VIII
THE NERVINA
For a moment we were silent. The jewel reposed upon the table. What wasthe secret of its phenomena? I could think of nothing in science thatwould explain it. How had Watson come into its possession? What was thetale he had to tell? The lean, long finger that clutched for brandy!What force was this that had driven him to such a verge? He wasresigned; though he was defiant he had already conceded his surrender.Dr. Hansen spoke.
"Watson," he asked, "what do you know about the Blind Spot?"
"Nothing."
We all turned to Chick. Hobart ordered more brandy. The doctor's eyeswent to slits. I could not but wonder.
"Chick," I asked, "who is Rhamda Avec?"
Watson turned.
"You saw him a few minutes ago? You saw him with me? Let me ask you."
"Yes," I answered, "I saw him. Most people did. Is he invisible? Is hereally the phantom they say?"
Somehow the mention of the name made him nervous; he looked cautiouslyabout the room.
"That I don't know, Harry. It--If I can only get my wits together. Is hea phantom? Yes, I think so. I can't understand him. At least, he has thepowers we attribute to an apparition. He is strange and unaccountable.Sometimes you see him, sometimes you don't. The first known of him wason the day Professor Holcomb was to deliver his lecture on the BlindSpot. He was tracked, you know, to the very act. Then came in theNervina."
"And who is the Nervina?"
Watson looked at me blankly.
"The Nervina?" he asked, "The Nervina--what do you know about theNervina?"
"Nothing. You mentioned her just now."
His mind seemed to ramble. He looked about the room rather fearfully.Perhaps he was afraid.
"Did I mention her? I don't know, Harry, my wits are muddled. TheNervina? She is a goddess. Never was and never will be woman. She loves;she never hates, and still again she does not love. She is beautiful;too beautiful for man. I've quit trying."
"Is she Rhamda's wife?"
His eyes lit fire.
"No!"
"Do you love her?"
He went blank again; but at last he spoke slowly.
"No, I don't love her. What's the use? She's not for me. I did; but Ilearned better. I was after the professor--and the Blind Spot. She--"
Again that look of haunted pursuit. He glanced about the room. Whateverhad been his experience, it was plain that he had not given up. He heldsomething and he held it still. What was it?
"You say you didn't find the Blind Spot?"
"No, I did not find it."
"Have you any idea?"
"My dear Harry," he answered, "I am full of ideas. That's the trouble.I am near it. It's the cause of my present condition. I don't know justwhat it is nor where. A condition, or a combination of phenomena. Youremember the lecture that was never delivered? Had the doctor spokenthat morning the world would have had a great fact. He had made a greatdiscovery. It is a terrible thing." He turned the ring so we could allsee it--beyond all doubt it was the doctor. "There he is--the professor.If he could only speak. The secret of the ages. Just think what itmeans. Where is he? I have taken that jewel to the greatest lapidariesand they have one and all been startled. Then they all come to the sameconclusion--trickery--Chinese or Hindu work, they say; most of them wantto cut."
"Have you taken it to the police?"
"No."
"Why?"
"I would simply be laughed at."
"Have you ever reported this Rhamda?"
"A score of times. They have come and sought; but every time he has goneout--like a shadow. It's got to be an old story now. If you call them upand tell them they laugh."
"How do you account for it?"
"I don't. I--I--I'm just dying."
"And not one member of the force--surely?"
"Oh, yes. There's one. You have heard of Jerome. Jerome followed theprofessor and the Rhamda to the house of the Blind Spot, as he calls it.He's not a man to fool. He had eyes and he saw it. He will not leave ittill he's dead."
"But he did not see the Blind Spot, did he? How about trickery? Did itever occur to you that the professor might have been murdered?"
"Take a look at that, Harry. Does that look like murder? When you seethe man living?"
Watson reached over and turned up the jewel.
Here Hobart came in.
"Just a minute, Chick. My wise friend here is an attorney. He's alwaysthe first into everything, especially conversation. It's been my jobpulling Harry out of trouble. Just one question."
"All right."
"Didn't you--er--keep company, as they say, with Bertha Holcomb while atcollege?"
A kind look came into the man's eyes; he nodded; his whole face was softand saddened.
"I see. That naturally brought you to the Blind Spot. You are after herfather. Am I correct?"
"Exactly."
"All right. Perhaps Bertha has taken you into some of her father'ssecrets. He undoubtedly had data on this Blind Spot. Have you ever beenable to locate it?"
"No!"
"I see. This Rhamda? Has he ever sought that data?"
"Many, many times."
"Does he know you haven't got it?"
"No."
"So. I understand. You hold the whip hand through your ignorance. Rhamdais your villain--and perhaps this Nervina? Who is she?"
"A goddess."
Hobart smiled.
