The Blind Spot by Homer Eon Flint and Austin Hall (black female authors txt) 📗

picked it up and again came the examination. At last he laid the glass and ring both upon the table.

“What do you make of it, Henry?” asked the jeweller.

“Not me,” answered the second one. “I never saw one like it.”

It was as Watson had said. No man had ever identified the jewel. The two men were puzzled; they were interested. The jeweller turned to me.

“Would you care to leave it with us for a bit; you have no objection to us taking it out of the ring?”

I had not thought of that. I had business down the street. I consulted my watch.

“In half an hour I shall be back. Will that be enough time?”

“I think so.”

It was an hour before I returned. The assistant was standing at the door of the office. He spoke something to the one inside and then made an indication to myself. He seemed excited; when I came closer I noted that his face was full of wonder.

“We've been waiting,” said he. “We didn't examine the stone; it wasn't necessary. It is truly wonderful.” He was a short, squat man with a massive forehead. “Just step inside.”

Inside the office the jeweller was sitting beside a table; he was leaning back in his chair; he had his hands clasped over his stomach. He was gazing toward the ceiling; his face was a study, full of wonder and speculation.

“Well?” I asked.

For an answer he merely raised his finger, pointed towards the ceiling.

“Up there,” he spoke. “Your jewel or whatever it is. A good thing we weren't in open air. 'Twould be going yet.”

I looked up. Sure enough, against the ceiling was the gem. It was a bit disconcerting, though I will confess that in the first moment I did not catch the full significance.

The jeweller closed one eye and studied first myself and then the beautiful thing against the ceiling.

“What do you make of it?” he asked.

Really I had not made anything; it was a bit of a shock; I hadn't grasped the full impossibility. I didn't answer.

“Don't you see, Mr. Wendel? Impossible! Contrary to nature! Lighter than air. We took it out of the ring and it shot out like a bullet. Thought I'd dropped it. Began looking on the floor. Couldn't find it; looked up and saw Reynolds, here, with his eyes popping out like marbles. He was looking at the ceiling.”

I thought for a moment.

“Then it is not a gem?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Not if I'm a jeweller. Whoever heard of a stone without weight? It has no gravity, that is, apparently. I doubt whether it is a substance. I don't know what it is.”

It was puzzling. I would have given a good deal just then for a few words with Dr. Holcomb. The man, Kennedy, had kept it in his pocket. How had he held it a prisoner? The professor had use for it in some scientific work! No wonder! Certainly it was not a jewel. What could it be? It was solid. It was lighter than air. Could it be a substance? If not; what is it?

“What would you advise?”

In answer the jeweller reached for the telephone. He gave a number.

“Hello. Say, is Ed there? This is Phil. Tell him to step to the phone. Hello! Say, Ed, I want you to come over on the jump. Something to show you. Too busy! No, you're not. Not for this. I'm going to teach you some chemistry. No; this is serious. What is it? I don't know. What's lighter than air? Lots of things? Oh, I know. But what solid? That's why I'm asking. Come over. All right. At once.”

He hung up the receiver.

“My brother,” he spoke. “It has passed beyond my province and into his. He is a chemist. As an expert he may give you a real opinion.”

Surely we needed one. It was against reason. It had taken me completely off my balance. I took a chair and joined the others in the contemplation of the blue dot on the ceiling. We could speculate and conjecture; but there was not one of us deep enough even to start a theory. Plainly it was what should not be. We had been taught physics and science; we had been drilled to fundamentals. If this thing could be, then the foundations upon which we stood were shattered. But one little law! Back in my mind was buzzing the enigma of the Blind Spot. They were woven together. Some law that had eluded the ken of mankind.

The chemist was a tall man with a hook nose and black eyes that clinched like rivets. He was a bit impatient. He looked keenly at his brother.

“Well, Phil, what is it?” He pulled out a watch, “I haven't much time.”

There was a contrast between them. The jeweller was fat and complacent. He merely sat in his chair, his hand on his waistband and a stubby finger elevated toward the jewel. He seemed to enjoy it.

“You're a chemist, Ed. Here's a test for your wisdom. Can you explain that? No, over here. Above your head. That jewel?”

The other looked up.

“What's the idea? New notion for decoration? Or”?—a bit testily—“is this a joke?” He was a serious man; his black eyes and the nose spoke his character.

The jeweller laughed gently.

“Listen, Ed—” Then he went into explanation; when he was through the chemist was twitching with excitement.

“Get me a ladder. Here, let me get on the table; perhaps I can reach it. Sounds impossible, but if it's so, it's so; it must have an explanation.”

Without ado and in spite of the protests of his brother he stepped upon the polished surface of the table. He was a tall man; he could just barely reach it with the tip of his finger. He could move it; but each time it clung as to a magnet. After a minute of effort he gave it up. When he looked down he was a different man; his black eyes glowed with wonder.

“Can't make it,” he said. “Get a step-ladder. Strange!”

With the ladder it was easy. He plucked it off the ceiling. We pressed about the table. The chemist turned it about with his fingers.

“I wonder,” he was saying. “It's a gem. Apparently. You say it has no gravity. It can't be. Whoop!” He let it slip out of his fingers. Again it popped on its way to the ceiling. He caught it with a deft movement of his hand. “The devil! Did you ever see! And a solid! Who owns this?”

That brought it back to me. I explained what I could of the manner of my possession.