The Blind Spot

  XVIII

  CHARLOTTE'S STORY

  I do not know. It is hard to write after what has happened.

  Hobart says that it is why I am to write it. It is to be a plainnarrative. Besides, he is very busy and cannot do it himself. There mustbe some record. I shall do my best and hold out of my writing as much asI can of my emotion. I shall start with the Nervina.

  It was the first I knew; the first warning. Looking back I cannot butwonder. No person I think who has ever seen the Nervina can do muchelse; she is so beautiful! Beautiful? Why do I say it? I should bejealous and I should hate her. Yet I do not. Why is it?

  It was about eight months after Hobart had left for South America. Iremember 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 comeover every fortnight at least. After Hobart had gone he came once only,and of course I resented the inattention.

  It seemed to me that no business could be of enough importance if hereally loved me. Even his letters were few and far between. What hewrote 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 fearfulthoughts and jealousies; but they were feminine and in no wayapproximated even the beginning of the truth. Inattention was not likeHarry. It was not until the coming of the Nervina that I was afraid.

  Afraid? I will not say that--exactly. It was rather a suspicion, a queerundercurrent of wonder and doubt. The beauty of the girl, her interestin 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.

  She did not tell me in exact words or in literal explanation; but shemanaged to convey all too well a lurking impression of its sinisterpotency. It was something baleful, something the very essence of whichwould break down the life of one who wore it. Harry had come into itspossession by accident and she would save him. She had failed throughdirect appeal. Now she had come to me. She did not say a word of theBlind Spot.

  And the next day came Harry. It was really a shock, though I had beenwarned by the girl. He was not Harry at all, but another. His eyes weredim 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 ashadow, as if he had gone through a long illness.

  He said he had not been sick. He maintained that he was quite wellphysically. And on his finger was the ring of which the girl had spoken.Its value must have been incalculable. Wherever he moved his hand itsblue flame cut a path through the darkness. But he said nothing aboutit. I waited and wondered and was afraid. It was not until our walkunder the elm trees that it was mentioned.

  It was a full moon; a wonderful, mellow moon of summer. He stoppedsuddenly and gazed up at the orb above us. It seemed to me that hismind was wandering, he held me closely--tenderly. He was not at alllike Harry. There was a missing of self, of individuality; he spoke inabstractions.

  "The maiden of the moonbeams?" he said. "What can it mean?"

  And then I asked him. He has already told of our conversation. It wasthe ring of which the Nervina had told me. It had to do with the BlindSpot--the great secret that had taken Dr. Holcomb. He would not give itto me. I worked hard, for even then I was not afraid of it. Somethingtold me--I must do it to save him. It was weird, and something I couldnot understand--but I must do it for Harry.

  I failed. Though he was broken in every visible way there was one thingas strong as ever--his honour. He was not afraid; he had been the samein his boyhood. When we parted that night he kissed me. I shall neverforget how long he looked into my eyes, nor his sadness. That is all.The next morning he left for San Francisco.

  And then came the end. A message; abrupt and sudden. It was some timeafter and put a period to my increasing stress and worry. It read:

  CITY OF PERU DOCKS TONIGHT AT EIGHT. MEET ME AT THE PIER. HOBARTCOMING,--HARRY.

  It was a short message and a bit twisted. In ordinary circumstances hewould have motored down and brought me back to greet Hobart. It was abit strange that I should meet him at the pier. However, I had barelytime to get to the city if I hurried.

  I shall never forget that night.

  It was dark when I reached San Francisco. I was a full twenty minutesearly 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 wasnot there. Of course there was still time. He was sure to be on hand togreet Hobart.

  Nevertheless, I had a vague mistrust. Since that strange visit I had notbeen sure. Harry wasn't well. There was something to this mystery thathe had not told me. Why had he asked me to meet him at the pier? Whydidn't he come? When the boat docked and he was still missing I wasdoubly worried.

  Hobart came down the gangplank. He was great, strong, healthy, and itseemed to me in a terrible hurry. He scanned the faces hurriedly and ranover to me.

  "Where's Harry?" He kissed me and in the same breath repeated, "Where'sHarry?"

  "Oh, Hobart!" I exclaimed. "What's the matter with Harry? Tell me. It'ssomething terrible!"

  He was afraid. Plainly I could see that! There were lines of anxietyabout his eyes. He clutched me by the arm and drew me away.

  "He was to meet me here," I said. "He didn't come. He was to meet mehere! Oh, Hobart, I saw him some time ago. He was--it was not Harry atall! Do you know anything about it?"

  For a minute he stood still, looking at me. I had never seen Hobartfrightened; but at that moment there was that in his eyes which I couldnot understand. He caught me by the arm and started out almost at arun. There were many people and we dodged in and out among them. Hobartcarried a suitcase. He hailed a taxi.

  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 fewwords spoken to the driver. "Speed, speed, no limit; never mind thelaw--and Chatterton Place!" After that the convulsive jerking over thecobbled streets, a climbing over hills and twisted corners. And Hobartat my side. "Faster--faster," he was saying; "faster! My lord, was thereever 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 leapedout.

