The Blind Spot by Homer Eon Flint and Austin Hall (black female authors txt) 📗
- Author: Homer Eon Flint and Austin Hall
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To begin with, I must acknowledge the enormous help which I have had from my friends: Miss Clarke, Mme. Le Fabre, General Hume, Dr. Malloy, and Herold. These people are still in the house with me; I think they are eating supper. I've already had mine. Really, I can't take much credit to myself for what I have found out. The others supplied most of the facts. I merely happened to fit them together; and, because of my relationship to the problem, am now doing the heroic end of the work.
As for Harry—he and Dr. Holcomb, Chick Watson and even the dog—I shall have them out of the Blind Spot inside of twelve hours. All I need is a little rest. I'll go straight to bed as soon as I finish reviving Ariadne; and when I wake up, we'll see who's who, friend Rhamda!
I'm too exuberant to hold myself down to the job of telling what I've discovered. But it's got to be done. Here goes!
I practically took my life in my hands when I first made connection. However, I observed the precaution of rigging up a primary connection direct from the ring to the pebble, running the wire along the floor some distance away from where I sat. No ill effects when I ventured into the line of force; so I began to experiment with the switches.
That precautionary circuit was Herold's idea. His, also, the amplifying apparatus. The mental attitude was Miss Clarke's, modified by Dr. Malloy. The lead bracelets were Mme. Le Fabre's suggestion; they work fine. Sir Henry was the one who pointed out the advantage of the microphone I am using. If my hands become paralysed I can easily call for help to my side.
Well, the first connection I tried resulted in nothing. Perfectly blank. Then I tried another and another, meanwhile continually adjusting the amplifier; and as a result I am now able, at will, to do either or all of the following:
(1) I can induct sounds from the Blind Spot; (2) I can induct light, or visibility; or (3) any given object or person, in toto.
And now to tell how. No, I'm just sleepy, not weak.
Let's see; where was I? Oh, yes; those connections. They've got to be done just right, with the proper tension in the coils, and the correct mental attitude, to harmonise. I wish I wasn't so tired!
One moment! No, no; I'm all right. I—Queer! By Jove, that's a funny thing just now! I must have got an inducted current from another wire, mixed with these! And—I got a glimpse into the Blind Spot!
A great—No; it's a—What a terrific crowd! Wonder what they're all—By Jove, it's—Good Lord, it's he! And Chick! No, I'm not wandering! I'm having the experience of my life!
Now—THAT'S the boy! Don't let 'em bluff you! Good! Good! Tell 'em where to head in! That's the boy! Rub it in! I don't know what you're up to, but I'm with you!
Er—there's a big crowd of ugly looking chaps there, and I can't make it out—Just a moment—a moment. What does it mean, anyway? Just—I—
DANGER, by Heaven! THAT'S what it means!
No; I'm all right. The—thing came to an end, abruptly. That's all; everything normal again; the room just the same as it was a moment ago. Hello! I seem to have started something! The wire down on the floor has commenced to hum! Oh, I've got my eye on it, and if anything—
Miss Dibble! Tell Herold to come! On the run! Quick! Did you? Good! don't stop writing! I—
There's Chick! CHICK! How did you get here? What? YOU CAN'T SEE ME! Why—
Chick! Listen! Listen, man! I've gone into the Blind Spot! Write this down! The connection—
That's Herold! Herold, this is Chick Watson! Listen, now, you two! The—the—I can hardly—it's from No. 4 to—to—to the ring—then—coil—
Both switches, Chick! Ah! I've—
NOTE BY MISS L. DIBBLE.—Just as Mr. Fenton made the concluding remark as above, there came a loud crash, followed by the voice of Mr. Herold. Then, there came a very loud clang from a bell; just one stroke. After which I caught Mr. Fenton's voice:
“Herold—Chick can tell you what IT wants us to do—”
And with that, his voice trailed off into nothing, and died away. As for Mr. Fenton himself, I am informed that he has utterly disappeared; and in his stead there now exists a man who is known to Dr. Hansen as Chick Watson.
XXVIII. — THE MAN FROM SPACE
Before starting the conclusion of the Blind Spot mystery it may be just as well for the two publicists who are bringing it to the press to follow Hobart Fenton's example and go into a bit of explanation.
The two men who wrote the first two parts were participants, and necessarily writing almost in the present tense. While they could give an accurate and vivid account of their feelings and experiences, they could only guess at what lay in the future, at the events that would unravel it all.
But the present writers have the advantage of working, of seeing, of weighing in the retrospect. They know just where they are going.
The coming of Chick Watson brought new perspective. Hitherto we had been looking into the darkness. Whatever had been caught in the focus of the Spot 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 and character 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 deciding moments of history. He who had been the victim a year before was returning through the very Spot that had engulfed him. He was the herald of the great unknown, an ambassador of the infinite itself.
It will be remembered that of all the inmates of the house, Dr. Hansen was the only one who had a personal acquaintance with Watson. One year before the doctor had seen him a shadow—wasted, worn, exhausted. He had talked with him on that memorable night in the cafe. Well he remembered the incident, and the subject of that strange conversation—the secret of 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 had reached 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 year before. Except for the basic features Hansen would not have recognized him; the shadow was gone, the pallor, the touch of death. He
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