Clothes were brought, and Chick taken back to his apartment. The time + passed with Rhamdas constantly at his side. + </p> + <p> + The Geos was not present, nor the little queen. Chick sought permission to + sit by the window—permission that was granted after the guards had + placed screens that would withhold any view from outside, yet permit Chick + to look out. + </p> + <p> + As far as he could see, the avenues were packed with people. Only, this + time the centres of the streets were clear; on the curbs he could see the + opposing lines of the blue and crimson, holding back the waiting + thousands. In the distance he could hear chimes, faint but distinct, like + silver bells tinkling over water. + </p> + <p> + At intervals rose strange choruses of weird, holy music. The full sweep of + the city's domes and minarets was spread out before him. From eaves to + basements the rolling luxuriance of orchidian beauty; banners, music, + parade; a day of pageant, pomp, and fulfilment. + </p> + <p> + He could catch the excitement in the air, the strange, laden undercurrent + of spiritual salvation-something esoteric, undefinable, the ecstasy of a + million souls pulsing to the throb of a supreme moment. He drew back, + someone had touched him. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + It was one of the Rhamdas. He had in his hand a small metal clover, of the + design of the Jarados. + </p> + <p> + “What do I do?” asked Watson. + </p> + <p> + “This,” said the Rhamda, “was sent to you by one of the Bars.” + </p> + <p> + “By a Bar! What does it mean?” + </p> + <p> + The other shook his head. “It was sent to you by one who wished it to be + known by us that he is your friend, even though a Bar.” + </p> + <p> + Just then Watson noted something sticking out of the edge of one of the + clover leaves. He pulled it out. It was a piece of paper. On it were + scrawled words IN ENGLISH. + </p> + <p> + The writing was pencil script, done in a poor hand and ill-spelled, but + still English. Chick read: + </p> + <p> + “Be of good cheer; there ain't a one in this world that can top a lad from + Frisco. And it's Pat MacPherson that says it. Yer the finest laddie that + ever got beyond the old Witch of Endor. You and me, if we hold on, is just + about goin' to play hell with the haythen. Hold on and fight like the + divil! Remember that Pat is with ye! + </p> + <p> + “We're both spooks. + </p> + <h3> + “PAT MACPHERSON” + </h3> + <p> + Said Watson: “Who gave you this? Did you see the man?” + </p> + <p> + “It was sent up my lord. The man was a high Bar in the Senestro's guard.” + </p> + <p> + Watson could not understand this. Was it possible that there were others + in this mysterious region besides himself? At any rate, he wasn't wholly + alone. He felt that he could count upon the Irishman—or was this + fellow Scotch? Anyhow, such a man would find the quick means of wit at a + crucial moment. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Watson noted a queer feeling of emptiness. He looked out of the + window. The music had ceased, and the incessant hum of the throngs had + deadened to silence. It was suspended, awesome, threatening. At the same + time, the Jan Lucar came to attention, at the opposite door stood the + Rhamda Geos, black clad, surrounded by a group of his fellows. + </p> + <p> + “Come, my lord,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The crimson guard fell in behind Watson, the black-gowned took their + places ahead, and the Jan Lucar and the Geos walked on either side. They + stepped out into the corridor. By the indicator of a vertical clock, Chick + noted that it was nine. He did not know the day of the year other than + from the Thomahlian calendar; but he knew that it was close to sunset. He + did not ask where they were going; there was no need. The very solemnity + of his companions told him more than their answers would have. In a moment + they were in the streets. + </p> + <p> + Watson had thought that they would be taken by aircraft, or that they + would pass through the building. He did not know that it was a concession + to the Bar Senestro; that the Senestro was but playing a bit of psychology + that is often practised by lesser champions. If Watson's nerve was not + broken it was simply because of the iron indifference of confident health. + Chick had never been defeated. He had no fear. He was far more curious as + to the scenes and events about him than he was of the outcome. He was + hoping for some incident that would link itself up into explanation. + </p> + <p> + At the door a curious car of graceful lines was waiting, an odd affair + that might be classed as a cross between a bird and a gondola, streaming + with colours and of magnificent workmanship and design. On the deck of + this the three men took their places; on the one side the Rhamda Geos, + tall, sombre, immaculate; on the other, the magnificent Jan Lucar in the + gorgeous crimson uniform, gold-braided and studded with jewels; on his + head he wore the shako of purple down, and by his side a peculiar black + weapon which he wore much in the manner of a sword. + </p> + <p> + In the centre, Watson—bareheaded, his torso bare and his arms naked. + He had been given a pair of soft sandals, and a short suit, whose one + redeeming feature in his eyes was a pocket into which he had thrust the + automatic that he valued so much. It was more like a picture of Rome than + anything else. Whatever the civilisation of the Thomahlians, their ritual + in Watson's eyes smacked still of barbarism. + </p> + <p> + But he was intensely interested in all about him. The avenues were large. + On either side the guards were drawn up eight deep, holding back the + multitude that pressed and jostled with the insistence of curiosity. He + looked into the myriad faces; about him, splendid features, of intelligent + man and women. + </p> + <p> + Not one face suggested the hideous; the women were especially beautiful, + and, from what he could see, finely formed and graceful. Many of them + smiled; he could hear the curious buzz of conjecturing whispers. Some were + indifferent, while others, from the expression of their faces, were openly + hostile. + </p> + <p> + Chick was in the middle of a procession, the Rhamdas marching before and + the crimson guard bringing up the rear. A special guard: the inner one, + Rhamdas, the outer one of crimson surrounding them all. + </p> + <p> + The car started. There was no trace of friction; it was noiseless, + automatic. Chick could only conjecture as to its mechanism. The black + column of Rhamdas moved ahead rhythmically, with the swing of solemn + grandeur. For some minutes they marched through the streets of the + Mahovisal. There was no cheering; it was a holy, awesome occasion. Chick + could sense the undercurrent of the staring thousands, the reverence and + the piety. It was the Day of the Prophet. They were staring at a miracle. + </p> + <p> + The column turned a corner. For the first time Watson was staggered by + sheer immensity; for the first time he felt what it might be to see with + the eyes of an insect. Had he been an ant looking up at the columns of + Karnak, he would still have been out of proportion. It was immense, + colossal, beyond man. It was of the omnipotent—the pillared portal + of the Temple of the Bell. + </p> + <p> + Such a building a genius might dream of, in a moment of unhampered, + inspired imagination. It was stupendous. The pillars were hexagonal in + shape, and in diameter each of about the size of an ordinary house. + Dropping from an immense height, it seemed as if they had originally + poured out in the form of molten metal from immense bell-like flares that + fell from the vaulted architrave. Such was the design. + </p> + <p> + Chick got the impression that the top of the structure, somehow, was not + supported by the foundation, but rather the reverse—the floor was + suspended from the ceiling. It was the work of the Titans—so high + and stupendous that at the first instant Watson felt numb with + insignificance. What chance had he against men of such colossal + conception. + </p> + <p> + How large the building was he could not see. The Gargantuan facade itself + was enough to smother comprehension. It was laid out in the form of a + triangle, one end of which was open towards the city; the two sections of + the facade met under a huge, arched opening—the door itself. Watson + recognised the structure as the one he had seen from the June Bug on the + outskirts of the Mahovisal. The enormous plaza was packed with people, + leaving only a narrow lane for the procession; and as far back as Chick + could see crowds in the streets converged towards this vast space. Their + numbers were incalculable. + </p> + <p> + The car stopped. The guards, both crimson and blue, formed a twenty-fold + cordon. Watson could feel the suspended breath of the waiting multitude. + The three men stepped out—the Geos first, then the Jan Lucar, and + Watson last. Chick caught the Lucar's eye; it was confident; the man was + springing with vigour, jovial in spite of the moment. + </p> + <p> + They passed between two of the huge pillars, and under the giant arch. For + a few minutes they walked through what seemed, to Chick, a perfect maze of + those titanic columns. And every foot was marked by the lines of crimson + and blue, flanking either side. + </p> + <p> + An immense sea of people rose high into the forest of pillars as far as + his eye could reach. He had never been in such a concourse of humanity. + </p> + <p> + They passed through an inner arch, a smaller and lower one, into what + Chick guessed was the temple proper. And if Chick had thought the anteroom + stupendous, he saw that a new word, one which went beyond all previous + experience, was needed to describe what he now saw. + </p> + <p> + It was almost too immense to be grasped in its entirety. Gone was the maze + of columns; instead, far, far away to the right and to the left, stood + single rows of herculean pillars. There were but seven on a side, + separated by great distances; and between them stretched a space so + immense, so incredibly vast, that a small city could have been housed + within it. And over it all was not the open sky, but a ceiling of such + terrific grandeur that Chick almost halted the procession while he gazed. + </p> + <p> + For that ceiling was the under side of a cloud, a grey-black, forbidding + thundercloud. And the fourteen pillars, seven on either side, were + prodigious waterspouts, monster spirals of the hue of storm, with flaring + sweeps at top and bottom that welded roof and floor into one terrific + whole. Sheer from side to side stretched that portentous level cloud; it + was a span of an epoch; and on either side it was rooted in those awful + columns, seemingly alive, as though ready at any instant to suck up the + earth into the infinite. + </p> + <p> + By downright will-power Watson tore his attention away and directed it + upon the other features of that unprecedented interior. It was lighted, + apparently, by great windows behind the fourteen pillars; windows too far + to be distinguishable. And the light revealed, directly ahead something + that Chick at first thought to be a cascade of black water. It leaped out + of the rear wall of the temple, and at its crest it was bordered with + walls of solid silver, cut across and designed with scrolls of gold and + gem work; walls that swooped down and ended with two huge green columns at + the base of that fantastic fall. + </p> + <p> + As they approached a swarm of tiny bronze objects, silver winged, + fluttered out through the temple—tiny birds, smaller than swallows, + beautiful and swift-winged, elusive. They were without number; in a moment + the air of the temple was alive with flitting, darting spots of glinting + colour. + </p> + <p> + Then Chick saw that there were two people sitting high on the crest of + that cascade. Wondering, Chick and the rest marched on through the silent + crowd; all standing with bared heads and bated breaths. The worshipping + Thomahlians filled every inch of that enormous place. Only a narrow lane + permitted the procession to pass towards that puzzling, silent, black + waterfall. + </p> + <p> + They were almost at its base when Chick saw the vanguard of the Rhamdas + unhesitatingly stride straight against the torrent, and then mount upon + it. Up they marched; and Chick knew that the black water was black jade, + and that the two people at its crest were seated upon a landing at the top + of the grandest stairway he had ever seen. + </p> + <p> + Up went the Rhamdas deploying to right and left against the silver walls. + The crimson and blue uniformed guards remained behind, lining the lane + through the throng. At the foot of the steps Chick stopped and looked + around, and again he felt numb at the sheer vastness of it all. + </p> + <p> + For he was looking back now at the portal through which the procession had + marched; a portal now closed; and above it, covering a great expanse of + that wall and extending up almost into the brooding cloud above, was + spread a mighty replica of the tri-coloured Sign of the Jarados. + </p> + <p> + For the first time Chick felt the full significance of symbolism. Whereas + before it had been but an incident of adventure, now it was the symbol of + mystic revelation. It was not only the motif for all other decoration upon + the walls and minor elements of the temple; it was the emblem of the + trinity, deep, holy, significant of the mystery of the universe and the + hereafter. There was something deeper than mere fatalism; behind all was + the fact-rooted faith of a civilisation. + </p> + <p> + But at that moment, as Chick paused with one foot on the bottom step of + the flight, something happened that sent quivers of joy and confidence all + through him. Someone was talking—talking in English! + </p> + <p> + Chick looked. The speaker was a man in the blue garb of the Senestro's + guard. He was standing at the end of the line nearest the stair, and + slightly in front of his fellows. Like the rest, he was holding his + weapon, a black, needled-pointed sword, at the salute. Chick gave him only + a glance, then had the presence of mind to look elsewhere as a man said, + in a low, guarded voice: + </p> + <p> + “Y' air right, me lad; don't look at me. I know what ye're thinkin'. But + she ain't as bad as she looks! Keep yer heart clear; never fear. You an' + me can lick all Thomahlia! Go straight up them stairs, an' stand that + blackguard Senestro on his 'ead, just like y'd do in Frisco!” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” asked Watson, intent upon the great three-leafed clover. He + used the same low, cautious tone the other had employed. “Who are you, + friend?” + </p> + <p> + “Pat MacPherson, of course,” was the answer. “An' Oi've said a plenty. + Now, go aboot your business.” + </p> + <p> + Watson did not quibble. There was no time to learn more. He did not wish + it to be noticed; yet he could not hide it from the Jan Lucar and the + Rhamda Geos, who were still at his side. They had heard that tongue + before. The looks they exchanged told, however, that they were gratified + rather than displeased by the interruption. Certainly all feelings of + depression left Chick, and he ascended the stairs with a glad heart and a + resilient stride that could not but be noticed. + </p> + <p> + He was ready for the Senestro. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLI. — THE PROPHECY + </h2> + <p> + Reaching the top of the jade steps, Chick found the landing to be a great + dais, nearly a hundred feet across. On the right and left this dais was + hedged in by the silver walls, on each of which was hung a huge, golden + scrollwork. These scrolls bore legends, which for the moment Chick + ignored. At the rear of the dais was a large object like a bronze bell. + </p> + <p> + The floor was of the usual mosaic, except in the centre, where there was a + plain, circular design. Chick took careful note of this, a circle about + twenty feet across, as white and unbroken as a bed of frozen snow. Whether + it was stone or not he could not determine. All around its edge was a gap + that separated it from the dais, a gap several inches across. Chick turned + to Geos: + </p> + <p> + “The Spot of Life?” + </p> + <p> + “Even so. It is the strangest thing in all the Thomahlia, my lord. Can you + feel it?” + </p> + <p> + For Watson had reached out with his toe and touched the white surface. He + drew it back suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “It has a feeling,” he replied, “that I cannot describe. It is cold, and + yet it is not. Perhaps it is my own magnetism.