"Oh, yes!" He laughed. "A goddess. Naturally! They all are. There areabout forty in this room at the present moment, my dear fellow. Watchthem dance!"
Now I had picked up the ring. It just fitted the natural finger. I triedit on and looked into the jewel. The professor was growing dimmer. Themarvellous blue was returning, a hue of fascination; not the hot flashof the diamond, but the frozen light of the iceberg. It was frigid,cold, terrible, blue, alluring. To me at the moment it seemed alive andpulselike. I could not account for it. I felt the lust for possession.Perhaps there was something in my face. Watson leaned over and touchedme on the arm.
"Harry," he asked, "do you think you can stand up under the burden? Willyou take my place?"
I looked into his eyes; in their black depths was almost entreaty. Howhaunting they were, and beseeching.
"Will you take my place?" he begged. "Are you willing to give up allthat God gives to the fortunate? Will you give up your practice? Willyou hold out to the end? Never surrender? Will--"
"You mean will I take this ring?"
He nodded.
"Exactly. But you must know beforehand. It would be murder to give it toyou without the warning. Either your death or that of Dr. Holcomb. It isnot a simple jewel. It defies description. It takes a man to wear it.It is subtle and of destruction; it eats like a canker; it destroys thebody; it frightens the soul--"
"An ominous piece of finery," I spoke. "Wherein--"
But Watson interrupted. There was appeal in his eyes.
"Harry," he went on, "I am asking. Somebody has got to wear this ring.He must be a man. He must be fearless; he must taunt the devil. It ishard work, I assure you. I cannot last much longer. You loved the olddoctor. If we get at this law we have done more for mankind than eitherof us may do with his profession. We must save the old professor. Heis living and he is waiting. There are perils and forces that we do notknow of. The doctor went at it alone and fearless; he succumbed to hisown wisdom. I have followed after, and I have been crushed down--perhapsby my ignorance. I am not afraid. But I don't want my work to die.Somebody has got to take it on and you are the man."
They were all of them looking at me. I studied the wonderful blueand its light. The image of the great professor had dimmed almostcompletely. It was a sudden task and a great one. Here was a law; one ofthe great secrets of Cosmos. What was it? Somehow the lure caught intomy vitals. I couldn't picture myself ever coming to the extremity ofmy companion. Besides, it was a duty. I owed it to the old doctor. Itseemed somehow that he was speaking. Though Watson did the talking Icould fe
el him calling. Would I be afraid? Besides, there was the jewel.It was calling; already I could feel it burning into my spirit. I lookedup.
"Do you take it, Harry?"
I nodded.
"I do. God knows I am worthless enough. I'll take it up. It may give mea chance to engage with this famous Rhamda."
"Be careful of Rhamda, Harry. And above all don't let him have thering."
"Why?"
"Because. Now listen. I'm not laying this absolutely, understand.Nevertheless the facts all point in one direction. Hold the ring.Somewhere in that lustre lies a great secret; it controls the BlindSpot. The Rhamda himself may not take it off your finger. You are immunefrom violence. Only the ring itself may kill you."
He coughed.
"God knows," he spoke, "it has killed me."
It was rather ominous. The mere fact of that cough and his weakness wasenough. One would come to this. He had warned me, and he had besought mewith the same voice as the warning.
"But what is the Blind Spot?"
"Then you take the ring? What is the time? Twelve. Gentlemen--"
Now here comes in one of the strange parts of my story--one that Icannot account for. Over the shoulder of Dr. Hansen I could watch thedoor. Whether it was the ring or not I do not know. At the time I didnot reason. I acted upon impulse. It was an act beyond good breeding. Ihad never done such a thing before. I had never even seen the woman.
The woman? Why do I say it? She was never a woman--she was a girl--far,far transcendent. It was the first time I had ever seen her--standingthere before the door. I had never beheld such beauty, such profile,poise--the witching, laughing, night-black of her eyes; the perfectlybridged nose and the red, red lips that smiled, it seemed to me, insadness. She hesitated, and as if puzzled, lifted a jewelled hand toher raven mass of hair. To this minute I cannot account for my action,unless, perchance, it was the ring. Perhaps it was. Anyway I had risen.
How well do I remember.
It seemed to me that I had known her a long, long time. There wassomething about her that was not seduction; but far, far above it.Somewhere I had seen her, had known her. She was looking and she waswaiting for me. There was something about her that was super feminine. Ithought it then, and I say it now.
Just then her glance came my way. She smiled, and nodded; there was anote of sadness in her voice.
"Harry Wendel!"