  A sombre two-storey house; a light burning in one of the windows, a dimlight, almost subdued and uncanny. I had never seen anything so lonelyas that light; it was grey, uncertain, scarcely a flicker. Perhapsit was my nerves. I had scarcely strength to climb the steps. Hobartgrasped the knob and thrust open the door; I can never forget it.

  It is hard to write. The whole thing! The room; the walls lined withbooks; 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 hadaged forty years. He was stooped, withered, exhausted. A bottleof brandy on the desk before him. In his weak, thin hand an emptywineglass. The gem upon his finger glowed with a flame that was almostwicked; it was blue, burning, giving out sparkles of light--like acolour out of hell. The path of its light was unholy--it was too muchalive.

  We both sprang forward. Hobart seized him by the shoulders.

  "Harry, old boy; Harry! Don't you know us? It's Hobart and Charlotte."

  It was terrible. He didn't seem to know. He looked right at us. But hespoke in abstractions.

  "Two," he said. And he listened. "Two! Don't you hear it?" He caughtHobart 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."

  What did he mean? What was it about? Who was the old lady? I lookedround. I saw no one. Hobart stooped over. Harry began slowly torecognise us. It was as if his mind had wandered and was coming backfrom a far place. He spoke slowly; his words were incoherent andrambling.

  "Hobart," he said; "you know her. She is the maiden out of themoonbeams. The Rhamda, he is our enemy. Hobart, Charlotte. I know somuch. I cannot tell you. You are two hours
late. It's a strange thing. Ihave found it and I think I know. It came suddenly. The discovery of thegreat professor. Why didn't you come two hours earlier? We might haveconquered."

  He dropped his head upon his arms; then as suddenly he looked up. Hedrew the ring from his finger.

  "Give it to Charlotte," he said. "It won't hurt her. Don't touch ityourself. Had I only known. Watson didn't know--"

  He straightened; he was tense, rigid, listening.

  "Do you hear anything? Listen! Can you hear? It's the old lady. There--"

  But there was not a sound; only the rumble of the streets, the tickingof the clock, and our heart-beats. Again he went through the counting.

  "Hobart!"

  "Yes, Harry."

  "And Charlotte! The ring--ah, yet it was there, Keep it. Give it to noone. 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"--hetook my hand and ran the ring upon my finger. "Poor Charlotte. Here isthe ring. The most wonderful--"

  Again he dropped over. He was weak--there was something going from himminute by minute.

  "Water," he asked. "Hobart, some water."

  It was too pitiful. Harry, our Harry--come to a strait like this! Hobartrushed to another room with the tumbler. I could hear him fumbling. Istooped over Harry. But he held up his hand.

  "No, Charlotte, no. You must not. If--"

  He stopped. Again the strange attention, as if he was listening tosomething 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!"

  But there was nothing. It was just as before; merely the murmuring ofthe city night, and the clock ticking.

  "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." Heturned to me. "Can you hear it, Charlotte? No? How strange. Perhaps--"He pointed to the corner of the room. "That paper. Will you--"

  I shall always go over that moment. I have thought over it many timesand have wondered at the sequence. Had I not stepped across the library,what would have happened?

  What was it.

  I had stooped to pick up the piece of paper. There came a queer,cracking, snapping sound, almost audible, I have a strange recollectionof Harry standing up by the side of the desk--a flittingvision. An intuition of some terrible force. It was out ofnothing--nowhere--approaching. I turned about. And I saw it--the dot ofblue.

  Blue! That is what it was at first. Blue and burning, like the flameof a million jewels centred into a needlepoint. On the ceiling directlyabove Harry's head. It was scintillating, coruscating, opalescent; butit was blue most of all. It was the colour of life and of death; it wasburning, throbbing, concentrated. I tried to scream. But I was frozenwith horror. The dot changed colour and went to a dead-blue. It seemedto grow larger and to open. Then it turned to white and dropped like astring of incandescence, touching Harry on the head.

  What was it? It was all so sudden. A door flung open and a swish ofrushing silk. A woman! A beautiful girl! The Nervina! It was she!

  Never have I seen anyone like her. She was so beautiful. In her face allthe compassion a woman is heir to. For scarcely a second she stopped.

  "Charlotte," she called. "Charlotte--oh, why didn't you save him! Heloves you!" Then she turned to Harry. "It shall not be. He shall not goalone. I shall save him, even beyond--"

  With that she rushed upon Harry. It was all done in an instant. Her armswere outstretched to the dimming form of Harry and the incandescence.The splendid impassioned girl. Their forms intermingled. A blur of herbeautiful body and Harry's wan, weary face. A flash of light, a threadof incandescence, a quiver--and they were gone.

  The next I knew was the strong arms of my brother Hobart. He gave me thewater he had fetched for Harry. He was terribly upset, but very calm. Heheld the glass up to my lips. He was speaking.

  "Don't worry. Don't worry. I know now. I think I know. I was just intime 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."