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! It is well, my lord!” + </p> + <p> + What the Rhamda meant by that Chick could not tell. He was interested in + the odd white substance. It was as smooth as glass, although at intervals + there were faint, almost imperceptible, dark lines, like the finest + scratches in old ivory. Yet the whiteness was not dazzling. Again Watson + touched it with his foot, and noted the inexplicable feeling of + exhilaration. In the moment of absorption he quite forgot the concourse + about him. He knew that he was now standing on the crux of the Blind Spot. + </p> + <p> + But in a minute he turned. The dais was a sort of nave, with one end open + to the stairway. Seated on his left was the frail Aradna, occupying a + small throne-like chair of some translucent green material. On the right + sat the Bar Senestro, in a chair differing only in that its colour was a + bright blue. In the centre of the dais stood a third chair—a crimson + one—empty. + </p> + <p> + The Senestro stood up. He was royally clad, his breast gleaming with + jewels. He was certainly handsome; he had the carriage of confident + royalty. There was no fear in this man, no uncertainty, no weakness. If + confidence were a thing of strength, the Senestro was already the victor. + In his heart Chick secretly admired him. + </p> + <p> + But just then the Aradna stood up, She made an indication to Watson. He + stepped over to the queen. She sat down again. + </p> + <p> + “I want to give you my benediction, stranger lord. Are you sure of + yourself? Can you overcome the Senestro?” + </p> + <p> + “I am certain,” spoke Watson. “It is for the queen, O Aradna. I know + nothing of the prophecy; but I will fight for you!” + </p> + <p> + She blushed and cast a furtive look in the direction of the Senestro. + </p> + <p> + “It is well,” she spoke. “The outcome will have a double interpretation—the + spiritual one of the prophecy, and the earthly, material one that concerns + myself. If you conquer, my lord, I am freed. I would not marry the + Senestro; I love him not. I would abide by the prophet, and await the + chosen.” She hesitated. “What do you know of the chosen, my lord?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, O Aradna.” + </p> + <p> + “Has not the Rhamda Geos told you?” + </p> + <p> + “Partly, but not fully. There is something that he is withholding.” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely. And now—will you kneel, my lord?” + </p> + <p> + Watson knelt. The queen held out her hand. Behind him Chick could hear a + deep murmur from the assembled multitudes. Just what was the significance + of that sound he did not know; nor did he care. It was enough for him that + he was to fight for this delicately beautiful maiden. He would let the + prophecy take care of itself. + </p> + <p> + Besides these three on the dais there were only the Rhamda Geos and the + Jan Lucar. These two remained on the edge nearest the body of the temple, + the edge at the crest of the stair. The empty chair remained so. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Chick remembered the warning of Dr. Holcomb: “Read the words of + the Prophet.” And he took advantage of the breathing-spell to peruse the + legends on the great golden scrolls: + </p> + <h3> + THE PROPHECY OF THE JARADOS + </h3> + <p> + Behold! When the day is at hand, prepare ye! + </p> + <p> + For, when that day cometh, ye shall have signs and portents from the world + beyond. Wisdom cometh out of life, and life walketh out of wisdom. Yea, in + the manner of life and of spirit ye shall have them, and of substance even + like unto you yourselves. + </p> + <p> + And it shall come to pass in the last days, that we shall be on guard. By + these signs ye shall know them; even by the truths I have taught thee. The + way of life is an open door; wisdom and virtue are its keys. And when the + intelligence shall be lifted to the plane above—then shalt thou + know! + </p> + <p> + Mark ye well the Spot of Life! He that openeth it is the precursor of + judgment. Mark him well! + </p> + <p> + And thus shall the last days come to pass. See that ye are worthy, O wise + ones! For behold in those last days there shall come among ye— + </p> + <p> + The chosen of a line of kings. First there shall be one, and then there + shall be two; and the two shall stay but the one shall return. + </p> + <p> + The false ones. Them ye shall slay! + </p> + <p> + The four footed: The call to humility, sacrifice and devotion, whom ye + shall hold in reverence even as you hold me, the Jarados. + </p> + <p> + And on the last day of all—I, the Jarados! + </p> + <p> + Beware ye of sacrilege! Lest I take from ye all that I have given ye, and + the day be postponed—beware ye of sacrilege! + </p> + <p> + And if the false ones cometh not, ye shall know that I have held them. + Know ye the day! + </p> + <p> + Sixteen days from the day of the prophet, shall come the day of the + judgment; and the way shall be opened, on the last day, the sixteenth day + of the Jarados. + </p> + <p> + Hearken to the words of the Jarados, the prophet and mouthpiece of the + infinite intelligence, ruler of justice, peace, and love! So be it + forever! + </p> + <p> + Chick read it a second time. Like all prophecies, it was somewhat Delphic; + but he could get the general drift. In that golden script he was looking + into the heart of all Thomahlia—into its greatness, its culture, its + civilisation itself. It was the soul of the Blind Spot, the reason and the + wherefore of all about him. + </p> + <p> + He heard someone step up behind him, and he turned. It was the Senestro, + going over the words of the prophecy. + </p> + <p> + “Can you read it, Sir Phantom?” asked the handsome Bar. His black eyes + were twinkling with delight. “Have you read it all?” + </p> + <p> + He put a hand on Chick's shoulder. It was a careless act, almost friendly. + Either he had the heart of a devil or the chivalry of a paladin. He + pointed to a line: + </p> + <p> + “'The false ones. Them ye shall slay.'” + </p> + <p> + “And if I were the false one, you would slay me?” asked Watson. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, truly!” answered the splendid prince. “You are well made and good to + look upon. I shall hold you in my arms; I shall hear your bones crack; it + shall be sweeter music than that of the temple pheasants, who never sing + but for the Jarados. I shall slay you upon the Spot, Sir Phantom!” + </p> + <p> + Watson turned on his heel. The ethics of the Senestro were not of his own + code. He was not afraid; he stood beside the Jan Lucar and gazed out into + the body of the temple. As far as he could see, under and past the + fourteen great pillars and right up to the far wall, the floor was a vast + carpet of humanity. + </p> + <p> + It was become dark. Presently a new kind of light began to glow far + overhead, gradually increasing in strength until the whole place was + suffused with a sun-like illumination. The Rhamda Geos began to speak. + </p> + <p> + “In the last day, in the Day of Life. We have the substance of ourselves, + and the words of the prophet. The Jarados has written his prophecy in + letters of gold, for all to see. 'The false ones. Them ye shall slay.' It + is the will of the Rhamdas that the great Bar Senestro shall try the proof + of the occult. On this, the first of the Sixteen Days, the test shall be—on + the Spot of Life!” + </p> + <p> + He turned away. The Bar Senestro stripped off his jewels, his semi-armour, + and stood clad in the manner of Watson. They advanced and met in the + centre of the dais, two athletes, lithe, strong, handsome, their muscles + aquiver with vitality and their skins silken with health. Champions of two + worlds, to wrestle for truth! + </p> + <p> + A low murmur arose, increasing until it filled the whole coliseum. The + silver-bronze pheasants flitted above the heads of all, flashing like + fragments of the spirit of light. And all of a sudden— + </p> + <p> + One of them fluttered down and lit on Watson's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + The murmur of the throng dropped to a dead silence. Next moment a stranger + thing happened. The little creature broke forth in full-throated song. + </p> + <p> + Watson instantly remembered the words of the Bar Senestro: “They sing but + for the Jarados.” He quietly reached up and caught the songster in his + hand, and he held it up to the astonished crowd. Still the song continued. + Chick held him an instant longer, and then gave him a toss high into the + air. He shot across the temple, a streak of melody, silver, dulcet, to the + far corner of the giant building. + </p> + <p> + But the thing did not jar the Senestro. + </p> + <p> + “Well done, Sir Phantom! Anyhow, 'tis your last play! I would not have it + otherwise. I hope you can die as prettily! Are you ready?” + </p> + <p> + “Ready? What for?” retorted Watson. “Why, should I trouble myself with + preparations?” + </p> + <p> + But the Rhamda Geos had now come to his side. + </p> + <p> + “Do your best, my lord. I regret only that it must be to the death. It is + the first death contest in the Thomahlia for a thousand circles (years). + But the Senestro has challenged the prophecy. Prove that you are not a + false one! My heart is with you.” + </p> + <p> + It was a good word at a needed moment. Watson stepped over onto the + circular Spot of Life. + </p> + <p> + They were both barefooted. Evidently the Thomahlians fought in the old, + classic manner. The stone under Watson's feet was cool and invigorating. + He could sense anew that quiver of magnetism and strength. It sent a + thrill through his whole body, like the subtle quickening of life. He felt + vital, joyous, confident. + </p> + <p> + The Senestro was smiling, his eyes flashing with anticipation. His muscled + body was a network of soft movement. His step was catlike. + </p> + <p> + “What will it be?” inquired Watson. “Name your choice of destruction.” + </p> + <p> + But the Bar shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Not so, Sir Phantom. You shall choose the manner of your death, not I. + Particular I am not, nor selfish.” + </p> + <p> + “Make it wrestling, then,” in his most off-hand manner. He was a good + wrestler, and scientific. + </p> + <p> + “Good. Are you ready?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, Sir Phantom. I shall walk to the edge of the Spot and turn + around. I would take no unfair advantage. Now!” + </p> + <p> + Chick turned at the same moment and strode to his edge. He turned, and it + happened; just what, Chick never knew. He remembered seeing his opponent + turn slowly about, and in the next split second he was spinning in the + clutch of a tiger. Even before they struck the stone, Chick could feel the + Senestro reaching for a death-hold. + </p> + <p> + And in that one second Watson knew that he was in the grip of his master. + </p> + <p> + His mind functioned like lightning. His legs and arms flashed for the + counterhold that would save him. They struck the Spot and rolled over and + over. Chick caught his hold, but the Senestro broke it almost instantly. + Yet it had saved him; for a minute they spun around like a pair of + whirligigs. Watson kept on the defensive. He had not the speed and skill + of the other. It was no mere test to touch his shoulders; it was a fight + to the death; he was at a disadvantage. He worked desperately. + </p> + <p> + When a man fights for his life he becomes superhuman. Watson was put to + something more than his skill; the sheer spirit of the Bar broke hold + after hold; he was like lightning, panther-like, subtle, vicious. Time + after time he spun Chick out of his defense and bore him down into a hold + of death. And each time Chick somehow wriggled out, and saved himself by a + new hold. The struggle became a blur—muscle, legs, the lust for + killing—and hatred. Twice Watson essayed the offensive; first he got + a hammer lock, and then a half-Nelson. The Bar broke both holds + immediately. + </p> + <p> + Whatever Chick knew of wrestling, the Senestro knew just a bit more. It + was a whirling mass of legs and bodies in continuous convulsion, silent + except for the terrible panting of the men, and the low, stifled + exclamations of the onlookers. + </p> + <p> + And then— + </p> + <p> + Watson grew weak. He tried once more. They spun to their feet. But before + he could act the Senestro had caught him in the same flying rush as in the + beginning, and had whirled him off his feet. And when he came down the Bar + had an unbreakable hold. + </p> + <p> + Chick struggled in vain. The Bar tightened his grip. A spasm of pain shot + through Chick's torso; he could feel his bones giving way. His strength + was gone; he could see death. Another moment would have been the end. + </p> + <p> + But something happened. The Senestro miraculously let go his hold. Chick + felt something soft brush against his cheek. He heard a queer snapping, + and shouts of wonder, and a dreadful choking sound from the Bar. He raised + dizzily on one arm. His eyes cleared a bit. + </p> + <p> + The great Bar was on his back; and at his throat was a snarling thing—the + creature that Chick had seen in the clover leaf of the Jarados. + </p> + <p> + It was a living dog. + </p> + +<p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044b" id="link2H_4_0044b"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLII. — PAT MACPHERSON'S STORY + </h2> + + <p> + To Watson it was all a blur. He was too weak and too broken to remember + distinctly. He was conscious only of an uproar, of a torrent of + multitudinous sound. And then—the deep, enveloping tone of a bell. + </p> + <p> + Some time, somewhere, Chick had heard that bell before. In his present + condition his memory refused to serve him. He was covered with blood; he + tried to rise, to crawl to this snarling animal that was throttling the + Senestro. But something seemed to snap within him, and all went black. + </p> + <p> + When he opened his eyes again all had changed. He was lying on a couch + with a number of people about. It was a minute before he recognized the + Jan Lucar, then the Geos, and lastly the nurse whom he had first seen when + he awoke in the Blind Spot. Evidently he was in the hands of his friends, + although there was a new one, a red-headed man, clad in the blue uniform + of a high Bar. + </p> + <p> + He sat up. The nurse held a goblet of the green liquid to his lips. The + Bar in blue turned. + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” he said. “Give him some of the liquor; it will do him good. It will + put the old energy back in his bones.” + </p> + <p> + The voice rang oddly familiar in Watson's ears. The words were Thomahlian; + not until Chick had drained his glass did he comprehend their + significance. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The Bar with the red hair grinned. + </p> + <p> + “Whist, me lad,” using Chick's own tongue. “Get rid of these Thomahlians. + 'Tis a square game we're playin', but we're takin' no chances. Get 'em out + of the way so we kin talk.” + </p> + <p> + Watson turned to the others. He made the request in his adopted tongue. + They bowed, reverently, and withdrew. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” Chick asked again. + </p> + <p> + “Oi'm Pat MacPherson.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you get here?” + </p> + <p> + The other sat on the edge of the bed. “Faith, how kin Oi tell ye? 