X
MAN OR PHANTOM
It was Hobart who came to first. His voice was good to hear. Itwas natural; it was sweet and human, but it was pregnant withdisappointment: "We are fools, Harry; we are fools!"
But I could only stare. I remember saying: "The Blind Spot?"
"Yes," returned Hobart, "the Blind Spot. But what is it? We saw him go.Did you see it?"
"It gets me," I answered. "He just vanished into space. It--" Frankly Iwas afraid.
"It tallies well with the reports. The old lady and Jerome. Remember?"
"And the bell?" I looked about the room.
"Exactly. Phenomena! Watson was right. I just wonder--but the bell?Remember the doctor? 'The greatest day since Columbus.' No, don't crossthe room, Harry, I'm a bit leery: A great discovery! I should say itwas. How do you account for it?"
"Supernatural."
Fenton shook his head.
"By no means! It's the gateway to the universe--into Cosmos." His eyessparkled. "My Lord, Harry! Don't you see! Once we control it. The BlindSpot! What is beyond? We saw Chick Watson go. Before our eyes. Where didhe go to? It beats death itself."
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 littlecuss--stand back!"
He threw me violently against the wall. The impact quite took my breath.
On the instant the old rush of temper surged up in me. From boyhood wehad these moments. Hobart settled himself and awaited the rush that heknew was coming. In his great, calm, brute strength there was still agreatness of love.
"Harry," he was saying, "for the love of Heaven, listen to reason! Havewe got to have a knock-down and drag-out on this of all nights? Have Igot to lick you again? Do you want to roll into the Blind Spot?"
Why did God curse me with such a temper? On such moments as this I couldfeel something within me snapping. It was fury and unreason. How I lovedhim! 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 thestreet. A heavy form was looming through the opening; out of the cornerof my eye I caught the lines of the form stepping out of the shadows--itcrossed the room and stood beside Hobart Fenton. It was Rhamda Avec!
I leaped. The fury of a thousand conflicts--and the exultation. For theglory of such moments it is well worth dying. One minute flying throughthe air--the old catapult tackle--and the next a crashing of boneand sinew. We rolled over, head on, and across the floor. Curses andexecrations; the deep bass voice of Hobart:
"Hold him, Harry! Hold him! That's the way! Hold him! Hold him!"
We went crashing about the room. He was the slipperiest thing I had everlaid hold of. But he was bone--bone and sinew; he was a man! I rememberthe wild thrill of exultation at the discovery. It was battle! Anddeath! The table went over, we went spinning against the wall, a crashof falling bookcases, books and broken glass, a scurry and a flying heapof 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, andthrow me out of hold. I clung on, fighting, striving for a grip, workingfor the throat. He was a man--a man! I remembered that he must never getaway. He must account for Watson.
In the first rush I was a madman. The mere force of my onslaught hadborne him down. But in a moment he had recovered and was fightingsystematically. As much as he could he kept over on one side of me,always forcing me toward the inner room where Watson had disappeared. Inspite of my fury he eluded every effort that I made for a vital part. Werolled, fought, struck and struggled.
I could hear Hobart's bass thundering: "Over! Over! Under! Look out! Nowyou've got him! Harry! Harry! Look out! Hold him, for the love of HeavenI see his trick. That's his trick. The Blind Spot!"
We were rolled clear over, picked, heaved, shoved against the frontwall. There were three! The great heaving bulk of Fenton; the fightingtiger between us; and myself! Surely such strength was not human; wecould not pin him; his quickness was uncanny; he would uncoil, twisthimself and throw us loose. Gradually he worked us away from the frontwall and into the centre of the room.
Could any mere man fight so? Hobart was as good as a ton; I was as muchfor action. Slowly, slowly in spite of our efforts, he was working ustowards the Blind Spot. Confident of success, he was over, around, andin and under. In a spin of a second he went into the attack. He fairlybore us off our feet. We were on the last inch of our line; the stakewas--
What was it? We all went down. A great volume of sound! We were insidea bell! My whole head buzzed to music and a roar; the whir of a thousandvibrations; the inside of sound. I fell face downwards; the room wentblack.
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 wascovered with blood. Something warm was trickling down my face. What wasit? The air was still and sodden. Who was this man beside me? And whatwas this smell of roses?
I lay still for a minute, thinking. Ah, yes! It came back. Watson--ChickWatson! The Blind Spot! The Rhamda and the bell!
Surely it was a dream. How could all this be in one short night? It waslike a nightmare and impossible. I raised up on my elbow and looked atthe form beside me. It was Hobart Fenton. He was unconscious.
