The Blind Spot, Homer Eon Flint and Austin Hall [books to read for 13 year olds txt] 📗

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 has discovered, you would ask YOURSELF a question or so. Possibly you yourself are a spirit!”

“What!” she gasped. “I—a spirit!”

“Exactly. But there is no time for questions. Afterwards—not now. Five hours, and we must—”

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

“Back?” he inquired. “What did you find out, Watson? They must have fed you well over yonder!”

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

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

The detective nodded.

Watson took the chair that Fenton had so strangely vacated and reached for paper and pencil. Once or twice he stopped to draw a line, but mostly he was calculating. He referred constantly to a paper he took from his pocket. When he was through he spread his palm over what he had written.

“Jerome!”

“Yes.”

“You are no longer connected with headquarters, I presume. But—can you get men?”

“If need be.”

“You will need them!” Just then Watson noticed the uniform of General Hume. “Jerome, can you give this officer a bodyguard?”

It was both unusual and lightning-sudden. Nevertheless, there was something in Watson's manner that called for no challenge; something that 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 were at 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 the compartments of Dr. Holcomb's safe. Not the large one in his house, but the small one in his laboratory. Go straight to Dwight Way. Give this note,” indicating another paper, “to Bertha Holcomb. Tell her that her father is safe, and that I am out of the Blind Spot. Tell her you have come to open the laboratory safe. I've written down the combination. If it doesn't work use explosives; there's nothing inside which force can harm. In the compartment marked 'X' you will find a small particle about the 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 the stone you can't mistake it; it will weigh about six pounds. Get it, and guard it with your life!”

“All right.”

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

“Where is Fenton?” he asked.

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

“Hobart Fenton has gone through the Blind Spot. Just now he is right here 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 that stone 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 the Bay of San Francisco. They were grim, and trusted, and under secret orders. They had a mission, did they but know it, as important as any in history. But they knew only that they were to guard Jerome and the general 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 dreamed that any danger might come out of the Blind Spot. Its manifestations had been local and mostly negative. No; the main incentive of their interest had been simply curiosity.

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

“I want to see that cellar,” he announced. “That is, the point where you found that red pebble!”

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

“Quite so. They would come out here—naturally.”

“Naturally!”

Sir Henry could not understand. His perplexity was reflected in the faces 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 do with 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 its way to the other side, but it could go only half-way. Simply a matter of focus, you know. I beg pardon; you must hold your curiosity a little longer.”

He began measuring. First he located the line across the floorjoists overhead, where rested the partition separating the dining-room from the parlour. Finding the middle of this line, he dropped an improvised plumb-line to the ground; and from this spot as centre, using a string about ten feet long, he described a circle on the earth. Then, referring to his calculations, he proceeded to locate several points with small stakes pressed into the soil. Then he checked them off and nodded.

“It's even better than the professor thought. His theory is all but