'Twas a + drink, sor; a new kind av a high-ball, th' trickery av a friend an' th' + ould Witch av Endor put togither.” + </p> + <p> + Obviously Watson did not understand. The stranger continued: “Faith, sor, + an' no more do Oi. There's no one as does, 'cept th' ould doc hisself.” + </p> + <p> + “The old doc! You mean Dr. Holcomb?” + </p> + <p> + Watson sat up in his bed. “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “In a safe place, me lad. Dinna fear for th' doctor. 'Twas him as saved ye—him + an' your humble sarvant, Pat MacPherson, bedad.” + </p> + <p> + “He—and you—saved me?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye—there on th' Spot of Life. A bit of a thrick as th' ould doc + dug oot o' his wisdom. Sure, she dinna work jist loike he said it, but + 'twas a plenty t' oopset th' pretty Senestro!” + </p> + <p> + Watson asked, “What became of the Senestro?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure, they pulled him oot. Th' wee doggie jist aboot had him done for. + Bedad, she's a good pup!” + </p> + <p> + “What kind of a dog?” + </p> + <p> + “A foine wan, sor, wit a bit stub av a tail. An' she's that intelligent, + she kin jist about talk Frinch. Th' Thomahlians all called her th' + Four-footed, an' if they kape on, they'll jist aboot make her th' Pope.” + </p> + <p> + Watson was still thick headed. “I don't understand!” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I laddie. But th' ould doc does. He's got a foine head for figgers; + and' he's that scientific, he kin make iron oot o' rainbows.” + </p> + <p> + “Iron out of—what?” + </p> + <p> + “Rainbows, sor. Faith, 'tis meself thot's seen it. And he's been watchin' + over ye ever since ye came. 'Twas hisself, lad, that put it into your head + t' call him th' Jarados.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say that the professor put those impulses into my + head!” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, laddie; you said it. He kin build up a man's thoughts just like you + or me kin pile oop lumber. 'Tis that deep he is wit' th' calculations!” + </p> + <p> + Watson tried to think. There was just one superlative question now. He put + it. + </p> + <p> + “I dinna know if he's th' Jarados,” was the reply. “But if so be not, then + he's his twin brother, sure enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he a prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldna say that, though there's them as think so. But if it be anybody + as is holdin' him, 'tis the Senestro an' his gang o' guards.” + </p> + <p> + Watson looked at the other's uniform, at the purple shako on his head, the + jewelled weapon at his side, and the Jaradic leaf on his shoulder—insignia + of a Bar of the highest rank. + </p> + <p> + “How does it come that you're a Bar, and a high one at that?” + </p> + <p> + The other grinned again. He took off his shako and ran his hand through + his mop of red hair. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis aither th' luck of th' Irish, me lad, or of th' Scotch. Oi don't ken + which—Oi'm haff each—but mostly 'tis th' virtoo av me bonny + red hair.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, leastways, in th' Thomahlia, there's always a dhrop av royalty + in th' red-headed. Me bonnie top-knot has made me a fortune. Ye see, 'tis + th' mark av th' royal Bars themselves; no ithers have it.” + </p> + <p> + Watson said: “If you have come from Dr. Holcomb, then you must have a + message from him to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye've said it; you an' me, an' a few Rhamdas, an' mebbe th' wee queen is + goin' t' take a flight in th' June Bug. We're goin' afther th' ould doc; + an' ye kin bet there'll be as pretty a scrap as ever ye looked on. An' + afther thot's all over, we're goin' t' take anither kind of a flight—into + good old Frisco.” + </p> + <p> + Chick instantly asked Pat if he knew where San Francisco might be. + </p> + <p> + “Faith, 'tis only th' ould doc knows, laddie. But when we git there, 'tis + Pat MacPherson that's a goin' for Toddy Maloney.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that name.” + </p> + <p> + “Bedad, I do. Him it was thot give me th' dhrink.” + </p> + <p> + “What drink?” + </p> + <p> + Th' dhrink thot done it. Twas a new kind av cocktail. Ye see, I'd jist got + back from Melbourne, an' I was takin' in th' lights that noight, aisy + like, whin I come t' Toddy's place. I orders a dhrink av whuskey. + </p> + <p> + “'Whist, Pat,' says he, 'ye don't want whuskey; 'twill make ye dhrunk. Why + don't ye take somethin' green, like th' Irish?' + </p> + <p> + “'Green,” says I. ''Tis a foine colour. I dinna fear anything thot comes + fra' a bottle. Pass'er oot!' + </p> + <p> + “An' thot he did. 'Twas 'creme de menthay' on th' bottle. 'An',' says he, + ''Twon't make ye dhrunk.' But he was a liar, beggin' yer pardin. + </p> + <p> + “For by an' by Oi see his head a growin' larger an' larger, until Oi + couldn't see annything but a few loights on th' cailing, an' a few people + on th' edges, loike. An' afther thot Oi wint oot, an' walked till Oi come + to a hill. An' there was a moon, an' a ould hoose standin' still, which + th' moon was not. So Oi stood still to watch it, but bein' tired an' weary + an' not havin' got rid o' me sea-legs, Oi sat me doon on th' steps av th' + hoose for a bit av a rest, an' t' watch th' moon, thinkin' mebbe she'd + stand still by an' by. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sor, Oi hadn't been there more'n three 'r four minits, whin th' + door opened, an' oot steps a little ould lady, aboot th' littlest an' + ouldest Oi iver see in 'Frisco. + </p> + <p> + “'Good avenin', Mother Machree,' says Oi, touchin' me hat. + </p> + <p> + “'Mother Machree!' says she, an' gives me a sharp look. Also she sniffs. + 'Ye poor man,' says she. 'Ye'll catch yer death o' cold, out here. Ye + better coom in an' lie on me sofy.' + </p> + <p> + “Now, sor, how was Oi to ken, bein' a sailor an' ingorant? She was only a + ould lady, an' withered. How was Oi to ken thot she was th' ould Witch o' + Endor?” + </p> + <p> + Watson's memory was at work on what he knew of the house at Chatterton + Place, especially regarding its occupants at the beginning of the Blind + Spot mystery. The Bar's old remark caught his attention. + </p> + <p> + “The Witch of Endor?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye; thot she were. Whin Oi woke up, there was nary a hoose at all, nor + th' ould lady, nor Toddy Maloney's, nor 'Frisco. 'Twas a strange place I + was, sor; a church loike St. Peter's, only bigger, th' same bein' harrd to + belaive. An' th' columns looked loike waterspoots, an' th' sky above was + full av clouds, the same bein' jest aboot ready to break into hell an' + tempest. But ye've been there yerself, sor. + </p> + <p> + “Well, here was a man beside me, dressed in a kilt. An' he spakes a + strange language, although Oi could undershtand; and' he says, says he: + </p> + <p> + “'My lord,' was what he says. + </p> + <p> + “'My lord!' says Oi. 'Oi dinna ken what ye mane at all, at all.' + </p> + <p> + “'Are ye not a Bar?' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'Thot Oi am not!' says Oi, spakin' good English, so's to be sure he'd + understand. 'Oi'm Pat MacPherson.' + </p> + <p> + “But he couldn' ken. Thin we left th' temple an' wint out into the street. + An' a great crowd of people came aroun' an' began shoutin'. By an' by we + wint into anither buildin'. + </p> + <p> + “'For why sh'd iverybody look at me whin we crossed th' street jest noo?' + I asked. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis y'r clothes,' says he. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Oi don't enjoy pooblicity, sor; wherefore th' wily Scotch in me told + me what to do, an' th' Irish part of me did it. I stood him on his head, + an' took his clothes off an' put them on meself. An' then no one noticed + me. Thot is, until Oi took me hat off.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean, that shako?” + </p> + <p> + “Yis; th' blaemd heavy thing—'tis made o' blue feathers. Well, whin + it got so hot it made me scalp sweat, Oi took it off; an' then they called + me—'My lord' an' 'your worship,' jest loike Oi were a king. + </p> + <p> + “'Pray God,' says Oi, 'that me head dinna get bald.' + </p> + <p> + “Well, sor, Oi had a toime that was fit for th' Irish. Oi did iverything + 'cept git drunk; there was nothin' to git drunk with. But afther a while I + ran across anither, wit' jest as red hair as I had. He was a foine man, av + coorse, an' all surrounded by blue guards. He took me into a room himself + an' begin askin' questions. + </p> + <p> + “An' I lied, sor. Av coorse, 'twas lucky thot Oi had me Scotch larnin' an' + caution to guide me; but whin Oi spoke, Oi wisely let th' Irishman do all + th' talkin'. An' th' great Bar liked me. + </p> + <p> + “'Verily,' says he, most solemnly, 'thou art of th' royal Bars!' An' he + made me a high officer, he did.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he the Bar Senestro?” asked Watson. + </p> + <p> + “Nay; 'twas a far better man—Senestro's brother, that died not long + after. When Oi saw th' Senestro, Oi had sinse enough to kape me mouth + shut. An' now Oi'm a high Bar—next to th' Senestro hisself! What's + more, sor, there's no one alive kens th' truth but yerself an' th' ould + doctor.” + </p> + <p> + It was a queer story, but in the light of all that had gone before, + wonderfully convincing. Watson began to see light breaking through the + darkness. “Now there are two,” the old lady at 288 Chatterton Place had + said to Jerome, when the detective came looking for the vanished + professor. Had she referred to Holcomb and MacPherson? Two had gone + through the Blind Spot, and two had come out—the Rhamda Avec and the + Nervina. “Now there are two,” she had said. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me a little more about Holcomb, Pat!” + </p> + <p> + “'Tis a short story. Oi can't tell ye much, owin' to orders from the old + gent hisself. He came shortly after th' death of the first Bar, Senestro's + brother. Seems there was some rumpus aboot th' old Rhamda Avec, which same + Oi always kept away from—him as was goin' to prove th' spirits! + Annyhow, we was guardin' th' temple awaitin' th' spook as was promised. + An' thot's how we got th' ould doc. + </p> + <p> + “But th' Rhamdas niver saw him. Th' Senestro double-crossed 'em, an' + slipped th' doctor oop to th' Palace av Light.” + </p> + <p> + “The Palace of—what?” + </p> + <p> + “The Palace av light, sor. Tis th' home av th' Jarados. 'twas held always + holy by th' Thomahlians; no man dared go within miles av it; since the + Jarados was here, t'ousands of years ago, no one at all has been inside av + it. + </p> + <p> + “But the Senestro knew that th' doctor was th' real Jarados, at least he + t'ought so; an' he wasna afraid o' him. He's na coward, th' Senestro. He + put th' doctor in th' Jarados' home! Only th' Prophecy worries him at + all.” + </p> + <p> + At last Watson was touching firm ground. Things were beginning to link up—the + Senestro, the professor, the Prophecy of the Jarados. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sor, we Bars have kept th' ould doctor prisoner there iver since he + come, wit' none save me to give him a wee bit word av comfort. But it + dinna hurt th' old gent. Whin he finds all them balls an' rainbows an' + eddicated secrets, he forgets iverything else; he's contint wit 'his + discovery. 'Tis th' wise head th' doctor has; an' Oi make no doobt he's + th' real Jarados.” + </p> + <p> + The red-haired man went on to say that the professor knew of Chick's + coming from the beginning. He immediately called in MacPherson and gave + him some orders, or rather directions, which the Irishman could not + understand. He knew only that he was to go to the Temple of the Leaf and + there touch certain objects in a certain way; also, he was to arrange to + get near Chick, and give him a word of cheer. + </p> + <p> + “But it dinna work as he said it, sor; he had expected to catch th' + Senestro. Instead, 'twas th' dog got th' Bar. A foine pup, sor; she saved + yer loife.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's the dog now?” + </p> + <p> + “She's on th' Spot av Life, sor. She willna leave it. Tis a strange thing + to see how she clings to it. Th' Rhamdas only come near enough to feed + her.” + </p> + <p> + Thus Chick learned that, as soon as he got well, he and MacPherson were to + seek the doctor, and help him to get away with the secrets he had found, + the truths behind the mystery of the Spot. + </p> + <p> + “An' 'tis a glorious fight there'll be, lad. Th' Senestro's a game wan; + he'll not give up, an' he'll not let go th' doctor till he has to.” + </p> + <p> + This was not unwelcome news to Chick. A battle was to his liking. It + reminded him of the automatic pistol which he still had in his pocket—the + gun he had not thought to use in his desperate struggle with the Bar + Senestro. + </p> + <p> + “Pat,” said he, with a sudden inspriation, “when you came through, did you + have a firearm?” + </p> + <p> + MacPherson reached into his pocket and silently produced a thirty-two + calibre pistol, of another make than Chick's but using the same + ammunition. From another pocket he drew out a package carefully bound with + thread. He unrolled the contents. It was an old clay pipe! + </p> + <p> + “Oi came through,” he stated plaintively, “wit' two guns; an' nary a bit + av powder for ayther!” + </p> + <p> + Chick smiled. He searched his own pockets. First he handed over his extra + magazine full of cartridges, and then a full package of smoking tobacco. + </p> + <p> + “Wirra, wirra!” shouted MacPherson. “Faith, an' there's powder for both!” + His hands shook as he hurried to cram the old pipe full of tobacco. The + cartridges could wait. He struck a light and gave a deep sigh of content + as he began to puff. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLIII. — THE HOME OF THE JARADOS + </h2> + <p> + Chick had been grievously hurt in the contest with the Senestro, but + thanks to the Rhamdas he came round rapidly. It was a matter of less than + a week. + </p> + <p> + Things were coming to a climax; Chick needed no lynx's eye to see that the + die had been cast between the Bars and the Rhamdas. Soon the Senestro must + make a bold move, or else release the professor. + </p> + <p> + Chick had not long to wait. It came one evening. Once again he found + himself in the June Bug, accompanied by the Geos, the Jan Lucar, and—the + little Aradna herself. Their departure was swift and secret. + </p> + <p> + This time Watson was not worried over height, or any other sensation of + flight. The doctor's safety alone was of moment. He said to the Rhamda: + </p> + <p> + “Are we alone? Where is the Bar MacPherson?” + </p> + <p> + “He is somewhere near; we are not alone, my lord. Several other machines + are flying nearby also; they carry many of the Rhamdas and the crimson + guard of the queen. The MacPherson will arrive first. We are going + straight to the Palace of Light, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Are we to storm the place?” thinking of the fight MacPherson had + predicted. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord. Many shall die; but it cannot be helped. We must free the + Jarados, although we commit sacrilege.” + </p> + <p> + “But—the Senestro?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends, my lord. We know not just what may be done.” He gave no + explanation. + </p> + <p> + They had climbed to a tremendous height. The indicator showed that they + were bearing east. The darkness was modified only by the faint glow from + that star-dusted sky. Looking down, Chick could see nothing whatever. His + companions kept silence; only the Aradna, sitting forward by the side of + Jan Lucar showed any perturbation. They climbed higher and higher still, + until it seemed that they must leave the Thomahlia altogether. Always the + course was eastward. At last the Jan said to the Geos: + </p> + <p> + “We are now over the Region of Carbon, sir. Shall I risk the light? His + lordship might like to see.” + </p> + <p> + “Follow your own judgment.