For a moment my mind was whirring; I was too weak and unsteady. Idropped back and wondered absently at the roses. Roses meantperfume, and perfume meant a woman. What could--something touched myface--something soft; it plucked tenderly at my tangled hair and drew itaway from my forehead. It was the hand of a woman!
"You poor, foolish boy! You foolish boy!"
Somewhere I had heard that voice; it held a touch of sadness; it wasfamiliar; it was soft and silken like music that might have been wovenout of the moonbeams. Who was it that always made me think of moonbeams?I lay still, thinking.
"He dared; he dared; he dared!" she was saying. "As if there were nottwo! He shall pay for this! Am I to be a plaything? You poor boy!"
Then I remembered. I looked up. It was the Nervina. She was stoopingover with my head against her. How beautiful her eyes were! In theirdepths was a pathos and a tenderness that was past a woman's, the sameslight droop at the corners of the mouth, and the wistfulness; herfeatures were relaxed like a mother's--a wondrous sweetness and pity.
"Harry," she asked, "where is Watson? Did he go?"
I nodded.
"Into the Blind Spot?"
"Yes. What is the Blind Spot?"
She ignored the question.
"I am sorry" she answered. "So sorry. I would have saved him. And theRhamda; was he here, too?"
I nodded. Her eyes flashed wickedly.
"And--and you--tell me, did you fight with the Rhamda? You--"
"It was Watson," I interrupted. "This Rhamda is behind it all. He is thevillain. He can fight like a tiger; whoever he is he can fight."
She frowned slightly; she shook her head.
"You young men," she said. "You young men! You are all alike! Why mustit be? I am so sorry. And you fought with the Rhamda? You could notovercome him, of course. But tell me, how could you resist him? What didyou do?"
What did she mean? I had felt his flesh and muscle. He was a man. Whycould he not be conquered--not be resisted?
"I don't understand," I answered. "He is a man. I fought him. He washere. Let him account for Watson. We fought alone at first, untilhe tried to throw me into this Thing. Then Hobart stepped in. Once Ithought we had him, but he was too slippery. He came near putting usboth in. I don't know. Something happened--a bell."
Her hand was on my arm, she clutched it tightly, she swallowed hard; inher eyes flashed the fire that I had noticed once before, the softnessdied out, and their glint was almost terrible.
"He! The bell saved you? He would dare to throw you into the BlindSpot!"
I lay back. I was terribly weak and uncertain. This beautiful
woman!What was her interest in myself?
"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 couldonly tell you! You must not have it. It is death--yes, worse than death.No man may wear it."
So that was it. Again and so soon I was to be tempted. Was her concernfeigned or real? Why did she call me Harry? Why did I not resent it? Shewas wonderful; she was beautiful; she was pure. Was it merely a subtleact for the Rhamda? I could still hear Watson's voice ringing out of theBlind Spot; "Hold the ring! Hold the ring!" I could not be false to myfriend.
"Tell me first," I asked. "Who is this Rhamda? What is he? Is he a man?"
"No."
Not a man! I remembered Watson's words: "A phantom!" How could it be? Atleast I would find out what I could.
"Then tell me, what is he?"
"She smiled faintly; again the elusive tenderness lingered about herlips, the wistful droop at the corners.
"That I may not tell you, Harry. You couldn't understand. If only Icould."
Certainly I couldn't understand her evasion. I studied and watchedher--her wondrous hair, the perfection of her throat, the curve of herbosom.
"Then he is supernatural."
"No, not that, Harry. That would explain everything. One cannot go aboveNature. He is living just as you are."
I studied a moment.
"Are you a woman?" I asked suddenly.
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 theback of her sadness, some great yearning unsatisfied, unattainable.She dropped her head. The hand upon my arm quivered and clutchedspasmodically; I caught the least sound of a sob. When I looked up hereyes were wet and sparkling.
"Oh," she said. "Harry, why do you ask it? A woman! Harry, a woman! Tolive and love and to be loved. What must it be? There is so much of lifethat is sweet and pure. I love it--I love it! I can have everythingbut the most exalted thing of all. I can live, see, enjoy, think, but Icannot have love. You knew it from the first. How did you know it? Yousaid--Ah, it is true! I am out of the moonbeams." She controlled herselfsuddenly. "Excuse me," she said simply. "But you can never understand.May I have the ring?"
It was like a dream--her beauty, her voice, everything. But I couldstill hear Watson. I was to be tempted, cajoled, flattered. What wasthis story out of the moonbeams? Certainly she was the most beautifulgirl I had ever seen. Why had I asked such a question?
"I shall keep the ring," I answered.
She sighed. A strange weakness came over me; I was drowsy; I lapsedagain into unconsciousness; just as I was fading away I heard herspeaking: "I am so sorry!"