Chapter XIII: Albert Jerome

Just as soon as possible I hurried over to Berkeley. I went straight to the bungalow on Dwight Way; I inquired for Miss Holcomb. She was a woman now in her late twenties, decidedly pretty, a blonde, and of intelligent bearing.

Coming on such an errand, I was at a loss just how to approach her. I noted the little lines about the corners of her eyes, the sad droop of her pretty mouth. Plainly she was worried. As I was removing my hat she caught sight of the ring upon my finger.

“Oh,” she said; “then you come from Mr. Watson. How is Chick?”

“Mr. Watson”--I did not like lying, but I could not but feel for her; she had already lost her father--”Mr. Watson has gone on a trip up-country--with Jerome. He was not feeling well. He has left this ring with me. I have come for a bit of information.”

She bit her lips; her mouth quivered.

“Couldn’t you get this from Mr. Watson? He knows about the stone. Didn’t he tell you? How did it come into your possession? What has happened?”

Her voice was querulous and suspicious. I had endeavoured to deceive her for her own sake; she had suffered enough already. I could not but wince at the pain in her eyes. She stood up.

“Please, Mr. Wendel; don’t be clumsy. Don’t regard me as a mere baby. Tell me what has happened to Chick. Please--”

She stopped in a flow of emotion. Tears came to her eyes; but she held control. She sat down.

“Tell me all, Mr. Wendel. It is what I expected.” She blinked to hold back her tears. “It is my fault. You wouldn’t have the ring had nothing happened. Tell me. I can be brave.”

And brave she was--splendid. With the tug at my own heart I could understand her. What uncertainty and dread she must have been under! I had been in it but a few days; already I could feel the weight. At no time could I surmount the isolation; there was something going from me minute by minute. With the girl there could be no evasion; it were better that she have the truth. I made a clean breast of the whole affair.

“And he told you no more about the ring?”

“That is all,” I answered. “He would have told us much more, undoubtedly, had he not--”

“You saw him go--you saw this thing?”

“That is just it, Miss Holcomb. We saw nothing. One minute we were looking at Chick, and the next at nothing. Hobart understood it better than I. At least he forbade my crossing the room. There is a danger point, a spot that may not be crossed. He threw me back. It was then that the Rhamda came upon the scene.” She frowned slightly.

“Tell me about the Nervina. When Chick spoke of her, I could always feel jealous. Is she beautiful?”

“Most beautiful, the most wonderful girl I have ever seen, though I would hardly class her as one to be jealous of. But she wants the ring. I’ve promised Watson, and of course I shall keep it. But I would like its history.”

“I think I can give you some information there,” she answered. “The ring, or rather the jewel, was given to father about twenty years ago by a Mr. Kennedy. He had been a pupil of father’s when father taught at a local school. He came here often to talk over old times. Father had the jewel set in a ring; but he never wore it.”

“Why?”

“I do not know.”

“How did Watson come to link it up with the Blind Spot?”

“That, I think, was an accident. He was in college, you know, at the time of father’s disappearance. In fact, he was in the Ethics class. He came here often, and during one of his visits I showed him the ring. That was several years ago.”

“I see.”

“Well, about a year ago he was here again, and asked to see the jewel. We were to be married, you understand; but I had always put it off because of father. Somehow I felt that he would return. It was in late summer, about September; it was in the evening; it was getting dark. I gave Chick the ring, and stepped into the garden to cut some flowers. I remember that Chick struck a match in the parlour. When I came back he seemed to be excited.”

“Did he ask you for the ring?”

“Yes. He wanted to wear it. And he suddenly began to talk of father. It was that night that he took it upon himself to find him.”

“I see. Not before that night? Did he take the ring then?”

“Yes. We went to the opera. I remember it well, because that night was the first time I ever knew Chick to be gloomy.”

“Ah!”

“Yes. You know how jolly he always was. When we returned that night he would scarcely say a word. I thought he was sick; but he said he was not; said he just felt that way.”

“I understand. And he kept getting glummer? Did you suspect the jewel? Did he ever tell you anything?”

She shook her head.

“No. He told me nothing, except that he would find father. Of course, I became excited and wanted to know. But he insisted that I couldn’t help; that he had a clue, and that it might take time. From that night I saw very little of him. He leased the house on Chatterton Place. He seemed to lose interest in myself; when he did come over he would act queerly. He talked incoherently, and would often make rambling mention of a beautiful girl called Nervina. You say it is the ring? Tell me, Mr. Wendel, what is it? Has it really anything to do with father?”

I nodded.

“I think it has, Miss Holcomb. And I can understand poor Chick. He is a very brave man. It’s a strange jewel and of terrible potency; that much I know. It devitalises; it destroys. I can feel it already. It covers life with a fog of decay. The same solitude has come upon myself. Nevertheless I am certain it has much to do with the Blind Spot. It is a key of some sort. The very interest of the Rhamda and the Nervina tells us that. I think it was through this stone that your father made his discovery.”

She thought a moment.

“Hadn’t you better return it? While you still have health? If you keep it, it will be only one more.”

“You forget, Miss Holcomb, my promise to Chick. I loved your father, and I was fond of Watson. It’s a great secret and, if the professor is right, one which man has sought through the ages. I’d be a coward to forgo my duty. If I fail, I have another to take my place.”

“Oh,” she said, “it’s horrible. First father; then Chick; now you; and afterwards it will be Mr. Fenton.”

“It is our duty,” I returned. “One by one. Though we may fail, each one of us may pass a bit more on to his successor. In the end we win. It is the way of man.”

I had my way. She turned over all the data and notes that had been left by the professor; but I never found a thing in them that could be construed to an advantage. My real quest was to trace down the jewel. The man Kennedy’s full name was, I learned, Budge Kennedy. He had lived in Oakland. It was late in the afternoon when I parted with Miss Holcomb and started for the city.

I remember it well because of a little incident that occurred immediately after our parting. I was just going down the steps when I looked up one of the side streets. A few students were loitering here and there. But there was one who was not a student. I recognised him instantly, and I wondered. It was the Rhamda. This was enough to make me suspicious. But there was one thing more. Farther up the street was another figure.