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” exclaimed the Aradna; “do it by all means! There is nothing so + wonderful as that!” + </p> + <p> + The Jan touched a small lever. Instantly a shaft of light cut down through + the blackness. Far, far below it ended in a patch on the ground. Watson + eagerly followed its movements as it searched from side to side, seeking + he knew not what. And then— + </p> + <p> + There was a flash of inverted lightning, a flame of white fire, a + blinding, stabbing scintillation of a million coruscations. Watson clapped + a hand to his eyes, to cut off the sight. It was stunning. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Carbon,” answered the Geos, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Carbon! You mean—diamond?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord. So it interests you? I did not know. Later you shall see it + under more favourable conditions.” Then, to the Jan: “Enough.” + </p> + <p> + Once again they were in darkness. For some minutes silence was again the + rule. Watson watched the red dot moving across the indicator, noting its + approach to a three cornered figure on one edge. Suddenly there appeared + another dot; then another, and another. Some came from below, others from + above; presently there were a score moving in close formation. + </p> + <p> + “They are all here,” said the Jan to the Geos. + </p> + <p> + The other nodded, and explained to Chick: “It's the Rhamdas and the + Crimson guards. The MacPherson is just ahead. We shall arrive in three + minutes.” + </p> + <p> + And after a pause he stated that the ensuing combat would mark the first + spilling of blood between the Bars and the Rhamdas. At a pinch the + Senestro might even kill the Jarados, to gain his ends. “His wish is his + only law, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + The red dots began to descend toward the three-cornered figure. One minute + passed, and another; then one more, and the June Bug landed. + </p> + <p> + With scarcely a sound the Lucar brought the craft to a full stop. In a + moment he was assisting the Aradna to alight. As for the Geos, he took + from the machine two objects, which he held out to the Aradna and to + Chick. + </p> + <p> + “Put these on. The rest of us fight as we are.” + </p> + <p> + They were cloaks, made of a soft, light, malleable glass, or something + like it. Watson asked what they were for. + </p> + <p> + “For a purpose known only to the Jarados, my lord. There are only two of + these robes. With them he left directions which indicated plainly they are + for your lordship and the Aradna.” + </p> + <p> + Wondering, Chick helped the Aradna don her garment and then slipped into + his own. Nevertheless, he pinned more faith in the automatic in his + pocket. He did not make use of the hood which was intended to cover his + head. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” spoke the queen. She reached over and extended the hood till + it protected his skull. “Please wear it that way, for my sake. Nothing + must happen to you now!” + </p> + <p> + Chick obeyed with only an inward demur. What puzzled him most was the + isolation. Seemingly they were quite alone; there was nothing, no one, to + oppose them. + </p> + <p> + But he had merely taken something for granted. He, being from the earth, + had assumed that strife meant noise. It was only when the Aradna caught + him by the arm, and whispered for him to listen, that he understood. + </p> + <p> + It was like a breeze, that sound. To be more precise, it was like the + heavy passage of breath, almost uninterrupted, coming from all about them. + And presently Chick caught a queer odour. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he breathed in the Aradna's ear. + </p> + <p> + “It is death,” she answered. “Cannot you hear them—the deherers?” + </p> + <p> + She did not explain; but Watson knew that he was in the midst of a battle + which was fought with noiseless and terribly efficient weapons—so + efficient that there were no wounded to give voice to pain. Before he + could ask a question a familiar voice sounded out of the darkness at his + side. + </p> + <p> + “Where is the Geos?” + </p> + <p> + “Here, Bar MacPherson,” answered the Rhamda. + </p> + <p> + “Good! It is well you came, sir. We were discovered a few minutes ago; + already we have lost many men. Just give us the lights, so that we can get + at them! It is a waste of men, with the advantage all on their side.” + </p> + <p> + Then, lapsing into English for Chick's benefit: “'Tis welcome ye are! + Ivery mon helps, how.” + </p> + <p> + “What are these sounds? You say they are fighting?” + </p> + <p> + “'Tis the deherers ye hear, lad. They fight with silent guns. Don't let + 'em hit ye, or ye'll be a pink pool in the twinklin' of yer eyelid. 'Tis + no joke. + </p> + <p> + “Are they more powerful than firearms?” + </p> + <p> + “I dinna say, lad. But they're th' devil's own weapon for fightin'.” + </p> + <p> + Chick did not answer—he had heard a low command from the Geos. Next + instant the space before them was illuminated by clear white light, in the + form of a circle—bright as day. In the centre shimmered an object + like a mist of blue flame, a nimbus of dazzling, actinic lightning. There + was no sign of man or life, no suggestion of sound—nothing but the + nimbus, and the brilliant space about it. The whole phenomenon measured + perhaps three hundred feet across. + </p> + <p> + They were in darkness. Chick took a step forward, but he was held back by + MacPherson. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, lad; would ye be dyin' so soon? 'Tis fearful quick. See—” + </p> + <p> + He did not finish. A red line of soldiers had rushed straight out of the + blackness into the circle of light. It seemed that they were charging the + nimbus. They were stooping now, discharging their queer weapons; about + three hundred of them—an inspiring sight. They charged in determined + silence. + </p> + <p> + Then—Watson blinked. The line disappeared; the thing was like a + miracle. It took time for Chick to realise that he was looking upon the + “pink death” MacPherson had warned him against—the work of the + deherers, whatever the word meant. For where had been a column of gallant + guards there was now only a broad stream of pink liquid trickling over the + ground. It was annihilation itself—too quick to be horrible—inexorable + and instantaneous. Chick involuntarily placed himself in front of the + Aradna. + </p> + <p> + “The blue thing in the middle,” observed the Irishman, coolly, “is th' + Palace av Light; 'tis held by th' Senestro jest now. An' all we got to do + is get th' ould doc out.” + </p> + <p> + “But I see no building!” + </p> + <p> + “'Tis there jest the same. Ye'll see it whin th' doctor gits time off his + rainbows. 'Tis absent-minded he gets when he's on a problem, which same is + mostly always, sor. We stay roight here till he gets ready to drop on th' + Senestro.” + </p> + <p> + Watson waited. He knew enough now to cling to the shadow, there with + MacPherson, the Geos, and the Aradna. In the centre of the great + light-circle the nimbus of blue stood out like a vibrating haze, while all + about, in the darkness, could be heard the weird sound made by the passage + of life. + </p> + <p> + “When will the Jarados act?” inquired the Geos of the Irishman. But he got + no reply. MacPherson spoke to Watson: “Get yer gun ready, lad; get yer gun + ready! Look—'tis th' ould boy himself, now! I wonder what the + Senestro thinks of that?” + </p> + <p> + For the nimbus had suddenly dissolved, and in its place there appeared one + of the quaintest, yet most beautiful buildings that Watson had ever seen. + It was a three-cornered structure, low-set, and of unspeakably dazzling + magnificence; a building carved and chiselled from solid carbon. Chick + momentarily forgot the doctor. + </p> + <p> + In front of it stood a line of Blue Guards, headed by the Senestro. Their + confusion showed that something altogether unexpected had happened. They + were ducking here and there, seemingly bewildered by the sudden vanishing + of that protecting blue dazzle. The Senestro was trying to restore order; + and in a moment he succeeded. He led the way toward a low, triangular + platform, at the entrance—a single white door—to the palace. + </p> + <p> + Pat MacPherson's automatic flashed and barked. Next instant Watson was in + action. The Bar next to the Senestro staggered, then collapsed against his + chieftain. Another rolled against his feet, causing him to stumble; an act + that probably saved his life, for the platform in a second was covered + with writhing, bleeding, dying Bars. + </p> + <p> + The Senestro managed to reach the doorway. MacPherson cursed. + </p> + <p> + “Come on!” he yelled to Watson. “Well git him alive!” Watson remembered + little of that rush. There stood the great Bar at the doorway, surrounded + by his dying and panic-stricken men. The cloak given Chick by the Geos + impeded his progress; with a quick movement he threw it off and ran + unprotected alongside the Irishman. The Blue guards saw them coming; they + levelled their weapons. But before they could discharge them they met the + same fate as had the Reds. A tremor in the air, and they were gone, + leaving only a pink pool on the ground. + </p> + <p> + Senestro alone remained untouched. He was about to open the white door; + for a second he posed, defiant and handsome. Then the great Bar ducked + swiftly and almost with the same motion dodged into the building. Chick + and Pat were right after him. + </p> + <p> + Inside was darkness. Chick ran head on against the side wall; turning, he + bumped into another. The sudden transition from brilliance to blackness + was overwhelming. He stopped and felt about carefully—momentarily + blind. What if the Senestro found him now? + </p> + <p> + He called MacPherson's name. There was no reply. He tried to feel his way + along, finding the wall irregular, jagged, sharp cornered. But the way + must lead somewhere. He reached a turn in the passage; it was still too + dark for him to see anything. He proceeded more cautiously, wondering at + those craggy walls. And then— + </p> + <p> + Chick slapped his hands to his eyes. It was as if he had been shot into + the core of the sun—the obsidian darkness flashed into light—a + light beyond all enduring. Chick staggered, and cried in pain. And yet, + reason told him just what it was, just what had happened. It was the + carbon; he was in the heart of the diamond; the Senestro had led him on + and on, and then—had flashed some intense light upon the vast jewel. + Watson knew the terrible helplessness of the blind. His end had come! + </p> + <p> + And so it seemed. Next instant someone came up to him—someone he + could hear if he could not see. It was the Senestro. + </p> + <p> + “Hail, Sir Phantom! Pardon my abrupt manner of welcome. I suppose you have + come for the Jarados?” And he laughed, a laugh full of mockery and + triumph. “Perhaps you think I intend to kill you?” + </p> + <p> + Watson said no word. He had been outwitted. He awaited the end. But the + Senestro saw fit to say, with an irony that told how sure he was: + </p> + <p> + “However, I am opposed to killing in cold blood. Open your eyes, Sir + Phantom! I will give you time—a fair chance. What do you say—shall + we match weapon against weapon?” + </p> + <p> + Watson slowly opened his eyes. The blinding light had dimmed to a soft + glow. They were in a sort of gallery whose length was uncertain; between + him and the outlet, about ten feet away, stood the confident, ever-smiling + Bar. + </p> + <p> + “You or I,” said he, jauntily. “Are you ready to try it? I have given you + a fair chance!” + </p> + <p> + He raised his dagger-like weapon, as though aiming it. At the same instant + Chick pulled the trigger from the hip, snap aim. + </p> + <p> + The gun was empty. + </p> + <p> + Another second, and Watson would have been like those spots of colour on + the ground outside. He breathed a prayer to his Maker. The Senestro's + weapon was in line with his throat. + </p> + <p> + But it was not to be. There came a flash and a stunning report; the + deherer clattered against the wall, and the Senestro clutched a stinging + hand. He was staring in surprise at something behind Chick—something + that made him turn and dart out of sight. + </p> + <p> + Chick wheeled. + </p> + <p> + Right behind him stood the familiar form of the Jan Lucar; and a few feet + beyond, a figure from which came a clear, cool, nonchalant voice; + </p> + <p> + “I would have killed that fellow, Chick, but he's too damned handsome. I'm + going to save him for a specimen.” + </p> + <p> + Watson peered closer. He gave a gasp, half of amazement, half of delight. + For the words were in English, and the voice— + </p> + <p> + It was Harry Wendel. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLIV. — DR. HOLCOMB'S STORY + </h2> + <p> + If there was the least doubt in Chick's mind that this was really Harry, + it was dispelled by the sight of the person who the next moment stepped up + to his side. It was none other than the Nervina. + </p> + <p> + “Harry Wendel!” gasped Watson. It was too good to be true! + </p> + <p> + “Surest thing you know, Chick. It's me, alive and kicking!” as they + grabbed one another. + </p> + <p> + “How did you get here?” + </p> + <p> + “Search me! Ask the lady; I'm just a creature of circumstance. I merely + act; she does all the thinking.” + </p> + <p> + The Nervina smiled and nodded. Her eyes were just as wonderful as Chick + remembered them, full of elusiveness, of the moonbeam's light, of witchery + past understanding. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she affirmed. “You see, Mr. Watson, it is the will of the Prophet. + Harry is of the Chosen. We have come for the great Dr. Holcomb—for + the Jarados!” + </p> + <p> + And she led the way. Watson followed in silent wonder; behind him came the + Geos and the rest, quiet and reverent. The soft glow still held, so that + they seemed to be walking through the walls of cold fire. At the end of + the passage they came to a door. + </p> + <p> + The Nervina touched three unmarked spots on the walls. The door opened. + The queen stood aside, and motioned for Chick and Harry to enter. + </p> + <p> + It was a long room, pear-shaped, and fitted up like the most elaborate + sort of laboratory. And at the far end, seated in the midst of a strange + array of crystals, retorts and unfamiliar apparatus, was a man whom the + two instantly recognised. + </p> + <p> + It was the missing professor, looking just as they remembered him from the + days when they sat in his class in Berkeley. There was the same trim + figure, the same healthy cheeks, pleasant eyes and close-cropped white + beard. Always there had been something imperturbable about the doctor—he + had that poise and equanimity which is ever the balance of sound judgment. + Neither Chick nor Harry expected any rush of emotion, and they were not + disappointed. + </p> + <p> + Holcomb rose to his feet, revealing on the table before him a queer, + dancing light which he had been studying. He touched something; the light + vanished, and simultaneously there came an unnameable change in the + appearance of certain of those puzzling crystals. The doctor stepped + forward, hand extended, smiling; surely he did not look or act like a + prisoner. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” spoke he; “at last! Chick Watson and Harry Wendel! You're + very welcome. Was it a long journey?” + </p> + <p> + His eyes twinkled in the old way. He didn't wait for their replies. He + went on: + </p> + <p> + “Have we solved the Blind Spot? It seems that my pupils never desert me. + Let me ask: have you solved the Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + “We've solved nothing, professor. What we have come for is, first, + yourself; and second, for the secrets you have found. It is for us to ask—what + is the Blind Spot?” + </p> + <p> + The professor shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “You were always a poor guesser, Mr. Wendel. Perhaps Chick, now—” + </p> + <p> + “Put me down as unprepared,” answered Chick. “I'm like Harry—I want + to know!