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

I made no comment as, without asking my leave or awaiting an invitation, he stepped through into the dining-room and thence into the parlour. I followed, half tempted to strike him down from behind, but restrained more by the fact that I must spare him than from any compunctions. Seemingly he knew this as well as I, he was serenely at ease.

And thus he stood before Jerome and Ariadne. The detective made a single exclamation, and furtively shifted his coat sleeves. He was getting that infernal breast gun into action. As for Ariadne, she stared at the new arrival as though astonished at first.

When Charlotte returned, a moment later, she showed only mild surprise. She quietly took her chair and as quietly moved her hand so that the gem shone in full view of our visitor.

But he gave her and the stone only a single glance, and then rested his eyes upon our new friend. To my anxiety, Ariadne was gazing fixedly at him now, her expression combining both agitation and a vague fear.

It could not have been due entirely to his unusual appearance; for there was no denying that this grey-haired yet young-faced man with the distinguished, courteous bearing, looked even younger that night than ever before. No; the girl's concern was deeper, more acute. I felt an unaccountable alarm.

From Ariadne to me the Rhamda glanced, then back again; and a quick satisfied smile came to his mouth. He gave an almost imperceptible nod. And, keeping his gaze fixed upon her eyes, he remarked carelessly:

“Which of these chairs shall I sit in, Fenton?”

“This one,” I replied instantly, pointing to the one I had just quit.

Smiling, he selected a chair a few feet away.

Whereupon I congratulated myself. The man feared me, then; yet he ranked my mentality no higher than that! In other words, remarkably clever though he might be, and as yet unthwarted, he could by no means be called omnipotent.

“For your benefit, Mr. Jerome, let me say that I phoned Miss Fenton and her brother a few days ago, and urged them to give up their notion of occupying this house or of attempting to solve the mystery that you are already acquainted with. And I prophesied, Mr. Jerome, that their refusal to accept my advice would be followed by events that would justify me.

“They refused, as you know; and I am here tonight to make a final plea, so that they may escape the consequences of their wilfulness.”

“You're a crook! And the more I see of you, Avec, the more easily I can understand why they turned you down!”

“So you too, are prejudiced against me. I cannot understand this. My motives are quite above question, I assure you.”

“Really!” I observed sarcastically. I stole a glance at Ariadne; her eyes were still riveted, in a rapt yet half-fearful abstraction, upon the face of the Rhamda. It was time I took her attention away.

I called her name. She did not move her head, or reply. I said it louder: “Ariadne!”

“What is it, Hobart?”—very softly.

“Ariadne, this gentleman possesses a great deal of knowledge of the locality from which you came. We are interested in him, because we feel sure that, if he chose to, he could tell us something about our friends who—about Harry Wendel.” Why not lay the cards plainly on the table? The Rhamda must be aware of it all, anyhow. “And as this man has said, he has tried to prevent us from solving the mystery. It occurs to me, Ariadne, that you might recognise this man. But apparently—”

She shook her head just perceptibly. I proceeded:

“He is pleased to call his warning a prophecy; but we feel that a threat is a threat. What he really wants is that ring.”

Ariadne had already, earlier in the hour, given the gem several curious glances. Now she stirred and sighed, and was about to turn her eyes from the Rhamda to the ring when he spoke again; this time in a voice as sharp as a steel blade:

“I do not enjoy being misunderstood, much less being misrepresented, Mr. Fenton. At the same time, since you have seen fit to brand me in such uncomplimentary terms, suppose I state what I have to say very bluntly, so that there may be no mistake about it. If you do not either quit this house, or give up the ring—NOW—you will surely regret it the rest of your lives!”

From the corner of my eye I saw Jerome moving slowly in his chair, so that he could face directly towards the Rhamda. His hands were ready for the swift, upward jerk which, I knew, would stifle our caller.

As for my sister, she merely turned the ring so that the gem no longer faced the Rhamda; and with the other hand she reached out and grasped Ariadne's firmly.

Avec sat with his two hands clasping the arms of his chair. His fingers drummed nervously but lightly on the wood. And then, suddenly, they stopped their motion.

“Your answer, Fenton,” in his usual gentle voice. “I can give you no more time,” I did not need to consult Charlotte or Jerome. I knew what they would have said.

“You are welcome to my answer. It is—no!”

As I spoke the last word my gaze was fixed on the Rhamda's eyes. He, on the other hand, was looking towards Ariadne. And at the very instant an expression, as of alarm and sorrow, swept into the man's face.

My glance jumped to Ariadne. Her eyes were closed, her face suffused; she seemed to be suffocating. She gave a queer little sound, half gasp and half cry.

Simultaneously Jerome's hands shot into the air. The room shivered with the stunning report of his breast gun. And every pellet struck the Rhamda and burst.

A look of intense astonishment came into his face. He gave Jerome a fleeting glance, almost of admiration; then his nostrils contracted with pain as the gas attacked his lungs.

Another second, and each of us were reeling with the fumes. Jerome started toward the window, to raise it, then sank back into his chair. And when he turned round—

He and I and Charlotte saw an extraordinary thing. Instead of succumbing to the gas, Rhamda Avec somehow recovered himself. And while the rest of us remained still too numbed to move or speak, he found power to do both.

“I warned you plainly, Fenton,” as though nothing in particular had happened. “And now see what you have brought upon the poor child!”

I could only roll my head stupidly, to stare at Ariadne's now senseless form.

“As usual, Fenton, you will blame me for it. I cannot help that. But it may still be possible for you to repent of your folly and escape your fate. You are playing with terrible forces. If you do