The Blind Spot

  XXVIII

  THE MAN FROM SPACE

  Before starting the conclusion of the Blind Spot mystery it may bejust as well for the two publicists who are bringing it to the press tofollow Hobart Fenton's example and go into a bit of explanation.

  The two men who wrote the first two parts were participants, andnecessarily writing almost in the present tense. While they could givean accurate and vivid account of their feelings and experiences, theycould only guess at what lay in the future, at the events that wouldunravel it all.

  But the present writers have the advantage of working, of seeing, ofweighing in the retrospect. They know just where they are going.

  The coming of Chick Watson brought new perspective. Hitherto we had beenlooking into the darkness. Whatever had been caught in the focus of theSpot had become lost to our five senses.

  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 andcharacter had been either victims or witness to its reality and power.

  So the coming of Watson may well be set down as one of the decidingmoments of history. He who had been the victim a year before wasreturning through the very Spot that had engulfed him. He was the heraldof the great unknown, an ambassador of the infinite itself.

  It will be remembered that of all the inmates of the house, Dr. Hansenwas the only one who had a personal acquaintance with Watson. One yearbefore the doctor had seen him a shadow--wasted, worn, exhausted. He hadtalked with him on that memorable night in the cafe. Well he rememberedthe incident, and the subject of that strange conversation--the secretof life that had been discovered by the missing Dr. Holcomb. And Dr.Hansen had pondered it often since.

  What was the force that was pulsing through the Blind Spot? It hadreached 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!

  It was Watson, sure enough; but it was not the man he had known one yearbefore. Except for the basic features Hansen would not have recognizedhim; the shadow was gone, the pallor, the touch of death. He was haleand radiant; his skin had the pink glow of alert fitness; except forbeing dazed, he appeared perfectly natural. In the tense moment of hisarrival the little group waited in silence. What had he to tell them?

  But he did not see them at first. He groped about blindly, moving slowlyand holding his hands before him. His face was calm and settled; itslines told decision. There was not a question in any mind present butthat the man had come for a purpose.

  Why could he not see? Perhaps the light was too dim. Some one thought toturn on the extra lights.

  It brought the first word from Watson. He threw up both arms before hisface; like one shutting out the lightning.

  "Don't!" he begged. "Don't! Shut off the lights; you will blind me!Please; please! Darken the room!"

  Sir Henry sprang to the switch. Instantly the place went to shadow;there was just enough light from the moon to distinguish the severalforms grouped in the middle of the room. Dr. Hansen proffered a chair.

  "Thank you! Ah! Dr. Hansen! You are here--I had thought--This is muchbetter! I can see fairly well now. You came very near to blinding mepermanently! You didn't know. It's the transition." Then: "And yet--ofcourse! It's the moon! THE MOON!"

  He stopped. There was a strange wistfulness in the last word. Andsuddenly he rose to his feet. He turned in gladness, as though to drinkin the mellow flow of the radiance.

  "The moon! Gentlemen--doctor--who are these people? This is the houseof the Blind Spot! And it is the moon--the good old earth! And SanFrancisco!"

  He stopped again. There was a bit of indecision and of wonder mixedwith his gladness. The stillness was only broken by the scarcely audiblevoice of Mme. Le Fabre.

  "Now we KNOW! It is proven. The sceptics have always asked why thespirits work only in the half light. We know now."

  Watson looked to Dr. Hansen. "Who is this lady? Who are these others?"

  "Can you see them?"

  "Perfectly. It is the lady in the corner; she thinks--"

  "That you are a spirit!"

  Watson laughed. "I a spirit? Try me and see!"

  "Certainly," asserted Mme. Le Fabre. "You are out of the Blind Spot. Iknow; it will prove everything!"

  "Ah, yes; the Spot." Watson hesitated. Again the indecision. There wassomething latent that he could not recall; though conscious, part of hismind was still in the apparent fog that lingers back into slumber.

  "I don't understand," he spoke. "Who are you?"

  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 secretthat was discovered by Dr. Holcomb. We were summoned by Hobart Fenton."

