III
"NOW THERE ARE TWO"
The rest of the story is unfortunately all too easily told. We go backto Jerome and his strange companion.
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 whiskerstrimmed to the usual square crop and his pink skin glowing with splendidhealth. The fog had by this time lifted and the sun was just beginningto overcome the chilliness of the air. There was no necessity for anintroduction.
The two men apparently recognised each other at once. So we have it fromthe detective. There was sincerity in the delight of their hand-clasp. Astrange pair, both of them with the distinction and poise that comefrom refinement and intellectual training; though in physique they werealmost opposite, there was still a strange, almost mutual, bond betweenthem. Dr. Holcomb was beaming.
"At last!" he greeted. "At last! I was sure we could not fail. This, mydear Dr. Avec, is the greatest day since Columbus."
The other took the hand.
"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 simplywonderful. I can scarcely credit my senses. So near and yet so far. Howcan it be? A dream? Are you sure, Dr. Holcomb?"
"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, ofcourse, to me also it is an almost impossible climax of fact. I shouldnever have succeeded without your assistance."
The other smiled.
"That was of small account, my dear doctor. To yourself must go thecredit; to me the pleasure. Take your sun, for instance, I--but I havenot the language to tell you."
But the doctor had gone in to abstraction.
"A great day," he was beaming. "A great day! What will the world say? Itis proved." Then suddenly: "You have eaten?"
"Not yet. You must allow me a bit of time. I thought of it; but I hadnot quite the courage to venture."
"Then we shall eat," said the other man. "Afterward we shall go up tothe 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 theworld."
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 aco-worker who must be considered.
"I am afraid, professor, that you have promised a bit too much. I am notentirely 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 issurely no reason why we cannot go on. However, it is necessary that Ireturn to the house on Chatterton Place. I have but slightly over anhour left."
The doctor was plainly disappointed.
"But the lecture?"
"It means my life, professor, and the subsequent success of ourexperiment. A few details, a few minutes. Perhaps if we hurry we can getback in time."
The doctor glanced at his watch. "Twenty minutes for the train, twentyminutes for the boat, ten minutes; that's an hour, two hours. Thesedetails? Have you any idea how long, Rhamda?"
"Perhaps not more than fifteen minutes."
"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."
We have said that the detective had intuition. He had it still. Yethe had no rational reason for suspecting either the professor or hisstrange companion. Furthermore he had never heard of the Blind Spotin any way whatsoever; nor did he know a single thing of philosophyor anything else in Holcomb's teaching. He knew the doctor as a manof eminent standing and respectability. It was hardly natural that heshould suspect anything sinister to grow out of this meeting of tworefined scholars. He attached no great importance to the trend of theirconversation. It was strange, to be sure; but he felt, no doubt, thatliving in their own world they had a way and a language of their own. Hewas no scholar.
Still, he could think. The man Rhamda had made an assertion that hecould not quite uncover. It puzzled him. Something told him that for thesafety of his old friend it might be well for him to shadow the strangepair to the city.
When the next train pulled out for the pier the two scholars wereseated in the forward part of the car. In the last seat was a man deeplyimmersed in a morning paper.
It is rather unfortunate. In the natural delicacy of the situationJerome could not crowd too closely. He had no certainty of trouble; noproof whatever; he was known to the professor. The best he could do wasto keep aloof and follow their movements. At the ferry building theyhailed a taxi and started up Market Street. Jerome watched them. Inanother moment he had another driver and was winding behind in theirwheel tracks. The cab made straight for Chatterton Place. In front of asubstantial two-story house it drew up. The two men alighted. Jerome'staxi passed them.
They were then at the head of the steps; a woman of slender beautywith a wonderful loose fold of black hair was talking. It seemed to thedetective that her voice was fearful, of a pregnant warning, that shewas protesting. Nevertheless, the old men entered and the door slammedbehind them. Jerome slipped from the taxi and spoke a few words tothe driver. A moment later the two men were holding the house undersurveillance.
They did not have long to wait. The man called Rhamda had asked forfifteen minutes. At the stroke of the second the front door re-opened.Someone was laughing; a melodious enchanting laugh and feminine. A womanwas speaking. And then there were two forms in the doorway. A man anda woman. The man was Rhamda Avec, tall, immaculate, black clad anddistinguished. The woman, Jerome was not certain that she was thesame who opened the door or not; she was even more beautiful. Shewas laughing. Like her companion she was clad in black, a beautifulshimmering material which sparkled in the sun like the rarest silk.The man glanced carelessly up and down the street for a moment. Then heassisted the lady down the steps and into the taxi. The door slammed;and before the detective could gather his scattered wits they were lostin the city.