There is no accounting for my action, nor my wonder; she knew me. Thenit was true! I was not mistaken! Somewhere I had seen her. I felt avague and dim rush of dreamy recollections. Ah, that was the answer! Shewas a girl of dreams and phantoms. Even then I knew it; she was nota woman; not as we conceive her; she was some materialisation out ofHeaven. Why do I talk so? Ah! this strange beauty that is woman! Fromthe very first she held me in the thrall that has no explanation.
"Do we dance?" she asked simply.
The next moment I had her in my arms and we were out among the dancers.That my actions were queer and entirely out of reason never occurredto me. There was a call about her beautiful body and in her eyes thatI could not answer. There was a fact between us, some strange bondthat was beyond even passion. I danced, and in an extreme emotion ofhappiness. A girl out of the dreams and the ether--a sprig of life wovenout of the moonbeams!
"Do you know me?" she asked as we danced.
"Yes," I answered, "and no. I have seen you; but I do not remember; youcome from the sunshine."
She laughed prettily.
"Do you always talk like this?"
"You are out of my dreams," I answered: "it is sufficient. But who areyou?"
She held back her pretty head and looked at me; her lips droopedslightly at the corners, a sad smile, and tender, in the soft wonderfuldepths of her eyes--a pity.
"Harry," she asked, "are you going to wear this ring?"
So that was it. The ring and the maiden. What was the bond? There wasweirdness in its colour, almost cabalistic--a call out of the occult.The strange beauty of the girl, her remarkable presence, and herconcern. Whoever and whatever she was her anxiety was not personal. Insome way she was woven up with this ring and poor Watson.
"I think I shall," I answered.
Again the strange querulous pity and hesitation; her eyes grew darker,almost pleading.
"You won't give it to me?"
How near I came to doing it I shall not tell. It would be hard to sayit. I knew vaguely that she was playing; that I was the plaything. It ishard for a man to think of himself as being toyed with. She was certain;she was confident of my weakness. It was resentment, perhaps, and prideof self that gave the answer.
"I think I shall keep it."
"Do you know the danger, Harry? It is death to wear it. A thousandperils--"
"Then I shall keep it. I like peril. You wish for the ring. If I keep itI may have you. This is the first time I have danced with the girl outof the moonbeams."
Her eyes snapped, and she stopped dancing. I don't think my wordsdispleased her. She was still a woman.
"Is this final? You're a fine young man, Mr. Wendel. I know you. Istepped in to save you. You are playing with something stranger than themoonbeams. No man may wear that ring and hold to life. Again, Harry, Iask you; for your own sake."
At this moment we passed Watson. He was watching; as our eyes glancedhe shook his head. Who was this girl? She was as beautiful as sin and astender as a virgin. What interest had she in myself?
"That's just the reason," I laughed. "You are too interested. You aretoo beautiful to wear it. I am a man; I revel in trouble; you are agirl. It would not be honourable to allow you to take it. I shall keepit."
She had overreached herself, and she knew it. She bit her lip. But shetook it gracefully; so much so, in fact, that I thought she meant it.
"I'm sorry," she answered slowly. "I had hopes. It is terrible to lookat Watson and then to think of you. It is, really"--a faint tremor ranthrough her body; her hand trembled--"it is terrible. You young men areso unafraid. It's too bad."
Just then the door was opened; outside I could see the bank of fog;someone passed. She turned a bit pale.
"Excuse me. I must be going. Don't you see I'm sorry--"
She held out her hand--the same sad little smile. On the impulse of themoment, unmindful of place, I drew it to my lips and kissed it. She wasgone.
I returned to the table. The three men were watching me: Watsonanalytically, the doctor with wonder, and Hobart with plain disgust.Hobart spoke first.
"Nice for sister Charlotte, eh, Harry?"
I had not a word to say. In the full rush of the moment I knew that hewas right. It was all out of reason. I had no excuse outside of sheerinsanity--and dishonour. The doctor said nothing. It was only inWatson's face that there was a bit of understanding.
"Hobart," he said, "I have told you. It is not Harry's fault. It is theNervina. No man may resist her. She is beauty incarnate; she weaveswith the hearts of men, and she loves no one. It is the ring. She, theRhamda, the Blind Spot, and the ring. I have never been able to unravelthem. Please don't blame Harry. He went to her even as I. She has butto beckon. But he kept the ring. I watched them. This is but thebeginning."
But Hobart muttered: "She's a beauty all right--a beauty. That's therub. I know Harry--I know him as a brother, and I want him so in fact.But I'd hate to trust that woman."
Watson smiled.
"Never fear, Hobart, your sister is safe enough. The Nervina is not awoman. She is not of the flesh."
"Brr," said the doctor, "you give me the creeps."
Watson reached for the brandy; he nodded to the doctor.
"Just a bit more of that stuff if you please. Whatever it is, on thelast night one has no fear of habit. There--Now, gentlemen, if you willcome with me, I shall take you to the house of the Blind Spot."
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