  Consciousness is an enigma. Hitherto Watson had been almost inert;his actions and manner of speech had been mechanical. That it was thenatural result of the strange force that had thrown him out, no onedoubted. The mention of Hobart Fenton jerked him into the full vigour ofwide-awake thinking; he straightened himself.

  "Hobart! Hobart Fenton! Where is he?"

  "That we do not know," answered Sir Henry. "He was here a moment ago. Itis almost too impossible for belief. Perhaps you can tell us."

  "You mean--"

  "Exactly. Into the Blind Spot. One and the other; your coming wascoincident with his going!"

  Chick raised up. Even in that faint light they could appreciate the fullvigour of his splendid form. He was even more of an athlete than in hiscollege days, before the Blind Spot took him. And when he realised whatSir Henry had said he held up one magnificent arm, almost in the mannerof benediction:

  "Hobart has gone through? Thank Heaven for that!"

  It was a puzzle. True, in that little group there was represented theaccumulated wisdom of human effort. With the possible exception of thegeneral, there was not a sceptic among them. They were ready to explainalmost anything--but this.

  In the natural weakness of futility they had come to associate theaspect of death or terror with the Blind Spot. Yet, here was Watson!Watson, alive and strong; he was the reverse of what they hadsubconsciously expected.

  "What is this Blind Spot?" inquired Sir Henry evenly. "And what do youmean by giving thanks that Fenton has gone into it?"

  "Not now. Not one word of explanation until--What time is it?" Watsonbroke off to demand.

  They told him. He began to talk rapidly, with amazing force anddecision, and in a manner whose sincerity left no chance for doubt.

  "Then we have five hours! Not one second to lose. Do what I say, andanswer my questions!" Then: "We must not fail; one slip, and the wholeworld will be engulfed--in the unknown! Turn on the lights."

  There was that in the personality and the vehemence of the man thatprecluded 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.

  Watson went on:

  "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!"

  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 wiresand apparatus were now merely a tangled mass of fused metals. Nothingremained intact but the blue gem and the red pebble.

  "I see. And this pebble: you found it by digging in the cellar, Isuppose."

  How did he know that? Dr. Hansen brought that curiously heavy littlestone and laid it in Watson's hand. The newcomer touched it with hisfinger, and for a brief moment he studied it. Then he looked up.

  "It's the small one," he stated. "And you found it in the cellar. It wasvery fortunate; the opening of the Spot was perhaps a little more thanhalf chance. But it was wonderfully lucky. It let me out. And with thehelp of God and our own courage we may open it again, long enough torescue Hobart, Harry, and Dr. Holcomb. Then--we m
ust break the chain--wemust destroy the revelation; we must close the Spot forever!"

  Small wonder that they couldn't understand what he meant. Dr. Hansenthought to cut in with a practical question:

  "My dear Chick, what's inside the Spot? We want to know!"

  But it was not Watson who answered. It was Mme. Le Fabre.

  "Spirits, of course."

  Watson gave a sudden laugh. This time he answered:

  "My dear lady, if you know what I know, and what Dr. Holcomb hasdiscovered, you would ask YOURSELF a question or so. Possibly youyourself are a spirit!"

  "What!" she gasped. "I--a spirit!"

  "Exactly. But there is no time for questions. Afterwards--not now. Fivehours, and we must--"

  Someone came to the door. It was Jerome. At the sight of Watson hestopped, clutching the stub of his cigar between his teeth. His greyeyes took in the other's form from head to shoe leather.

  "Back?" he inquired. "What did you find out, Watson? They must have fedyou well over yonder!"

  And Jerome pointed toward the ceiling with his thumb. It wasn't in hisdour nature to give way to enthusiasm; this was merely his manner ofwelcome. Watson smiled.

  "The eats were all right, Jerome, but not all the company. You're justthe man I want. We have little time; none to spare for talk. Are you intouch with Bertha Holcomb?"

  The detective nodded.