Jerome was expecting the professor. Naturally when the door opened helooked for the old gentleman and his companion. It was the doctor he waswatching, not the other. Though he had no rational reason for expectingtrouble he had still his hunch and his intuition. The man and womanaroused suspicion; and likewise upset his calculation. He could notfollow them and stay with the professor. It was a moment for quickdecision. He wondered. Where was Dr. Holcomb? This was the day he was todeliver his lecture on the Blind Spot. He had read the announcement inthe 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 andsubstance. Until now he had not scented tragedy. Why had Rhamda and thewoman come out together? Where was the professor?
Where indeed?
At the end of a half-hour Jerome ventured across the street. He notedthe number 288. Then he ascended the steps and clanged at the knocker.From the sounds that came from inside, the place was but partlyfurnished. Hollow steps sounded down the hallway, shuffling, like wearybones dragging slippers. The door opened and an old woman, very old,peered out of the crack. She coughed. Though it was not a loud coughit seemed to the detective that it would be her last one; there was solittle of her.
"Pardon me, but is Dr. Holcomb here?"
The old lady looked up at him. The eyes were of blank expressionlessblue; she was in her dotage.
"You mean--oh, yes, I think so, the old man with the white whiskers. Hewas here a few minutes ago, with that other. But he just went out, sir,he just went out."
"No, I don't think so. There was a man went out and a woman. But not Dr.Holcomb."
"A woman? There was no woman."
"Oh, yes, there was a woman--a very beautiful one."
The old lady dropped her hand. It was trembling.
/>
"Oh, dear," she was saying. "This makes two. This morning it was a manand now it is a woman, that makes two."
It seemed to the man as he looked down in her eyes that he was lookinginto 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 crackedand just above a shrill whisper, almost uncanny. She kept repeating:
"Now there are two. Now there are two. That makes two. This morningthere was one. Now there are two."
Jerome could not understand. He pitied the old lady.
"Did you say that Dr. Holcomb is here?"
Again she looked up: the same blank expression, she was evidently tryingto gather her wits.
"Two. A woman. Dr. Holcomb. Oh, yes, Dr. Holcomb. Won't you come in?"
She opened the door.
Jerome entered and took off his hat. Judicially he repeated the doctor'sname to keep it in her mind. She closed the door carefully and touchedhis arm. It seemed to him that she was terribly weak and tottering; herold eyes, however expressionless, were full of pitiful pleading. She wasscarcely more than a shadow.
"You are his son?"
Jerome lied; but he did it for a reason. "Yes."
"Then come."
She took him by the sleeve and led him to a room, then across it to adoor in the side wall. Her step was slow and feeble; twice she stoppedto sing the dirge of her wonder. "First a man and then a woman. Nowthere is one. You are his son." And twice she stopped and listened. "Doyou hear anything? A bell? I love to hear it: and then afterward I amafraid. Did you ever notice a bell? It always makes you think of churchand the things that are holy. This is a beautiful bell--first--"
Either the woman was without her reason or very nearly so: she was veryfrail.
"Come, mother, I know, first a bell, but Dr. Holcomb?"
The name brought her back again. For a moment she was blank trying torecall her senses. And then she remembered. She pointed to the door.
"In there--Dr. Holcomb. That's where they come. That's where theygo. Dr. Holcomb. The little old man with the beautiful whiskers. Thismorning it was a man; now it is a woman. Now there are two. Oh, dear;perhaps we shall hear the bell."
Jerome began to scent a tragedy. Certainly the old lady was uncanny; thehouse was bare and hollow; the scant furniture was threadbare withage and mildew; each sound was exaggerated and fearful, even theirbreathing. He placed his hand on the knob and opened the door.
"Now there are two. Now there are two."
The room was empty. Not a bit of furniture; a blank, bare apartment withan old-fashioned high ceiling. Nothing else. Whatever the weirdness andadventure, Jerome was getting nowhere. The old lady was still clingingto his arm and still droning:
"Now there are two. Now there are two. This morning a man; now a woman.Now there are two."
"Come, mother, come. This will not do. Perhaps--"
But just then the old lady's lean fingers clinched into his arm; hereyes grew bright; her mouth opened and she stopped in the middle of herdrone. Jerome grew rigid. And no wonder. From the middle of the roomnot ten feet away came the tone of a bell, a great silvery voluminoussound--and music. A church bell. Just one stroke, full toned, fillingall the air till the whole room was choked with music. Then as suddenlyit died out and faded into nothing. At the same time he felt the fingerson his arm relax; and a heap was at his feet. He reached over. The lifeand intelligence that was so near the line was just crossing over theborder. 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 heardthe drone of her soul as it wafted to the shadow:
"Now there are two."