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 startlingsituations; but none like this. The croon of the old lady thrummed inhis ears with endless repetition. He picked her up tenderly and bore herto another room and placed her on a ragged sofa. There were still markson her face of former beauty. He wondered who she was and what had beenher life to come to such an ending.
"Now there are two," the words were withering with oppression.Subconsciously he felt the load that crushed her spirit. It was as ifthe burden had been shifted; he sensed the weight of an unaccountabledisaster.
The place was musty and ill-lighted. He looked about him, the dank,close air was unwashed by daylight. A stray ray of sunshine filteringthrough the broken shutter slanted across the room and sought vainlyto 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 mustinvestigate.
The place was of eleven rooms, six downstairs and five on the upperstory. With the exception of one broken chair there was no furnitureupstairs; 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 thewhole of her habitation, serving as a kitchen, bedroom, and living-roomcombined. Except in this room there were no carpets what-ever. His stepssounded hollow and ghostly; the boards creaked and each time he openeda door he was oppressed by the same gloom of dankness and stagnation.There was no trace of Dr. Holcomb.
He remembered the bell and sought vainly on both floors for anythingthat would give him a clue to the sound. There was nothing. The onlything he heard was the echoing of his own creaking footsteps and theunceasing tune that dinned in his spirit, "Now there are two."
At last he came to the door and looked out into the street. The sunwas shining and the life and pulse was rising from the city. It wasdaylight; plain, healthy day. It was good to look at. On the thresholdof the door he felt himself standing on the border of two worlds. Whathad become of the doctor and who was the old lady; and lastly and justas important, who was the Rhamda and his beautiful companion?
Jerome telephoned to headquarters.
It was a strange case.
At the precise minute when his would-be auditors were beginning tofidget over his absence, the police of San Francisco had started thesearch for the great doctor. Jerome had followed his intuition. It hadled him into a tragedy and he was ready to swear almost on his soulthat it was twofold. The prominence of the professor, together with hisstartling announcement of the day previous and the world-wide commentthat it had aroused, elevated the case to a national interest.
What was the Blind Spot? The world conjectured, and like the world hasbeen 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 hislecture.
There was no lecture. In the teeth of our expectation came the startlingword that the doctor had disappeared. Apparently when on the very vergeof announcing his discovery he had been swallowed by the very force thathe 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 twosolutions; either the professor had been a victim of a clever rogue, orhe had been overcome by the rashness of his own wisdom. At any rate, itwas known from that minute on as "THE BLIND SPOT."
Perhaps it is just as well to take up the findings of the police. Thepolice of course never entertained any suggestion of the occult. Theyare material; and were convinced from the start that the case had itsorigin in downright villainy. Man is complex; but being so, is oftoverbalanced by evil Some genius had made a fool of the doctor.
In the first place a thorough search was made for the professor. Thehouse at No. 288 Chatterton Place was ransacked from cellar to attic.The records were gone over and it was found that the property had forsome time been vacant; that the real ownership was vested in a number ofheirs scattered about the country.
The old lady had apparently been living on the place simply throughsufferance. No one could find out who she was. A few tradesman in thevicinity had sold her some scant supplies and that was all. The stressthat Jerome placed upon her actions and words was; given its dueaccount. There were undoubtedly two villains; but there were twovictims. That the old lady was such as well as the professor no one hasdoubted. The whole secret lay in the gentleman with the Eastern cast andcomplexion. Who was Rhamda Avec?
And now comes the strangest part of the story. Ever, when we re-countthe 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 witha grain of salt, to be sure, but for all that, one at which we may wellwonder. Here the supporters of the professor's philosophy hold theirstrongest point--if it is true. Of course we can venture no privateopinion, never having been a witness. It is this:
Rhamda Avec is with us and in our city. His description and drawnlikeness have been published many times. There are those who aver thatthey have seen him in reality of the flesh walking through the crowds ofMarket Street.
He is easily distinguished, tall and distinctive, refined to a highdegree, and with the poise and alertness of a gentleman of reliance andcharacter. Women look twice and wonder; he is neither old nor young;when he smiles it is like youth breaking in laughter. And with him oftenis his beautiful companion.
Men vouch for her beauty and swear that it is of the kind that drives todistraction. She is fire and flesh and carnal--she is more than beauty.There is allurement about her body; sylph-like, sinuous; the olivetint of her complexion, the wonderful glory of her hair and the glowingnight-black of her eyes. Men pause; she is of the superlative kind thatrobs the reason, a supreme glory of passion and life and beauty, atwhose feet fools and wise men would slavishly frolic and folly. Sheseldom speaks, but those who have heard her say that it is like ripplingwater, of gentleness and softness and of the mellow flow that comes fromlove and passion and from beauty.
Of course there is nothing out of the ordinary in their walking down thestreets. Anybody might do that. The wonder comes in the manner in whichthey elude the police. They come and go in the broad, bright daylight.Hundreds have seen them. They make no effort at concealment, nordisguise. And yet no phantoms were ever more unreal than they to thosewho seek them. Who are they? The officers have been summoned on manyoccasions; but each and every time in some manner or way they hadcontrived to elude them. There are some who have consigned them to thelimbo of illusion. But we do not entirely agree.
In a case like this it is well to take into consideration therespectability and character of those who have witnessed. Phantoms arenot corporeal; these two are flesh and blood. There is mystery aboutthem; but they are substance, the same as we are.
And lastly:
If you will take the Key Route ferry some foggy morning you may seesomething to convince you. It must be foggy and the air must be grey anddrab and sombre. Take the lower deck. Perhaps you will see nothing. Ifnot try again; for they say you shall be rewarded. Watch the forwardpart of the boat; but do not leave the inner deck. The great Rhamdawatching the grey swirl of the water!
He stands alone, in his hands the case of reddish leather, his feetslightly apart and his face full of a great hungry wonder. Watch hisfeatures: they are strong and aglow with a great and wondrous wisdom;mark if you see evil. And remember. Though he is like you he issomething vastly different. He is flesh and blood; but perhaps themaster of one of the greatest laws that man can attain to. He is thefact and the substance that was promised, but was not delivered by theprofessor.
This account has been largely taken from one of the Sunday editions ofour papers. I do not agree with it entirely. Nevertheless, it will serveas an excellent foundation for my own adventures; and what is best ofall, save labour.