  Watson took the chair that Fenton had so strangely vacated and reachedfor paper and pencil. Once or twice he stopped to draw a line, butmostly he was calculating. He referred constantly to a paper he tookfrom his pocket. When he was through he spread his palm over what he hadwritten.

  "Jerome!"

  "Yes."

  "You are no longer connected with headquarters, I presume. But--can youget men?"

  "If need be."

  "You will need them!" Just then Watson noticed the uniform of GeneralHume. "Jerome, can you give this officer a bodyguard?"

  It was both unusual and lightning-sudden. Nevertheless, there wassomething in Watson's manner that called for no challenge; somethingthat would have brooked no refusal. And the general, although a sceptic,was acting solely from force of habit when he objected:

  "It seems to me, Watson, that you--"

  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.

  "It SEEMS to you! General, let me ask you: If your country's safety wereat stake, would you hesitate to throw reinforcements into the breach?"

  "Hardly."

  "All right. It's settled. Take care of your red tape AFTERWARDS."

  He wheeled to the detective. "Jerome, this is a sketch of thecompartments of Dr. Holcomb's safe. Not the large one in his house, butthe small one in his laboratory. Go straight to Dwight Way. Give thisnote," indicating another paper, "to Bertha Holcomb. Tell her that herfather is safe, and that I am out of the Blind Spot. Tell her you havecome to open the laboratory safe. I've written down the combination. Ifit doesn't work use explosives; there's nothing inside which force canharm. In the compartment marked 'X' you will find a small particle aboutthe 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 thestone you can't mistake it; it will weigh about six pounds. Get it, andguard it with your life!"

  "All right."

  Jerome put Watson's instructions in his wallet, at the same timeglancing about the room.

  "Where is Fenton?" he asked.

  It was Watson who answered. He gave us the first news that had ever comefrom the Blind Spot. He spoke with firm deliberation, as though in fullrealisation of the sensation:

  "Hobart Fenton has gone through the Blind Spot. Just now he is righthere in this room."

  Sir Henry jumped.

  "In this room! Is that what you said, Watson?"

  The other ignored him.

  "Jerome, you haven't a minute to lose! You and the general; bring thatstone back to this house at ANY cost! Hurry!"

  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 theBay of San Francisco. They were grim, and trusted, and under secretorders. They had a mission, did they but know it, as important as anyin history. But they knew only that they were to guard Jerome and thegeneral at all hazards. One peculiarly heavy stone, "the size of a pea"!How are we ever to calculate its value?

  As for the group remaining with Watson, not one of them ever dreamedthat any danger might come out of the Blind Spot. Its manifestations hadbeen local and mostly negative. No; the main incentive of their interesthad been simply curiosity.

  But apparently Watson was above them all. He paid no further attentionto them for a while; he bent at Fenton's desk and worked swiftly. Atlength he thrust his papers aside.

  "I want to see that cellar," he announced. "That is, the point where youfound that red pebble!"

  Down in the basement, Sir Henry gave the details. When he came tomention the various liquids which Fenton had poured into the woodworkupstairs Watson examined the pool intently.

  "Quite so. They would come out here--naturally."

  "Naturally!"

  Sir Henry could not understand. His perplexity was reflected in thefaces of Herold, the two physicians, Dr. Malloy, Miss Clarke, and Mme.Le Fabre--and Charlotte spoke for them all:

  "Can't you explain, Mr. Watson? The woodwork had nothing whatever to dowith the cellar. There was the floor between, just as you see it now."

  "Naturally," Watson repeated. "It could be no other place! It was on itsway to the other side, but it could go only half-way. Simply a matterof focus, you know. I beg pardon; you must hold your curiosity a littlelonger."

  He began measuring. First he located the line across the floorjoistsoverhead, where rested the partition separating the dining-room fromthe parlour. Finding the middle of this line, he dropped an improvisedplumb-line to the ground; and from this spot as centre, using a stringabout ten feet long, he described a circle on the earth. Then, referringto his calculations, he proceeded to locate several points with smallstakes pressed into the soil. Then he checked them off and nodded.

