VII
THE RING
It was a terrible thing; death stalking out of the Blind Spot. We hadalmost forgotten. It had been a story hitherto--a wonderful one to besure, and one to arouse conjecture. I had never thought that we were tobe brought to its shivering contact. It was out of the occult; it hadbeen so pronounced by the professor; a great secret of life holding outa guerdon of death to its votaries. Witness Chick Watson, the type ofhealthy, fighting manhood--come to this. He opened his eyes feebly; onecould see the light; the old spirit was there--fighting for life. Whatwas this struggle of soul and flesh? Why had the soul hung on? He madeanother effort.
"More drink," he asked; "more drink. Anything to hold me together. Imust tell you. You must take my place and--and--fight the Blind Spot!Promise that--"
"Order the drinks," I told Hobart. "I see Dr. Hansen over there. Even ifwe cannot save him we must hold him until we get his story."
I went and fetched Hansen over.
"A strange case," he murmured. "Pulse normal; not a trace of fever. Notsick, you say--" Hobart pointed to his head. "Ah, I see! I would suggesthome and a bed."
Just here Watson opened his eyes again. They rested first upon thedoctor, then upon myself, and finally upon the brandy. He took it up anddrank it with eagerness. It was his third one; it gave him a bit morelife.
"Didn't I tell you, boys, that there is not a doctor on earth thatcan save me? Excuse me, doc. I am not sick. I told them. I am far pastphysic; I have gone beyond medicine. All I ask is stimulant and lifeenough to tell my story."
"My boy," asked the doctor kindly, "what ails you?"
Watson smiled. He touched himself on the forehead.
"Up here, doc. There are things in the world with which we may nottamper. I tried it. Somebody had to do it and somebody has to do it yet.You remember Dr. Holcomb; he was a great man; he was after the secret oflife. He began it."
Dr. Hansen started.
"Lord!" he exclaimed, looking at us all; "you don't mean this man ismixed up in the Blind Spot?"
We nodded. Watson smiled; again he dropped back into inertia; the speechhe had made was his longest yet; the brandy was coming into effect.
"Give him brandy," the doctor said; "it's as good as anything. It willhold him together and give him life for a while. Here." He reached intohis pocket and flicked something into the glass. "That will help him.Gentlemen, do you know what it means? I had always thought! I knew Dr.Holcomb! Crossing over the border! It may not be done! The secret oflife is impossible. Yet--"
Watson opened his eyes again; his spirit seemed suddenly to flicker intodefiance.
"Who said it was impossible? Who said it? Gentlemen, it IS possible. Dr.Holcomb--pardon me. I do not wish to appear a sot; but this brandy isabout the only thing to hold me together. I have only a few hours left."
He took the glass, and at one gulp downed the contents. I do not knowwhat the doctor had dropped into it. Chick revived suddenly, and astrange light blazed up in his eyes, like life rekindled.
"Ah, now I am better. So?"
He turned to us all; then to the doctor.
"So you say the secret of life is impossible?"
"I--"
Chick smiled wanly. "May I ask you: what it is that has just flared upwithin me? I am weak, anaemic, fallen to pieces; my muscles have lostthe power to function, my blood runs cold, I have been more than twofeet over the border. And yet--a few drinks of brandy, of stimulants,and you have drawn me back, my heart beats strongly, for an hour. Bymeans of drugs you have infused a new life--which of course is theold--and driven the material components of my body into correlation. Youare successful for a time; so long as nature is with you; but all thewhile you are held aghast by the knowledge that the least flaw, theleast disarrangement, and you are beaten.
"It is your business to hold this life or what you may. When it hasgone your structures, your anatomy, your wonderful human machine isworthless. Where has it come from? Where has it gone? I have drunk fourglasses of brandy; I have a lease of four short hours. Ordinarily itwould bring reaction; it is poison, to be sure; but it is driving backmy spirit, giving me life and strength enough to tell my story--in themorning I shall be no more. By sequence I am a dead man already. Fourglasses of brandy; they are speaking. Whence comes this affinity ofsubstance and of shadow?"
We all of us listened, the doctor most of all. "Go on," he said.
"Can't you see?" repeated Watson. "There is affinity between substanceand shadow; and therefore your spirit or shadow or what you will isconcrete, is in itself a substance. It is material just as much as youare. Because you do not see it is no proof that it is not substance.That pot palm yonder does not see you; it is not blessed with eyes."
The doctor looked at Watson; he spoke gently.
"This is very old stuff, my boy, out of your abstract philosophy. No manknows the secret of life. Not even yourself."
The light in Watson's eyes grew brighter, he straightened; he beganslipping the ring from his finger.
"No," he answered. "I don't. I have tried and it was like playing withlightning. I sought for life and it is giving me death. But there is oneman living who has found it."
"And this man?"
"Is Dr. Holcomb!"
We all of us started. We had every one given the doctor up as dead. Thevery presence of Watson was tragedy. We did not doubt that he had beenthrough some terrible experience. There are things in the world that maynot be unriddled. Some power, some sinister thing was reaching for hisvitality. What did he know about the professor? Dr. Holcomb had been along time dead.
"Gentlemen. You must hear my story; I haven't long to tell it. However,before I start here is a proof for a beginning."
He tossed the ring upon the table.
It was Hobart who picked it up. A beautiful stone, like a sapphire; bluebut uncut and of a strange pellucid transparency--a jewel undoubtedly;but of a kind we have never seen. We all of us examined it, and wereall, I am afraid, a bit disappointed. It was a stone and nothing else.
Watson watched us. The waiter had brought more brandy, and Watson wassipping it, not because he liked it, he said, but just to keep himselfat the proper lift.
"You don't understand it, eh? You see nothing? Hobart, have you a match?There, that's it; now give me the ring. See--" He struck the match andheld the flame against the jewel. "Gentlemen, there is no need for meto speak. The stone will give you a volume. It's not trickery, I assureyou, but fact. There, now, perfect. Doctor, you are the sceptic. Take alook at the stone."
The doctor picked it up casually and held it up before his eyes. Atfirst he frowned; then came a look of incredulity; his chin dropped andhe rose in his chair.
"My God," he exclaimed, "the man's living! It--he--"
But Hobart and I had crowded over. The doctor held the ring so we couldsee it. Inside the stone was Dr. Holcomb!
It was a strenuous moment, and the most incredible. We all of usknew the doctor. It was not a photograph, nor a likeness; but the manhimself. It was beyond all reason that he could be in the jewel; indeedthere was only the head visible; one could catch the expression of life,the movements of the eyelids. Yet how could it be? What was it? It wasHobart who spoke first.
"Chick," he asked, "what's the meaning? Were it not for my own eyes Iwould call it impossible. It's absurd on the face. The doctor! Yet I cansee him--living. Where is he?"
Chick nodded.
"That's the whole question. Where is he? I know and yet I know nothing.You are now looking into the Blind Spot. The doctor sought the secret oflife--and found it. He was trapped by his own wisdom!"
The Blind Spot Page 9