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps there are a lot of us in the same fix,” laughed Holcomb. “We, who + know more than any men who ever lived, want to know still more! It may be, + after all, that we know very little; even though we have solved the + problem.” His eyes twinkled again, aggravatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Tell us, then!” from Harry, on impulse as always. “What is the Blind + Spot?” + </p> + <p> + But Holcomb shook his head. “Not just now, Harry; we have company.” The + Geos and the Jan had entered. “Besides, I am not quite ready. There remain + several tangles to be unravelled.” + </p> + <p> + As he shook hands with the Geos, he spoke in the Thomahlian tongue. “You + are more than welcome.” + </p> + <p> + The Rhamda bent low in reverence and awe. His voice was hushed. He spoke: + </p> + <p> + “Art thou the Jarados, my lord?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye,” stated the doctor. “I am he; I am the Jarados!” + </p> + <p> + It was a stagger for both young men. Neither could reconcile the great + professor of his schooldays with this strange, philosophic prophet of the + occult Thomahlians. What was the connection? What was the fate that was + leading, urging, compelling it all? + </p> + <p> + “Professor, you will pardon our eagerness. Both Harry and I have had + adventures, without understanding what it was all about. Can't you + explain? Where are we? And—why?” And then: + </p> + <p> + “Your lecture on the Blind Spot! You promised it to us—can you + deliver it now?” + </p> + <p> + The professor smiled his acknowledgement. + </p> + <p> + “Part of it,” he said; “enough to answer your questions to some extent. + Had I stayed in Berkeley I could have delivered it all, but”—and he + laughed—“I know a whole lot more, now; and, paradoxically, I know + far less! First let me speak to the Geos.” He learned that the struggle + outside had terminated successfully for the Rhamda and his men. All was + quiet. The Senestro had made his escape in safety back to the Mahovisal. + The doctor ordered that he was not to be molested. + </p> + <p> + The Geos and the others left the room, escorting the Aradna, who was too + exhausted for further experiences. There remained with the doctor, Chick, + Harry, and the Nervina. + </p> + <p> + “I will reduce that lecture to synopsis form,” began the professor. “I + shall tell you all that I know, up to this moment. First, however, let me + show you something.” + </p> + <p> + He indicated the table from which he had risen. Chief among the objects on + its top were fragments of minerals, some familiar, some strange. Above and + on all sides were the crystal globes or, at least, what Chick named as + such—erected upon as many tripods. One of these the professor moved + toward the table. + </p> + <p> + Simultaneously a tiny dot appeared on a small metal plate in the centre of + the table. At first almost invisible, it grew, after a minute or so, to a + definite bit of matter. + </p> + <p> + The professor moved the tripod away. Nearby crystals, inside of which some + dull lights had leaped into momentary being, subsided into quiescence. And + the three observers looked again and again at the solid fragment of + material that had grown before their eyes on that table. + </p> + <p> + Something had been made out of nothing! + </p> + <p> + The doctor picked it up and held it unconcernedly in his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Can anybody tell me,” asked he, “what this is?” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. The professor tossed the thing back on the table. It + gave forth a sharp, metallic sound. + </p> + <p> + “You are looking at ether,” spoke he. “It is the ether itself—nothing + else. You call it matter; others would call it iron; but those are merely + names. I call it ether in motion—materialised force-coherent + vibration. + </p> + <p> + “Like everything else in the universe it answers to a law. It has its + reason—there is no such thing as chance. Do you follow? That + fragment is simply a principle, allowed to manifest itself through a + natural law! + </p> + <p> + “Try to follow me. All is out of the ether—all! Variety in matter is + simply a question of varying degrees of electronic activity, depending + upon a number of ratios. Life itself, as well as materiality and force, + comes out of the all-pervading ether. + </p> + <p> + “This object here,” touching the crystal, “is merely a conductor. It picks + up the ether and sends it through a set degree of vibrational activity. + Result? It makes iron! + </p> + <p> + “If you wish you may go back to our twentieth century for a parallel—by + which I mean, electricity. It is gathered crudely; but the time will come + when it will be picked up out of the air in precisely the same manner that + men pick hydrocarbons out of petroleum, or as I sift the desired quality + of ether through that globe. + </p> + <p> + “This, I am convinced, is one of the fundamental secrets of the Blind + Spot. Is there any question?” + </p> + <p> + Wendel managed to put one. + </p> + <p> + “You said, 'back in the twentieth century.' Is it a question of time + displacement, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we forgo that point at present. You will note, however, that the + Thomahlian world is certainly far in advance of our own.” + </p> + <p> + “Professor,” asked Watson, “is it the occult?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” brightening; “now we are getting back to the old point. However, + what is the occult?” He paused; then—“Did it ever occur to you, that + the occult might prove to be the real world, proving that life we have + known to be merely a shadow?” + </p> + <p> + Silence greeted this. The professor went on: + </p> + <p> + “Let me ask you: Are you living in a real world now, or an unreal one?” + There was no response. “It is, of course, a reality; just as truly as if + you were in San Francisco. So,” very distinctly, “perhaps it is merely a + question of viewpoint, as to which is the occult!” + </p> + <p> + “Just what we want to know,” from Harry. + </p> + <p> + “And that,” tossing up his hands, “is exactly what I cannot tell you. I + have found out many things, but I cannot be sure. I left certainty in + Berkeley. + </p> + <p> + “Today I feel that there is some great fate, some unknown force that + defies analysis, defies all attempts at resolution—a force that is + driving me through the role of the Jarados. We are all a part of the + Prophecy! + </p> + <p> + “We must wait for the last day for our answer. That Prophecy must and will + be fulfilled. And on that day we shall have the key to the Blind Spot—we + shall know the where of the occult.” + </p> + <p> + He took a sip from a tumbler of the familiar green fluid. + </p> + <p> + “Now that I have told you this much, I am going back to the beginning. I, + too, have had adventures. + </p> + <p> + “How did I come to discover the Blind Spot? + </p> + <p> + “It was about one year prior to my last lecture at the university. At the + time I had been doing much psychic-research work, all of which you know. + And out of it I had adduced some peculiar theories. For example: + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly there is such a thing as a spirit world. If all the mediums + but one were dishonest, and that one produced the results that couldn't be + explained away by psychology, then we must admit the existence of another + world. + </p> + <p> + “But reason tells us that there is nothing but reality; that if there were + a spirit world it must be just as real, just as substantial as our own. + Moreover—somewhere, somehow, here must be a definite point of + contact! + </p> + <p> + “That was approximately my theory. Of course I had no idea how close I had + come to a great truth. To some extent it was pure guesswork. + </p> + <p> + “Then, one day Budge Kennedy brought me the blue stone. He told me its + history, and he maintained that it was lighter than air, which of course I + disbelieved until I took it out of the ring and saw for myself. + </p> + <p> + “I went at once to the house at 288 Chatterton Place. There I found an old + lady who had lived in the house for some time. I asked to see the cellar + where the stone had been unearthed. Understand, I had no idea of the great + discovery I was about to make; I merely wanted to see. And I found + something almost as impossible as the blue stone itself-a green one, + heavier than any known mineral, answering to no known classification but + of an entirely new element. It was no larger than a pea, but of incredible + weight. + </p> + <p> + “Coming upstairs I found the old lady a bit perturbed. I had told her my + name; she had recognised me as well. + </p> + <p> + “'Come with me,' she said. + </p> + <p> + “With that she opened a door. She was very old and very uncertain; yet she + was scarcely afraid. + </p> + <p> + “'In there,” she said, and pointed through the door. + </p> + <p> + “I entered an ordinary room, furnished as a parlour. There was a sofa, a + table, a few chairs; little else. + </p> + <p> + “'What do you mean?' I asked. + </p> + <p> + “'The man!' + </p> + <p> + “'The man! What man?” + </p> + <p> + “'Oh!' she exclaimed, 'he came here one night when the moon was shining. + He sat down on the doorstep. He was just the kind of a lad that's in need + of a mother. So I asked him to lie on the sofa. He was tired, you see, and—I + once had a son of my own.' + </p> + <p> + “She stopped, and it was a moment before she continued. I could feel the + pressure of her hand on my arm, pitiful, beseeching. + </p> + <p> + “'So I took him in there. In there; see? On that sofa. I saw it! They took + him! Oh, sir; it was terrible!' + </p> + <p> + “She was weird, uncanny, strangely interesting. + </p> + <p> + “'He just lay down there. I was standing by the door when—they took + him! I couldn't understand, sir. I saw the blue light; and the moon—it + was gone. And then—' She looked up at me again and whispered: 'And + then I heard a bell—a very beautiful bell—a church bell, sir? + But you know, don't you? You are the great Dr. Holcomb. That's why you + went into the cellar, wasn't it? Because you know!' + </p> + <p> + “Her manner as much as her story, impressed me. I said: + </p> + <p> + “'I must give this room a careful examination. Would you be good enough to + leave me to myself?' + </p> + <p> + “She closed the door after her. I had the green stone in my hand; it was + very heavy, and I placed it on one of the chairs. The blue stone I still + held. At the moment I hadn't the least notion of what was about to happen; + it was all accident, from beginning to end. + </p> + <p> + “All of a sudden the room disappeared! That is, the side wall; I was not + looking at the dingy old wallpaper, but out through and into an immense + building, dim, vast and immeasurable. + </p> + <p> + “Directly in front of me was a white substance like a stone of snow. Upon + this substance was seated a man, about my own age, as nearly as I could + make out. He looked up just as I noted him. + </p> + <p> + “Our recognition was mutual. Immediately he made a sign with one hand. And + at once I took a step forward; I thought he had motioned. It was all so + real and natural. Though his features were dim he could not have been more + than ten feet distant. But, at that very instant, when I made that one + step, the whole thing vanished. + </p> + <p> + “I was still in the room at Chatterton Place! + </p> + <p> + “That's what started it all. Had this occurred to any one else in the + world I should have labelled it an unaccountable illusion. But it had + happened to me. + </p> + <p> + “I had my theory; between the spiritual and the material there must be a + point of contact. And—I had found it! I had discovered the road to + the Indies, to the Occult, to all that other men call unknowable. And I + called it— + </p> + <p> + “The Blind Spot.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLV. — THE ARADNA + </h2> + <p> + Thus had the professor got into actual touch with the occult—by + sheer accident. Up to that time it had been only a hypothesis; now it was + a fact. Next step was to open up direct communication. + </p> + <p> + “That was difficult. To begin with, I worked to repeat the phenomena I had + seen, getting some haphazard results from the start. My purpose throughout + was to exchange intelligent comment with the individual I had beheld on + that snow-stone within the Spot; and in the end I succeeded. + </p> + <p> + “He gave me fairly explicit warning as to when the Blind Spot should open, + not only to the eye, but in its entirety, as it had done for the young man + of whom the old lady had told me. We agreed through signs that he would + come through first. + </p> + <p> + “Understand, up to the instant of his actual arrival, I didn't know just + what he was like. I had to be content with his sign-talk, by which he + assured me he was a real man, material, of life and the living. + </p> + <p> + “I made my announcement. You know most of what followed. The Rhamda came + to Berkeley; together we returned to Chatterton Place, for it was + imperative that we hold the Spot open or at least maintain the phenomenon + at such a point that we could reopen it at will. Both of us were guessing. + </p> + <p> + “Neither of us knew, at the time, just how long the Rhamda could endure + our atmosphere. He had risked his life to come through; it was no more + than fair that I should accede to his caution and insure him a safe return + to his own world. + </p> + <p> + “But things went wrong. It was ignorance as much as accident. At + Chatterton Place I was caught in the Blind Spot, and without a particle of + preparation was tossed into the Thomahlia. + </p> + <p> + “When I came through, the Nervina went out. Thus I found myself in this + strange place with no one to guide me. And unfortunately, or rather, + fortunately, I fell into the hands of the Bar Senestro. + </p> + <p> + “Now, for all that he is a sceptic, the Senestro is a brave man; and like + many another unbeliever, he has a sense of humour. My coming had been + promised by Avec; so he knew that somehow I was a part of the Prophecy—the + prophecy which, for reasons of his own, he did not want fulfilled. + </p> + <p> + “So he isolated me here in the house of the Jarados. A bold sort of humor, + I call it—to defy the Prophecy in the very spot where it was + written! + </p> + <p> + “But it was fortunate. I was in the house of the old prophet, with its + stores of wisdom, secrets, raw elements and means for applying the laws of + nature. All that I hitherto had only guessed at, I now had at my disposal: + libraries, laboratories, everything. I was a recluse with no interruptions + and perfect facility for study. + </p> + <p> + “First of all I went into their philosophy. Then into their science, and + afterwards into their history. Whereupon I made a rather startling + discovery. + </p> + <p> + “Apparently I AM THE JARADOS. + </p> + <p> + “For my coming had been foretold almost to the hour. As I went on with the + research I found many other points that seemed familiar. Plainly there was + something that had led me into the Spot; and most certainly it was not + mere chance. I became convinced that not merely my own destiny, but a + higher, a transcendental fate was at stake. + </p> + <p> + “In the course of time I became certain of this. Meanwhile I mastered most + of the secrets of this palace—the wisdom of the ancient Jarados. + Though a prisoner, I was the happiest of men—which I still remain. + The Bars kept close watch over me, constantly changing their guard. And it + was on one of those occasions that I found MacPherson. + </p> + <p> + “Well, after MacPherson's coming I was pretty much my own master. I + induced the Senestro to allow MacPherson to remain as a constant + bodyguard. But I never told Pat what was what, except that some day we + should extricate ourselves. + </p> + <p> + “You may wonder why I did not open the Spot. + </p> + <p> + “There were several reasons: First, in the nature of the phenomenon it + must be opened only on the earth side, except on rare occasions when + certain conditions are peculiarly favourable. That's why the Rhamda Avec + could not do it alone; I know now that I should have imparted to him + certain technicalities. I possessed two of the keys then; now, I know + there are three. + </p> + <p> + “And I have learned that each of these is a sinister thing. + </p> + <p> + “The blue stone, for instance, is life, and it is male. Rather a sweeping + and ambiguous statement; but you will comprehend it in the end. Were a man + to wear it it would kill him, in time; but a woman can wear it with + impunity. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you will appreciate that statement better if you note what I have + just done through the medium of that crystal. The blue gem is an inductor + of the ether; in a sense, it is one of the anchors of the Spot of Life, or + the Blind Spot—whatever we want to call it—the Spot of + Contact. + </p> + <p> + “The other two particles—the red and the green one—are + respectively the Soul and the Material. Or, let us say, the etheric + embryos of these essentials. + </p> + <p> + “The three stones constitute an eternal trinity. + </p> + <p> + “As for the substance of the Spot itself, that I cannot tell, just yet. + But I do know that the whole truth will come out clear in the fulfilment + of the Prophecy. I am convinced that it has translated Watson, and now + Harry Wendel and the Nervina.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you control it?” asked Chick. + </p> + <p> + “To a limited extent. I have been able to watch you ever since your + coming. You did not know about Harry, but I saw him come—in the arms + of the Nervina.” + </p> + <p> + The Nervina nodded. + </p> + <p> + “It is so. I knew the Senestro. I was afraid that Harry would fall into + his hands. I had previously endeavoured to have him give the jewel to + Charlotte Fenton. I didn't trust the great Bar—” + </p> + <p> + Harry interrupted, “Only because of her distrust of the Senestro did she + decide to come through the Blind Spot with me. She knew what to do. As + soon as we got here, she bundled me off, privately nursed me back to + health if not strength, and when the time came rushed me up here at the + last second to be in at the finish.” + </p> + <p> + Watson thought of the dog, Queen. She also had come through just in time + to save his life. Did Harry know anything about her? When Wendel had + related what he knew, Chick commented: + </p> + <p> + “It's almighty strange, Harry. Everything works out to fit in exactly with + that confounded Prophecy. Perhaps that accounts for your affinity for the + Nervina; it is something beyond your control, or hers. We'll have to wait + and see.” + </p> + <p> + There was not long to wait. The days passed. The palace was full of + Rhamdas, summoned by Dr. Holcomb, who, as the Jarados himself, was now + issuing orders concerning the great day, the last of the sixteen days, now + very close at hand; the day which the Rhamdas constantly alluded to as + “the Day of Judgment.” + </p> + <p> + The Senestro went unmolested. Returning to the Mahovisal, he worked now to + further the truths of the Prophecy. + </p> + <p> + Still the millions continued to descend upon the Mahovisal. Coming from + the furthermost parts of the Thomahlia, the pilgrims' aircraft kept the + air above the city constantly alive. There were days such as no man had + ever known. Even the Rhamdas, trained to composure, gave evidence of the + strain. The atmosphere was tense, charged with expectancy and hope. A + whole world was coming to what it conceived as its judgment, and its end. + And—the Spot of Life was the Blind Spot! + </p> + <p> + At last the doctor summoned the two young men. It was night, and the June + Bug was waiting. This time the Geos himself was at the controls. + </p> + <p> + “We are going to the Mahovisal,” spoke the doctor—“to the Temple of + the Bell and Leaf. There is still something I must know before the + Judgment.” He was speaking English. “If we can bring the Prophecy to pass + just so far, and no farther, we shall be able to extricate ourselves + nicely. Anyway, I think we shall not return to the Palace of Light.” + </p> + <p> + He held a black leather case in his hand. He touched it with a finger. + </p> + <p> + “If this little case and its contents get through the Blind Spot it will + advance civilisation—our civilisation—about a thousand-fold. + So remember: Whatever happens to me, be sure and remember this case! It + must go through the Spot!” + </p> + <p> + He said no more, but took his seat beside the Geos. The young men took the + rear seats. In a short time they had crossed the great range of mountains + and were hovering over the Mahovisal. + </p> + <p> + There was no sound. Though the city was packed with untold millions, the + tension was such that scarcely a murmur came out of the metropolis. The + air was magnetic, charged, strained close to the breaking point; above + all, the reverence for the Last Day, and the hope, rising, accumulating, + to the final supreme moment. + </p> + <p> + For the Sixteenth Day was now only forty-eight hours removed. + </p> + <p> + Both Chick and Harry realised that their lives were at stake; the doctor + had made that clear. In the last minute, in the final crisis, they must + crowd their way through the Blind Spot. Only the professor knew how it was + to be done. + </p> + <p> + At the temple they found the Nervina and the Aradna waiting. The Jan Lucar + was with them. The Geos had secured entrance by a side door. From it they + could look out, themselves unobserved, over the entire building and upon + the Spot of Life. The place was packed—thousands upon thousands of + people, standing in silent awe and worship, one and all gazing toward the + all-important Spot. There was no sound save the whisper of multitudinous + breathing. + </p> + <p> + Said Harry to Chick: + </p> + <p> + “I see Queen up there!” + </p> + <p> + Harry circled the group, and bounded up the great stairs. In a moment he + was patting his dog's head. She looked up and wagged her tail to show her + pleasure. But she was not effusive. Somehow she wasn't just like his old + shepherd. She glanced at him, and then out at the concourse below, and + lolled her tongue expectantly. Then she settled back into her place and + resumed watch—exactly as any of her kind would have held guard over + a band of sheep. + </p> + <p> + The dog was serious. Afterward, Wendel said he had a dim notion that she + was no longer a dog at all, but a mere instrument in the hand of Fate. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, old girl?” he asked. “Don't you like 'em?” + </p> + <p> + For answer she gave a low whine. She looked up again, and out into the + throng; she repeated the whine, with a little whimper at the end. + </p> + <p> + Harry returned to the others. Nothing was said of what he had done. At + once the Geos led the group through a small, half-hidden door, beyond + which was a narrow, winding stairway of chocolate-coloured stone. The Geos + halted. + </p> + <p> + “Dost wish the building emptied, O Jarados?” + </p> + <p> + “I do. When we come back from under the Spot of Life, we should have the + place to ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + Accompanied by the two queens the Rhamda returned to the main body of the + temple. Dr. Holcomb, Harry and Chick were left to themselves. + </p> + <p> + The professor took out a notebook. In it was traced a map, or chart, + together with several notations. + </p> + <p> + “The three of us,” said he, “are going to take a look at the under side of + the Blind Spot. This stairway leads into a secret chamber inside the + foundations of the great stair; and according to this data I found in the + palace, together with some calculations of my own, we ought to find some + of the secrets of the Spot.” + </p> + <p> + He led the way up the steps. At the top of the flight they came to a + blank, blue wall. There was no sign of a door, but in the front of the + wall stood a low platform, in the centre of which was set a strange, red + stone. The professor consulted his chart, then opened his black case. From + it he took another stone, red like the other, but not so intense. This he + touched to the first, and waited. + </p> + <p> + Inside a minute a light sprang up from the contact. Immediately Harry and + Chick beheld something they had not seen on the wall—a knob, or + button. The doctor pulled sharply on it. Instantly a door opened in the + wall. + </p> + <p> + They passed into another room. It was not a large place—about thirty + feet across, perhaps, stone-walled and with a low ceiling. From all sides + a soft, intrinsic glow was given off. There were no furnishings. + </p> + <p> + But in the centre of the ceiling, occupying almost all the space overhead, + a snow-white substance hung as if suspended. Were it not for its colour + and its size, it might have been likened to an immense, horizontal + grindstone hung in mid-air, with apparently nothing to hold it there. + Around its side they could make out a narrow gap between it and the + ceiling. And directly along its lower edge was a series of small, fiery + jewels inset, and of the order and colour of the sign of the Jarados—red, + blue and green, alternating. + </p> + <p> + The professor produced an electric torch and held it up to show that the + gap between the stone and the ceiling was unbroken at any point. Then he + counted the jewels on the lower edge. Chick made out twenty-four. Three + were missing from their sockets—all told, then, there should have + been twenty-seven. + </p> + <p> + The doctor noted the positions of the three empty sockets and, drawing a + tapeline from his pocket, proceeded to measure the distances from each of + the three—they were widely separated round the circle—from + each other. Then he turned to Chick and Harry. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where we are?” + </p> + <p> + “Under the Spot of Life,” it was easy to answer. + </p> + <p> + “You are in San Francisco!” + </p> + <p> + “Not in—in—” Chick hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Exactly. This is 288 Chatterton Place—the house of the Blind + Spot.” He paused for them to digest this. Then, “Harry—did you say + Hobart Fenton was with you on that last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Hobart and his sister, Charlotte. I remember their coming at the last + minute. They were too late, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The professor nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Harry, the chances are that Hobart is not more than twenty feet + away at the present moment. Charlotte may be sitting right there”—pointing + to a spot at Harry's side—“this very instant. And there may be many + others. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt they are working hard to solve the mystery. Unfortunately the + best they can do is to guess. We hold the key. That is—I should + correct that statement—we hold the knowledge, and they hold the + keys.” + </p> + <p> + “The keys?” Harry wanted to know more. + </p> + <p> + The professor pointed to the three empty sockets in the great white stone + above their heads. “These three missing stones are the keys. Until they + are reset we cannot control the Spot. I had found two of them before I + came through. I take it that both of you remember the blue one?” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” agreed Chick, “that neither of us is ever likely to forget it! + Eh, Harry?” + </p> + <p> + The professor smiled. He was holding the light up to the snow-stone, at a + spot that would have been the point of intersection had lines been drawn + from the three missing gems, and the resulting triangle centred. He held + his hand up to the substance. It was slightly rough at that point, as + though it had been frozen. + </p> + <p> + Then he ran his fingers across the surrounding surface. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he exclaimed. “I thought so! That helps considerably. Chick—put + your hand up here. What do you feel?” + </p> + <p> + “Rough,” said Chick, feeling the intersection point. “Slightly so, but + cold and—and magnetic.” + </p> + <p> + “Now feel here.” + </p> + <p> + “Cool and magnetic, doctor; but smooth. What does it prove?” + </p> + <p> + “Let's see; do you understand the term 'electrolysis'? Good. Well, there + should be another clue—not similar, but supplementary, or rather, + complementary—on the earth side. Perhaps one of you found it while + you lived in that house.” The professor eyed both men anxiously. “Did + either of you find a stain, or anything of that sort, on the walls, + ceiling, or floor of any room there?” + </p> + <p> + Both shook their heads. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there ought to be,” frowned the doctor. “I am positive that, should + we return now, we could locate some such phenomenon. From this side it is + very easy to account for; it's simply the disintegrating effect of the + current, constantly impinging at the point of contact or the intersection. + Having acted on this side, it must have left some mark on the other.” + </p> + <p> + Watson was still running his hand over the snow-stone. Once before, when + he had stood barefooted in the contest with the Senestro, he had noted its + cold magnetism. + </p> + <p> + “What is this substance, professor?” + </p> + <p> + “That, I have not been able to discover. I would call it neutral element, + for want of a more exact term; something that touches both aspects of the + spectrum.” + </p> + <p> + “Both aspects of the spectrum?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; as nearly as the limitations of my vocabulary will permit. If you + recall, I showed you a simple experiment the other day in the palace. By + means of an inductor I drew out the iron principle from the ether and + built up the metal. Only it was not precisely iron but its Thomahlian + equivalent. Had you been on the earth side you would have seen nothing at + all, not even myself. I was on the wrong aspect of the spectrum. + </p> + <p> + “Also, you see here the Jaradic colours—the crimson, green and blue—the + shades between, the iridescence and the shadows. Had you been on the other + side you wouldn't have seen one of them; they are not precisely our own + colours, but their equivalents on this side of the Spot. + </p> + <p> + “In the final analysis, as I said before, it gets down to ether, to speed + and vibration—and still at last to the perceptive limitations of our + own earthly five senses. Just stop and consider how limited we are! Only + five senses—why, even insects have six. Then consider that all + matter, when we get to the bottom of it, is differentiated and condensed + ether, focused into various mathematical arrangements, as numberless as + the particles of the universe. Of these our five senses pick out a very + small proportion indeed. + </p> + <p> + “This is one way to account for the Blind Spot. It may be merely another + phase of the spectrum—not simply the unexplored regions of the + infra-red or the ultra-violet, but a region co-existent with what we + normally apprehend, and making itself manifest through apertures in what + we, with our extremely limited sense-grasp, think to be a continuous + spectrum. I throw out the idea mainly as a suggestion. It is not + necessarily the true explanation. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go a bit farther. Remember, we are still upon the earth. And that + we are still in San Francisco, although all the while we are also in the + Mahovisal. This is 288 Chatterton Place, and at the same time it is the + Temple of the Bell. It might be a hundred or a thousand other places just + as well, too, if my hypothesis is correct; which we shall see. + </p> + <p> + “Now, what does this mean? Simply this, gentlemen, that we five-sensed + people have failed to grasp the true meaning of the word 'Infinity.' We + look out toward the stars, fancying that only in unlimited space can we + find the infinite. We little suspect we ourselves are infinity! It is only + our five senses that make us finite. + </p> + <p> + “As soon as we grasp this the so-called spiritual realm becomes a very + substantial fact. We begin to apprehend the occult. Our five-sensed world + is merely a highly specialized phase of infinity. Material or spiritual—it + is all the same. That's why we look on the Thomahlians as occult, and why + they consider us in the same light. + </p> + <p> + “It is strictly a question of sense perception and limitations, which can + be covered by the word, 'viewpoint.' Viewpoint—that is all it + amounts to. + </p> + <p> + “There is no such thing as unreality; but there is most certainly such a + thing as relativity, and all life is real. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I knew nothing of this until the discovery of the Blind Spot. + It will, I think, prove to be one of the greatest events in history. It + will silence the sceptics, and form a bulwark for all religion. And it + will make us all appreciate our Creator the more.” + </p> + <p> + The professor stopped. For some moments there was silence. + </p> + <p> + “What are we to do now?” asked Harry. + </p> + <p> + But the professor chose not to answer. With his tape he began taking a + fresh series of measurements, with reference to the empty sockets and one + particularly brilliant red gem, which seemed to be “number one” in the + circle. From time to time the doctor jotted down the results and made + short calculations. Presently he said: “That ought to be enough. Now + suppose we—” + </p> + <p> + At that instant something happened. Harry Wendel caught him by the + shoulder. He pointed to the suspended stone. + </p> + <p> + It was moving! + </p> + <p> + It was revolving, almost imperceptibly, like some vast wheel turning on + its axis. So slowly did it rotate, the motion would have escaped attention + were it not for the gems and their brilliance. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly it came to a stop, short and quick, as though it had dropped into + a notch. And from above they heard the deep, solemn clang of the temple + bell. + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” asked Harry, startled. “Who moved the stone?” + </p> + <p> + “Can it be,” flashed Chick, “that Hobart Fenton has found the keys?” + </p> + <p> + “That remains to be seen!” from the doctor. “Come—we must find out + what has happened!” + </p> + <p> + Within a minute they knew. As they came out of the private door on the now + emptied floor of the great temple, they saw the senior queen, the Nervina, + coming down the great stairway from the Spot of Life. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” called Harry, apprehensively. + </p> + <p> + “The Aradna!” she replied. Her voice was curiously strained. “Something + happened, and—she has fallen through the Spot!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLVI. — OUT OF THE OCCULT + </h2> + <h3> + “HOW DID IT HAPPEN?” + </h3> + <p> + “I scarcely know. We went up to play with the dog. It was unwilling to + leave the place, and Aradna teasingly tried to push her off on to the + steps. She succeeded, but—well, it was all over that quick. The + Aradna was gone!” + </p> + <p> + But the Spot had by this time lost a good deal of its terror. Knowing what + was on the other side, and who, made a great difference. As the doctor + said later in a private consultation with Chick and Harry: + </p> + <p> + “It's not so bad. That is, if Hobart Fenton is at work there. I think he + is. Really, I only regret that we didn't know of this beforehand; we could + have sent a message through to him.” + </p> + <p> + And the professor went on to explain what he meant. At the time he spoke, + it was twenty-four hours after the Aradna's going; another twenty-four + hours would see the evening of the Last Day—the sixteenth of the + sacred Days of Life—what the Rhamdas alluded to as “the Day of + Judgment.” And the Mahovisal was a seething mass of humanity, all bent + upon seeing the fulfillment of their highest hopes. + </p> + <p> + “Bear in mind that if the Spot should not open at the last moment, you and + I are done for. We will be self-condemned 'False Ones'; our lives will not + last one minute after midnight tomorrow night if we fail to get through! + </p> + <p> + “That Prophecy means EVERYTHING to the Thomahlians. There was a time when + they accepted it on faith; now it is an intellectual conviction with every + last one of them. And one and all look forward to a new and glorious life + beyond the Spot—in the occult world—our world! + </p> + <p> + “Now, the ticklish part of the job will be to open the Spot just long + enough to permit us to get through, yet prevent the whole Prophecy from + coming to pass. We've got to get through, together with that black case of + mine, and then shut the door in the face of all Thomahlia!” + </p> + <p> + Nothing more was said on the subject until late the following afternoon, + as the doctor, Harry, and Chick sat down to a light meal. They ate much as + if nothing whatever was in the wind. From where they sat, in one part of a + wing of the temple, they could look out into the crowded streets, in which + were packed untold numbers of pilgrims, all pressing towards the great + square plaza in front of the temple. No guards were to be seen; the + solemnity of the occasion was sufficient to keep order. But the terrific + potentiality of that semi-fanatical host did not cause the doctor's voice + to change one iota. + </p> + <p> + “There is no telling what may happen,” he said. “For my own part I shall + not venture near the Spot of Life until just at the end. I shall remain in + the chamber underneath. + </p> + <p> + “But you two ought to show yourselves immediately after sundown. Certain + ancient writings indicate it. You, and the Nervina, will have to mount the + stair to the Spot, and remain in sight until midnight—until the end. + </p> + <p> + “So we must be prepared for accidents.” He took some papers from his + pocket, and selected two, and gave one to each of his pupils. “Here are + the details of what must be done. In case only one of us gets through, it + will be enough.” + </p> + <p> + “But—how can these be of any use, on such short notice?” Harry + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Cudgel your brains a bit, gentlemen,” he chided good-humouredly. “You + will soon see my drift. This is one of those occasions when the psychic + elements involved are such that, without doubt, it were best if you + reacted naturally to whatever may happen. + </p> + <p> + “Now you will note that I have made a drawing of the Blind Spot region; + also certain calculations which will explain themselves. + </p> + <p> + “Moreover, I have written out the combination to my laboratory safe in my + house in Berkeley. The green stone is there. Bertha will help, as soon as + she understands that it is my wish; no explanation will be needed. + </p> + <p> + “You may leave the rest to me, young gentlemen. Act as through you had no + notion that I was down below the Spot. I shall be merely experimenting a + bit with that circle of jewels, to see if the phenomena which affected the + Aradna cannot be repeated. I fancy it was not mere accident, but rather + the working of a 'period.'” + </p> + <p> + He said no more about this, except to comment that he hoped to get into + direct communication with Hobart Fenton before midnight should arrive. + However, he did say, in an irrelevant sort of manner: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, by the way—do either of you happen to recall which direction + the house at Chatterton Place faces?” + </p> + <p> + “North,” replied Harry and Chick, almost in the same breath. + </p> + <p> + “Ah yes. Well, the temple faces south. Can you remember that?” + </p> + <p> + They thought they could. The rest of the meal was eaten without any + discussion. Just as they arose, however, the doctor observed: + </p> + <p> + “It may be that Hobart Fenton has got to come through. I wish I knew more + about his mentality; it's largely a question of psychic influence—the + combined, resultant force of the three material gems, and the three + degrees of psychic vibration as put forth by him and you two. We shall + see. + </p> + <p> + “Something happened today—the Geos told me about it—which may + link up Hobart very definitely. It was about one o'clock when one of the + temple pheasants began to behave very queerly up on the great stair. It + had been walking around on the snow-stone, and flying a bit; then it + started to hop down the steps. + </p> + <p> + “About sixteen steps down, Geos says the pheasant stopped and began to + flutter frantically, as though some unseen person were holding it. + Suddenly it vanished, and as suddenly reappeared again. It flew off, + unharmed. I can't quite account for it, but—well, we'll see!” + </p> + <p> + He spoke no more, but led the way out into the entrance to the wing. There + they waited only a moment or two, before the Nervina and her retinue + arrived. Without delay a start was made for the great black stairway. + </p> + <p> + The doctor alone remained behind. + </p> + <p> + There was a guard-lined lane through the crowd, allowing the Nervina and + the rest access to the foot of the steps. Reaching that point she paused + for a look around. + </p> + <p> + The sun had just gone down; the artificial lights of the temple had not + yet been turned on. Overhead, the great storm-cloud hung portentously, + even more ominous than in the brighter light. The huge waterspout columns, + the terrific size of the auditorium, were none the less impressive for the + incalculable horde that filled every bit of floor space. At the front of + the building the archway gave a glimpse of the vastly greater throng + waiting outside. + </p> + <p> + But all was quiet, with the silence of reverence and supreme expectation. + </p> + <p> + The long flight of stairs was lined on either side, from bottom to top, + with the Rhamdas. On the landing there stood only two of the three chairs + that Chick had seen on the previous occasion. The green one had been + brought down and placed in the centre of an open spot just at the foot of + the stairs. + </p> + <p> + In this chair sat the Bar Senestro. Deployed about him, at a respectful + distance, was a semi-circle of the Bars, many hundreds in number. Behind + the Bars, separating them from the crowds at their backs, were grouped the + crimson and blue guardsmen. Among them, no doubt, were the Jan Lucar and + the MacPherson, but Chick could locate neither. + </p> + <p> + The Nervina, taking Harry's arm, ascended the steps. Chick followed, with + the Rhamda Geos at his side. At the top of the flight the Nervina was + escorted to one of the chairs, while Chick placed the Geos in the other. + </p> + <p> + It left the two Californians on their feet, to move around to whatever + extent seemed commensurate with dignity. Chick drew Harry aside. + </p> + <p> + “What do you suppose,” said Chick, indicating the handsome, confident + figure in the chair at the base of the stairs—“what do you suppose + friend Senestro is thinking about?” + </p> + <p> + Harry frowned. “You know him better than I do. You don't think he has + reformed?” + </p> + <p> + “Not on your life; not the Bar. He's merely adjusted his plans to the new + situation. He sees that the Prophecy is likely to be fulfilled; so, he + counts on being the first to get through, after the Nervina. Then, whether + the rest of the Thomahlia follows or not—he calls himself the + divinely appointed leader now, I understand—he will get through and + marry the two Queens anyhow!” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was because the crowd was so terrifically large. Or, there may + have been something in the destiny of things that would not permit the + chief actors to feel nervous. Certain it is that neither of the two men + experienced the least stage fright. Had they been on display before a + crowd one-tenth the size, anywhere else, both would have been ill at ease. + This was different—enormously so. + </p> + <p> + No longer was there any circulation in the crowd. People remained in their + places now, just as they expected the end to find them. Chick and Harry + marvelled at their composure, strangely in contrast with the ceaseless + activities of the temple pheasants darting everywhere overhead. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Harry remarked: + </p> + <p> + “I've got an idea, Chick! It's this: How does the professor expect to send + a message to Hobart?” Chick could not guess. + </p> + <p> + But already Harry had taken his sheet of instructions from his pocket, and + was rolling it into a compact pellet. Then he went to Queen, and with a + ribbon borrowed from the Nervina, tied the message tightly to the dog's + collar. + </p> + <p> + “Hobart will be certain to see it,” said he. “I wonder if the doctor's + figured it out yet?” + </p> + <p> + “He's playing with a tremendous force,” observed Chick, thoughtfully. He + reached out and touched the snow-stone with his foot, just as he had done + before, and fancied that he could feel that electric thrill even through + the leather of his shoes. “Still, it's worth any risk he may be taking + down in that chamber. If only he could send Queen through! Hobart—” + </p> + <p> + He never finished the sentence. He staggered, thrown off his balance by + reason of the fact that he had been resting the weight of one foot on the + stone and—it moved! + </p> + <p> + Moved—shifted about its axis, just as it had done forty-eight hours + previously, when the Aradna had dropped through. + </p> + <p> + And Chick had only a flash of a second for a glimpse of the startled faces + of Harry, the Nervina and the Geos, the huge multitude below the stair, + Queen on the other side, and the fateful Prophecy on the walls above him, + before— + </p> + <p> + A figure came into existence at his side. It was that of a powerfully + built man, on whose wrists were curious red circles. And Chick shouted in + a great voice: + </p> + <p> + “Hobart!” + </p> + <p> + And then came blackness. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLVII. — THE LAST LEAF + </h2> + <p> + Watson's story was now completed. During the entire recital his auditors + had spoken scarcely a word. It had been marvellous—almost a + revelation. With the possible exception of Sir Henry Hodges, not one had + expected that it would measure up to this. For the whole thing backed up + Holcomb's original proposition: + </p> + <p> + “The Occult is concrete.” + </p> + <p> + Certainly, if what Watson had told them was true, then Infinity had been + squared by itself. Not only was there an infinity that we might look up to + through the stars, but there was another just as great, co-existent, here + upon the earth. The occult became not only possible, but unlimited. + </p> + <p> + The next few minutes would prove whether or not he had told the truth. + </p> + <p> + It was now close to midnight. + </p> + <p> + Jerome and General Hume had returned from Berkeley. Their quest had been + successful; Watson now had the missing green stone. A number of soldiers + were stationed about the house. Watson noted these men when he had + finished his account, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Good. We may need them, although I hope not. Fortunately the Spot is + small, and a few of us can hold it against a good many. What we must do is + to extricate our friends and close it. Afterward we may have time for more + leisurely investigation. But we must remember, above all things, that + black case of Professor Holcomb's! It holds the secrets. + </p> + <p> + “Now I must ask you all to step out of this room. This library, you know, + is the Blind Spot.” + </p> + <p> + He directed them to take positions along the balustrade of the stairway, + out in the hall—through the wide archway, where they could have a + clear view, yet be safe. + </p> + <p> + It was a curious test. With nothing but his mathematics and his drawing to + go by, Watson was about to set the three stones in their invisible + sockets. He spread the map out carefully, likewise his calculations; they + gave him, on this floor, the precise positions that he charted on the + earth of the cellar. A glance toward the front of the house—north—then + a little measuring, three chalk-marks on the carpet, and he was ready for + the final move. + </p> + <p> + He took the fateful ring and with a penknife pried up the prongs that held + the stone. As it popped out he caught it with one hand. Then he looked at + the row of wondering faces along the stair. + </p> + <p> + “I think it will work,” he said. “But, remember—don't come near! I + shall get out as best I can myself; don't try to save me.” + </p> + <p> + With that he held the jewel on the first of the three chalk-marks on the + circumference of the great circle. He held it tight against the carpet and + then let go. Up it flashed about one foot—and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + There was no sound. Next Watson took the red stone. With it, the process + was inverted. Instead of holding it to the floor he raised it as high as + he could reach, directly above the second mark. Then he let it drop. + </p> + <p> + It did not reach the floor. It fell a little more than halfway, and + vanished. + </p> + <p> + The third stone, the green one, was still remaining. Watson took it to the + third and final mark on the circle, taking care to keep outside the + circumference that marked the Spot. This mark was directly in front of the + archway. He turned to them. + </p> + <p> + “Watch carefully,” he spoke. “I do not know what has transpired in the + temple during the past few hours. Be ready for ANYTHING. All of you!” + </p> + <p> + He dropped the stone. + </p> + <p> + With the same motion he dodged out into the hall. + </p> + <p> + Though there was no sound there was something that every one felt—a + sibilant undertone and cold vibration—a tense flash of magnetism. + Then the dot of blue—a string of incandescence; just as had been + spoken. + </p> + <p> + The Blind Spot was opening. + </p> + <p> + Watson silently warned the others to remain where they were and himself + crowded back against the stair. And as he did so, someone came noiselessly + down the steps from the floor above, passed unnoticed behind the watchers + and thence across into the hall. + </p> + <p> + It was a slender, frail figure in white—the Aradna, walking like one + in the grip of a higher will. Before they could make a move she had + stepped into the Blind Spot, under the dot of blue, and into a string of + light. And then—she was gone. + </p> + <p> + It was as swift as a guess. It was inexorable and unseen; and being + unseen, close akin to terror. The group watched and waited, scarcely + breathing. What would happen next? + </p> + <p> + There came a sudden, jarring click—like the tapping of iron. And + next instant— + </p> + <p> + The Spot opened to human sight. + </p> + <p> + The library at 288 Chatterton Place was gone. Instead, the people on the + stairs were gazing down from the Spot of Life, straight into the colossal + Temple of the Jarados. + </p> + <p> + It was as Chick had described it—immense—beyond conception. + Through the great doors and out into the plaza beyond was gathered all + Thomahlia, reverent, like those waiting for the crack of doom. + </p> + <p> + Above the horde, high on the opposite wall, stood out the monster Clover + Leaf of the Jarados; three-coloured—blazing like liquid fire; it was + ominous with real life. + </p> + <p> + At that moment the whole concourse rippled with commotion. Arms were + uplifted; one and all pointed towards the dais. They, too were looking + through the Spot. Then the multitude began to move. + </p> + <p> + It heaved and surged and rolled toward the centre. The guards were pressed + in upon the Bars, the Bars upon the Rhamda-lined stair. There was no + resisting that flood of humanity. On and up it came, sweeping everything + before it. + </p> + <p> + Directly in the foreground lay the snow-stone. On its centre stood the dog + Queen, crouching, waiting, bristling. By her side Harry Wendel crouched on + one knee, as if awaiting the signal. Behind him, the Nervina, supporting + the awakening Aradna. And in front of all, the powerful bulk of Hobart + Fenton, standing squarely at the head of the stair, ready to grapple the + first to reach the landing. + </p> + <p> + But most important of all, there stood the doctor himself. He was at the + Nervina's side; in his hand, the case of priceless data. He was gazing + through the Spot and making a signal of some kind to Watson, whereupon the + latter leaped to the edge of the unseen circle. + </p> + <p> + Something had gone wrong. The Spot was not fully open. Nothing but sight + could get through. + </p> + <p> + Yet there was no time for anything. Up the stairs came the Bars, leading + and being pressed forward by the horde. At their head dashed the Bar + Senestro, handsome as Alexander. Hobart stepped forward to meet him, but + the doctor stopped him with a word. + </p> + <p> + Only a few seconds elapsed between death and salvation. Again Dr. Holcomb + signed to Watson; not a sound came through. Watson hesitated. + </p> + <p> + The dog Queen shot to her feet. Then the Senestro, out-distancing all the + rest and dodging Hobart, had leaped upon the dais. + </p> + <p> + Upon the wall across the temple the great Leaf of the Jarados stood out + like sinister fire. It pulsed and vibrated—alive. The top petal—the + blue one—suddenly broke into a seething wave of flame. + </p> + <p> + Still Watson held back. He could not understand what Holcomb meant. + </p> + <p> + Queen waited only until the Senestro set foot on the dais. She crouched, + then leaped. + </p> + <p> + It was done. + </p> + <p> + With a lightning shift of his nimble feet, the high-tempered Bar kicked + the shepherd in the side. Caught at full leap, she was knocked completely + over and fell upon the snow-stone. + </p> + <p> + It was the Sacrilege! + </p> + <p> + Even the Bars beyond the Senestro stopped in horror. The Four-Footed One—sacred + to the Jarados—it was she who had been touched! Had the Senestro + undone all on the Spot of Judgment, What would be the end? + </p> + <p> + Fenton acted. He caught the Senestro before he could get his balance and + with a mighty heave hurled him over the side of the stair. A second, and + it was over. + </p> + <p> + Another second was the last. For the great Leaf of the Jarados had opened. + </p> + <p> + The green and red stood still; but out of the blue came a dazzling light, + a powerful beam; so brilliant, it seemed solid. It shot across the whole + sweep of the temple and touched the Prophecy. Over the golden scrolls it + traced its marvellous colour, until it came to the lines: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Beware ye of sacrilege! Lest I take from ye all that I + have given ye, and the day be postponed—beware ye of + sacrilege! +</pre> + <p> + For a moment the strange light stood still, so that the checked millions + might read. Then it turned upon the dais. + </p> + <p> + There it spread, and hovered over the group, until it seemed to work them + together—the Nervina to Harry, the Aradna to Hobart. Not one of them + knew what it was; they obeyed by impulse—it was their destiny; the + Chosen, and the queens. + </p> + <p> + The light stopped at the foot of Dr. Holcomb. Then the strangest thing + happened. + </p> + <p> + Out of the light—or rather, from where it bathed the snowstone—came + a man; a man much like Holcomb, bearded and short and kindly. + </p> + <p> + He was the real Jarados! + </p> + <p> + Unhesitatingly the professor stepped up beside him. Then followed Hobart + and the Aradna, Harry and the Nervina, and lastly, from the crowd of Bars, + MacPherson. The whole concourse in the temple stopped in awe and terror. + </p> + <p> + Only for a second. Then the Jarados and all at his side—were gone. + </p> + <p> + And upon the snow-stone there stood a sword of living flame. + </p> + <p> + It stood there for just a breath, exactly where the group had been. + </p> + <p> + And it was gone. + </p> + <p> + That was all. + </p> + <p> + No; not quite all. For when the Blind Spot closed that night at 288 + Chatterton Place, there came once more the deep, solemn peal of the Bell + of the Jarados. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLVIII. — THE UNACCOUNTABLE + </h2> + <p> + Were this account merely a work of fiction, it would harmonise things so + as to have no unaccountables in it. As it is, the present writers will + have to make this quite clear: + </p> + <p> + It is not known why the Rhamda Avec failed to show himself at the crucial + moment. Perhaps he could have changed everything. We can only surmise; he + has not been seen or heard from since. + </p> + <p> + Which also is true of Mr. Chick Watson. He disappeared immediately after + the closing of the Spot, saying that he was going to Bertha Holcomb's + home. No trace has been found of either to date. Doubtless the reader has + noted advertisement in the papers, appealing to the authorities to report + any one of Watson's description applying for a marriage licence. + </p> + <p> + As for his two friends, Wendel and Fenton, together with the Aradna and + the Nervina, they and MacPherson and the doctor absolutely vanished from + all the knowledge, either of the Thomahlia or the earth. The Jarados alone + can tell of them. + </p> + <p> + Mme. Le Fabre, however, feels that she can explain the matter + satisfactorily. Abridged, her theory runs: + </p> + <p> + “There is but one way to explore the Occult. That way is to die. + </p> + <p> + “For all that we were so strongly impressed with the reality of Mr. + Watson, I am firmly convinced that he was simply a spirit; that everything + we saw was spirit manifestation. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Holcomb and all the rest have simply gone on to another plane. We + shall never see them again. They are dead; no other explanation will hold. + They are spirits.” + </p> + <p> + Giving this version to the public strictly for what it is worth, the + present writers feel it only right to submit the conclusions reached by + Dr. Malloy and concurred in by Drs. Higgins and Hansen, also, with + reservations, by Professor Herold and by Miss Clarke. + </p> + <p> + “To a certain extent, and up to a certain point, it is possible to account + for the astonishing case of the Blind Spot by means of well-known + psychological principles. Hallucinations will cover a great deal of + ground. + </p> + <p> + “But we feel that our personal experiences, in witnessing the interior of + the Thomahlia cannot be thus explained away. Our accounts tally too + exactly; and we are not subject to group hypnosis. + </p> + <p> + “To explain this we believe a new hypothesis is called for. We submit that + what we saw was not unreal. Assuming that a thing is real or unreal, and + can never be in a third state which is neither one nor the other, then we + should have to insist that what we saw was REAL. + </p> + <p> + “We stand ready and prepared to accept any theory which will fit all + facts, not merely a portion.” + </p> + <p> + Again refraining from any comment we pass on to the more exhaustive + opinion of Sir Henry Hodges. Inasmuch as this seems to coincide very + closely with the hypothesis of Professor Holcomb, and as the reputation of + Sir Henry is a thing of weight, we are quoting him almost verbatim: + </p> + <p> + “There is a well-known experiment in chemistry, wherein equal quantities + of water and alcohol are mixed. Let us say, a pint of each. Now, the + resulting mixture ought to be a quart; but it is not. It is somewhat less + than a quart. + </p> + <p> + “Strange, indeed, to the novice, but a commonplace to every student of the + subject. It is strange only that, except for Dr. Holcomb and this man + Avec, science has overlooked the stupendous significance and suggestion of + this particular fact. + </p> + <p> + “Now, consider another well-known fact: No matter how you try you cannot + prevent gravity from acting. It will pull every object down, regardless of + how you try to screen it from the earth. + </p> + <p> + “Why? Because gravity penetrates all things. Again, why? Why should + gravity penetrate all things? + </p> + <p> + “The answer is, because gravity is a function of the ether. And the ether + is an imponderable substance, so impalpable that it passes right through + all solids as though they were not there. + </p> + <p> + “These are two highly suggestive points. They show us, first, that two + substances can exist within the space formerly thought to be completely + filled by one. Second, they show that ALL substances are porous to the + ether. + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Bear in mind that we know nothing whatever directly about the + ether; our knowledge is all indirect. Therefore— + </p> + <p> + “It may be that there is more than one ether! + </p> + <p> + “Conceive what this means. If there were another ether, how could we + become aware of it? Only through the medium of some such phenomenon as the + Blind Spot; not through ordinary channels. For the ordinary channels are + microscopes and test-tubes, every one of which, when traced to the + ultimate, is simply a concrete expression of THE ONE ETHER WE KNOW! + </p> + <p> + “In the nature of the case our five senses could never apprehend a second + ether. + </p> + <p> + “Yet, knowing what we do about the structure of the atom, of electronic + activity, of quantels, we must admit that there is a huge, unoccupied + space—that is, we can't see that it is occupied—in and between + the interstices of the atom. + </p> + <p> + “It is in the region, mingled and intertwined with the electrons which + make up the world we know so well, that—in my opinion—the + Thomahlian world exists. It is actually coexistent with our own. It is + here, and so are we. At this very instant, at any given spot, there can + be, and almost certainly is, more than one solid object—two systems + of materiality, two systems of life, two systems of death. And if two, + why, then, perhaps there are even more! + </p> + <p> + “Holcomb is right. We are Infinity. Only our five senses make us finite.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte Fenton does not indulge in speculation. She seems to bear up + wonderfully well in the face of Harry Wendel's affinity for the Nervina, + and also in the face of her brother's disappearance. And she + philosophically states: + </p> + <p> + “When Columbus returned from his search for the East Indies, he + triumphantly announced that he had found what he sought. + </p> + <p> + “He was mistaken. He had found something else—America. + </p> + <p> + “It may be that we are all mistaken. It may be that something entirely + different from what any one has suspected has been found. Time will tell. + I am willing to wait.” + </p> + <p> + To make it complete, it is felt that the following statement of General + Hume is not only essential, but convincing to the last degree. + </p> + <p> + “My view regarding this mystery is simply this: I have eyes, and I have + seen. I don't know whether the actors were living or dead. I am no + scientist; I have no theory. I only know. And I will swear to what I saw. + </p> + <p> + “I am a soldier. The two men who are bringing this to press have shown me + their copy. + </p> + <p> + “It is correct.” + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Blind Spot, by Austin Hall and Homer Eon Flint + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLIND SPOT *** + +***** This file should be named 4920-h.htm or 4920-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/9/2/4920/ + + +Text file produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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