  "It's even better than the professor thought. His theory is all butproven. If Jerome and Hume can deliver the other stone without accident,we can save those now inside the Spot." Then, very solemnly: "But weface a heavy task. It will be another Thermopylae. We must hold the gateagainst an occult Xerxes, together with all his horde."

  "The hosts of the dead!" exclaimed Mme. Le Fabre.

  "No; the living! Just give me time, Madame, and you will see somethinghitherto undreamed of. As for your theory--tomorrow you may doubtwhether you are living or dead! In other words, Dr. Holcomb hascertainly proved the occult by material means. He has done it with avengeance. In so doing he has left us in doubt as to ourselves; andunless he discovers the missing factor within the next few hours we aregoing to be in the anomalous position of knowing plenty about the nextworld, but nothing about ourselves."

  He paused. He must have known that their curiosity could not hold outmuch longer. He said:

  "Now, just one thing more, friends, and I can tell you everything, whilewe are waiting for Jerome and the general to return. But first I mustsee the one who preceded me out of the spot."

  "Ariadne!" from Charlotte, in wonder.

  "Ariadne!" exclaimed Watson. He was both puzzled and amazed. "Did youcall her--Ariadne?"

  "She is upstairs," cut in Dr. Higgins.

  "I must see her!"

  A minute or two later they stood in the room where the girl lay. Thecoverlet was thrown back somewhat revealing the bare left arm andshoulder, and the delicately beautiful face upon the pillow. Her goldenhair was spread out in riotous profusion. The other hand was justprotruding from the coverlet, and displayed a faint red mark, showingwhere Hobart's bracelet had been fastened at the moment he disappeared.
r />   Charlotte stepped over and laid her hand against the girl's cheek."Isn't she wonderful!" she murmured.

  But Dr. Higgins looked to Watson.

  "Do you know her?"

  The other nodded. He stooped over and listened to her breathing. Hismanner was that of reverence and admiration. He touched her hand.

  "I see how it must have happened. Precisely what I experienced, only--"Then: "You call her Ariadne?"

  "We had to call her something," replied Charlotte. "And the name--itjust came, I suppose."

  "Perhaps. Anyhow, it was a remarkably good guess. Her true name is theAradna."

  "THE Aradna? Who--what is she?"

  "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 theinevitable question, Watson said:

  "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 mysteryis that she was permitted an hour of rationality before this came uponher. I wonder if Hobart's vitality had anything to do with it?"--half tohimself. "As for the Rhamda"--he smiled--"he is merely interested inthe Spot; that is all. He would never harm the Aradna; he had nothingwhatever to do with her condition. We were mistaken about the man.Anyway, it is the Spot of Life that interests us now."

  "The Spot of Life," repeated Sir Henry. "Is that--"

  "Yes; the Blind Spot, as it is known from the other side. It overtopsall your sciences, embraces every cult, and lies at the base of alltruth. It is--it is everything."

  "Explain!"

  Watson turned to the head upon the pillow. He ventured to touch thecheek, with a trace of tenderness in his action and of wistfulness nearto 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 gavea soft sigh and looked up at the Englishman.

  "Yes, I can explain. Now that I know she is well, I shall tell you allI 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 Iknow more than any other person this side of the Spot. Let us go down tothe library."

  He glanced at a clock. "We have nearly five hours remaining. Our testwill come when we open the Spot. We must not only open it, but we mustclose it at all costs."

  They had reached the lower hall. At the front door Watson paused andturned to the others.

  "Just a moment. We may fail tonight. In case we do, I would like onelast look at my own world--at San Francisco."

  He opened the door. The rest hung back; though they could notunderstand, they could sense, vaguely, the emotion of this strange manof brave adventure. The scene, the setting, the beauty, were all akinto the moment. Watson, stood bareheaded, looking down at the blinkinglights of the city of the Argonauts. The moon in a starlit sky wasdrifting through a ragged lace of cloud. And over it all was a momentaryhush, as though the man's emotion had called for it.

  No one spoke. At last Watson closed the door. And there was just thetrace of tears in his eyes as he spoke:

  "Now my friends--" And led the way into the parlour.