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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“The hosts of the dead!” exclaimed Mme. Le Fabre.
“No; the living! Just give me time, Madame, and you will see something hitherto undreamed of. As for your theory—tomorrow you may doubt whether you are living or dead! In other words, Dr. Holcomb has certainly proved the occult by material means. He has done it with a vengeance. In so doing he has left us in doubt as to ourselves; and unless he discovers the missing factor within the next few hours we are going to be in the anomalous position of knowing plenty about the next world, but nothing about ourselves.”
He paused. He must have known that their curiosity could not hold out much longer. He said:
“Now, just one thing more, friends, and I can tell you everything, while we are waiting for Jerome and the general to return. But first I must see the one who preceded me out of the spot.”
“Ariadne!” from Charlotte, in wonder.
“Ariadne!” exclaimed Watson. He was both puzzled and amazed. “Did you call 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. The coverlet was thrown back somewhat revealing the bare left arm and shoulder, and the delicately beautiful face upon the pillow. Her golden hair was spread out in riotous profusion. The other hand was just protruding from the coverlet, and displayed a faint red mark, showing where Hobart's bracelet had been fastened at the moment he disappeared.
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. His manner 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—it just came, I suppose.”
“Perhaps. Anyhow, it was a remarkably good guess. Her true name is the Aradna.”
“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 the inevitable 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 mystery is that she was permitted an hour of rationality before this came upon her. I wonder if Hobart's vitality had anything to do with it?”—half to himself. “As for the Rhamda”—he smiled—“he is merely interested in the Spot; that is all. He would never harm the Aradna; he had nothing whatever 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 overtops all your sciences, embraces every cult, and lies at the base of all truth. It is—it is everything.”
“Explain!”
Watson turned to the head upon the pillow. He ventured to touch the cheek, with a trace of tenderness in his action and of wistfulness near to 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 gave a soft sigh and looked up at the Englishman.
“Yes, I can explain. Now that I know she is well, I shall tell you all I 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 I know more than any other person this side of the Spot. Let us go down to the library.”
He glanced at a clock. “We have nearly five hours remaining. Our test will come when we open the Spot. We must not only open it, but we must close it at all costs.”
They had reached the lower hall. At the front door Watson paused and turned to the others.
“Just a moment. We may fail tonight. In case we do, I would like one last look at my own world—at San Francisco.”
He opened the door. The rest hung back; though they could not understand, they could sense, vaguely, the emotion of this strange man of brave adventure. The scene, the setting, the beauty, were all akin to the moment. Watson, stood bareheaded, looking down at the blinking lights of the city of the Argonauts. The moon in a starlit sky was drifting through a ragged lace of cloud. And over it all was a momentary hush, as though the man's emotion had called for it.
No one spoke. At last Watson closed the door. And there was just the trace of tears in his eyes as he spoke:
“Now my friends—” And led the way into the parlour.
XXIX. — THE OCCULT WORLD
“In telling what I know,” began Watson, “I shall use a bit of a preface. It's necessary, in a way, if you are to understand me; besides, it will give you the advantage of looking into the Blind Spot with the clear eyes of reason. I intend to tell all, to omit nothing. My purpose in doing this is that, in case we should fail tonight, you will be able to give my account to the world.”
It was a strange introduction. His listeners exchanged thoughtful glances. But they all affirmed, and Sir Henry hitched his chair almost impatiently.
“All right, Mr. Watson. Please proceed.”
“To begin with,” said Watson, “I assume that you all know of Dr. Holcomb's announcement concerning the Blind Spot. You remember that he promised to solve the occult; how he foretold that he would prove it not by immaterial but by the very material means; that he would produce the fact and the substance.
“Now, the professor had promised to deliver something far greater than he had thought it to be. At the same time, what he knew of the Blind Spot was part conjecture and part fact. Like his forebears and contemporaries, he looked upon man as the
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